Bingo Bunny and Barbarella

Barbarella falls in love with a gypsy bunny in the cartoon state of Bunnsylvania. Music, dancing, and a little danger await them.

“Bingo Bunny and Barbarella”

by J.D. Savanyu

It was a fine April afternoon in the outskirts of Thistleburg, in the state of Bunnsylvania. Barbarella Bunny was hard at work in her warren beneath a giant oak tree, cooking a big pot of carrot stew. Barbarella’s stew was the talk of the town, and the entire kingdom of New Lapin. Rabbits would hop down the roads from every corner of the big island just to buy a bowl of her savory concoction. Children often asked her if the secret ingredient was “magic bunny fairy dust,” and she always said it was, just to humor them. When their parents asked her what the real secret ingredient was, she simply said, “love.”

That was half a lie, and half the truth. Her secret ingredient was loveleaf, a rare shrub that only grew on shady rocky hillsides in subtropical climates, in just the right kind of soil. Loveleaf was the tastiest spice in the world; twice as tangy as torgavort, and three times more perky than puckluck. Just one thimblefull was enough to turn an ordinary kettle of carrot stew into a culinary extravaganza, fit for King Harker and Queen Wumple.

Barbarella was rushing to finish her batch in time to sell at the Spring Blossom Festival, tomorrow on the Village Green. It was always a big hit at the festival, raising enough money to pay her bills for the next three months. She carefully blended the ingredients while singing her favorite song, “Hawkbane the Brave.”

Hawkbane the Brave, the greatest bunny of all,

slew many dragons, and won many wars

with his mighty sword, but best of all

he unlocked my heart, like a castle door . . .

She loved that song, but she never actually saw a rabbit using a sword. Either way, it helped her be a better cook. Each five-gallon pot of carrot stew contained three gallons of spring water, twenty freshly plucked chopped carrots, five freshly plucked onions, a pound of butter, a pound of olive oil, a quarter cup of salt, a dash of torgavort, a pinch of puckluck, and a thimblefull of . . .

“Oh dear!” Babarella exclaimed in dismay. “I’m all out of loveleaf!”

Indeed, she’d forgotten to check how much of that secret spice she had left before she started cooking. She moved the stew kettle away from the fireplace to let it simmer, then she threw on a golden cotton shawl and left her warren. She closed the front door behind her and climbed a flight of steps leading out of the root tunnel beneath the giant oak tree. Emerging into a perfect spring afternoon, with the smell of blooming flowers filled the air, combining with the pleasant smell of carrot stew rising out of her chimney.

Wasting no time, she hopped over to Popkin hill and started sniffing around, twitching her little pink nose in search of loveleaf. Rabbits have a very strong sense of smell, enabling them to detect food, and other rabbits from up to a mile away. But there were many other aromatic spice plants in bloom on the rocky slope, making it difficult for even her keen noise to pinpoint one specific variety. She kept sniffing for nearly an hour, until she finally located a cluster of sweet-smelling loveleaf next to a babbling brook.

“Ah, lucky me!” Barbarella exclaimed. “The townrabbits won’t be disappointed, and I won’t go broke!”

She plucked dozens of bright green star-shaped leaves off the bush, carefully avoiding the many thorns on the branches. Loveleaf bushes look quite similar to rose bushes, but with much smaller and plainer flowers, like little white dandelions. Barbarella tucked the valuable leaves into a cotton knapsack and hopped down the hill, eager to resume work in her kitchen. She paused to adjust her golden shawl and golden ears at the edge of Buckthorn Road, and her strong nose detected the smell of another rabbit. Her keen sense of hearing soon detected the sound of bunny hops approaching from the east. The stranger was whistling her second favorite tune, “Rabscoot’s Rhapsody.”

Rabscoot the Rabbit, so sneaky, so sly,

tricking every rabbit in town . . .

tricking the shoes right off your paws

and the rings right off your big bunny ears . . .

But, ah! Rabscoot the Rabbit has met his match

a mind that can’t be tricked

a heart that can’t be bought

a high-class buck, true to his word . . .

Making Rabscoot big bunny tears, oh . . .

making him cry big bunny tears!

