Panda Panic (2 page)

“Bamboo in bed,” smiled Ping's mother. “Heavenly. Do you want some, Ping?”

Ping shook his head.

“What were you dreaming about?” demanded his sister. “You were sucking in your tummy and jumping up and down and twirling your arms around like a windmill.”

“None of your business,” Ping said grumpily.

“You were dreaming about being the Emperor's bodyguard again, weren't you?” she snorted.

“Might have been,” said Ping evasively. “I don't see why you think it's so funny.”

“Because you're a lazy panda, not a fit, muscled action hero! The only way you could guard the Emperor is if you wedged yourself into the doorway of his bedroom so that nobody could get in.”

“If you must know, I was dreaming that I was actually
doing something
for once.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm bored!” he shouted. It wasn't that Ping didn't like eating bamboo, or digging a hole in the forest forty-seven times a day so that he could take yet another poo, or even that he objected to smiling continuously for the visitors' clickety-clack cameras, but when that was ALL he ever did, his life quickly became rather boring.

“I've had an idea,” he said, jumping to his feet enthusiastically.

“Oh, here we go,” said An with a sigh.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh, here we go'? I haven't gone anywhere yet,” protested Ping. “If you don't mind me saying so, An, that's a rotten thing for a brother to hear from his sister just after he's woken up.”

“It's because you say the same thing every morning,” she explained. Then, adopting a look of mock excitement, she mimicked Ping's voice. “‘Oooh! Oooh! Oooh! Oooh! An! Listen. I have a completely brilliant idea. I was wondering how you feel about climbing a tree today?'” She stopped imitating Ping and spoke in her own voice again. “The same as I always feel about climbing a tree, Ping. The same as I feel about swimming across a river, or rolling down a hill, or running in a race, or throwing a stick. I would rather I was sitting here eating bamboo with Mommy.”

“You'd never make a good adventurer,” Ping observed.

“I don't want to be an adventurer,” she said. “I'm happy at home.”

“As should you be, Ping,” his mother interjected. “
A stranger who walks in a strange land knows not where to hide from the toothsome smile of a predator
.” Ping had never been able to understand his mother's sayings. It seemed to him that she just picked out unrelated words and arranged them at random into baffling sentences.

“You don't understand what Mommy's just said, do you?” jeered An. “You're trying to look like you do, but you haven't got a clue!”

“Of course I understand,” said Ping. “It's got something to do with going on vacation and forgetting your toothbrush… I think.”

“Wrong,” said his sister, smugly. “It means that I am the clever one and you are not, because I
do
understand it. It means that panda cubs are safer at home, because the rainy season's just finished and the snow leopards are coming down from the mountains looking for food!”

“I'm not scared of snow leopards!” Ping scoffed. “Is that why you won't go exploring with me?”

“Yes,” said An. “When I'm at home I know where to hide. And that is why, in case you were wondering, I'm so much better at hide-and-seek than you.”

“No, you're not!” said Ping. Then, realizing he could turn this to his advantage, he added, “Prove it!”

An yawned.

“You won't convince me that easily,” she said. “Besides, I'm too young and pretty to be a snow leopard snack, but you go ahead if you want to.”

Their mother chuckled.

“Nobody's going to be eaten by a snow leopard,” she said.

“At least it would be a bit of excitement,” Ping replied, without thinking.

“That is a ridiculous thing to say,” his mother sighed. “
The wise panda searches not for what he does not have, but is content with what is his
.”

Ping was baffled again and scratched his head.

“
Master the art of boredom
,” she explained further, “
and you will conquer the world
.”

“How can you master boredom?” he asked. “Boredom's just boring.”

“If you're bored,” she said quietly, “it's up to you to go off and find something to do.”

“Like what?”

“Like fishing,” she suggested.

“Fishing's boring,” said Ping.

“Fishing's safe,” his mother said.

“So long as you don't fall into the water,” snickered An. “Which Ping probably would, because he's as clumsy as a fairy in concrete boots.”

“And it is the end of the rainy season, so the river's running rather fast at the moment,” said his mother anxiously. “Actually, I've changed my mind, Ping. Maybe fishing's not a good idea. Why don't you ask your best friend, Hui, to play with you?”

Hui was a bright-blue grandala bird who entertained Ping for hours with his exciting stories about flying around the world.

“Because he's busy catching insects for his winter nest,” said Ping. “He said I could help him, but I hate bugs. They nest in my fur and tickle me.” Ping scratched his nose and tipped back his head to look at the sky. “You know, sometimes I wish I wasn't a panda. Sometimes I wish I was a bird, like Hui, because birds can go wherever they like.”

“You can't be a bird,” said An, “because birds have a head for heights. You've got a head for basketball.”

“I'm not staying here to be insulted,” Ping said, standing up in a huff. “And anyway, if my head is the shape of a basketball, yours must be too. So there!”

“Will you two please stop arguing,” said their mother. “You can go off and have a silly adventure, Ping, but don't do anything dangerous, make sure you're back for supper, and watch out for snow leopards!”

“Maybe I will and maybe I won't,” he grumbled, kicking his way through a bamboo hedge and stomping out of the clearing.

The moment he was out of sight, Ping felt guilty. He shouldn't be speaking to his mother like that. After all, she was only trying to keep him safe. And she had actually met a snow leopard once, so she knew how dangerous they could be. He'd better say sorry—yes, that would be the kind thing to do—maybe not now, though.
After
he'd had his adventure. He'd do it tonight, when he came home for supper.

“Ping.”

Ping spun around, surprised to find his sister standing close behind him.

“Promise me,” she said seriously, “that whatever it is you end up doing today, it won't be anything stupid!”

Ping laughed at the very idea.

“As if I would,” he said. “As if I would!”

Then he disappeared into the bushes to find himself a surfboard.

CHAPTER TWO

P
ing had decided to give surfing another try. He was well aware that his last effort had ended rather soggily, with water being squeezed out of his tail and shaken out of his ears at the veterinarian's office, but that was a long time ago. He was two weeks older now and much, much wiser. Besides, he'd done a lot of thinking about what went wrong on that occasion and had decided that it was all the fault of his surfboard—not its rider. He needed a
single
piece of wood instead of a tray made from bamboo poles lashed together—a big, flexible board that could withstand the pressures that a champion surfer would demand from it.

As luck would have it, five minutes later, as he wandered past the tall ranger's office, he stumbled upon the perfect piece of wood lying across his path. Someone had even customized it for him by painting it bright green. He went to knock on the back door of the office to ask if he might take it, but to his surprise there
was
no door, just a hole in the wall where a door had once been. He waited outside the office for a couple of minutes, but nobody came, so he helped himself and, clamping his new surfboard underneath his arm, he set off for the River Trickle.

When he arrived, he was surprised at how different the river looked. He had never seen it after the rainy season. It was at least six times wider than normal and as deep as the tallest tree in the forest. It rushed past faster than a galloping horse and roared like a cloud full of thunder. Luckily, there was a shallow pool to one side where Ping could warm-up. It was the veterinarian who had taught him how important it was to stretch before physical activity and he started his warm-up by lunging forward on his left leg while touching the ground with the knee of his right leg. After ten seconds of grunting he swapped legs, lunging forward on his right leg while touching the ground with the knee of his left. It was frightfully complicated, and Ping started to get a little confused. When it came to stretching his arms, he couldn't remember if they should be pointing up or down, or whether he should be bending forward or standing up, or whether his feet should be pointing in or out, or whether he should shut his eyes or keep them open.