Chapter 3 (continued)
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dullylate that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, lockedthem all inside the car, and disappeared.
It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley sniveled.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's ontonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday --and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week,because of television -- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventhbirthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun -- lastyear, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of UncleVernon's old socks. Still, you weren't eleven every day.
Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carryinga long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she askedwhat he'd bought.
"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointingat what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top ofthe rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. Onething was certain, there was no television in there.
"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully,clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreedto lend us his boat!"A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, witha rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-graywater below them.
"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "soall aboard!"It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept downtheir necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemedlike hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping andsliding, led the way to the broken-down house.
The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed,the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and thefireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.
Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each andfour bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags justsmoked and shriveled up.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he saidcheerfully.
He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stooda chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harryprivately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Sprayfrom the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fiercewind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldyblankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on themoth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bednext door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor hecould and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night wenton. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to getcomfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores weredrowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. Thelighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge ofthe sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes'
time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if theDursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writerwas now.
Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hopedthe roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer ifit did. Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive wouldbe so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to stealone somehow.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rocklike that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunchingnoise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty... ten... nine -- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him --three... two... one...
BOOM.
The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staringat the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. |