The footsteps got louder and louder. The traveling stranger finally came in view, and her jaw dropped open in admiration. It was the most handsome gray buck she’d ever seen, dressed in the crimson and gold robe and black headscarf worn by far northern Harlequin gypsies, with golden rings on his long floppy ears, and a long flowing gray beard braided with blue beads. A gypsy bunny! They visited town during the Spring Blossom and Autumn Harvest Festivals, playing their music and telling their tall tales and selling their shiny crafts. She was always enthralled by their artistic talents and rugged earthbound charm . . . but this gypsy bunny outcharmed them all.

“Greetings and salutations, my fair doe,” the gray bunny beamed, in the smooth lilting accent of the northern Karavaar mountain region.

“Greetings and sal . . . saltu-uh . . .” Barbarella stammered, frozen in awe.

“Can you tell me how to get to the Thistleburg Village Green?”

“Uh, yes. The Village Green is . . . a mile south on Buckthorn Road, then half a mile east on Blackberry Lane, next to Saint Cottontail’s Cathedral.”

“Many thanks, my fair doe. I’m scheduled to perform at the Spring Blossom Festival tomorrow night. My fellow gypsies have already arrived there. I straggled behind in the countryside for a few hours, admiring the natural scenery and getting some inspiration for a new song.”

“Are you a singer, Mister, uh . . .”

“Bingo is my name. Bingo Bunny, lead singer of the Travelling Speedwell Troubadours.”

Bingo! What a charming name for a ravishing rabbit.

“Barbarella is my name,” she replied quite nervously. “Barbarella . . . Bunny.”

“A lovely name for a lovely rabbit. Nice alliteration.”

The breeze shifted to the west, ruffling his floppy ears. Bingo twitched his little pink nose and hummed pleasantly.

“That perfume you’re wearing is simply exquisite!” he exclaimed. “I must know what brand it is.”

“I never wear any perfume, Mister Bingo. You must be smelling the loveleaf in my knapsack.”

“Loveleaf! What a lovely name for a leaf. I come from the chilly mountains, where exotic plants like that never grow. What do you make with loveleaf, if not perfume?”

“It’s a secret, Mister Bingo,” Barbarella replied playfully.

“Ooh, a secret. Pretty bunnies like you always have big secrets up their sleeves.”

She giggled at his quick wit, eager to find out much more about him. The wind shifted in the opposite direction, delivering a curious smell, one she’d never smelled before. A rich tangy aroma, coming from Bingo’s knapsack.

“What is that other delightful aroma I detect in your knapsack, Mister Bingo?”

“Believe it or not, purple carrots.”

“Purple carrots?” she gasped. “I never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither did I, until I beheld them with my own eyes.” He took off his knapsack and pulled out a purple carrot. Just like an orange carrot, but purple. “I found them growing near my house at the base of Mount Feirefiz. I thought they were rather strange, but then I took a taste, and …” He took a small bite, and his face lit up with joy. “Wow-eee! Simply dee-licious!”

“Can I have a taste?”

“Of course you can. I want to spread the word about this terrific tuber.”

Bingo pointed the long pointy vegetable toward her face. She approached it hesitantly; always being afraid to try new things. Especially purple things. But then she took a little bite off the tip, and . . .

“Oh, my bunny gods! This is the tastiest tuber I ever tried!”

It tasted like a carrot, but so much more. Cherries, apples, strawberries, and all the other tasty red fruits, in just the right proportion, sweet without any sugar. A veritable rainbow of flavor, shining directly on her taste buds.

“Take the whole thing. My treat.”

“Thank you kindly, Mister Bingo,” she beamed while putting three purple carrots in her own knapsack. Bingo reached into his knapsack and pulled out a small pouch. “Take some seeds too, and plant them in your garden so you’ll have many more purple carrots.”

She took the seeds and shot him a coy smile. The wind shifted direction once again, delivering the unmistakable smell of . . .

“A wolf!” they exclaimed in sudden terror. A split second later, a big gray wolf pounced out from behind a cluster of torgavort bushes and blocked their path. They were too scared to run, and it wouldn’t do any good anyway. This was surely the end of the road for Bingo Bunny and Barbarella.

