Hilda the Hippo Has the Hiccups

Hilda the hippo got the hiccups just as the sun was going down, which is the worst time for a hippo to get the hiccups, because that is when the pond is supposed to go quiet.

"Hic," went Hilda, and a wave went across the pond and tipped a duck over.

"Hic," went Hilda, and the frogs on the far bank bounced up into the air and came down in a different order.

"Hic," went Hilda, and the heron, who had been standing on one leg thinking important thoughts, had to put the other leg down, which he hated.

"Hilda," said the heron. "Kindly stop."

"I'm trying," said Hilda. "Hic."

Everybody had a cure.

"Hold your breath," said the frogs, and Hilda held her breath until she was the colour of a plum, and then, "HIC," which was the biggest one yet, and a small fish landed in a tree.

"Drink from the wrong side of the pond," said the duck, so Hilda walked all the way round and drank from the other side, and the hiccups came along too, because hiccups do not care which side of the pond you are on.

"I'll frighten them out of you," said the heron, and he crept up behind her and shouted "BOO" in his most alarming heron voice. Hilda was not frightened at all, because the heron had been creeping up for several minutes and everyone could see him. But the heron frightened himself, and fell in.

"Hic," said Hilda, kindly, to show there were no hard feelings.

By now it was properly dark, and the whole pond was wide awake. The ducks were upside down. The frogs were in the wrong order. The fish was still in the tree and had made the best of it. And the heron was sitting on the bank, dripping, with his dignity somewhere on the bottom of the pond.

Then the smallest frog, who had not said anything all evening, hopped onto Hilda's nose.

"Hilda," she said. "What were you doing just before the hiccups started?"

Hilda thought. "Hic. I was... laughing. The duck told a joke about a pelican."

"And what have you been doing ever since?"

"Hic. Holding my breath and walking round and being shouted at."

"Mm," said the small frog. "Have you tried doing nothing?"

Hilda had not. Nobody had suggested it. It seemed too easy.

She lowered herself into the warm water until only her eyes and her ears and the small frog were showing. She did not hold her breath. She did not drink anything from any side. She just floated, the way hippos are built to float, and watched the stars arrive one at a time.

"Hic," she said, but a small one.

The pond waited.

A long time went by. A bat went over. The fish in the tree gave up and jumped back in with a tiny splash.

"Hic?" said Hilda, softly, almost asking.

Nothing came. She waited for the next one. It did not arrive.

"They've gone," she whispered.

"Shh," said the small frog, who was already asleep on her nose.

Hilda did not move for the rest of the night. Nor did anyone else. The pond went quiet at last, just a little later than usual, and in the morning the heron found his dignity on the bottom, and it was fine, only slightly damp.