SAT on a sun-splashed park invigilating the progress of migratory snails I sensed I was about to open the door to a storm of scientific controversy so ferocious it would extinguish a century of bunsen burning. Just as my theory of deviational patterns of protective re-routing was about to crystallise my concentration was exploded and I quickly observed two arresting phenomena. Firstly, I had somehow become raised from the ground by a full three feet at a diagonal aspect. Secondly, to compound this discomfiture the air was filled with the unmistakable odour of damp rabbit.
I was confident in my olifactory acuity, having been employed for a season by a Milanese perfumier and been forced to spend most of my time persuading the foolish woman that the world was not yet ready for a range of autumn scents based on the fragrance of wet ferals. I glanced port-side.
It was he.
There, panting, haunches fluttering, his head lung low under wilting ears, the Easter Bunny sat rummaging in his basket. He withdrew a notably wet cigar butt and absently frisked his thighs. With one hand I extended a book of matches, with the other I switched on the dictaphone. Unwieldly as his paws were, he persisted, and within a mere half-hour had managed to ignite his foul cheroot. "Thanks Mac," he said and kindly shifted his bulk to a more centrifugal position. I was lowered. He must have weighed 300 pounds. If you include the ears he stood nine feet tall. This would be a difficult interview to pitch. I played it casually.
ME: Hot Day.
EB: (after a long, long rabbity sigh) Thanks for the bulletin.
ME: You look a little done in.
EB: Great. A guy wants a quiet smoke, he finds himself a vet on a bench.
Already his famous temper was beginning to show. Since it was Friday I had been shopping. You know what happens next. Idly, contemptuously even, I reached within my own basket and began to unfold skeins of cling-wrap from a larger than usual iceberg lettuce. The whole bench stiffened. You are familiar with the expression "eyes like a startled rabbit"? Believe me those eyes don't compare to the actuality of humungous eyes like a humungous startled rabbit.
It only lasted for a moment. Even as I snapped off a crisp leaf he tried to re-establish his cool. It didn't work, hence the absence in our language of phrases such as "Cool as an enormous rabbit. By the time I had chewed my first dainty morsel, rivulets of drool had extinguished his smouldering dog end. He broke.
EB: Mac, he said. Spare a leaf huh?
ME: You'll tell me about the egg business?
EB: Yes, just give me a bite.
ME: Promise?
He nodded furiously, almost scalping me with his erect, tensile ears. I thrust the white ball of bunny bliss onto his lap and witnessed several horrible minutes of twitching, gnashing, snuffling and plaintive peeps of happy disgorgement. From head to foot I was covered in shreads and viscous spit. But it was worth it.
ME: Where do you get the eggs?
EB: They ship them in off the Baltic Straits. Then its seaplanes all over the world. I do sole delivery, basic 6040 split, sees me through the year. I get kick-backs in Moscow Vienna and West Cork.
ME: OK. Mrs Easter? She come with you?
EB: Come on man, I'm a rabbit. You know how it is. We're Mormons.
ME: Is it difficult relating to the Modern World as in an immortal mutant rabbit?
EB: Nah, I got cable. I'm tuned in you know? I know it's a dirty world
ME: What message do you have for children everywhere?
EB: Don't eat tin foil.
ME: What about littering and being good kids and so on?
EB: Look I deliver eggs, OK? Not civics. I used to try and put across a message way back when I was fluffy. I was in the pink then. In fact I was pink, great shape, fast, dedicated. I could do the whole of Asia in an hour. Pop-pop-pop! The chuckling pink bunny of goodness . . . I soon got that knocked out of me.
ME: You ever work with Santa? Tooth Fairy"
EB: Yeah, heah. The guys. You think I'm tired, you should see them. IF is not looking good. He uses assistants all the time now . . . Doesn't trust himself lifting the pillow. He's got the shakes pretty bad. You ever see a fairy drinking meths man? It does something to you.
ME: Financial trouble?
EB: What else? They got him for leaving milk tops instead of pennies in the 1970s. He was playing both ends against the middle til there wasn't no middle left. They straightened it out in the end but it was pretty heavy. Let's just say you won't find his number in the fairy phonebook. As for Nick, or Santa as you call him, we did some, stuff when Prancer had a bum leg to make up the numbers. Bright guy, he doesn't eat snow for tea. You should see his wife. Sometimes I wish I didn't have these god-damned long ears. Why the hell she goes for all that ho, ho, ho stuff gets me.
ME: But Mr Bunny, people have admired you for eons. Don't you feel 0 should set some kind of example?
EB: Listen Mister, thanks for the lettuce, OK" I've had fresher but it was better than looking in my pelt for leftovers. I answered, your nosey questions and now I got work to do. These eggs don't roll by themselves, so pardon me for not being St Francis of Assisi.
With that he looped his basket into the crook of his foreleg and leapt away, coughing.
