Ariel, Zed and the Secret of Life

by Anna Fienberg

  Ariel stood up. This was hopeless. If she told Zed about her mother and Goodshot’s remarks, he’d only make some excuse, justify it somehow. No, Zed was under Goodshot’s spell, just like the rest of the Island. ‘I’m telling you, that man is dangerous,’ she said as she scraped back her chair, ‘and don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  14. SURPRISING ENCOUNTERS

  DANIEL GOODSHOT STOOD at his balcony and looked out across the street. The white stone of the houses flushed pink in the dawn light. All the shutters were closed like eyes, and only the birds called, far off in the hills.

  ‘All this will be mine,’ breathed Goodshot softly, ‘to do with as I please.’ He laid a foot on his tiger’s rump. ‘You hear that boy? All mine.’

  He turned and picked up his backpack. Today he was dressed in a safari suit, khaki green to blend in with nature. He had thick walking boots, his binoculars, a bottle of water, a torch and his dictaphone.

  ‘Come on, boy,’ he called to the tiger and pulled on the leash. The tiger stretched sleepily and lifted his lip in a growl. ‘And don’t go disappearing on me,’ hissed Goodshot. ‘Today we’re going to that cave, and I don’t want no mucking around.’

  They crept out and down the stairs, Goodshot looking carefully about him. Just as well we started out early, he thought, squinting at the sun. By the time they’d reached the outskirts of the town, the sun was toasting the back of his neck.

  They took the path heading south toward the coast. It meandered through lime groves and pear trees and circled around the hills.

  ‘Damn road,’ puffed Goodshot, ‘curly as a pig’s tail.’ The tiger slunk along behind him, showing a tendency to disappear with the heat. Now and then Goodshot looked back to see only a couple of faint gold-and-black stripes hanging faintly in the air like a mirage.

  ‘You gotta concentrate to stay around, you stupid tiger,’ yelled Goodshot. ‘I told you before, I didn’t magic you up for nothing—now do your part, look good!’

  They trudged along, seeing no-one, the throb of the cicadas like a marching drum to their steps. ‘Don’t know why they don’t cut these paths straight,’ Goodshot grumbled to his tiger. ‘Just take a ruler and dig along the dotted line, I say, until you get to your destination. Everyone makes things so complicated. You gotta get straight to the point in this life, you hear me, tiger? This ain’t no dress rehearsal.’

  The sun was high in the sky by the time they glimpsed the stony cliffs of the south. And beyond, between the crags, lay the winking sea.

  Goodshot stopped and surveyed the scene through his binoculars. The cliffs clustered together around the sea. Gun-metal grey, they were pitted and hollowed by time, their backs bent as if around a secret. Goodshot stared. The hairs on his neck rose, and the shadow following him squirmed on the ground.

  ‘Get out of it, boy!’ he snarled as the tiger snapped at the shadow, his coat bristling. Far off, the scraps of sea boiled against the rocks, grey and sullen under a bright blue sky.

  And then, as Goodshot swung the binoculars around to the right, he saw what he’d been waiting for.

  Amongst the great grey boulders stood one that was different from the rest. It rose sharply, black and shining, and he saw its belly hollowed into a yawning cave.

  ‘That’s it, boy, let’s go!’ and he scrambled down the path onto the hard rocky ground.

  After a while the path lost its neat paved surface and became a twisting track cut into the stone. But its direction was clear enough, and Goodshot and his tiger leapt along it at a cracking pace.

  They inched between boulders, climbing up and over the rocks with Goodshot’s binoculars swinging madly between his knees. The tiger was panting hard. Tufts of spiny grass growing between the rocks scratched their legs like thin little knives.

  But now the path came to an end and above them loomed the great black boulder. Goodshot took a few more steps. Then he stopped dead. He stared into the cave that opened into fathomless darkness.

  ‘Now that’s black,’ he whispered, and squared his shoulders. He reached into his backpack and found the torch. ‘Okay, here we go,’ he muttered and plunged into the cave, the reluctant tiger padding behind him.

  They had only taken a few steps when the torch flickered and died. They were swamped in darkness. Thick and velvety it was, so utterly black that Goodshot couldn’t see his own hands or feet. He became just a pair of eyes straining into the nothingness.