“Ah, two plump juicy bunnies!” the wolf crooned hungrily. “This must be my lucky day. I haven’t lunch or dinner for five straight days.”

“Please spare us, Mister Wolf,” Barbarella whimpered while sobbing pathetically.

“Foolish rabbit, your tears mean nothing to an apex predator like me. But they do add a nice pinch of salt to season my meat.”

Bingo growled right back at the wolf, and pulled something out of his knapsack. He unfolded it quickly, revealing a two-inch long curved knife.

“Get away from us, wolfie! Away, I say!” Bingo barked at the surprised wolf.

“A rabbit who fights back?” the wolf snickered. “Has the world gone topsy-turvey?”

“Beat it, you mangy mutt! Find your lunch somewhere else, or I’ll wipe that smirk right off your ugly face.”

“You don’t have the guts, you lazy gypsy bum.”

The ethnic insult pushed Bingo over the edge. He took three quick swipes at the wolf’s big gray nose, making him yelp in pain like a pathetic little Chihuahua.

“Ow, you crazy bunny! This is way too weird for me. I’ve lost my appetite.”

The wolf quickly ran up the hill, leaving a trail of small blood drops in his wake.

“How’s that for lazy?” Bingo shouted toward the retreating predator. “I’m great at kung-fu too,” he added, then he kicked and punched the air like a martial arts master. “You better not mess with us again!”

The wolf retreated over the top of the hill, disappearing from view. Barbarella stood there in stunned disbelief for a minute, then she gave Bingo a big hug.

“My hero!” she beamed. “Thank you so very very much.”

“You’re very very welcome. It’s about time for bunnies to take a stand and defend themselves,” he said proudly.

“How can I ever repay you?”

“You don’t have to pay me a single penny. But I’d love to take you out on a date at the Spring Blossom Festival.”

“I would love that, Mister Bingo. Let’s meet for dinner and dancing tomorrow night.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. But right now, I must hop into town and rejoin my fellow gypsies, to rehearse for our new show-stopping number.”

Bingo gave her a friendly wave, and hopped eagerly down Buckthorn road, toward a distant plume of smoke emerging from the Bunny Bran cereal factory in downtown Thistleburg. Barbarella laughed in spite of herself, overjoyed at the prospect that fate had thrown in her direction. She went back to her warren, and barely managed to finish making her carrot stew for the festival.

She’d long since resigned herself to being a loner; preferring to dwell in her own thoughts and fantasies without being tied down by the responsibilities of a relationship. But the way she felt when she gazed into Bingo’s big green eyes was just so . . . indescribable. It wasn’t just the way he looked, but also his bravery, and the sense of adventure that he represented, which was quite lacking in her own life. She’d never traveled more than five miles away from Thistleburg, so her entire concept of the outside world came from stories and songs, told and sung by bunnies like Bingo.

The sun set over Popkin hill, and Barbarella lay her giddy head down to rest on a feather pillow. She feared she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, with so much repressed longing racing through her mind. She worried that she would be tired, groggy, and uncoordinated during their big date at the festival; stepping on his furry feet while dancing. She pictured herself whirling and whirling across the wooden dance floor on the village green, holding onto Bingo’s gray paws for stability as the musicians on the bandstand kept playing their instruments like there was no tomorrow. For her, that would almost be the literal truth. How could she go back to her mundane little life under an oak tree after getting a taste of the great wild beyond?

The repetitive notes and motions of “The Blue Bunny Waltz” finally lulled her off to slumber. Her dreams were just as blurry as her waking reverie.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Eight hours later, Barbarella loaded eight kettles full of carrot stew onto a covered wagon, and spurred her miniature horse Plinko into action. She entered Thistleburg a half hour later. A jubilant festive spirit radiated throughout the cobblestone streets. The townrabbits were all dressed in their finest attire, eagerly welcoming the spring season after a long cold dreary winter. The lady rabbits all wore fancy dresses and bonnets, with enough lace, ribbons and flowers to doll up an elephant.

She arrived at the festival site on the village green and set up her booth near the grandstand.

“Try some carrot stew, my bunny brethren!” she called toward the passing masses. “Barbarella’s Famous Savory Blend, guaranteed to wet your whistle and waggle your fluffy tail!”

