Don't Call Me Ishmael
Page 19
‘Goodbye, Ishmael.’
‘ ‘Bye, Mrs Bagsley’
Barry Bagsley waited until his mother was out of sight before pointing his finger at me and narrowing his eyes. He seemed to be struggling to find words that could match the emotions raging inside him.
‘Next year,’ he said somehow making those two simple words sound like a bomb threat.
‘I’ll be there,’ I said, and for the first time in ages, I knew it would be true.
48.
GREAT: ADJECTIVE - LARGE, ENORMOUS, MASSIVE; UNUSUAL OR EXTREME - AS IN GREAT JOY
Now I definitely heeded that fresh air.
‘Mr Leseur-a word, if you would.’
There was no mistaking that voice. ‘Mr Barker?’ I said, desperately trying to think what crime I might have unknowingly committed.
‘I have just been speaking with Brother Jerome.’
This didn’t sound good at all.
‘Apparently we’ve had a telephone call from James Scobie’s father, and …’
‘Is James all right?’ I broke in before I could stop myself.
Mr Barker raised his eyebrows before continuing. ‘Well, as I was about to say, it seems that the personal and family matters they were concerned about were found, on closer examination, not to be concerns at all.’
‘Great … that’s great … that’s … great!’ (Great: adjective–large, enormous, massive; unusual or extreme–as in great joy; also colloquial: very good or fine, exceptional, fantastic, sensational, terrific.)
‘I see that all that debating has turned you into quite an orator, Mr Leseur.’
‘Then James is coming back to school next year?’
‘Yes, we shall have the unique pleasure of Mr Scobie’s company right from the very first day’
‘Great!’
‘Well, as riveting as your sparkling repartee is,’ Mr Barker said as he glared towards the back of the hall, where Doug Savage and Danny Wallace were involved in some sort of tag-team wrestling match with two other boys, ‘I’m afraid I must leave you. There are some heads I have to bang together.’
‘Thanks for letting me know about James, Mr Barker. See you next year. I think you have us for Study of Society again in Year Ten.’
‘Great,’ Mr Barker mumbled as he strode off.
As I turned and headed towards the exit, not even a platoon of Barry Bagsleys armed with loaded bazookas could have wiped the smile off my face.
49.
THE MOST IMPORTANT BIT
It was time to make the long journey to the front gates, where Dad had arranged to pick me up. I took one last look at the remaining clumps of people scattered about the hall. There were no familiar faces. Fresh air, here I come!
I would have made it too, if I hadn’t been involved in a head-on collision with someone who chose that precise moment to rush back into the gym.
‘Ishmael! Thank god you’re still here.’
Ignatius Prindabel looked decidedly flustered.
‘I’ve been carrying this around all night and then I almost forgot it. My life would have been hell. Here,’ he said, puffing out a breath and pushing a small envelope at me. My name was printed on the front in green pen.
‘What’s this?’
‘Don’t know. Don’t care. Someone from my stupid sister’s school gave it to my stupid sister to give to me to give to you. I just gave it to you. My work here is done. So long.’
‘Yeah, but … OK, see ya, Ignatius … and thanks for …’
But he had already vanished into the night. I moved to a quiet spot behind some stacked up chairs. I turned the envelope over in my hand before opening it and pulling out the single sheet of yellow paper that was inside. It had a border of tiny butterflies and it was filled with neat handwriting. I glanced down to the bottom of the page searching for a name.
My heart stopped.
I shot back to the start and began to read.
Dear Ishmael,
If you are reading this then I guess that Cynthia Prindabel got her brother to pass it on to you. If you’re not reading it then-well–OK, let’s just assume you are reading it!
I guess you’re wondering what this is all about. Well, let me explain. My friend Sally Nofke turns fifteen in February and she’s invited me to her party. She wants it to be a mixed party but the trouble is she’s short on boys. That’s where you come in! I told her about how you helped Marty and how you were a sidekick to a superhero and everything and she was pretty impressed. Sally said it would be great if you could come to her party and maybe bring the Razzman along too. (That’s if he’s not too busy fighting crime and stuff.)
