Green Planet

by Anthony E. Southby

  * * * * * * * *

 

  Suddenly the classroom door swung open with a loud creak, and in stepped the school principal, Mr Edgar Hurly. The classroom fell into a sudden awkward silence, and each pupil gazed ahead with dumbstruck stares. He acknowledged Mr Whittle with a stiff nod, and reached forward in a gesture to take his pointer stick. Mr Hurly was a thin aged man with dark hair brylcreemed to the sides like someone from the forties. He turned to face the class, scanning the room with cold beady eyes. The terrified children shrank back in their chairs, wishing they could evaporate into the dazzling sunlight.

  ‘Good afternoon Senton Pupils.’ The entire class sprang to attention, trembling at the knees.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mister Hurly!’ they sang in chorus.

  ‘You boys think that you are clever,’ he began to lecture, directing the stick at Frank and Philip as if they were a geographic wall chart. Then he proceeded to take slow strides up and down the front of the classroom like a staff sergeant at dormitory inspection.

  ‘I know your game, disappearing into the woods like you’ve gone AWOL or something. Having time out like a pair of regular boy scouts living off the fat of the land.

  ‘Your claim for being enemies is all a lot of codswallop, a cover-up attempt for mischievous behaviour on the outside. Boys like yourselves need to be made an example of. You need a lesson that will change the pair of you for the better, to teach you the responsibilities attached to becoming mature adults. I see through this notably well thought out scheme like a sheet of fine glass, boys. I am nobody’s fool, and this schoolboy nonsense will be dealt with in the most severe manner.’ The principal turned to face the class, scanning Frank and Philip with his cold beady eyes.

  ‘I will be on detention duty tomorrow,’ he said, staring out of the window for a long while as if lost in deep thought. ‘You will both be issued with suitable punishment for your behaviour, and if I am not entirely satisfied with your performance, I will see to it that the pair of you are immediately expelled.’

  ‘What!’ they both gasped.

  ‘Yes, Philip, your mother has informed me of the nonsense story that you conjured up,’ he said sharply, directing the pointer stick towards him. ‘You have not only told her a fictional story, but you have made her sick with worry over the last few days as well.’

  ‘As for you, Frank, your father hasn’t spoken to me yet. I have no doubt a man of such honour would be far too ashamed to do so. An athletic achiever like yourself stooping so low; what on earth is becoming of this world, young man?’

  Frank and Philip sat braced upright with faces as white as a ghost. Beads of perspiration formed on their foreheads like someone developing a ghastly temperature and breaking into a cold sweat. Philip felt cold shivers surge up and down his spine as if he had just experienced a terrifying close encounter of the third kind.

  ‘Good day Senton scholars,’ Mr Hurly said shortly, and returned the pointer stick to Mr Whittle. He closed his speech without allowing the class a moment to stand and greet him in response. ‘See you boys tomorrow afternoon in detention, and either be prompt or don’t bother to return to Senton High ever again.

  ‘Not returning here again wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all, now would it? Think of it, you could romp about the woods for the rest of your lives like a pair of hobos. Not such a bad idea after all, is it boys?’

  With those final cold words of cutthroat sarcasm, he opened the door and marched out of the classroom, slamming it with such incredible force that it almost formed a permanent part of the frame.

  Mr Whittle stood frozen in his shoes with beads of frosty perspiration dripping off the end of his enormous snout. One would almost think that he himself had just received a harsh reprimanding, the way he stood trembling like a scolded puppy.

  Sharon and Emmaline were nearly dancing, they were so angry with Philip for lining them up for Friday afternoon punishment.

  ‘We’ll get you for this, Birch,’ Sharon muttered to herself in childish rage.

  Robert was terribly confused. For one, he knew how much Philip hated Frank, and now they were best mates. Even worse, they had conspired against him for a cheap holiday in the woods; now what would he have to say when placed in the line of questioning?

  The more the podgy boy pondered the issue, the more he strained his lethargic mind. So without wasting too much precious mental energy he decided to lean back in his chair and take a session of forty winks.

  Frank and Philip sat as stiff as boards, with a million and one thoughts rushing through their heads.

