Grace

by Morris Gleitzman

  In class once Mr Reece told us about the city of Gomorrah. God decided it was a very sinful place so He smote it and made it fall in a heap, leaving just piles of rubble and junk.

  Denny’s Salvage depot yard looked like that, but with more old cars.

  And a red tow truck.

  I stood at the big wire gates and looked at the piles of second-hand bricks and tangled rusting metal and wondered if Mr Reece was right about the outside world. How in the near future God would let it fall in a heap because of all the sin.

  I hadn’t seen much sin while I was walking from the station. Lots of dirty noisy factories, but not much sin. Maybe all the sin was going on inside.

  At that moment I spotted some sin inside Denny’s Salvage depot yard.

  The tow-truck driver, the grown-up one, was coming out of an old wooden house that looked like it needed salvaging fairly urgently. He had a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. He must have forgotten it was only eight-fifteen in the morning.

  He saw me, but didn’t smile. Or wave.

  Actually he scowled.

  I thought about turning round and going home.

  I couldn’t.

  I needed help from an expert, and he was the only salvage expert I knew.

  ‘Yeah?’ said the tow-truck driver, squinting through his own cigarette smoke as I walked towards him across the mud. ‘What?’

  Next to him was a pile of hulking car bodies. On the front of each rusting bonnet was the same badge. A lion.

  Now I really knew how Daniel must have felt.

  The tow-truck driver was looking at me more closely. Suddenly his eyes opened a bit wider and I saw that recognition was upon him.

  ‘Jeez,’ he said. ‘You’re a long way from heaven.’ He scowled again. ‘Is God’s loony chauffeur with you?’

  I realised he meant Mr Gosper.

  Quickly I shook my head.

  ‘It’s just me,’ I said. ‘Grace. Are you Mr Denny?’

  He spat on the ground, which was probably why it was so muddy.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘But you’ve come to the wrong place.’

  I didn’t understand.

  ‘I salvage wrecks,’ he said. ‘My wife salvages the tragic hairdos. Her salon’s near the station.’

  I knew I must have wisps out everywhere and probably a collapsed bun, but I resisted the temptation to repin it. I had something more important to do. Find the person here who might feel like helping me.

  ‘I’m actually looking for your son,’ I said. ‘You know, the one with Go Saints written on his head.’

  Mr Denny grunted.

  ‘Pretty cool, eh?’ he said. ‘My wife did it. Follow me.’

  We went inside the house, into a kind of kitchen, except there were no women there. Just Mr Denny’s son sitting at a table scrubbing a greasy engine part with a very dirty toothbrush.

  ‘Kyle,’ said Mr Denny. ‘Visitor. Name’s Grace. Remember she’s religious, so no swearing.’

  He left us to it.

  Kyle stared at me.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘If you’ve come for the chocolate, I haven’t got it any more.’

  I could hear Mr Denny outside, doing something with a power drill.

  ‘I need your help,’ I said.

  Kyle looked anxious.

  ‘It’ll have to be quick,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to finish breakfast and leave for school in ten minutes.’

  As fast as I could, I explained about Dad being booted out of church.

  ‘He can be salvaged,’ I said, ‘I know he can.’

  I pulled my bible project out of my bag and slid the folder across the table.

  ‘There’s lots of information in here to help you find him,’ I said, opening the folder at The Book Of Dad.

  Kyle stared at the folder.

  He was tempted, I could tell. He glanced at me and I could tell he was feeling sympathetic.

  But he shook his head.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘My dad doesn’t do that kind of salvaging. He’s only interested in metal and bricks. And wood if it’s not painted.’

  Kyle gave me an apologetic look and poured himself a bowl of Coco Pops.

  ‘Do you want some?’ he said.

  I shook my head. I didn’t have time to explain that I’d have to boil them.

  ‘You could try and persuade your dad,’ I said. ‘Tell him how this type of salvaging will help you learn new things and get on in life.’

  Kyle thought about this.

  He shook his head again.

  Frantically I tried to think of what else I could say to change his mind.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you and your dad don’t believe in God,’ I blurted out. ‘I don’t mind and God doesn’t either.’

