So Sick!

by J A Mawter

  A nozzle appears, closely followed by a hose. ‘Stop it!’

  It is Luke’s turn, now. He gasps for breath as he cops a mouthful. ‘Hey!’ he splutters. ‘Cut it out!’ He staggers towards his assailant.

  A figure steps out from behind the fence. It is the same height as the boys, but stooped and moving slowly. It is wearing overalls and work boots and has a pigeon on its head.

  Mrs Sully!

  She raises the hose shrieking, ‘Take that you scallywags!’

  Nothing happens. The hose has wedged under a paling, the flow of water completely blocked.

  Luke can’t believe his luck. ‘Woo hoo!’ he whoops. He starts to run calling, ‘Bye bye! See ya later, alligator.’

  ‘Come back!’ shrieks Mrs Sully trying to follow but stopped by her grip on the hose. ‘Come back and clean up this mess!’

  Luke is several houses away. He turns to see if Hamish is behind him, then falters and stops.

  Hamish is standing about two metres in front of Mrs Sully. Luke can’t believe it. He shuts his eyes, then opens them again, as if to clear away the scene before him. ‘Not the war cry!’ he yells, but he is too late.

  Hamish slams his foot into the grass.

  ‘Oh!’ gasps Mrs Sully. She drops the hose. The pigeon huffs up its feathers and flaps. ‘All right, Pretty Boy,’ coos Mrs Sully gently stroking its back.

  Hamish curls over, his upper body parallel with the ground. His other foot rams into the soft earth. He tilts back his head and opens his mouth — wide. An ear-piercing scream splits the air.

  Mrs Sully is shocked into silence. The pigeon wriggles from one foot to the other, its head bob-bobbing furiously.

  Hamish straightens up and starts stomping.

  Luke moans. How can he scare an old woman like that? He yells, ‘No-o-o!’ and begins to run.

  Mrs Sully stays frozen, her eyes glued to Hamish. Pretty Boy has started to quake.

  Reaching Hamish, Luke snatches at his shirt and tries to pull him away. ‘Stop!’ he yells. But Hamish can’t stop. Once begun, the war cry must go on. It’s all part of his battle plan.

  Luke can see Mrs Sully’s face contort. Terror, or is that anger, flits across her chiselled cheekbones.

  Luke rams into Hamish, sending him sprawling. Hamish lands in a pile of lemons and skids an extra metre. He is on his tummy. He tries to get up but slips, legs and arms flailing.

  Luke grabs a handful of collar and yanks him up. ‘Come on!’ he grunts, and starts to drag Hamish away. ‘Now’s not the time for breast stroke.’

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know who you are!’ screams Mrs Sully, waving a fist at the boys. Pretty Boy flutters in agreement.

  Luke stops when they get safely around the corner. He swivels Hamish to face him. ‘Whatcha do the war cry in front of Mrs Sully for?’ he growls, ‘You some sort of moron? You’ll scare her to death!’

  Hamish gives Luke a shove. ‘At least the Warriors have a war cry,’ he growls. Then, starting to sprint he calls over his shoulder, ‘Not like the wimpy Wallaroos!’

  Chapter Two

  Later that afternoon Luke laughs as he tells his mates, Zac and Karl, about the lemon fight. ‘I looked like I’d been through a blender.’

  ‘But what did Hamish look like?’ asks Zac.

  Luke grins as he tries to find the words. ‘He looked like one of those people who stand on a float surrounded by fruit in a parade. I dunno, Miss Citrus, or something.’

  Luke, Zac and Karl burst out laughing.

  ‘That loser called us the wimpy Wallaroos,’ Luke adds.

  ‘Wimpy?’ says Karl, pretending to swagger. ‘Not the Wallaroos.’

  ‘We’ll show them who’s wimpy!’ says Zac, punching a fist in the palm of his hand, then flinching and adding, ‘Ouch! Must be stronger than I think.’

  Zac leans forward, his voice serious. ‘How’ll we get them back? Put sand in their school bags? Tie their laces together?’

  Luke chucks a seed at him. ‘No, ya dag. We bide our time. Something will come up.’

  And something did come up, much sooner than expected.

  ‘Sh!’ says Karl. ‘Someone’s coming.’

  From their hiding spot in a large oak tree the boys freeze, straining to see who it is. Several voices float up.

  One is Hamish’s. ‘Mum found out,’ he’s saying, ‘and now I’m grounded.’

  Luke wonders what he’s talking about. He holds a finger up to his lips to call for silence. Zac and Karl nod to show they know.

