Unreal Collection!

by Paul Jennings

  ‘What did he look like?’ said Dad. His voice was shrill and urgent.

  ‘I don’t know. I was scared. I only saw his eyes. I ran off.’

  ‘This is it,’ yelped Dad. ‘This is what I’ve been waiting for. This is the answer to the problem.’ He hurried off to the window and looked down at the sea. The waves were crashing now. The wind whipped at them, tearing off their foamy tops and pelting them into the humid skies.

  ‘I’m going,’ said Dad. ‘Wait here. Everything will be all right.’

  ‘No way,’ said Lehman. ‘You’re not leaving me behind again. I’m coming too.’

  Shutters banged and a blast of wind broke into the hut like a violent burglar. Everything shook.

  ‘There’s going to be a terrible storm,’ yelled Dad. ‘You can’t come, it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘If you go – I go,’ said Lehman. He looked his father straight in the eye. They stared at each other.

  ‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance,’ said Dad. ‘He might go. I have to . . .’

  ‘What’s it got to do with this?’ yelled Lehman. He held up his arms. The nails had crept up to his shoulders. And another row was growing. Budding like an ivory chain around his neck. ‘What about me? It’s all right for you. Look at your skin. Normal. Look at me. Covered in nails. Don’t you care?’

  ‘It’s because I care,’ said Dad. He had tears in his eyes. He tried to explain. ‘When we were here before. When you were young . . .’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ said Lehman. ‘You know I don’t.’

  ‘No,’ said Dad. ‘But you were here. And your mother. And that man. He might. He’s our only chance to . . .’

  A terrible gust of wind shook the bungalow. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The sky was torn and savage. Dad stared outside. His face as wild as the storm. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘Later. I’ll explain later.’ He ran to the door and vanished into the lashing wind.

  8

  Lehman followed his father, still dressed in nothing but shorts. He didn’t feel the raging wind. Or the stinging rain. He didn’t notice the nails still growing and spreading. A worse fear had filled him. He was frightened for his father. Lehman couldn’t see him but he knew that he was somewhere ahead. Down the track that led to the beach.

  The wind screamed and howled. Tore at his hair. Stung his eyes. He hurried on and finally found his father. He was standing at the end of the track. Staring into the furious waves that dashed up the beach and crashed into the cliff. The rocks in which the stranger had hidden were nearly covered. They were cut off by the surf. There was no safe way to get to them.

  Dad peered at the sand that was revealed as the sea sucked back each wave. He measured the distance to the rocks with his eyes. Then he turned and shouted over the noise of the wind. ‘Is that where he was? Is that where you saw the man?’

  Lehman nodded and then grabbed his father’s arm. ‘Don’t go,’ he yelled. ‘It’s too rough. You won’t have a chance.’

  Dad snatched away his arm. He waited as a large wave began its sweep back from the beach. He jumped and ran along the sodden sand. His feet made deep, wet footprints which filled with water. The wave raced back into the sea, leaving the beach clear. A new wave ate the old and began its forward rush.

  The desperate man was halfway. He sank up to his ankles with each step. The wet sand slowed him to a stumbling crawl. ‘Go,’ whispered Lehman. ‘Go, go, go.’ He watched the approaching wave grow. ‘Don’t,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t.’

  The wave took no notice. It raced hungrily up the beach. It swirled around Dad’s ankles. Knocked him from his feet. Buried him in its angry foam.

  9

  Lehman squinted and peered into the water. His father was gone. The waves were empty. Then he saw a helpless bundle washing out into the deep. Dad raised an arm. And then another. He was swimming far out. His arms flayed. He seemed to be moving into deeper water. He was helpless against the strength of the sea. ‘I’m coming,’ yelled Lehman. He stepped forward, waiting for the next backwash.

  But before he could move, he noticed Dad riding the crest of a wave. Surfing inwards at enormous speed. A tiny, helpless cork rushing forward towards the waiting cliff.

  Lehman sighed with relief. And then fright. The wave was too big. It was going to run up to the cliff and kill itself on the rocks. It seemed to gather all its strength. It flung Dad full into the jagged boulders. And then left him, hanging helplessly on a small ledge.

