The Great Rabbit Revenge Plan by Burkhard Spinnen Page B

‘For goodnesssake!’ he says. ‘Parcels get thrown all over the place! The rabbit’s bones will get broken!’
    Fridz says nothing for a few seconds. That is unusual for her. She must be thinking. And if she’s thinking, then probably she’ll say something. But what?
    â€˜So,’ she says at last, ‘why does it sometimes say Fragile on parcels? What do you think? Obviously because breakable things are being transported. Even things made of glass. And if glass can be transported in boxes, then there’s no fear of the Belgian here.’
    She kicks the box again. Then she disappears and the two Konrads look at each other.
    â€˜See!’ says the old one. ‘There you go.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ says the new one.
    For a moment, it looks as if they are going to have a row. But then they both decide to work together. Because for the next bit, you need to have your wits about you.
    Five minutes later, Fridz is back in the garage. She has painted an enormous label saying Fragile but it hasn’t got any little hearts on it. She sticks the label on the box with sticky tape.
    Konrad tries again. ‘But it’s so far to the post office,’ he says. ‘All the way to the supermarket. We’ll never make it.’
    â€˜Of course we will,’ says Fridz. ‘Just you wait and see.’
    She signals to Konrad and the two of them carry the box out of the garage into the garden.
    â€˜So,’ says Fridz. ‘You’re whacked already, are you?’
    Konrad looks around him. This is not a garden anyway. On either side there are gardens, with shrubs and little trees,just like in the Bantelmann garden and in the gardens of the neighbours of number 17a. And just like there, the new lawns are starting to grow. The new lawn, on which for ages and ages no one was allowed to walk. But here in the middle, where the garden of number 28b ought to be, there is nothing but a hilly lunar landscape of thick black earth. Here and there are plants that Mum Bantelmann would certainly call weeds, and further back you can see quite clearly the caterpillar tracks of a bulldozer or a digger. Atrocious!
    Or maybe not. Konrad imagines what a good place this would be for playing Landing on an Unknown Planet. Or Digging for Treasure on a Desert Island.
    â€˜Don’t gape like that!’ says Fridz. ‘The people next door do enough of that.’
    But it’s a nice garden.
    â€˜If Henri doesn’t manage to get a gardener soon,’ she says, ‘they’ll send us one of those notices about prohibited seed dispersal.’
    â€˜Because …?’
    â€˜Because our weeds will start growing next door too. Man!’ says Fridz. ‘Forget the stupid garden. Look here!’
    Oh, right. On the patio there’s a wooden trolley just big enough to fit the Flemish Giant box on. And that’s what is going to happen.
    There’s no going back now, thinks Konrad.
    Fridz gives a signal, and together they lift the box onto the trolley.
    â€˜Now we need to go out on the road,’ says Fridz. ‘You pull. And I’ll watch out.’
    Konrad pulls. The wheels of the little wooden trolley squeak horribly. But he hardly hears it. What is he like! he’s thinking. A fairly large boy pulling a squeaking trolley with a big red box on it. Not to mention the big yellow bow.
    Now they’re on the road. Did the flowery net curtains of number 27b move? Lena and Lisa! Or Lara and Lana? Not that it matters. Konrad has the extremely unpleasant sensation that he is making a total fool of himself.
    â€˜Watch where you’re going!’ says Fridz. ‘Head up! Veer right a bit. And get a move on!’
    When they arrive at a point where they could be seen from number 17a, Konrad wishes he could disappear into thin air, but luckily no one is looking. In fact, the whole Dransfeld is like a morgue.
    After a fairly strenuous half hour, they finally arrive at the