  Mathias, the flower fairies, and Mr Hurly all reminded Philip of one particular type of cutthroat character. They had both overcome the impossible on planet Floran, not to mention the most treacherous of them all, Mathias. Now they had to overcome a plain old school principal. How difficult could that possibly be compared with what they had already defeated? The only difference was, of course: in this particular situation they didn’t have Chimzen or the trio to back them up.

  Chapter 28

  The prefabricated classroom was blistering hot, and one would almost believe that the tin roof hot box was used for the purpose of punishing a scholar psychologically as well as physically. Frank and Philip were seated in the front row watching the perspiration ooze out of the sides of Mr Hurly’s well brylcreemed head. Surprisingly so, the only other scholars in detention that Friday afternoon were Sharon Warne and Emmaline Sawyer, the two gorgeous young ladies that attended their maths class. It seemed as though Whittle’s maths class pupils were the only pickings for detention that week. Emmaline and Sharon scowled at Philip and Frank; their eyes burnt into their backs like a flaring blow torch of bitter resentment.

  ‘You can thank your lucky stars boys,’ Mr Hurly announced, gazing at the tiny second hand on his expensive watch. ‘Looks like you’ve made it here right on time.’

  ‘Yes sir!’ they replied loudly.

  ‘Just as well, otherwise you wouldn’t have to worry about being punctual ever in your lives again.’

  ‘Ladies,’ Mr Hurly addressed Sharon and Emmaline, squinting to the back of the prefab with his frog eyes.

  ‘Yes sir!’ they snapped, clearly not very impressed. Friday afternoons were usually spent at Senton Dago’s, an under eighteens’ pool club and diner, where they would shoot pool and flirt with the seventeen year old boys. Now they were confined to the hot box; what a drag.

  ‘Your punishment today will be to encompass the entire school property, and collect all the papers and rubbish that your fellow school pupils have kindly tossed aside. They treat the playground as though it were some kind of gigantic dustbin desperately seeking to be filled.’

  Mr Hurly handed each girl a large black plastic bag as they exited the classroom. ‘And if those bags aren’t full by half past four, you ladies will be working the night shift. Is that quite clear?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Hurly,’ they replied, scowling at Frank and Philip in disgust. They marched out of the classroom in a huff, leaving the boys all alone in the delightful company of Mr Hurly.

  The boys were both a ball of nervous energy, jittering about at their desks like hardened criminals threatened in the line of questioning. Philip wondered what his mother would have said if he had been expelled, or at least, what she would tell the residents of Senton Village; certainly nothing to gossip about in this instance. Frank wondered how his relationship with his father would be affected once he had heard the destructive news, after only having made things right just the other night.

  ‘Boys, this is how it’s going to work; the moment you have both been waiting for,’ Mr Hurly announced, handing them each a booklet of blank exercise paper and a pen. ‘You both are required to write me an essay. But not your conventional type essay like on mathematics, science or geography. Instead you are required to give me a full account of your journey together in the woods over the last couple of days. Let’s just call it a little exercise in creative writing for argument’s sake.’
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  The boys gasped, gazing at each other in horror, and shrugging their shoulders.

  ‘Ah, not all that easy now, is it?’ he smirked, believing that Frank and Philip were up to no good. ‘And if your stories compare, then you are here to stay for the remainder of your high school years. But if they don’t, well then I guess it’s bye-bye to the pair of you.’ Mr Hurly was quite enjoying his clever little moment, and looked at them, feeling certain that he was going to catch them out smartly.

  ‘You have two hours. Your papers will be compared at precisely four ‘o clock. You may begin.’

  The boys were thinking on the same lines: He wants the truth, and that’s exactly what he will get. The papers would most certainly tie up now, wouldn’t they?

  The boys put pen to paper, and started scribbling away at a rate of knots. Two hours wasn’t very much time to tell such an incredible story. Mr Hurly looked a bit puzzled as he paced up and down the front of the classroom. They really seemed to have a lot to write about for a nonsense story.

  Frank mentioned his encounter with Mathias when they were monkeys and was so lost in thought that he didn’t seem to notice the perspiration splash onto his desk like a running tap. Philip explained the Indian plants on Planet Floran, and almost bit his tongue while remembering the raging fire below the tree from which he had hung.

