Grandpop was amazed to see me. ‘Gavin,’ he yelled. Half happy, half mad.
The two big guys came towards us. They were not half happy and they were not half mad. They were completely furious. They started to walk towards us. We backed away.
But at that exact moment the owner of the garage came out. He was the biggest man I had ever seen. His legs were like tree trunks. His fists were like boulders. ‘What’s going on?’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ said the nose picker. Both men headed towards their car muttering beneath their breath. As they drove off I held my knuckle up to my nose for one more time. They saw me but they kept going. I felt quite safe standing there with a giant next to me. Lucky for us we never saw them again.
Grandpop gave me a big lecture but I could see that he was glad to have me there. He went inside the garage and rang Mum. I waited outside feeling nervous. After a bit Grandpop came out. ‘She said you can come with me,’ he said.
‘Did she say anything else?’ I asked.
He gave me a wink. ‘She said she’s busy writing letters on her new pad.’
Whew. What a relief. She wasn’t angry with me any more. Now we could get on with it. And find a water-holding frog.
It was good not to be in any trouble. It was good not to feel guilty for messing things up. I climbed into the back of the truck and knelt behind Grandpop’s seat. We headed off into the burning desert which was nearly as hot as my burning bottom. Neither of us knew that I had left the water tap turned on in the back.
5
Grandpop was so pleased to have me. ‘That water-holding frog will amaze you,’ he said. ‘The rain falls after the drought. It soaks into the ground. And the little frog digs its way up.’ He was so happy. It was enough to bring tears to your eyes.
I wasn’t so sure though. I looked out at the bleached desert. It was in the middle of summer. ‘How will you find a frog?’ I said. ‘They’ll all be underground.’
‘Dig,’ he said. ‘The ground will be rock-hard and digging is the only way.’
We turned off the main road and headed across the hot red earth. Spinifex and mulga bushes were the only plants in the barren soil. Grandpop often stopped to check his compass. Each time he did we had a swig from his water bottle. You sure got thirsty out there in the middle of nowhere. I loved the feel of that cool water trickling down my throat.
After four hours we reached the waterhole. I say waterhole but, of course, at that time of the year it was only a claypan. Just a shallow, dry hole.
The truck bumped to a stop. ‘Just in time,’ said Grandpop. ‘The radiator is boiling.’ Sure enough, clouds of steam came whooshing out of the bonnet. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘I’ve brought plenty of water.’
We went around to the back of the truck to unpack.
You know what I said about never knowing when you were going to be in trouble? Well, when Grandpop found out that we had no water, it was worse than ever. Once again I had mucked things up.
He didn’t go crook because I left the tap on. He didn’t tell me off. He just stood there looking very worried. Very worried indeed. In a way, it was worse than being yelled at. I felt terrible. It was all my fault.
‘What will we do?’ I said.
‘We stay here,’ replied Grandpop. ‘The first rule in the desert is to stay with your vehicle. Someone will come and look for us.’
‘No one knows where we are,’ I said.
‘They know roughly where we are,’ he said. ‘Anyway, we don’t have any choice. The car is no good without water. And we don’t have a drop to spare.’
I tried to cheer him up a bit. ‘We can look for the water-holding frog while we wait,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘We have to conserve our energy. All we can do is wait for help without moving too much.’
I felt so guilty. Now he was never going to find his water-holding frog. And it was all my fault.
We put up a canvas shelter on the side of the truck to stop the heat of the sun. Grandpop handed me the water bottle. ‘Take two swigs,’ he said. I held back my head and took two swigs. I couldn’t have taken three swigs even if I’d wanted to. There was none left. Grandpop had given me the last of the water. That’s the sort of bloke he was.
6
I wondered how long we could last with nothing to drink. Grandpop would go first. I was young and strong. He was old and weak. What if I lived and he died? I couldn’t bear the thought of it.
Hours passed. Night crept up. Mosquitoes whined. Things moved in the night. The moon rose. It became cold and we wrapped ourselves in blankets.
