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Надувные
I’d been watching the crocodile for some time now. He was lying next to the tent where they sold inflatable toys, and was keeping a careful eye on us, half-closing his yellow eyes. Every so often, the salesman, who was wearing a red bandana, would sit on the crocodile’s back. He looked like a pirate.
But I was going to tell you about something else.
In the pirate’s tent, there were about a hundred inflatable toys. Well, I don’t know for sure that it was a hundred because I didn’t count them. But a hundred is a lot, and the tent was completely filled from floor to ceiling. Every day, a few toys would be purchased, and would go swimming with their new owners. The pirate would replace them with different toys, that he’d just inflated with a special pump. Butterflies, rings, flowers, dolphins, sharks, boats - all the toys found homes, except the for the crocodile, who laid next to the tent and nobody bought him.
But the crocodile was quite alright. Green. I would have understood why nobody wanted him if he’d been orange. And his face wasn’t evil at all - it was the opposite - his face was very kind hearted. I imagined how comfortable it would be to hold onto him with my arms and legs and swim. And crocodiles love water. I know that. And this is so unfair - there are three land-loving ladybugs splashing around in the waves, but the crocodile is just lying on the beach. And the pirate hasn’t even thought of putting him in the water, even though it wouldn’t be that difficult. Anyway, I walked in circles around the crocodile until the pirate said,
“Hey kid, what do you want?”
I took a deep breath and then asked, “Do you only have one crocodile?”
“Just one.”
“Can I take a closer look at him?
“Sure,” smiled the pirate.
I kneeled. Then I poked the crocodile’s rubbery nose and pet his smooth back. He looked at me, and I got the feeling that he wanted to be mine. But I told my mom that I don’t swim with inflatable toys anymore. Still, I couldn't leave him. I decided I was going to rescue him. Since nobody is buying him, I will. And I’ll convince my mom.
“How much does the crocodile cost?” I asked boldly, hiccupping.
The pirate turned around. While we were talking, he’d been inflating a snail with a pump.
“Nothing, because Gizmo’s not for sale.”
“Why?” (I hiccupped again).
“He’s a friend.”
But I was going to tell you about something else.
In the pirate’s tent, there were about a hundred inflatable toys. Well, I don’t know for sure that it was a hundred because I didn’t count them. But a hundred is a lot, and the tent was completely filled from floor to ceiling. Every day, a few toys would be purchased, and would go swimming with their new owners. The pirate would replace them with different toys, that he’d just inflated with a special pump. Butterflies, rings, flowers, dolphins, sharks, boats - all the toys found homes, except the for the crocodile, who laid next to the tent and nobody bought him.
But the crocodile was quite alright. Green. I would have understood why nobody wanted him if he’d been orange. And his face wasn’t evil at all - it was the opposite - his face was very kind hearted. I imagined how comfortable it would be to hold onto him with my arms and legs and swim. And crocodiles love water. I know that. And this is so unfair - there are three land-loving ladybugs splashing around in the waves, but the crocodile is just lying on the beach. And the pirate hasn’t even thought of putting him in the water, even though it wouldn’t be that difficult. Anyway, I walked in circles around the crocodile until the pirate said,
“Hey kid, what do you want?”
I took a deep breath and then asked, “Do you only have one crocodile?”
“Just one.”
“Can I take a closer look at him?
“Sure,” smiled the pirate.
I kneeled. Then I poked the crocodile’s rubbery nose and pet his smooth back. He looked at me, and I got the feeling that he wanted to be mine. But I told my mom that I don’t swim with inflatable toys anymore. Still, I couldn't leave him. I decided I was going to rescue him. Since nobody is buying him, I will. And I’ll convince my mom.
“How much does the crocodile cost?” I asked boldly, hiccupping.
The pirate turned around. While we were talking, he’d been inflating a snail with a pump.
“Nothing, because Gizmo’s not for sale.”
“Why?” (I hiccupped again).
“He’s a friend.”
