Once there was a girl named Petula who had a rabbit named Bunty. They lived in a tree by the
There was another rumor making the circuit amongst the tree dwellers in that area. This one involved a legend about a magical shell, a whispering nautilus, that supposedly revealed to the listener the deepest longings of one's heart.
“But that’s absurd!”, exclaimed Mr. Frith the Owl, who had broached the subject at teatime with Petula, “Why is it considered magical to tell one that which one already knows?”
“I dare say,” replied Bunty, who was bustling around the table to see that everyone had enough clotted cream, “You are presupposing the notion that most people are highly in tune with themselves and exist in a state approaching nirvana. I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Frith, that this simply isn’t the case! The vast majority are so indulged, so filled with noise that they have, at the most, a grasp on base gratification…the hedonists! But to suggest they have evolved to understand the true desires of their hearts?! Oh, no, my good sir—that is something quite different altogether and on this point we must amicably disagree!”
“Now, now,” said Mr. Frith, whose ruffled feathers had puffed him up to twice his size, “Perhaps I spoke too hastily. You may have a point there, Bunty.” As you can see, no one wanted to be at odds with the prim and opinionated rabbit, not even an owl.
The very next morning found Petula and Bunty out for a stroll along the beach during low tide. Bunty saw it first. Glistening in a tide pool, exquisite in its design, was a pale, silvery grey nautilus. “Petula, darling,” she called to the little girl, who was staring out to sea and wondering what happened to people after they died, “Step lively now! There’s a good girl. I want to show you something!” And the rabbit climbed on top of a large, protruding rock and held the shell up to Petula’s ear. The girl listened quietly, her eyes growing so wide that anyone watching would have said it was possible to see right inside of her. Who knows if it was a moment or a lifetime, but the longer Petula listened, the more radiant she became. Finally she looked at her dear friend Bunty, who lowered the shell and waited for Petula to speak. “Oh, Bunty,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the small but sturdy rabbit, “How beautiful life is and how happy I am to be part of it!”
p.s. The name Petula was borrowed from this lovely blog, where the real PetulaDarling was kind enough to mention my site. I was so charmed by the name that I nearly considered having another baby girl and calling her Petula, but then I thought better of it and wrote this story instead.