So many customers stopped by, each one paying five pennies for a bowl of sweet-smelling orange indulgence. King Harker and Queen Wumple emerged from their nearby palace with their royal entourage, and they marched directly over to Barbarella’s booth.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Barbarella proclaimed with a humble bow.

“Greetings, Barbarella. I’ve been looking forward to this festival all winter long,” King Harker said happily.

“Me too,” Queen Wumple echoed. “The music, the dancing, the marvelous flowery décor . . . but especially your marvelous carrot stew.”

“I made it especially ‘marvelous’ this year, just for you.”

King Harker reached into his royal purple robe and pulled out a sack full of copper ekhunat coins. “I’d like twenty bowls, please. One for each member of my royal retinue.”

Barbarella quickly ladled out a gallon’s worth into twenty paper bowls, serving the beloved monarch of New Lapin with her beloved perky charm.

“Here you go, King Harker. Thank you for keeping our country so peaceful and prosperous,” she beamed.

“I try my best,” King Harker chuckled. “I wish I could get rid of all the wolves, but I suppose a king needs some kind of enemy to keep things interesting.”

The royal retinue moved toward the picnic tables with their meals. Barbarella looked over at the empty grandstand where the Travelling Speedwell Troubadours would soon perform, and her mind drifted toward Bingo. She was his date today, so no one else could woo him or hug him or kiss him. Ah, the very thought of kissing those smirking bunny lips, above that long delightful gray beard! The anticipation made her call out even louder toward the passing throng.

“Try some carrot stew, my bunny brethren! Guaranteed to wet your whistle and--”

“Waggle your fluffy tail!” Bingo beamed, surprising Barbarella who was looking in the opposite direction.

“Bingo!” Barbarella beamed right back. “I’m so glad you stopped by.”

“I’m looking forward to dancing with you, my fair doe.”

“I’m looking forward to hearing your new song, my gray goblin.”

Bingo snickered at her improvised nickname, and pulled two coins out of his red gypsy robe.

“One bowl of your famous savory blend, please.”

She served him a big smile. He took a sip of the orange stew, and his floppy ears bolted upright.

“Mmm-mmm! This stew isn’t just savory, it’s simply astounding. I love that truth in advertising.”

“You’ll never hear any false advertising from my small business, unlike those big heartless corporations.”

“Do I detect a hint of loveleaf?”

She suddenly got nervous about giving up her big secret. “Uh . . .”

He shot her a playful grin. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. In the meantime, I must warm up with the Troubadours for our big performance. ‘Till later, fair ye well, Bar-baganza!”

“Fair ye well, Bingo-bubby!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An hour later, The Travelling Speedwell Troubadours took the stage, to much applause from the gathered townrabbits. Barbarella watched them from her booth, with one eye on her stew ladle and one eye on the gypsy performers. Bingo and nine other bunnies opened with a flamenco dance number, whirling and strutting about to the sound of a six-piece band. His movements were very smooth and graceful, enhanced by his loose red robe and long flopping ears. The hypnotizing rhythm whisked her mind away to a remote mountainous landscape, where life was simpler than in this urban capital region of Bunnsylvania. Harder, but simpler. The dancers finished with a flourish, and then a very pretty doe started singing a romantic ballad, as two guitar players strummed slowly and softly:

Sweet little buck, return to me

across the land, across the sea

by ship, by horse, by magic wings

any way you know . . .

Bring your sweetness back to me

and make my garden grow . . .

The lady bunny’s song finally ended, and Bingo took her place, clapping his paws to raise the tempo to a brisk joyful waltz.

“All right, bunnies, I’ve got a brand new song for you,” Bingo beamed while gazing out in Barbarella’s direction. “It was inspired by the amazing scenery I passed by on the way to Thistleburg, but it’s dedicated to an amazing doe that I rescued from a starving wolf. This one’s for you, Barbarella of the Golden Ears.”

Oh my doe,

you set my heart aflame!

Oh my doe,

with all your crazy games.

Oh my doe,

how could you say no . . .

staying alone in your big tree hole

Pining for a buck like me?

The gypsy dancers joined in, hopping and prancing around the stage to the energetic rhythm.

Oh my doe!

come away with me . . .

