by John Marsden
‘The boy said to the man, “What a wonderful thing this is to walk on!”
‘ “Yes,” said the man, who was a king. “It is called carpet. It is rather like the grass that one finds in a garden.”
‘The boy went on his way, still searching. Some time later he met a woman carrying a large square thing under her arm.
‘ “May I see what you are carrying?” the boy asked politely. The woman held it up for the boy to see, and he was struck dumb with astonishment. He had never seen anything so exquisite.
‘ “What is it?” he asked faintly, when he had got his voice back.
‘ “It is a painting of a flower,” the woman replied. “A flower from a garden.”
‘The very next day the boy came upon a group of people all seated around a table, laughing and talking. They were putting different things into their mouths. In particular, they were dipping their hands into a large jar that stood in the centre of the table, then they sucked on their fingers. The boy sat down with them but they seemed not to notice him. After a while he was emboldened to follow their example with the large jar. As soon as he transferred the stuff to his lips, his mouth was filled with a rich glow of great sweetness. It was as though the flute was now playing in his mouth.
‘ “What is this?” he asked the people in delight.
‘They turned their faces to him.
‘ “It is honey,” they answered.
‘ “What is honey?” he asked.
‘ “It comes from the nectar of flowers,” they explained. “Out of nectar the bees make honey.”
‘Much later on his travels the boy met a beautiful young girl, dressed in white, walking beside an expanse of water. The boy went up to her, sure that he could learn from someone so attractive. As he approached her he felt a wonderful sensation fill his head: he felt that it was lifting him from the ground. He realised that this feeling was entering his head through his nose, and he touched his nose dazedly.
‘ “What is happening to me?” he asked.
‘ “Perhaps it is my perfume,” the girl said shyly.
‘ “Perfume?” the boy queried.
‘ “Yes, perfume,” the girl said. “Perfume is our poor attempt to distil the smells of Nature into a liquid, so we can carry the smells around with us wherever we go.”
‘Filled with wonder at the things he had learned, the boy was more determined than ever to find a garden, and so he searched all the harder. But his searching was in vain. No matter how hard he tried he could not find it. After a long long time he was at last forced to abandon his quest and return home. He walked with head hanging low and feet dragging in the dust. But as he came to his home once more, something wonderful happened. He heard the clear musical sounds of birds singing. He smelt the sweet richness of flowers growing. He felt the soft coolness of grass under his feet. He lifted his head and saw the colours staggering with joy, the wise shade of great trees, the bright movement of bees. “This is a garden,” he exclaimed with delight. “All the time I had a garden here at home, but I had to go away to understand it!” ’
The Seventh Story
ARGUS crossed his fingers that he would remember and hoped that he was not straying so far outside the guidelines that he would offend the elders. He took a deep breath.
He walked with his feet on a roadway,
A path that was clearly defined.
But the journey that really had meaning
Was the one that took place in his mind.
Whenever he came to a crossroad
He had his choices to make.
But his legs played no part in choosing
Which of the roads he must take.
Wisdom lay not in his muscles
Nor in the soles of his feet.
It came from the light of achievement,
It came from the mud of defeat.
The further one walks, the more crossroads.
And the harder the choices become.
In country that’s strange or unfriendly
The ignorant soon will succumb.
And there’s four different paths to be taken
None can be safely ignored.
Even the one that’s been travelled
Needs to be further explored.
For there’s always a road to friendship
And there’s always a road to fame
And there’s always a road to danger
— And a road that wants walking again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A week after the celebrations, when the stream of well-wishers had at last started to dry up, Argus faced his parents again, in a curious replay of his first departure from home. He had told them much about his journey, including a detailed account of his life with Adious. They had listened anxiously and his father had commented at the end, ‘You weren’t meant to grow up that much’. His mother said nothing. Argus realised from his father’s comment that although he had changed, his parents had not. It helped to make him feel easier in his mind about the course he must now take. And so he told them that it was time for him to set off once more, to meet up with Adious and Jessie, and that he did so not only out of a sense of commitment but also out of love.