  Kyle didn’t say anything straight away. He frowned and finished chewing before he replied.

  ‘I believe in God,’ he said. ‘So does my mum and dad. We just don’t like Him much.’

  I wasn’t sure I’d heard right because Mr Denny was still drilling outside.

  ‘Sometimes we hate Him,’ said Kyle.

  I had heard right. I could feel dust clogging my throat. I’d never been so aware that God could hear everything. I wished the drilling was louder.

  ‘Why?’ I said.

  I knew God would probably prefer me to move on to another topic, but I had to know.

  Kyle went over to an old dresser and pulled something out of a drawer. He put it on the table in front of me.

  ‘Don’t tell my dad I showed you this,’ he said.

  It was a battered photo album.

  ‘That’s why we don’t like God,’ said Kyle. ‘Cause He lets that happen.’

  I opened the album. It was full of photos of wrecked cars. Not in the salvage yard outside. On streets and roads and highways. Some of them were so mangled you could hardly tell they were cars.

  ‘What my dad reckons,’ said Kyle, ‘is if God’s clever enough to make the whole world and everything, why would He let this happen to people if He wasn’t a mongrel?’

  I took a deep breath.

  It was a reasonable question, except for the last bit. I tried to answer it.

  ‘God lets us make our own mistakes,’ I said.

  Kyle seemed not to hear me. He was staring at the photo album.

  I turned away. I couldn’t look at the photos any more. I knew now why Kyle’s dad was so keen for Kyle to get on in the world. So he wouldn’t have to spend his life seeing this kind of thing.

  ‘Their rellies come here sometimes,’ said Kyle quietly. ‘To look at the wrecks. Dad shows them and I make them tea.’

  Kyle closed the album and put it back in the drawer. He looked out the window. ‘Sometimes,’ he said in an even quieter voice, ‘when my dad goes speeding off on a call, I worry I’ll be making tea for his rellies.’

  I’d come here hoping Kyle could help me, but now, as I watched him gazing anxiously at the tow truck parked outside, I found myself wishing I could help him.

  Which is probably why, out of the blue, I had an idea to help us both.

  ‘If you salvage my dad,’ I said, ‘my mum will give you a reward.’

  I was sure Mum wouldn’t mind me saying that.

  Fairly sure.

  ‘Not chocolate,’ I said. ‘Money. Enough for your dad to get his seatbelts fixed.’

  Seatbelts couldn’t be that expensive.

  I could see Kyle was interested.

  ‘And the brakes?’ he said cautiously. ‘And the muffler? They need fixing too.’

  I wasn’t sure what a muffler was, but I nodded again.

  Kyle’s face was glowing with nervous excitement. I could tell he was worried about pushing it too far, but at the same he didn’t want to stop. I’d seen that look on Dad’s face in church heaps of times.

  ‘And new tyres?’ said Kyle. ‘Me and my dad might have to drive all over the place to find your dad. It’d be dangerous doing that on bald tyres.’

  I didn’t w
ant to stop now either.

  ‘My family would pay really well,’ I said.

  I thought of a big amount and blurted it out. As soon as I heard myself say it, it didn’t seem enough, so I said a bigger amount.

  ‘OK,’ said Kyle. ‘Let’s ask my dad.’

  I was so relieved and excited I forgot myself and grabbed Kyle’s arm.

  ‘Do you think he’ll say yes?’ I asked. ‘Even though this isn’t metal and bricks?’

  Kyle gave me a shy grin.

  ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’d like my dad to have the chance to learn new things and get on in life.’

  Chapter 13

  When I got home, all hell broke loose.

  I knew I’d be in trouble when I went inside, but it actually started in the backyard.

  Mark and Luke were playing Lions And Christians in the sandpit. Mark took one look at me and ran indoors.

  ‘Mum,’ he yelled. ‘Grace is back.’

  Luke sucked his plastic sword and stared at me.

  ‘Dad kidnapped you,’ he said. ‘Dad’s naughty.’

  I started to explain that I hadn’t even seen Dad, and that Dad would never do anything bad to us. But before I could finish, people ran out of the back door yelling at me.