  Without another thought, Lehman jumped onto the sand. He had to get to Dad before the next wave began its run. He made it just in time. He grabbed the stunned man by his shirt and dragged him to his feet. Dad stumbled and leaned on Lehman as the next wave crashed around them.

  It sucked and pulled at their legs. Tried to topple them. But Lehman felt a strange strength. It was almost as if the sea had no power over him. He dragged his father back to the steps where they sat sodden and panting. The disappointed waves swirled and smashed below them.

  Dad tried to stand. He took a few steps like a drunken man. Lehman noticed a huge swelling on his father’s head. A lump as big as a tennis ball. His eyes swivelled and he started to fall.

  Lehman grabbed his father by the arm. He managed to drag him, stumbling up to the house. It took all his strength. His sides ached. His chest throbbed with pain. He burst through the door and dumped his father into the chair.

  Dad stared out of the window. His eyes were glazed. As the wind dropped and the storm grew still, he held out a shaking arm. He pointed down to the beach. Then he drew a deep breath, shuddered, and was still.

  Lehman knew his father was dead. Silent tears trickled down his cheeks and splashed on the nails that covered his chest. He sat there like a sorrowful knight of old. A warrior in a coat of mail. Crying for a friend who had fallen.

  10

  All night Lehman sat. And all morning. He’d never seen a dead person before. He didn’t know what to do. Finally he stood up and walked to the door. He looked out at the sea. He wanted help. But he didn’t want anyone to come.

  He knew he could never leave the island. Not while he was covered in nails. He couldn’t go back to the world. A world that would laugh. Or stare and wonder. He could see himself sitting in a school desk. Raising an encrusted arm.

  He walked back into the room and looked at Dad. He had to do it now. Or he never would. He gently closed his father’s eyes. They were soft but cold. It was like shutting a book at the end of a story. A book that would never be opened again. But a book that would never be forgotten. Not for as long as the waves beat on the lonely beach below.

  Dad would be heavy. Lehman knew that. He had to dig a grave close to the house.

  He chose a sandy spot that overlooked the sea. Lehman could just see the rocks jutting out where he had seen the face. He started to talk to his father as if he was still there. Standing by him.

  ‘This is the place,’ he said. ‘You can see down there. Maybe what you wanted will come. Whatever it was.’

  The sand was soft. He dug easily and soon had a shallow trench hollowed in the sand. It came up to his knees. He didn’t want to make it too deep. Not because the work was hard. But because he couldn’t bear to drop his father into a gaping hole. Something might bump. Or break.

  Lehman returned to the silent man. He grabbed his father under the arms and tugged him slowly out of the door. The dead weight was heavy. Dad’s feet dragged and bumped down the steps.

  Lehman lowered him gently into the grave.

  He looked down at the silent figure, stretched out. It was as if he was sleeping peacefully in the sand. Lehman picked up the shovel. But something was wrong. He felt bad. As if he had to do something that would hurt. Then he knew what it was. He couldn’t put a shovel of sand on his father’s face. Even though he was dead.

  He fetched an old newspaper from inside. Then he looked at the gentle face for the last time and covered it with the paper. He filled the hole with sand and smoothed it down.
He had no strength left to make a gravestone so he pushed the shovel into the sand. And left it standing as a tall marker.

  ‘Goodbye, Dad,’ he said.

  Lehmann stood and stared out to sea. The sun glinted on the thousands of nails that covered almost every part of him. He looked like a tall lizard man. Standing. Waiting. Daring an invader to come.

  There was no boat on the water. He didn’t care. He didn’t want anyone to see him as he was, covered in nails. A great feeling of loneliness filled him. As far as he knew, there was no one else in the world like him.

  11

  He walked inside and looked in the mirror. His face was clear. But his chest, back, arms and legs were covered in the new nails. He suddenly opened a drawer. And pulled out some nail clippers. He wondered if he would have to spend his life clipping thousands of nails as they grew. He laughed wildly and threw the clippers out of the open window.