  ‘But the show’s next weekend!’

  That’s Oscar! thinks Luke. You can tell his voice anywhere — more whine than a rusty motor.

  ‘We’re all going!’ says another voice. Eli’s this time. ‘We’re doing The Exterminator, remember?’

  ‘And The Viper,’ adds Oscar.

  ‘And what about Shoot ‘em Gallery?’

  Luke raises his eyebrows at Zac and Karl, then pulls a face with a beauty of a dropped lip as if to say, Poor widdle Hamish, he’s missing out on Shoot ‘em Gallery. Luke eases back into his branch, eager to hear more.

  ‘The stupid witch told Mum.’

  At this Luke sits upright. Does he mean Mrs Sully? Has she been to see his dad, too? Luke does not have a mum. He does not have any brothers or sisters, either. Luke holds his breath, his heart is starting to pound. His dad will kill him!

  Just then, a bird flies into the tree. ‘Aaaagh!’ screams Zac as it swishes towards him. It arcs quickly, close enough to brush Karl with its wings before taking off over Luke’s head.

  Karl and Zac manage to cling to their branches but Luke loses his hold. He drops to the ground, right at Hamish’s feet.

  ‘You!’ says Hamish, and he raises his fist above Luke’s head.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Stop!’

  Zac and Karl jump down, as Luke scrambles to his feet. The two groups stand facing each other like rival gangs in a Western.

  Hamish belts Luke in the shoulder. It hurts, but Luke fights the urge to rub it. He’s no wimp.

  ‘That’s for getting me into trouble,’ says Hamish.

  ‘Who threw the plum in the first place?’ asks Luke. ‘The Sugar Plum Fairy?’

  Hamish scoffs, ‘And sardines fly?’

  The boys face each other, Luke giving in and rubbing his shoulder while Hamish scratches his balls.

  ‘It’s all your fault I’m grounded,’ spits Hamish, moving in for another punch.

  ‘No, it’s not!’ says Luke. He sidesteps and the punch falls short. Hamish charges, tackling Luke around the chest and dragging him down.

  Oscar and Eli start to clap and chant, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

  Zac leaps onto Hamish’s back, trying to grab an arm. ‘Get ‘im!’ he calls to Karl. Together they manage to pull Hamish off.

  ‘Whatcha do that for?’ asks Oscar, his voice a howl of disappointment.

  ‘Yeah!’ says Eli. ‘Just as it was getting fun.’

  Zac nods at Luke sprawled in the grass. ‘You’re twice his size!’ he says to Hamish.

  ‘Hmphh!’ snorts Hamish. ‘He’s just a chicken.’

  Luke’s now on his feet. ‘I’m no chicken,’ he says.

  ‘Not so tough now, Lemon Boy!’ taunts Hamish. ‘Bwarrk, bwk bwk bwk!’

  Luke’s shoulder is hurting. He still feels winded but there’s no way the Warriors are going to get the better of him. He gets an idea. ‘Let’s see who’s the chicken?’ he says.

  ‘Whaddya mean?’ asks Hamish, his eyes narrowing and his palms curling at his sides.

  Luke smiles to himself but he’s careful not to show it. ‘Let’s see who’s chicken?’ he repeats.

  Hamish is listening. ‘Go on,’ he says.

  ‘How about a fight?’ asks Luke. ‘This Friday afternoon. The Wallaroos versus the Warriors. The Wallaroos’ll win,’ he adds.

  ‘That’ll be the day.’

  ‘Simpson Park. Four o’clock. We fight — with weapons,’ Luke challenges him.

 
Hamish is nodding his head saying, ‘You’re on. What weapons?’

  What’s the most revolting weapon I can think of? Luke wonders. His thoughts go back to their latest skirmish … Mrs Sully … And then he knows.

  ‘Chook poo!’ he crows.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Simpson Show’ says the sign on the telegraph pole. Hay Rides, Sideshow Alley, Pony Rides, Arts and Crafts, Sheep Dog Trials, Pigeon Races — the list goes on.

  ‘Sideshow Alley’s the best,’ says Zac as he, Luke and Karl stand in front of the sign. ‘Last year I shot six ducks and won a gnome.’

  ‘Didn’t its hat break off?’ asks Karl.

  ‘And its arms.’ Zac shrugs, then grins. ‘It’s the winning that counts.’

  ‘Which reminds me… ’ says Luke. He looks worried. ‘How are we gonna win the fight if we don’t have ammo?’

