"Wait, you fool!" Rene cried. He picked up the flash and got his gun.
"Stand behind me and keep your hands off your gun. I know when to
shoot and when not to shoot. You don't."
"If it's Uncle Isadore...."
"I tell you you've got to leave it up to me, if you want to get off
this planet alive. Now stand back and keep your mouth shut, no matter
what happens."
He kicked the door open and stood back and to one side of it. "Come in
with your arms up!"
There was a sort of rustling sound and in walked a huge, white,
wingless bird.
"My name," the dodo repeated, somewhat plaintively this time, with a
glance toward the lunch compartment, "is Isadore Summers."
I couldn't help it. I rolled all over the ship with laughter. Rene
looked a little shamefaced, tossed his gun onto the rack and punched
the lighting on.
Obviously the dodo recognized our lunch compartment from familiarity
with Uncle Izzy's ship. Then he looked at the alcohol tap that led from
the fuel conversion. "Nepenthe?" he begged.
I hesitated. "Isn't there something," I asked Rene, "about corrupting
the natives of a primitive planet?"
But Rene was sitting on his bunk, his jaw slack. "This is the first
time I've ever been made a fool of by an alcoholic bird."
"If it's _just_ a bird, of course. Like a parrot...."
I addressed the bird. "Sir," I began, and caught myself, "or perhaps
madam, can you say anything else?"
"Nepenthe," the bird said firmly.
I shrugged and drew a cup. The dodo lifted the cup and drained it in
one smooth gesture. This, as it turned out, was the only thing it
seemed to do smoothly.
It began a wild attempt to scratch its head with one claw and remain
upright. Then, abandoning all dignity, it rolled to its side and
scratched furiously to satisfaction. After that, it began what looked
like a hopeless attempt to right its awkward body, legs struggling in
the air and back bumping around the ship.
I couldn't help remembering Uncle Izzy after a meal, slim and suave,
lighting up a tapered, perfectly packed cigarene and blowing out one
round, shapely smoke ring that hovered before his light, sardonic grin
like a comment on his thoughts.
An uncomfortable comparison. I shook myself to life.
I righted the bird, no small problem, for he weighed almost two hundred
pounds.
"Well," Rene finally said, coming out of his mood, "now that you have
this bird, what are you going to do with it?"
"I had thought it might lead us to Uncle Izzy's fortune," I explained.
* * * * *
The bird obviously had no such intention. It was getting ready to take
a nap.
"A night bird," I told it reprovingly, "shouldn't take a nap in the
middle of the night."
"All you're proving is that he has no self-respect," Rene pointed out.
"Why don't you look to see if he's got a note tagged to his leg or
something?"