THE POPPER PENGUINS PERFORM AN ENCORE
BACK IN THE 1930s, Popper’s Performing Penguins had paraded onstage to the “Merry Widow Waltz” on the piano. That was all well and good if you were getting penguins to march in a music hall, but there were no pianos on Popper Island.
The modern-day Poppers made do, though, by standing outside the caretaker’s hut and banging on camping pots with spoons. They tried to be as rhythmic and musical as possible, but Joel and Nina kept losing each other’s beats, so it was really more of a ruckus than a song. Still, the penguins lined up curiously on the beach, watching the noisemakers and adding gorks and gaws of their own, making shy turns and pirouettes.
When the Poppers began to make their way across the icy rocks from the beach to the boat, Nina almost didn’t dare look back to see if the penguins were behind them. But when she did, there was the line of penguins, following single file, adding their chorus of voices to the glorious noise.
“The Arctic will never see anything like this again,” Yuka said. From the look on his face, he thought that was for the best.
When they reached the boat, the Poppers went right to the bow to make as much space as possible. There they all were: Mrs. Popper and Nina and Joel, still banging on camping pots, Mae and Ernest at their feet. The rest of the deck was wall-to-wall penguins, with Yuka at the stern, gently nudging away the nearby birds so he could start the boat’s engine.
When the deck began to rumble under their feet, the penguins orked and milled about, bumping into one another and pecking curiously at the floor. Mae and Ernest imitated the big penguins, even though by now they knew perfectly well how the boat worked.
After taking up the anchor, Yuka steered away from Popper Island.
Joel and Nina stood at the stern, surrounded by their new penguin friends as they looked back at Popper Island. Two puffins were standing at their cliff, watching the departing boat. In unison, they each raised a wing.
“It’s like they’re saying goodbye,” Joel said.
“Or maybe they’re saying thank you,” Nina said.
“Good luck, puffins!” Joel called, waving.
“Okay, children. Get working on your homework while there’s still light out and the waves aren’t too rough, please,” Mrs. Popper called. “As soon as we’re near enough to shore I’ll call and get your updated assignments.”
“You’d think that when we’re sailing through the Arctic with two dozen penguins, we could skip the normal school rules,” Nina grumbled.
“Not when it’s our mom,” Joel said.
With that, they were off! The penguins were fascinated by all aspects of the trip: the whitewater at the stern, the rumbling engines, the seabirds wheeling overhead. Much to Yuka’s dismay, they were especially interested in the steering wheel, taking pecks at it as soon as his attention was distracted. Joel had to shoo Ernest away whenever he got renewed interest in investigating the boat’s repaired computer.
Before Popper Island disappeared from view, they saw a puffin one more time, soaring over the water, swooping to catch a fish before heading back home.
GROWING PAINS
IT TOOK THEM six weeks to reach the Antarctic. By that point Nina and Joel had gotten ahead on all their schoolwork and were learning side topics: avian biology for Joel and lines of latitude for Nina. They’d stopped in Hillport to stock up on fish, to get permission to temporarily withdraw the kids from school, and for Yuka to turn in his essay and pick up his research books so he could work on his dissertation during the voyage.
The Popper Foundation understood when the Poppers explained that the penguins had been outcompeting the native puffins in the Arctic. They gave Mrs. Popper and Yuka stipends to compensate them for their work in relocating the penguins, and also paid for a refrigeration unit to be installed belowdecks—the penguins would need to stay down there while the boat passed through the hot tropics. (Two sneaked out onto the deck anyway one night, and the kids found them there in the morning, overheating, flippers flung out wide and mouths open. They never tried to sneak out again after that!)
By the time the boat had rounded the bottom of Argentina and was nearing the Antarctic, Mae and Ernest started to look… odd. “I think Mae is sick!” Nina said. She held up the penguin’s wing so Joel could see her torso beneath, where a patch of gray fluffy feathers was missing.
“She’s not sick,” Joel said, pointing to a picture in the avian biology textbook they’d checked out from the Hillport library. “She’s molting. The same thing is happening to Ernest.”
“It’s normal?” Nina asked.
“Totally normal.”
Over the final days of the voyage, Mae and Ernest would do their usual preening, nipping at their feathers, only now big clumps of them would come away. Beneath were revealed sleek black feathers—their adult plumage! “Would you look at that,” Nina said. “Our little penguins are growing up!”
“They look kind of like punk rockers,” Joel said.
They might have started getting their adult feathers, but even over the six weeks of voyage, the chicks had yet to bond with the other penguins. While Joel was busy with his homework, Ernest would stand near the other birds, but the whole time he’d be looking over at Joel, as if asking whether he was allowed to come back yet. Mae was clearer about her feelings: She’d pick fights if any Popper Penguins came between her and Nina, only calming once she was back in her arms.
“They’ll start fitting in eventually, right?” Nina asked Mrs. Popper.
“I’m sure,” her mother replied. “Soon we’ll be at the Drake Research Station, and we can ask the penguin experts there how we can help Mae and Ernest adjust. Now, it’s getting chillier. Draw your scarves tight, children.”
The very next day, Yuka called out and slowed the