The next morning it grew hot quickly. My mouth was dry and dusty. I could hardly swallow. Grandpop dozed and mumbled. He seemed to be off in a dream.
The sun rose higher and higher. ‘Frog. Little water-holding frog,’ mumbled Grandpop. His eyes were wild. He didn’t seem to know what was going on. The heat was getting to him. He crawled on his hands and knees into the middle of the claypan. He started scratching at the sand with his bent fingers. ‘Frog, little frog,’ he croaked.
I gently led him back to the shade. ‘I’ll get you a frog,’ I said.
Only one thought filled my mind. Find Grandpop a water-holding frog. I didn’t care about being rescued. I didn’t care whether I lived or died. Grandpop was off his head but it didn’t make any difference. All I wanted was to put one of those frogs into his hand.
Everything was my fault. He would die soon, without water, I knew that. I had to grant his life-long wish. I had to find one of those frogs.
I grabbed a shovel and trudged into the middle of the claypan. I whacked the point down into the ground. Wham. It was as hard as rock. The shock hurt my fingers.
The hot sand shimmered. Flies buzzed around my eyes. Dust covered my skin. But on I dug. On and on. Each time I hit the ground with the shovel I collected a small pile of sand. ‘Frog,’ I said. ‘Little frog, where are you?’
But there was no answer. The water-holding frogs were all buried deep, waiting for the first drops of water to fall and wake them from their long sleep.
My fingers started to bleed. Large blisters grew and burst on my palms. I had managed to dig out a hole about the size of a shallow bath. But still no frog. It was no good. I would never find one. My tongue felt like a piece of shrivelled leather.
Grandpop lay there in the shade. I could tell he was still alive because his chest was going up and down. But he didn’t have much longer to go. Not without water. I had to find a water-holding frog before it was too late. I couldn’t give up.
Grandpop mumbled to himself, ‘Little frog, little water-holding frog.’
I wrapped a rag around my blistered hand and started to dig again. Painfully. Slowly. Bending, scraping, digging only a few grains at a time. My head started to spin. It was no good. I just couldn’t lift the shovel any more.
7
I tried to dig with my grazed fingers but they made no impression on the baked ground.
It was useless. I couldn’t go on. I stood and looked at the empty horizon. Grandpop would never get his water-holding frog. He would die without his dream coming true. And it was all my fault. It was so sad.
Okay, I shouldn’t have done it. I was stupid.
I sat down in despair. Wow. Did my bottom sting. It was still red and sore. The pain was terrible. Tears streamed down my nose and plopped onto the hard ground. A regular waterfall of tears. A little wet patch formed on the sand just beneath my cheek.
Suddenly, in the middle of the damp sand, a small green leg appeared. And then another.
My tears had woken a water-holding frog from its sleep. Two eyes blinked at me. Two wonderful, wonderful eyes.
‘I’ve got one, Grandpop,’ I screamed. ‘I’ve got one.’ Gently I picked up the glistening frog. I walked over to Grandpop and placed the tiny creature in his hand.
I wouldn’t have believed that one little frog could have had such an effect. Grandpop leaned up and gave the biggest grin I had ever see
n. He looked at me with love in his smile. Love for me. And the frog. We both had tears in our eyes.
It was such a magic moment that neither of us noticed the storm clouds gathering. We just sat looking at that frog until the first raindrops fell. And the pool began to fill. The songs of a thousand frogs filled the air.
It was a real downpour. The heavens seemed to be weeping as I stood there and rubbed my behind. ‘Cry, baby,’ I said to the sky. ‘Cry, baby, cry.’
Ex Poser
There are two rich kids in our form. Sandra Morris and Ben Fox. They are both snobs. They think they are too good for the rest of us. Their parents have big cars and big houses. Both of them are quiet. They keep to themselves. I guess they don’t want to mix with the ruffians like me.
Ben Fox always wears expensive gym shoes and the latest fashions. He thinks he is good-looking with his blue eyes and blonde hair. He is a real poser.
Sandra Morris is the same. And she knows it. Blue eyes and blonde hair too. Skin like silk. Why do some kids get the best of everything?