  It had taken him all afternoon to dig the grave.

  The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky. In an hour or two it would be dark. And he was alone. He wondered if he should lock the windows. And bolt the door. He knew that tonight – when the dark came – he would be frightened.

  The face in the cave would come. Creeping. Stealing up the path. Wandering in the shadows. He knew that he would jump at every sound. He would try not to sleep. But in the end sleep would come. And so would the unknown man.

  He jumped to his feet. ‘You won’t get me,’ he shouted.

  ‘I’ll get you.’

  He ran outside and sharpened a long stick with the axe. Now he had a spear. He marched down the path towards the beach. His legs felt weak. His stomach was cold and heavy. He wanted to turn. And run. And hide.

  But he forced himself on until he reached the beach. The sea was still and blue. It lapped gently on the sandy beach. The wild waves had gone. Lehman strode along the sand towards the rocks. And the cave.

  He shuddered even though the air was warm. He gripped the spear tightly with his nailed fingers. The tide was out and the small cave now opened onto the sand. He reached the entrance and peered into the gloom.

  There were soft, dripping noises. And the sound of steady breathing. Someone was in there.

  ‘Come out,’ he shrieked. His voice cracked and ended in a squeak. He coughed and tried again. ‘Come out, whoever you are.’ The words echoed in the cave. Then something moved. He thought he heard a slippery, rustling noise.

  His courage fled. He started walking backwards, too frightened to turn around.

  12

  Three people came out of the cave. If people is the word. Two men. And a smaller one. They wore no clothes. But instead, were covered from neck to toe – in nails.

  Lehman felt faint. He couldn’t take it in. He wondered if this island gave people the terrible nail disease.

  They smiled at him. Warm, friendly smiles. The child giggled nervously. The nail people were wet. They had been in the sea. Water glistened and sparkled from their nails. They shone like neat rows of wet glass.

  One of the men pointed into the deep water further out. A swift shadow like a shark circling moved far down. It rushed towards the shore with the speed of a train. Then burst out of the water and back in again.

  Lehman caught a glimpse of a sparkling fish tail. And fair hair. It swirled several times. And then climbed onto a rock. A woman with long golden hair. And a fish tail covered in nails.

  The men laughed. Their chuckles sounded like bubbles bursting out of the water. Lehman stared at the nails which shivered as they moved. He spoke aloud. Half to himself. Half to them. ‘Not nails,’ he said, ‘but scales.’

  He turned back to the mermaid. In her hair, she wore a golden clip, set with pearls. The same pin that he had seen every day in his mother’s photograph.

  In that moment Lehman knew that while his father had been a man, his mother was a mermaid.

  She beckoned to him, calling him out into the water. Then she dived down under the rippling surface. The mermen nodded at him, pointing out to sea. Like Lehman, they had legs rather than a tail.

  Lehman walked. And walked. And walked. The waves closed over his head. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath of water. It passed through his new gills with a fizz of bubbles. His head was filled with lightness. And happiness. He began to swim, deep down, following his mother.

  Then, for a second, he remembered something. He burst upwards faster and faster and plunged out of the water like a dolphin. He snatched one last look at the island. And saw, high on a hill, a small mound. A shovel stood pointing to the bright sky above. He knew now why his father had brought him here. A fish-boy could only be happy in one place – the ocean.

  Lehman waved goodbye and then plunged down far below the surface. And followed his family out to sea.

  See, this kid was hanging around outside the flower shop and Jenny (the shop assistant) thought he was a trouble maker. She reckoned he might be going to nick something. That’s why she called for me. I have a black belt in judo and if I do say so myself I am quite good in a fight.

  Not that I’m tough. No, generally I am as quiet as a lamb. I’m not big either. In fact a lot of people think I am about fourteen years old and they are amazed when I tell them I am really seventeen. I got the job at the flower shop because of my strength. They needed someone strong who could lump all the boxes around and lift heavy flower pots for Jenny. At first they didn’t want me on account of my size but when they saw what I could do they changed their minds and gave me the job.