I know February is a long way off but by the time you get this note I will be already holidaying with my rellies in New Zealand and I won’t be back until the weekend before school starts next year. I thought I might as well give you some time to think about it and then if you’re interested you can ring me and I can give you all the details.
Hope you and your friend can come along.
Best wishes
Kelly Faulkner
PS D’oh! Nearly forgot the most important bit–my phone number is 4060 8699 so …
CALL ME Ishmael!
50.
THE MOTHER OF ALL WILD, BARBARIC YAWPS
Nothing could stop me now. I bolted from the gym and ran straight through the school grounds and across the main oval where Peter Chung had taken on the Magnon. And I kept running until my chest was burning and my legs felt like lumps of wood and I didn’t stop until I found myself in the middle of the Fields where Kelly Faulkner’s little brother had been bullied. Then I sank to my knees and rolled back on to the cool grass, gasping for air.
When my chest stopped heaving, I pulled out Kelly Faulkner’s letter and read it through in the strong moonlight. Once again the familiar last line exploded from the page and jolted my heart. But I got it wrong. I didn’t scream like I said I would. Instead I closed my eyes, threw back my head and let out the mother of all wild, barbaric yawps, and for the first time in ages, I felt alive and I felt whole again.
But do you want to know the really weird thing? Well, I’ll tell you. The really weird thing was that as I lay there with only the raspy sound of my breathing filling my ears and with the spongy grass of St Daniel’s playing fields buoying me up, I could have sworn that I was floating and bobbing on the surface of a vast green ocean. Remind you of anyone?
Go on–call me Ishmael if you like.
After all, as the Big Z would say, I’m da man!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks above all to my wife Adriana, for continuing to find me ‘tolerable’, and for writing all the very best bits of my life; also to my daughter Meg, for not letting on yet that she’s far more talented than her father.
Extra special thanks this time around to my son Joe, for taking time out from being the next Spielberg to cast his expert eye over the manuscript, for designing and constructing the wonderful cover, and for bringing ‘Ringo’ to life.
My immense gratitude, as always, goes to the good folk at Omnibus Books and Scholastic Australia, especially the dynamic duo of Dyan Blacklock and Celia Jellett, who continue to make it possible for my dreams to come true.
Heartfelt thanks also to family, friends, colleagues, acquaintances and strangers who have said such lovely things about the first book and encouraged me to keep writing.
Finally, thank you to Marist College, Ashgrove, and schools like it that celebrate the worth of the individual and challenge their students to ‘act courageously’.
Also by Michael Gerard Bauer
The Running Man
There had always been the Running Man–always that phantom form somewhere in the distance, always shuffling relentlessly closer …
Tom Leyton, a reclusive Vietnam veteran, has been the subject of rumour and gossip for thirty years. When Joseph Davidson, his young neighbour and a talented artist, is asked to draw a portrait of him, an uneasy relationship begins to unfold, one that will
force each of them to confront his darkest secrets.
This is a story of how we perceive others, the judgments we make about them, how we cope with tragedy, and the nature of miracles.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Gerard Bauer was born in Brisbane and lives in the suburb of Ashgrove, the setting of his first novel The Running Man. Since completing an Arts degree and a Diploma of Education at the University of Queensland, he has taught English and Economics at schools in the Brisbane–Ipswich region. In recent years he has taken regular breaks from teaching to pursue a writing career.
The Running Man was Book of the Year (Older Readers) in the Children’s Book Council of Australia’s Awards in 2005, and was shortlisted in the Victorian Premier’s Literary Awards, the New South Wales Premier’s Literary Awards and the South Australian Festival Awards. It was also the winner of the Courier Mail Readers’ Choice Award and shortlisted for the Courier Mail Book of the Year for Younger Readers Award.
Don’t Call Me Ishmael! was shortlisted for Book of the Year (Older Readers) in the Children’s Book Council of Australia’s Awards, and the New South Wales Premier’s Awards in 2007.
Copyright
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Text copyright © Michael Gerard Bauer, 2006.
Cover and text illustrations copyright © Joe Bauer, 2006.
Print edition first published in 2011 by Omnibus, an imprint of Scholastic Australia.
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Limited in 2012.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.
EPUB/MOBI eISBN 978 1 921 98869 1