  ‘Easy,’ says Karl. ‘What’s a metre and a bit tall, wears overalls and parades around with a pigeon on its head?’

  Luke shakes his head. ‘No way! What if Dad gets wind of it? He’ll kill me if I get caught stealing. I’m steering clear of Mrs Sully.’

  ‘Your old man’s not that bad,’ interrupts Zac.

  ‘No?’ asks Luke. ‘Last time I got in trouble I got a boot up the bum. I’m still wearing the tread.’

  Zac flings his arms round Luke’s shoulders. ‘My old man just told me never to do it again, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he said it.’ He grins. ‘He’s pretty good, my old man.’

  Luke sighs and frowns. ‘So, it’s back to the problem of the chook poo.’

  ‘I know!’ says Karl. ‘What if we just borrow a bag or two off Mrs Sully? She won’t notice they’re missing and before she does we’ll replace them.’

  ‘How?’ asks Luke.

  ‘The Show!’ says Zac. ‘There’s bound to be someone selling bags of chook poo. We’ll pick some up there on Saturday. Mrs Sully will never know.’ He leans forward and grips Luke’s arm. ‘And neither will your dad.’

  And that’s how Luke comes to be lurking under Mrs Sully’s lemon tree for the second time in two days.

  ‘Wonder where she keeps her supplies?’ says Karl.

  ‘Bet it’s right under our noses!’ jokes Luke. ‘By the smell of things she’s got a mountain of the stuff.’

  ‘There’s a shed,’ whispers Zac, peering through the fence palings. ‘Up in the corner. Bet it’s in there.’

  ‘There’s the side gate,’ adds Luke, pointing down a side path.

  ‘Good,’ says Karl.

  Waiting beside the fence is cruel to noses so the boys decide to move into action. Luke turns to Karl, ‘You go to the front door and distract the Sullys. Zac ‘n me will nip in, grab the chook poo and run.’

  ‘Why do I have to go to the door?’ asks Karl.

  ‘‘Cause you’ve got muesli for muscles,’ says Luke.

  ‘Oh,’ says Karl. ‘Okay.’

  Karl marches up to the front door and knocks. It isn’t long before someone answers.

  Luke can hear the grating tones of Mrs Sully’s voice and Karl’s eager reply. ‘C’mon,’ he whispers to Zac.

  While Karl is busy pretending that he’s looking for his aunty’s house Luke and Zac creep down the side path till they come to the gate. ‘Hope it’s not locked,’ whispers Luke. He reaches up, pokes his hand through a hole and slips the catch. The gate swings open.

  Karl’s voice floats down the path … ‘But, I’m sure my aunty lives in Bloom Street. Her name’s, um, Gladys. Gladys Thursday.’

  Luke starts to giggle. ‘Very clever,’ he whispers, then explains to a puzzled Zac. ‘Glad it’s Thursday.’

  ‘Oh!’ says Zac, looking sheepish.

  ‘Let’s go,’ whispers Luke.

  The boys walk down the side of the house, then stop. Peeping around the corner they scour the backyard for signs of life. There are signs of life all right, but not human ones. A huge aviary stretches down one whole fence. It is full of pigeons. Nesting boxes hang from walls, perches and feed boxes do, too. Birds sit with heads tucked under wings, others peck on the ground. One or two are busy at the seed tray.

  ‘Wonder which one is Pretty Boy?’ says Luke.

  Zac shrugs. ‘Don’t know. Don’t care. C’mon!’

  Making sure to step over a multitude of pot plants, spades, rakes and trowels the boys creep to the shed. Luke grabs for the sliding door and pulls. Nothing happens. He tries again. ‘Bit stiff,’ he says to Zac.

  Zac grabs at the handle, too. ‘Here, I’ll help.’

  A shrill scraping sound pierces the air. Luke and Zac freeze. They look around. Luke’s heart tumbles in his chest like a washing machine off its thread.

  No one comes.

  With one quick glance around the yard the boys duck through the opening, into the dark.

  ‘Errrh! says Zac, covering his nose with his hand. ‘Festy.’

  ‘We have to move fast,’ hisses Luke. His eyes strain in the dim light. He can just make out a wheelbarrow and a watering can. He takes a hesitant sniff, then turns. ‘There they are!’ he says.

  Chicken manure sacks are piled on top of one another. Grabbing a corner Zac hoists one on his back, trying to hold his breath at the same time. ‘I’m off,’ he croaks.

  Luke waves his hand under his nose saying, ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘Meet you outside,’ gasps Zac.

  As the boys round the corner of the house they can hear Karl say, ‘My aunty used to be a Pigeon Racer!’