  Then a pungent, sweet-sour smell of moulding fruit flooded the cave, and the air moved and swirled like waves in a storm. A great wind beat into the cave, beating back Goodshot’s hair, rippling his shirt, and now he knew the wind was from the flapping of giant wings and he felt claws sharp as razors scrape at his trousers, his chest, his cheek. Something cold and damp smothered his face until he could hardly breathe, and he heard the tiger roar like thunder behind him. Struggling round, feeling for the soft fur, he found it and hung on, swinging his body face down onto the tiger’s back, and together they dragged themselves out of the cave.

  Goodshot lay on his back, panting. Gingerly he felt over his body. He winced at the cuts on his leg and chest, and sat up. The tiger lay next to him. He was fading fast and Goodshot put a hand on his head.

  ‘At least you got me out of there, boy,’ he said. ‘Stay, there’s a good tiger.’ He’d lost his binoculars, but the backpack was still tangled round his shoulder.

  ‘Well, you never get something for nothing, first rule of business,’ he told the tiger. ‘We’ve just had an unfortunate experience, that’s all. Didn’t have all the info, I reckon.’ He scratched his head. ‘That great goon of a giant didn’t tell me everything. No siree. I didn’t even get a glimpse of the Elixir. Ruined my suit, and how am I going to explain this cut on my cheek?’

  He rooted around in his backpack and pulled out his dictaphone.

  ‘Mission interrupted at this point,’ he said into the black box. ‘Need to retrack. Information incomplete regarding access to the cave. There must be a password, some trick.’ He stared at the black mouth of the cave. That goon wouldn’t tell him anything more. Who else? He pressed the ‘on’ button. ‘Seek out Source No.2, the boy Zed. Pump him for relevant info. Bring him a present maybe. Make him talk.’

  He clicked off the machine and stood up. Hells bells, his legs were stiff. Goodshot looked around for the tiger but he’d faded away into the stone. Hmm, he’d have to work on that magic, no doubt about it. He’d get out that book of Clara’s tonight. But, by jiminy, he hated studying. He was a man of action! He looked around to check on his shadow. It was still there, lumped at his feet. It was not elegant. Well, he’d have to work on that too. First priority. He could see he’d have to be twice as strong now to succeed in this Mission. And when he did, no-one would stop him.

  Goodshot slung his backpack over his shoulder and set off. The sooner he got to that boy Zed, the quicker the world would be his, wasn’t he right?

  The Island, 16 January

  Monday 5 pm

  ‘Today NZ took Ariel to Opal Beach on horseback (!) Cliff Robertson, the man with the guitar, has a horse—a mare 15 hands high, with a coat like butterscotch and a wild look in her eye. Her name is “Fire”.’

  NZ had never ridden before but he showed no fear as he swung up on the saddle—and over the other side. With his usual incredible courage he soon got the hang of it and he took the reins with Ariel behind clasping him round the waist (!)

  The only time they stopped was when the mare got interested in some grass on the way. NZ discovered that horses are very stubborn animals. He tried talking to it and was just getting somewhere when Ariel kicked its rump and it shot off like a bullet. NZ was pulled along with one leg dragging on the ground and the other stuck in the stirrup (!) But as usual he showed no Fear and set about righting the situation. Using the incredible Muscles in his arms he pulled himself up, aided by the loyal Ariel.

  At the beach a gull startled Fire so NZ set his wild nature free and said ‘What the heck!’
and galloped along the sand at forty kilometres an hour (!) Ariel screamed (she liked it) and hung on very tight to NZ’s broad back. But NZ handled the reins masterfully and so she leant close to him for safety. NZ, who has a way with women, enjoyed this…

  Zed sucked his pen. His hands felt sticky. God, he hoped no-one ever found this. But it was true, he did feel sort of different about Ariel. Just these last few days. Maybe it was because she was quieter, worried about something. But today she’d laughed a lot and raved on in his ear, like always. No, maybe it was him. Something was happening to him. When he was with Ariel he didn’t have that stomped-on, crushed-beetle feeling any more. Today, when she’d been scared too—and kind of exhilarated—and they were both hanging on by the skin of their teeth, with the sand flying up and the waves rushing in, she’d been like a part of him, caught with him in that particular moment in the universe when the horse went mad and the wind whirled by. And then he’d felt her heart beating against his ribs and suddenly he’d understood that she was another living person with her own heart and her own thoughts and he’d wanted to know about them very much.