Me, I landed pimples. I’ve used everything I can on them. But they still grow and burst. Just when you don’t want them to. It’s not fair.
Anyway, today I have the chance to even things up. Boffin is bringing along his latest invention – a lie detector. Sandra Morris is the victim. She agreed to try it out because everyone knows that she would never tell a lie. What she doesn’t know is that Boffin and I are going to ask her some very embarrassing questions.
Boffin is a brain. His inventions always work. He is smarter than the teachers. Everyone knows that. And now he has brought along his latest effort. A lie detector.
He tapes two wires to Sandra’s arm. ‘It doesn’t hurt,’ he says. ‘But it is deadly accurate.’ He switches on the machine and a little needle swings into the middle of the dial. ‘Here’s a trial question,’ he says. ‘Are you a girl?’
Sandra nods.
‘You have to say yes or no,’ he says.
‘Yes,’ replies Sandra. The needle swings over to TRUTH. Maybe this thing really works. Boffin gives a big grin.
‘This time tell a lie,’ says Boffin. ‘Are you a girl?’ he asks again.
Sandra smiles with that lovely smile of hers. ‘No,’ she says. A little laugh goes up but then all the kids in the room gasp. The needle points to LIE. This lie detector is a terrific invention.
‘Okay,’ says Boffin. ‘You only have seven questions, David. The batteries will go flat after another seven questions.’ He sits down behind his machine and twiddles the knobs.
This is going to be fun. I am going to find out a little bit about Sandra Morris and Ben Fox. It’s going to be very interesting. Very interesting indeed.
I ask my first question. ‘Have you ever kissed Ben Fox?’
Sandra goes red. Ben Fox goes red. I have got them this time. I am sure they have something going between them. I will expose them.
‘No,’ says Sandra. Everyone cranes their neck to see what the lie detector says. The needle points to TRUTH.
This is not what I expected. And I only have six questions left. I can’t let her off the hook. I am going to expose them both.
‘Have you ever held his hand?’
Again she says, ‘No.’ And the needle says TRUTH. I am starting to feel guilty. Why am I doing this?
I try another tack. ‘Are you in love?’ I ask.
A red flush starts to crawl up her neck. I am feeling really mean now. Fox is blushing like a sunset.
‘Yes,’ she says. The needle points to TRUTH.
I shouldn’t have let the kids talk me into doing this. I decided to put Sandra and Ben out of their agony. I won’t actually name him. I’ll spare her that. ‘Is he in this room?’ I say.
She looks at the red Ben Fox. ‘Yes,’ she says. The needle points to TRUTH.
‘Does he have blue eyes?’ I ask.
‘No,’ she says.
‘Brown?’ I say.
‘No,’ she says again.
I don’t know what to say next. I look at each kid in the class very carefully. Ben Fox has blue eyes. I was sure that she loved him.
‘This thing doesn’t work,’ I say to Boffin. ‘I can’t see one kid who doesn’t have either blue eyes or brown eyes.’
‘We can,’ says Boffin. They are all looking at me.
I can feel my face turning red now. I wish I could sink through the floor but I get on with my last question. ‘Is he an idiot?’ I ask.
Sandra is very embarrassed. ‘Yes,’ she says in a voice that is softer than a whisper. ‘And he has green eyes.’
Sloppy Jalopy
My sister Helen looked around the schoolyard and then pointed to my ear. ‘You’re mad wearing an earring to school,’ she said.
‘Smacka Johns,’ said a voice behind me. ‘Come here at once.’
It was Ms Cranch, the vice principal. She held out her hand. ‘Give me that earring.’
‘But it’s only a sleeper,’ I said as I handed it over.
‘No jewellery is allowed at school,’ she snapped.
Before I could get another word out she turned round and headed off towards her office with my earring.
‘I told you,’ said Helen.
‘She’s the crabbiest teacher I ever met,’ I grumbled. ‘I wonder what she does with the earrings. She must have millions of ’em.’
‘She wears them,’ said Helen. ‘I saw her wearing mine down the street once.’