But before he had finished, his mother was silently weeping and his father’s lips too were quivering.
‘I’m sorry,’ Argus said gently, feeling a little desperate. ‘But hear me out, please. I’ve got two suggestions to make, and I want you to agree to one of them before I go. The first one is that Adious and Jessie and I come and winter with you every year. We’d be happy to do that and it would mean that you could save all the major jobs on the farm until I got here each year, so that the place could be kept in good shape. But the other idea is that you retire from the farm here and come with us to our valley. It’s small but it’s pretty, and I’d build you a house where you’d get lots of sunlight. It’s a peaceful place, and you could do as much or as little work as you wanted. The only thing that I wouldn’t excuse you from is playing with Jessie, and teaching her as you taught me.’
There was a long silence in the room.
‘It’d be hard for us to leave our friends here,’ Argus’ father finally said.
‘Yes, I know,’ Argus said, not attempting to cover the problem with platitudes.
‘What’s the night sky like?’ his mother asked, thinking of her astronomy.
‘Rich in stars,’ Argus answered, smiling. There was another long silence, which Argus broke. ‘It’s something to think about,’ he said. ‘There’s no rush. I plan to leave around the end of the week, to get Adious. If you think you might be interested, then we’d come back here from Conroy, to talk it over some more, and to move you, if that’s what you decide you want. But,’ he added, in unconscious imitation of the words he often wished his parents had said to him, ‘you decide what’s right for you. Whatever suits you best.’
It was, as it turned out, a little over a week before Argus actually left. During that time he knew that his parents had many anxious discussions about his proposal. They asked him a number of questions, but it was hard for him to tell whether they were starting to favour the move or not. But they did at least intimate that they wanted to meet Adious, and so it was agreed that he would return with her and Jessie as soon as he had paid his respects to the aunt in Conroy.
In the event he was not away for long. This time they heard him before they saw him, as he came whooping and singing up the driveway, with a dusty, smiling Adious and an excited Jessie riding on his back.
‘Pack your bags, grandma!’ he shouted out to his parents as they came out to greet the little family. ‘Get your things, grandpa. We’re looking for a midwife and a couple of grandparents. It’s going to be a springtime baby and we want you there to see it!’
With another exultant whoop he slipped Jessie off his back and began turning cartwheels around the verandah. His parents looked at each other then at Adious, and the three of them smiled, the smile of loving complicity. Argus grabbed his
mother around the waist and began dancing with her.
‘I thought we sent him away to grow up,’ his father grumbled, half to himself. He looked at Adious. ‘Mind you, I remember doing handstands along this verandah the night he was born. Ah well, I guess somehow none of us ever grow up.’
He turned, and with a new sense of life in his step, went inside to fetch a bottle of wine.
John Marsden
Out of Time
James reads by his open bedroom window at night. Other lives and other worlds beckon. One of these worlds is conjured by old Mr Woodford, a physicist who looks more like an accountant and who constructs a strange black box.
One day when James slips into the laboratory, he makes a dreadful discovery and learns to master a great power.
Who is the little boy in Mexico who scratches pictures of aeroplanes in the dust? How will the girl caught in a wartime bomb blast be reunited with her parents? And why does James sit alone in his island of silence?
With Out of Time John Marsden has produced a novel that will further enhance his reputation as one of the most successful writers of fiction for teenagers. This is a challenging novel which poses a new question on every page as it draws us into an ever-widening series of mysteries, into magical, dangerous worlds—in and out of time.
John Marsden
The Great Gatenby
Maybe deep down every kid knows his parents want him to be the Pride of the School, the Captain of the Cricket and Tennis and Rowing and Darts and Knitting and anything else that’s going down.
They don’t want to know that you’ve had more detentions than any other new student in the history of the school, that you’re going out with a girl who doesn’t wear a bra to PE, and that the Head Swimming Coach is some kind of Nazi whose last job was training the shark in Jaws.