  But then Cliff came and said they looked like a romantic couple in a Coke ad and geez, hadn’t they steamed up poor Fire, so they wiped her down and dived into the sea, and Ariel showed him how to do somersaults underwater. Later, Zed swam far out until the other two looked as small as pips in a watermelon, and he dived down deep into the emerald water, covered in silence.

  All things considered, he decided now, putting the lid back on his pen, today was one of the best days in his life. So far.

  ‘Guess what, Zed!’ cried Ariel, rushing into his room.

  Zed shut his notebook with a bang. Really, she could knock.

  ‘Oh sorry, I should have knocked,’ she said.

  ‘It’s okay. So “guess what” what?’

  ‘I got a letter from my mum! She says she hasn’t written to me before because she’s been trying to finish her book, which goeth well—a little joke between her and me. Anyway, the other reason she hasn’t written is—’ Ariel drew a deep breath and her face shone.

  ‘Is? Go on, you’ll burst if you don’t tell me.’

  ‘My father is coming home to stay! Isn’t that great? Mum said she wanted to wait till she knew for sure to write and tell me. Apparently, Dad has landed a job as a national consultant, so he’ll be able to live at home nearly all the time. He’s been so miserable lately about being away. And Mum says,’ she consulted her letter, ‘“there’s no substitute for our own cupcake —”’ Ariel pulled a face as Zed sniggered—‘“our own cupcake in the recipe book of life!”’

  ‘That’s great,’ said Zed. ‘Lucky you.’ He smiled and moved up further on the bed to make room for her.

  Ariel sat down. ‘I’ve been waiting for a letter. I expect your mother’s been busy, too, what with the war and everything. Probably the mail over there has stopped.’

  Zed shrugged. ‘Madeline has never been a great letter writer. Funny, seeing she does it for a living. Maybe that’s it—I suppose you can get sick of words.’ He plucked at the bedspread.

  ‘I wish we could both be happy at the same time!’ Ariel burst out.

  ‘We were today,’ Zed said, looking up. They grinned at each other and Ariel dragged down the corners of her mouth in horror, looking just like Zed when he fell off the horse.

  They were rolling about laughing when they heard Bertha call from downstairs.

  ‘Ze-ed, Ariel! You’ve got a visitor. The man with the smile. Come down please. His tiger’s giving me hay fever.’

  Zed giggled, but Ariel leapt up and marched to the door. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘I want to have a word with that man.’

  Daniel Goodshot was sitting on one of the chairs at the long kitchen table. As Zed and Ariel came in he jumped up, treading on the tiger’s tail.

  ‘Good evening, good evening, good evening to you both,’ he cried, ignoring the tiger’s growls. ‘How are you all?’

  ‘Fine,’ said Ariel loudly. ‘I just got a lovely long letter from my mother. She can’t wait for me to come home, she’s been missing me so much. So stick that in your cigar and smoke it!’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad she’s keeping you happy, that’s the shot. And Zed, my dear boy, how are you keeping?’

  ‘Well, thankyou. It’s nice to see you, sir.’

  ‘Nice, my foot,’ said Bertha quite audibly. ‘That tiger makes me sneeze, or is it the fellow’s aftershave muck? Smells like a hairdresser’s salon. Hope he doesn’t stay long, I haven’t got enough for his dinner as well as the whufflers. Wonder if that tiger’s toilet trained. Would you like a cup of tea, Mr er?’

  ‘Hrrrhmm,’ Goodshot cleared his throat and took out a cigar. ‘No, no, I wouldn’t want to put you to the bother. Can only stay a few minutes,’ and his face was momentarily hidden behind a cloud of blue smoke.

  Bertha began to cough.

  Before she could say anything more, Zed rushed in. ‘Did you hurt yourself? That cut on your cheek—it looks quite deep.’

  ‘Yes, hrrrhmm, well,’ mumbled Goodshot. ‘I went exploring in the forest, you know, to get a feel of the place, and a branch jumped out and scratched me, ha ha! But no pain no gain, as they say in my line of work. And speaking of work, my boy,’ Goodshot paused and puffed at his cigar, ‘I’ve got a business proposal for you.’

  ‘A what?’ said Zed.

  ‘Yes, yes, a fine boy like you, a real go-getter, you and me could get something cooking here.’

  ‘And just what did you have in mind?’ Ariel butted in.