  Four ‘o clock arrived in a flash, with both Frank and Philip still scribbling away frantically at their exercise pads.

  ‘Pens down!’ Mr Hurly demanded, still looking very puzzled. Philip’s handwriting was barely legible, but his spelling wasn’t all that bad. Mr Hurly was quite accustomed to deciphering untidy script with all his years of experience as a teacher. Frank’s handwriting on the other hand was neat and precise, but his spelling was appalling.

  Mr Hurly glanced at Philip, then at Frank, looking suspicious over their frantic scribbling behaviour. Frank stared nervously at his scribbled sheet, and then handed it to the school principal rather reluctantly.

  ‘Please remain seated while I compare notes,’ he demanded, shuffling the documents together while he eyed the boys with a condescending stare. ‘The next fifteen minutes will be the deciding factor that will seal your fate.’

  He placed Frank’s essay to one side while he deciphered Philip’s untidy hieroglyphic text.

  ‘Interesting,’ he muttered, his beady frog eyes opening to twice their usual size. The boys sat upright as stiff as a board. Deep down inside they wished that they could liquidize and pour quietly out of the classroom door. Mr Hurly tried to maintain his composure, and continued to read the far-fetched tale while large droplets of steaming facial sweat dripped off his long pointed nose and poured down his clenched neck muscles, soaking his neatly pressed white collar and shirt.

  After struggling to swallow half of Philip’s weird and wonderful story, and choking on its far-fetched fantasy, Mr Hurly shoved it onto the desk, gritting his teeth in rage.

  The disgruntled principal snatched up Frank’s essay, knowing very well that the stories would never compare, and proceeded to read.

  The two boys nearly fell over backwards when his hand came slamming down on the front desk in disgust. Then he looked up, focusing on them almost calmly while he shuffled his collar and took a deep breath. His frog eyes scanned the room, bouncing from Frank to Philip like an entranced spectator at a Wimbledon final. He grated his teeth as volumes of sweat combined with sleek Brylcreem flowed down his face like toxic slime.

  ‘This was very well-planned, my boys, and for that I must give you credit,’ he hissed softly, trying his utmost to maintain composure. ‘Both stories are a perfect match.’ The boys breathed a sigh, not exactly with relief, but that they had at least managed to match up to the requirement that had been demanded of them.

  ‘This-is-an-insult!’ he barked, slapping the essay papers on Frank’s desk, scattering them wildly in all directions. ‘What sort of a fool do you boys take me for?’

  * * * * * * * *

  Sharon burst into the classroom, her face as white as a ghost.

  ‘Mr Hurly!’ she cried, interrupting him in mid sentence, grabbing him frantically by the arm. ‘Come and look sir! Please come and look!’

  ‘How dare you interrupt me, child! Can’t you see that I’m busy?’ he barked, nearly losing his foothold with all the overwhelming excitement taking place all at the same time.

  ‘You must come and have a look sir!’ she insisted.

  Mr Hurly’s stress level had risen to dangerous proportions, and he had to grab the corner of Frank’s desk to overcome a sudden spell of dizziness. He paused for a moment, then inhaled deeply.

  ‘Please come, Mr Hurly!’

  ‘Oh all right, Sharon!’ he snapped. ‘You had better not be wasting my time, young lady, or you will be in big trouble.’

  ‘No, Mr Hurly, I wouldn’t dare, sir!’

  Frank and Philip were ordered to remain in the classroom while he went to investigate the scene.

  ‘Let’s go, Frank!’

  ‘Have you completely lost your mind?’

  ‘We are going to get expelled anyway; let’s at least go and see what all the fuss is about.’

  ‘Good point you have there.’

  The boys bolted out of the classroom, following closely behind an excited Sharon, and a flustered Mr Hurly.’

  ‘Look Mr Hurly!’ she exclaimed, pointing towards the open sports field. ‘Over there!’

  The complaining school principal reached the open field and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth hung wide open in disbelief. What he saw in front of him could not have possibly been real; it was like something out of a science fiction movie. An alien invasion.

  ‘Malco trio!’ the boys yelled, sprinting up from behind. Emmaline and Sharon gazed at Frank and Philip in disbelief.