Erle Gatenby has been sent to boarding school to straighten out, but there’s about as much chance of that happening as there is of his giving up smoking . . . or drinking . . . or falling through the Art Room roof.
Erle’s a full tank of petrol . . . and wild, sexy Melanie Tozer is about to light the match.
John Marsden
Letters From the Inside
Dear Tracey
I don’t know why I’m answering your ad, to be honest. It’s not like I’m into pen pals, but it’s a boring Sunday here, wet, everyone’s out, and I thought it’d be something different . . .
Dear Mandy
Thanks for writing. You write so well, much better than me. I put the ad in for a joke, like a dare, and yours was the only good answer . . .
Two teenage girls. An innocent beginning to friendship. Two complete strangers who get to know each other a little better each time a letter is written and answered.
Mandy has a dog with no name, an older sister, a creepy brother, and some boy problems. Tracey has a horse, two dogs and a cat, an older sister and brother, and a great boyfriend. They both have hopes and fears . . . and secrets.
‘John Marsden’s Letters From the Inside is, in a word, unforgettable. But this epistolary novel deserves more than one word. It is absolutely shattering as it brings to vivid life two teenage girls and then strangles your heart over what happens to their relationship . . . John Marsden is a major writer who deserves world-wide acclaim’
ROBERT CORMIER
John Marsden
Take My Word For It
You know what Tracey said to me after English today? She said: ‘The reason you’ve got no friends is that you don’t tell anyone your problems’ . . . I hate the way they tell everyone every single detail about themselves . . . If you ask me, it’s dangerous. Once you start, you don’t stop.
Strong, cold, private . . . this is Lisa, as seen by Marina in her journal, So Much to Tell You.
But Lisa too keeps a journal. It’s a record of her friends and family, her frustrations and successes, her thoughts and feelings. As page follows page, the real Lisa begins to emerge. Not always strong, not always private and certainly not cold.
As in the best-selling So Much to Tell You, award-winning novelist John Marsden takes us into the world of young people trying to make sense of their lives.
‘John Marsden is a major writer who deserves world-wide acclaim’
ROBERT CORMIER
John Marsden
Checkers
She has parents, a brother, friends and a dog.
Sometimes the dog seems like the only one she can trust.
Her life is about to fall apart.
The dog is Checkers.
The book is unforgettable.
Praise for Checkers:
‘ . . . a terribly moving book . . . a subject that hasn’t been written about much in children’s literature . . . for anyone from ages fourteen to eighty-five’
BOOKSHOW
‘ . . . shattering . . .’
WEST AUSTRALIAN
‘ . . . intense . . .’
SUNDAY AGE
‘ . . . a wonderful story teller . . .’
GOLD COAST BULLETIN
‘ . . . heart-wrenching . . .’
HERALD SUN
Learn great new writing skills, with John Marsden
You are invited to spend a few days with John Marsden at one of Australia’s most beautiful properties.
The Tye Estate is just 25 minutes from Melbourne’s Tullamarine Airport, and is perfectly set up for writing camps and other activities.
Every school holidays, John takes writing and drama camps, where you can improve your skills, make new friends, expand your thinking, and have a huge heap of fun.
Accommodation is modern and comfortable; meals are far removed from the shepherd’s pie they gave you at your last school camp, and supervision is by friendly and experienced staff.
Between the workshops with John, you can explore 850 acres of spectacular bush, looking out for rare and highly endangered species like Tiger Quolls and Powerful Owls, as well as koalas, platypuses, wedgetail eagles, kangaroos and wallabies.
Mountain bikes, bushwalking, orienteering, and a picnic at nearby Hanging Rock, are among the highlights of your memorable stay at the Tye Estate.
School groups in term time are also welcome.
For details, write to:
The Tye Estate
RMB 1250
ROMSEY
VICTORIA 3434
Or fax: (61) 03 54 270395
Phone: (61) 03 54 270384