‘She wouldn’t,’ I said scornfully. ‘Even crotchety old Cranch wouldn’t nick stuff from kids.’
All day I thought about my earring. I got madder. And madder. And madder. By the time school was over I had made a decision. There was only one thing to do. Buy another earring and wear it to school as a protest. Teachers aren’t allowed to steal from kids.
I went straight home and strode into the lounge. ‘Dad,’ I said. ‘Can you take me into town? I want to buy a new earring.’
Dad smiled. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’m just on my way out.’
Earrings didn’t worry Dad. He used to wear one himself once. He’s not your regular sort of dad. He is always doing crazy, wild things. To be perfectly honest, sometimes he is a bit of an embarrassment.
We walked out to the car. Dad had always wanted a sports car but he couldn’t afford it. So he cut the top off our Holden and now we could only use it when it wasn’t raining.
On the way to town I complained about the car. ‘I don’t know what you’re going on about,’ said Dad. ‘This is a fabulous car. No one else in town has got one like it. Who wants to be like everyone else?’
I smiled. He was right. I didn’t want to be like everyone else. Little did I know that in a very short time my wish was going to come true in a big way.
2
We finally reached town and Dad pulled up behind a filthy-looking tanker truck. He pointed to a shop. ‘There,’ he said. ‘They sell earrings.’
The shop was dingy and cobwebbed. It looked spooky inside. I felt a bit nervous. ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ I said to Dad. ‘I don’t like the look of this place.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Dad. ‘Hurry up, I’ve got my own shopping to do.’ He pushed me through the door into the shop.
I banged straight into an enormous man dressed in shorts and a blue singlet. He clutched an earring between his fingers. He smelt terrible. Awful. ‘Watch it,’ he growled. He brushed past me and swept through the door.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.
An old man with an incredibly wrinkled face was serving at the counter.
‘I’m looking for an earring,’ I said.
The shopkeeper smiled at me. ‘I usually only sell them in pairs,’ he said. ‘But that gentleman talked me into letting him have just one. You can have the matching one if you want. They were second-hand. I bought them from a palm reader.’
It was just what I wanted so I handed over five dollars. Then I put the earring in my pocket. We walked out into the street and jumped into the Holden.
Straight away I knew what it was. Newman’s Pond. The Council has been emptying it and taking the contents to their depot. It was the most putrid pond in the whole world. Drains from the fertiliser works, the fish factory and the oil refinery poured into it. Everything was dead for metres around. Green slime covered the surface. Stifling fumes bubbled into the fetid air. Horrible lumps floated in the slime.
The Council workers had to wear gas masks while they were sucking the squelching goo into the trucks. The sludge in that tanker was the stuff of nightmares. My nightmares as it turned out.
The guy in the blue singlet drove the truck out onto the road. We followed in our convertible. I was longing for fresh air. But I didn’t get it.
Little brown flecks flicked off the truck and onto our windscreen. Dad turned on the wipers but they only made things worse. A foul smear made it almost impossible to see. The spattering turned into a shower. Filthy specks of putrid liquid covered us like freckles.
‘What a nerve,’ yelled Dad. ‘Look what he’s doing to my car.’
I wasn’t worried about the car. I was worried about me. I was splotted with dreadful droplets. I shuddered to think where they came from.
The back of the truck had a large valve for connection to a pipe. I could just imagine what had been sucked in through it.
Dad beeped the horn. ‘Pull over,’ he screamed. ‘You idiot. You’re polluting the whole town.’
I myself would not have called the driver an idiot. Not a big guy like that. But Dad never thinks of the consequences. He pulled out next to the truck and shook his fist at the guy in the blue singlet. ‘Pull over, you fool,’ Dad yelled through his brown smeared lips.
The truck lurched over to the side of the road and stopped.
3
The driver stepped out. Dad stepped out. I did not step out.
‘You’re flicking foul muck all over the street,’ said Dad. ‘Tighten that valve up.’ Dad pointed to a wheel on top of the valve.
Paul Jennings' Trickiest Stories Page 6