  ‘Grace,’ shouted Uncle Vern. ‘Come here.’

  ‘Get inside,’ roared Grandpop.

  ‘Oh, Grace,’ said Mum. ‘How could you? It’s been hours. We were frantic.’

  They took me into the kitchen.

  It was like the Spanish Inquisition. They sat me at the kitchen table and stood around me.

  ‘How did you find him?’ said Grandpop.

  ‘Was it through his lawyer?’ said Uncle Vern, holding up an official-looking letter.

  ‘Did Dad come back here again last night?’ said Mum.

  I stared up at them, my head throbbing and my thoughts all over the place like fleeing Israelites.

  I couldn’t let them think Dad had kidnapped me. But I knew they wouldn’t be any happier when I told them the truth. That I’d spent the day in the outside world rubbing shoulders with sinners and promising a bloke who drank beer for breakfast and a kid who didn’t like God we’d give them a thousand dollars if they helped salvage Dad.

  ‘We want you to be honest with us, Grace,’ said Uncle Vern. ‘We won’t be cross.’

  I wanted to be honest. I wanted to tell them that I was planning to be the most meek and obedient person in the whole church. Once Dad was back. But that first I had to do sins to find him.

  I sighed.

  If I said that, Grandpop would have a fit. Uncle Vern would have a migraine.

  I decided to tell them the truth in a way that would save them as much pain as possible, and also save me from the sin of lying.

  ‘I didn’t see Dad,’ I said quietly. ‘I just went to find him.’

  There was a silence. I hoped that would be enough truth for now.

  ‘You poor child,’ muttered Grandpop. ‘He’s lodged himself in your brain like a serpent.’

  I opened my mouth to tell Grandpop he was wrong. That Dad had lodged himself in my heart like a great and loving dad. Plus, as far as I knew, serpents lived in deserts and jungles, not brains.

  Before I could, Mum put her arms round me.

  ‘Oh, love,’ she said. ‘We’ve been so worried. Cain and Turk are still out looking for you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  Uncle Vern got out his mobile.

  ‘I’ll call them,’ he said, and went into the backyard.

  Nannie handed me a cup of soup.

  ‘There you go, dear,’ she said. ‘It’s cabbage and yoghurt.’

  While I sipped, I thought how lucky I was to have such a loving family. And how, deep down, they must be missing Dad too.

  I flicked my eyes to the kitchen bench to see if Uncle Vern had left the letter from Dad’s lawyer. If I could spot the lawyer’s address, that would be useful information to give to Kyle and his dad. But the letter wasn’t there. Uncle Vern must have taken it with him.

  I wished I could tell Mum about Kyle and Mr Denny. Poor Mum. Her face was tired with worry. If she knew Dad was going to be salvaged, lo, bulk grief would be lifted from her heart.

  While I was trying to work out if I should risk it, Grandpop put his hands on my shoulders and closed his eyes.

  ‘We beseech you, O Lord,’ he said. ‘Free this innocent child from the misguided evil influence of the man who was once her father. Amen.’

  ‘Amen,’ whispered Nannie.

  It wasn’t fair. I knew Grandpop was only saying that because he loved me, but I was starting to get a bit fed up with people putting me in their prayers when I didn’t want to be.

  I decided not to tell Mum that Dad was going to be salvaged by outsiders. Grandpop might find out. And then the church elders might get even angrier with Dad.

  ‘Alright, love,’ Mum said to me. ‘When you’ve finished your soup, get upstairs and pack up your room.’

  I looked at her, confused.

  She was giving me a pleading look.

  Why? My room wasn’t that untidy.

  Then I saw what Nannie was doing. Packing plates and cups into cardboard boxes.

  ‘We’re moving house,’ said Mum, trying to sound like it was a good thing.

  My brain went Israelite again.

  ‘Moving house?’ I said.

  ‘You heard your mother,’ said Grandpop in his church-elder voice.

  Anxiety was upon me big time.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I said to Mum.

  ‘The address doesn’t matter,’ said Grandpop.