  ‘Do you guys know what this thing is?’

  Suspended in midair was a gigantic shimmering yellow pyramid structure, rotating slowly in an uneven motion.

  ‘Of course we know them!’ Philip exclaimed, hardly believing it himself. ‘They are silver magical balls that radiate magnificent powers, and they are our very good friends.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Emmaline snapped. ‘You are just making it all up.’

  Mr Hurly continued to stare in disbelief with drool dripping off his lips. His face was a vision of death and he appeared like a mutant monster snared in a witch’s trance.

  Philip ignored Emmaline’s comments and continued staring at the trio pyramid with his heart welling over with joy. Sharon glanced at him, and for the first time she saw the scruffy redhead in a totally different light. She couldn’t understand exactly why it was so, but he seemed so awfully cute.

  The trio dispersed, turned to face the little group of bystanders, and rocketed towards them reflecting the late afternoon sun like mercury transformed to golden light. The silver trio chattered and chuckled amongst themselves as they approached the boys and girls, spinning in streaks of wavy shimmering light.

  They launched over Frank and Philip’s heads squeaking in delight, then did a U-turn and spun off back across the field. Emmaline dropped her almost full to the brim bag of garbage onto the ground, allowing dozens of crisp packets and toffee wrappers to fly around in all directions, while she gazed at the trio in absolute astonishment.

  Suddenly they transformed into what seemed like three tiny show aeroplanes, emitting belching white smoke from their silvery behinds. Zen went first, criss-crossing in an incredible display of large cursive text motions across the sky in front of the gasping schoolchildren. The letters formed slowly in swift strokes of smoky text:

  ‘Frank and Philip have saved the day’

  Then Zet continued below Zen with his zippy part of the rhyme:

  ‘Malco trio thanks you for being so very brave.’

  Zip spun into action completing her piece of the smoke stream magic message.

  ‘What’s that?’ Emmaline gasped.

  ‘I think it looks like a monkey,’
Sharon answered, jumping up and down with joy. Zip had very accurately sprayed a fine stream of white smoke to form the features of a monkey holding up a banana. To follow that she sprayed an outline of a large tree. To end off her enormous picture message she outlined a human figure dressed with a schoolboy’s cap and a tie.

  ‘Monkey, Tree, Schoolboy,’ the girls recited together after completing the Malco picture rhyme, and looked just as confused as they had in the first place.

  Frank and Philip laughed at the two puzzled girls, knowing exactly what all the symbols meant.

  ‘It can’t be,’ Mr Hurly mumbled, still gaping after the trio like a goldfish. Sharon was so beside herself with all the excitement that she sprinted towards Philip, leapt into his arms and gave him a fat kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re my hero, Philip, you are my amazingly gorgeous and truly wonderful red headed hero.’

  Philip nearly fell over backwards in fright. His face was as red as a beetroot, and he was stuttering like an old English typewriter. ‘I-I a-am?’

  ‘Yes, you are, my gorgeous,’ she swooned, ‘and now I want to hear every last juicy detail.’

  ‘O-of c-course,’ he replied, not exactly sure what to do next.

  Frank on the other hand never received any female attention that day, but was only too happy to oblige his friend though. His boxing had attracted so much attention to him that he would have been quite happy if he didn’t have to see another drooling chick for the rest of the year.

  The Malco trio blasted a final circle of smoke around the perimeter of their gigantic message and spun off towards the woods, leaving behind three twisty trails of wispy white smoke.

  ‘Impossible!’ Mr Hurly ranted, turning to face the small group. ‘There must be an explanation for all this hocus-pocus pie in the sky nonsense. I don’t buy any of it.’

  Mr Hurly never called Frank or Philip back to the classroom, he never complained when he saw Sharon holding onto Philip, and he never moaned about the upturned bags spewing rubbish all over the place. He just marched towards the school as if he were late for an appointment.

  * * * * * * * *

  ‘I can’t sleep Doctor,’ Mr Hurly complained, with his head slumped over into his hands on the desk of Dr Rubenstein. ‘I just toss and turn all night. All I see is this gigantic pyramid rotating around in the sky. My wife is sick with worry; she can’t bear it any longer to stay up nights watching me stare at the ceiling.’