  ‘That’s for Zed to consider. But I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ve come to invite Zed to lunch tomorrow. How about it, boy? A slap-up meal at La Dolce Vita. What do you say?’

  ‘I’d like that very much,’ beamed Zed. ‘Thankyou!’

  ‘One o’clock then? Great, now we’re really cooking with gas, am I right? Ha ha!’ He stubbed out his cigar on a saucer and tugged at the tiger’s leash. ‘I’ll say tood-a-loo then,’ and he nodded and smiled and strolled out the door.

  ‘What a stink!’ muttered Bertha, waving at the blue haze with her dishcloth. ‘Dinner in half an hour.’

  Zed went out into the garden to tell Mr Jones. Ariel followed him.

  ‘Are you really going tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘And what have you been up to Mr Sticky Whiskers? Banana bashing?’ Zed spoke into the monkey’s fur. Mr Jones screamed with delight and ran up Zed’s jumper.

  ‘Well?’ repeated Ariel, impatient.

  ‘Sure I am,’ replied Zed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s a spy and a liar, that’s why. He wants something from you—he’ll try to trick you, I know.’

  ‘How do you know? Maybe he just likes my company, thinks I’m worth talking to, is that so strange? Are you sure you’re not jealous?’

  ‘Of what—slimy old Goodshot? Are you kidding? Listen, I’m just trying to warn you. He—he said some things about people that weren’t true. He lies about things, he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. And he sets traps.’

  ‘For what? You didn’t tell me there were wild animals around here! Oh Ariel, don’t worry, I’m not having lunch in a lion’s den! Come on, time’s money, am I right? Let’s go and see what’s cooking, ha ha!’ Zed smiled a perfect Goodshot smile. ‘Sorry, just joking.’

  But Ariel didn’t laugh.

  15. LET’S DO LUNCH

  AT ONE O’CLOCK SHARP, Zed walked up the steps to La Dolce Vita. He’d cycled slowly into town so that he wouldn’t make his shirt all sweaty. It was green (Ariel said that was the best colour for red hair) and his jeans were white, and when he’d checked in the mirror before he left he’d felt quite pleased. His hair had grown a little and his curls had become more like waves. He thought he looked rather carefree in what you might call an elegantly casual way.

  He paused at the door and Miss Heckle appeared.

  ‘Do come in,’ she cried. ‘Now let me see, you had a booking for lunch with Mr
Goodshot? Yes, yes, come this way. I have a nice table for you on the balcony.’

  She led him across the marble-tiled floor, past the potted palms and onto a small balcony with a wrought-iron railing. On the starched white tablecloth sat a bowl of lilies.

  Zed looked around. Inside, the room was spacious, filled with rustic chairs and plants in huge terracotta jars. Light classical music played in the background. At a table nearby Zed spotted Electra. She was talking heatedly to the distinguished-looking Conductor in the tuxedo. She jabbed a scarlet-polished finger at him and waved her cigarette holder wildly in the air.

  ‘Film is just as important an art as music, you dull little man.’ Zed heard Electra’s voice float out over the room.

  ‘Of course,’ came the Conductor, ‘and film needs music but not vice versa, is all I’m saying. Film needs music to make atmosphere, tension, connections…and I’m not a dull little man.’

  ‘Well, let’s connect with this nice grilled fish,’ Miss Heckle hovered near, placing two plates in front of them.

  Electra looked up and rolled her eyes to Zed. ‘How’s my star Pessimist? Life still black?’

  ‘Oh, getting grey around the edges.’

  ‘Soon you’ll be seeing in full colour and then where will my film be?’

  ‘Don’t shout across the room, dear heart,’ Miss Heckle told Electra, ‘it’s not at all ladylike, and put out that cigarette, there’s a good Beauty.’

  Electra scowled and started on her fish.

  Zed looked out over the view but he felt silly sitting there by himself. He looked at his watch. Ten past one. Best to look busy when Goodshot arrived. He took out his notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and began to read.

  The notebook was two-thirds full by now, and Zed smiled as he scanned the pages. This NZ fellow certainly knew how to live! Zed had written all about the Island, too, and Electra the Beautiful, and the cave. Tonight he’d write up this lunch, the launch of his new business career.

  ‘Hard at work, that’s what I like to see! Hello, my boy. Great day, right?’ Daniel Goodshot beamed down at him, rubbing his hands together. He had a fresh carnation in his button hole.