Oh my doe,

adventure fancy-free.

Love waits round each mountain bend

and romance by the sea!

Bingo’s happy, lilting song ended on a triumphant high c-note, and the audience burst into applause. Barbarella’s heart raced with admiration for that charming and talented rabbit. The rest of the troubadour’s show went by in a blur, as she served stew to many more bunnies. Barbarella finally closed up her shop so she could join Bingo on the dance floor during the traditional jam session. She hopped her way through a maze of moving bunnies, trying to pick out Bingo’s gray ears from the big writhing mass of fur and cotton.

She finally located him in a far corner of the stone dance floor in front of the grandstand. Much to her dismay, Bingo was dancing with arm-in-arm with another doe, strutting about to the Blue Bunny Waltz. She recognized her as Furmatella, a waitress at the nearby Snowdrop Cafe on Marjoram Lane. Barbarella watched them in utter shock for a moment. They kept dancing and dancing, looking so happy together. Then, to her absolute horror, Furmatella kissed Bingo on the cheek . . . and Bingo kissed her back!

“Bingo, how could you!” she shrieked, and then she hopped quickly off the dance floor. She ran over to a shady nook in the bushes next to Saint Cottontail’s Cathedral, and burst into tears. How could he do that to her? He built her up with so much anticipation, but then he turned out to be a playboy bunny, like so many other artists. She was foolish to expect to find her soulmate in a wandering gypsy. The great wild beyond is in their blood, so they couldn’t possibly be tied down to a single rabbit. Perhaps her fate truly was to live alone for the rest of her life, just watching happy bunny couples hopping down the road, never finding any of that romantic joy for herself.

“Grrr, I just want to strangle that lousy Furmatella!” Barbarella growled to herself through her tears.

“Well, don’t do that, Bar-baganza.”

Barbarella whirled around and saw Bingo leaning against a bush, with a very concerned expression.

“Bingo!” she beamed joyfully at the sight of his handsome gray face. But her anger quickly returned. “How could you kiss that . . . that . . . awful shrew-rabbit! I thought you loved me!”

“I do love you, Barbarella. I fell madly in love with you at first sight. But I didn’t know how much you loved me, until now.”

“But . . . but . . . why did you kiss another doe on our date night?”

“You don’t understand gypsy customs very well, my dear. We kiss each other on the cheek quite often. It’s as much a friendly greeting for us as an expression of romance. When we see a pretty bunny, we simply must exchange ‘friendly greetings,’ and a friendly dance. It doesn’t have to mean anything more for us.”

“So you don’t really want Furmatella?”

“I only want you, my precious golden nugget.”

“Thank goodness,” Barbarella sighed; quite relieved. “Sorry for overreacting. I don’t get out much, so I tend to read other rabbits the wrong way.”

“That’s quite all right, Bar. Now why don’t you dry off those tears, and hit the dance floor with me. A little flamenco always gets my fires burning.”

“Me too.” Barbarella wiped off her tears, stood up, and offered her right hand. “You may escort me to the royal ball, Prince Charming,” she beamed.

“With pleasure, Your Majesty,” Bingo chuckled. He took her hand and led her back into the teeming throng of Thistleburgers, beneath hundreds of colorful flower pots suspended on wires over the village green. The rest of the Travelling Speedwell Troubadours started playing a lively flamenco tune. Bingo and Barbarella kept whirling and whirling in a dizzy romantic trance, impressing all the townrabbits and outshining even King Harker and Queen Wumple. They were so in love, and they never wanted to let each other go.

And they never did. They got married two months later in Saint Cottontail’s Cathedral, and Bingo took her on a big world tour, seeing all the best historic sites and natural wonders with the Traveling Speedwell Troubadours. They only returned to Thistleburg twice a year for the town festivals, but that was fine with Barbarella. Bingo unlocked her repressed gypsy spirit and turned her into a merrily wandering doe. He trained her to become a kung-fu master, and they fought off many wolves with their martial arts and sharp bunny blades. They planted purple carrots everywhere they went, and sold plenty of savory carrot stew. Nobody could figure out what the secret ingredient was.

Barbarella also became a mother, many times over. Thirty bucks and forty does; all of whom lived happily ever after.