  And then comes an excited reply. ‘Did she now?!’ There’s giggling. Luke’s eyes widen. No one’s ever heard Mrs Sully giggle before. ‘I’m entering my Pretty Boy in this weekend’s show. Maybe your aunty will be there?’

  ‘Sure,’ says Karl. ‘She’d love to meet you.’

  Another giggle.

  Luke grins to himself thinking, Karl can even pull the wool over a fox’s eyes!

  Chapter Four

  It is Friday afternoon at Simpson Park. Luke, Zac and Karl have dragged their sacks of chook poo behind the climbing frame, the best position for attack.

  Luke checks his watch. ‘A minute past,’ he says. ‘Wonder where they are?’

  ‘There!’ cries Zac, pointing as Hamish, Oscar and Eli roll up.

  Luke grins to see that they, too, are lugging heavy-looking sacks that look remarkably like their own. Another Mrs Sully donation, thinks Luke. He pokes his head out from behind the frame. ‘Take a minute to pick your hiding spot,’ he says, ‘seeing as us Wallaroos are so kind.’

  Hamish puts down his sack and signals for the others to do the same. He stands with his feet apart, his arms hugging his chest. ‘We’re Warriors,’ he says, ‘we don’t have to hide.’

  ‘Suit yourselves, then,’ responds Luke. He steps from behind the climbing frame and walks up to Hamish. ‘Here’s a little token to show what good sports we are.’

  Hamish puts out his hand asking, ‘What is it? What’s it for?’

  ‘A hanky,’ says Luke with a dead straight face. Then he bolts, calling back over his shoulder. ‘To clean the crap off your face!’

  Hamish stands looking at the hanky. He throws back his head, opens his mouth — wide — and lets out a blood-curdling cry. Then he blows his nose, a big juicy blow, folds the hanky and puts it in his pocket.

  The first clod of chook poo hurls through the air, hitting Hamish full on the chin.

  ‘Raaaagggh!’ yells Hamish, thrusting a hand in the sack, but before he gets any further …

  Toot! Toooot!

  Both boys turn to the sound of a horn. There seems to be a problem on the road beside the park. Even though the lights are green the first car has stopped.

  Luke wonders if it has broken down. Beep! Beep! The drivers behind are getting impatient.

  Luke watches as a small figure steps from behind the wheel of the first car. He watches as the small figure marches across the road and into the park. It is wearing overalls and a pigeon on its head. ‘What the … ?’ he says. He turns
around just in time to see Hamish pluck out his hanky and toss it on the ground. But there’s no time for Luke to wonder about it, the next thing he sees is Hamish bolting off like a streaker at a footy match. Eli and Oscar are flat out behind him. Their bags of chook poo lie abandoned on the grass.

  ‘Stop!’ yells Mrs Sully. ‘Don’t think I don’t know who you are!’

  Luke gulps. He’s in trouble. Big trouble.

  ‘Come out the rest of you!’ roars Mrs Sully, twirling around to scout the rest of the park. ‘And show your weaselly faces. I know you’re there!’

  Luke slides down behind the frame. He looks around at Zac and Karl. He knows that there is no way Mrs Sully could have seen them. They’ve been out of view the whole time. ‘Hide!’ hisses Luke.

  Zac squeezes under the climbing frame. Karl scampers into a rolling barrel and tucks himself inside. It doesn’t take long for Luke to realise that there is no more hiding places for him. Thanks guys! he thinks. Heartbeats, toots and beeps vibrate in his ears, along with, I recognise those bags. Whoever you are I’m going to get you. You’re a thief.

  Luke searches frantically for a place to hide. He hears footsteps. She’s coming!

  Mrs Sully’s face is purple. The pigeon is flapping on her head like a pigeon about to be made into a pie.

  Luke looks for an escape route, at the same time pulling his beanie low over his face. He sees a large metal frame close by a wire fence. Might work, he thinks. Then …

  ‘Gotcha!’

  Hands grasp at air as Luke scrambles up a ladder. He scampers along the monkey bars.

  Mrs Sully keeps on coming, yelling, ‘Get down, you thief! Get down!’

  From the corner of his eye Luke can see a line of cars stretching out at the traffic lights. Drivers are getting out. Drivers with angry voices and even angrier faces. He decides to go for broke. Poised on top of the monkey bars Luke leaps, fear carrying him over the wire fence. He lands on the roof of a truck, which is parked in a side lane, does a roll like a professional stuntman, then clambers to his feet.