  Anyway, to get back to the story. This kid (who looked about my age) really was acting strangely. He would peer into the shop looking at the flowers for sale. When anyone looked at him he sloped off down the street. About five minutes later, back he would come. This happened about twenty times. I should add that I thought I had seen him hanging around before. Perhaps on the train.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said to Jenny. ‘I’ll fix this weirdo up in no time at all.’ I walked out of the door and approached the boy who was acting so strangely. Straightaway he turned around and started to walk off.

  ‘Come back here,’ I ordered in my sternest voice. ‘I want to talk to you.’ He turned around and went red in the face. I could see that he was nervous. His knees were wobbling like jelly and he just stood there with his mouth dangling open.

  ‘What are you hanging around here for?’ I asked. I started to feel sorry for him, he looked so nervous, and I had a feeling that maybe he was a bit sweet on Jenny. I have to admit that she is the spunkiest girl in all of Melbourne and he wouldn’t have been the first one who fancied her.

  He seemed to have trouble talking. It was as if he was being strangled by invisible hands but finally he managed to gasp out the word ‘flowers’.

  I grabbed his arm firmly and led him in to the shop counter. ‘Here,’ I said, giving a wink to Jenny. ‘This gentleman wants flowers.’

  Jenny turned on her fatal smile and said in her sweetest voice, ‘What sort of flowers, sir?’

  I grinned to myself. She always called the shy ones ‘sir’. It made them feel better when they were embarrassed about buying flowers. The poor kid went even redder and looked around wildly. He obviously didn’t know a kangaroo paw from a carnation. ‘Roses,’ he blurted out, pointing to our most expensive line.

  I should tell you here what I found out later, at the funeral. This poor boy had twenty-six dollars in his pocket. Twenty of it was the change from his grandmother’s pension cheque and six of it was his own. His grandmother needed this money badly to buy her week’s groceries. Jenny looked at the roses. ‘A good choice,’ she said. ‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they? How many would you like?’

  Once again he struggled for words. ‘How much, er, well, I, you see.’ Boy, he was the shyest person I had ever seen. He just couldn’t seem to get anything out. Finally the words ‘one dozen’ managed to escape from his frozen mouth.

  Jenny started to wrap up the roses. She always goes to a lot of trouble to make the
m look good. She wraps the stems up in pretty paper and then she gets a long length of ribbon and ties a bow. Next she runs one of her long slender fingernails along the ends of the ribbon and they curl up like magic. I have tried to do this myself many times but it never works. Probably because I bite my fingernails.

  ‘Are they for your girlfriend?’ asked Jenny. She is a bit on the nosy side, is Jenny. The red-faced boy shook his head and looked at his shoes.

  ‘They are for a girl though, aren’t they?’

  He nodded unhappily.

  ‘Is this the first time you have given flowers to a girl?’ she asked gently.

  He nodded again and made a gurgling noise in his throat.

  ‘What shall I write on the card?’ I could see that Jenny felt sorry for this kid. She was trying to help him all she could. The poor thing couldn’t seem to talk at all. ‘What about your name?’ she suggested. ‘You will have to put who they are from.’

  ‘Gerald,’ he answered at last. ‘My . . . my name’s Gerald.’

  Jenny smiled. ‘And who are they for?’ she asked kindly.

  He didn’t know which leg to stand on. He was really embarrassed. He looked at me as if he wished I wasn’t there.

  ‘Go away,’ said Jenny. ‘You are embarrassing a customer.’

  She was the boss so I went up to the back of the shop and started stacking up some heavy concrete pots.

  Jenny wrote something on the card and tied it on to the ribbon. I snuck along behind a row of daffodils so that I could hear what happened. I really hoped that things would work out well for this shy boy.

  Jenny put the finishing touches to the bunch and passed over the flowers. ‘Now,’ she went on. ‘They are two dollars each. That will be twenty-four dollars.’

  Forget about Gerald being red in the face before. That was nothing compared to what happened next. He went as red as the dozen bloomin’ roses he had just bought. This great wave of redness swept down from his ears, down his neck, and for all I know, right down to his toes.