  Mum was giving me the pleading look again. I beheld she was torn asunder, kind of. She didn’t want to move house, but at the same time she didn’t want to upset the elders in case it made things worse for Dad.

  ‘But,’ I said, my voice sqeaky with panic, ‘how will Dad be able to …?’

  I stopped myself.

  It was too late. Grandpop was looking at me very sternly.

  ‘How will he be able to find you?’ said Grandpop. ‘That’s the whole point. He won’t.’

  Chapter 14

  On my first day in the new house I needed some advice, so I had a word with God.

  I told Him I was very grateful to have my own bedroom, even though I was finding being locked in it doing Bible solitary since breakfast a bit frustrating.

  ‘Please don’t take that personally,’ I said.

  I asked God to forgive Grandpop and the other church elders for punishing Dad by hiding us in a secret house.

  ‘I don’t think they realise how mean they’re being,’ I said. ‘And pig-headed.’

  Finally I asked God a question.

  ‘When you’re locked in an upstairs room,’ I said, ‘and you can’t see any street signs out the window, and you couldn’t see any last night when you arrived because it was dark, and you couldn’t memorise the route from your old house because you didn’t recognise any landmarks after the Breezy Whale carwash, how can you find out the address of the new house so Dad knows where to come when he’s ready to be meek and obedient?’

  It was a difficult question, but I knew God was used to those.

  I thanked God for listening. Almost immediately He gave me an idea and I got busy. For I remembered what Dad had taught me. Don’t sit back and wait for God to do it all. Ask for His advice, but be prepared to do the hard yakka yourself.

  Which I was.

  I turned to page one of the Bible. Dad reckoned the Bible was more a book of advice than a book of rules, and I was pretty sure that somewhere in it I’d find the clue I needed.

  When I was halfway down page two, I heard a faint tinkling sound. I looked around the room. Outside the window, crouching on the ledge and staring at me through the glass, was a kitten.

  My first thought was that the poor thing was in danger. It was high up. If it slipped and fell …

  I was sure God cared about animals as much as humans, but there wasn’t a lot He
could do once they were airborne.

  I went to the window and carefully slid it open, trying not to scare the kitten. It was a beautiful colour, sort of yellowy gold, like a little lion.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘You’re a good climber.’

  There was a tree overhanging the house, but the kitten didn’t seem in a hurry to go back down.

  ‘Come in,’ I said.

  Before I could pick it up, it jumped over my hands and onto my bed.

  ‘Make yourself at home,’ I said.

  The tinkling was coming from a bell around its neck. As I reached out to stroke the kitten, I noticed something else hanging from its collar. A small metal disc with engraved words.

  I looked more closely.

  It was an address.

  28 Spinoza Crescent, Clayton Lakes.

  The kitten was staring up at me like it was waiting for something to happen. My brain to start working, for example.

  Of course.

  Spinoza Crescent must be the street we were in. If the kitten lived next door in number 28, I was in either number 26 or number 30. Even if the kitten was from across the street, this house was probably somewhere between numbers 20 and 40. Which was enough information for a clever and determined dad like Dad.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said to the kitten.

  It gave a few small miaows and peed on my bed.

  Fair enough, I thought. Even messengers from God have bladders.

  I poured some soup from my cup into the saucer and gave it to the kitten.

  ‘It’s lentil and ricotta,’ I said. ‘Nannie could work for Campbells soup if our church allowed women to have jobs.’

  Then I got to work.

  I tore a couple of pages out of an exercise book. On one page I wrote a letter to Kyle and Mr Denny asking them to tell Dad about Spinoza Crescent as soon as they found him. With sticky tape I made an envelope from the other piece of paper and addressed it to Denny’s Salvage. In the corner, where the stamp would normally go, I wrote ‘please post’ and drew a begging face.

  ‘You may not have been warned about this bit,’ I said to the kitten.

  I emptied my pencil case and put the letter into it. Then, carefully and gently, I tied the pencil case to the kitten’s back by looping a shoelace several times under the kitten’s tummy. I knotted the shoelace and made sure it was tight enough to hold the pencil case on, but not so tight the kitten couldn’t breathe or digest lentil soup.