Toad Surprise

by Morris Gleitzman

  ‘Let’s not hang around,’ said Limpy as they hopped closer to the house. ‘Let’s just grab Uncle Vasco from the ute and head home.’

  Goliath grunted in agreement.

  As they got closer to the firefighter’s house, Limpy couldn’t look at it. Just the thought of it made his warts ache with disappointment.

  ‘Santa’s workshop,’ said Goliath scornfully. ‘Were we dopey or what? If that was Santa’s workshop, the TV aerial wouldn’t be on the roof, it’d be on a reindeer.’

  ‘You weren’t dopey,’ said Limpy, staring at the footpath. ‘I was.’

  Goliath thought about this.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said.

  Then he stopped.

  ‘Oh poop,’ he grunted.

  Limpy looked up. And saw they were out the front of the house. He also saw what Goliath was staring at. Not the wonky TV aerial on the roof. The empty space at the kerb.

  The ute was gone.

  ‘Oh no,’ wailed Goliath. ‘Uncle Vasco’s been kidnapped.’

  Limpy peered up and down the street. No sign of the ute. Plus it wasn’t in the driveway or down the side of the house. And there was no garage, so it couldn’t be hiding.

  ‘A human’s stolen our uncle,’ wailed Goliath.

  Limpy realised what must have happened.

  ‘Calm down,’ he said to Goliath. ‘I bet the firefighter has just gone to his family or friends for Christmas lunch. You know how maggots are always getting together for family meals? Well humans are the same. He’ll be back later.’

  ‘He’d better be,’ growled Goliath. ‘Or I’m gunna set fire to his house. And his firefighter’s hat.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Limpy. ‘We haven’t slept for ages. Let’s have a snooze in the shade while we wait.’

  He led Goliath into the front yard.

  They flopped down in the shade of some bushes, well away from the fence and the big scary dog.

  Except, thought Limpy sleepily as he closed his eyes, it does seem very quiet next door. The big scary dog must be off having Christmas lunch too.

  Limpy didn’t sleep exactly, just dozed.

  There was too much to worry about.

  How to get home, mostly.

  Stormwater drains were the safest method of travel. But the frog who’d given them directions had also given them the bad news.

  The drains stopped at the edge of town.

  Which meant there was only one way back to the swamp. A long and dangerous hop along the highway. Carrying Uncle Vasco. Dodging cars driven by humans with absolutely no Christmas peace and goodwill in their hearts.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ roared an angry voice.

  Limpy’s eyes snapped open.

  For a horrible moment he thought the dog next door had decided to have him and Goliath for its Christmas lunch.

  But there was no sign of the dog. And Goliath wasn’t flopped on the grass any more. Only his sock was.

  ‘Happy Christmas and a pooey new year, you mongrels,’ roared the voice.

  Limpy realised who the voice belonged to.

  He jumped up frantically and peered around. There was Goliath, squatting in the middle of the road, waving a stick angrily at what Limpy could now see was an approaching vehicle.

  ‘Goliath,’ shouted Limpy. ‘Don’t do it. Get off the road. Please.’

  He hurried towards Goliath as fast as he could.

  ‘Don’t try to stop me,’ said Goliath. ‘Those mongrel humans had their chance. But they don’t want to be friends, they just want to squash us flat and kidnap our uncles. Well this is showdown time. I’m an angry cane toad and I’ve got a stick.’

  Limpy grabbed Goliath’s big arm and tried to drag him off the road. But as usual when Goliath was angry and hysterical, he was also too heavy.

  The vehicle coming towards them was very close now. Too close for them to get away.

  Suddenly Limpy knew this was it.

  A sad end to a sad Christmas.

  He hugged Goliath and whispered goodbye to Mum and Dad and Charm and stared bravely at the very last vehicle he would ever see.

  And recognised it.

  The ute.

  There behind the steering wheel was the firefighter, his beard white and bushy as ever.

  Thank swamp, thought Limpy. We’re saved. He’ll swerve and miss us again.

  Then Limpy had a horrible thought.

  What if he doesn’t?

  What if he only swerved last time because he coughed or sneezed or nodded off?

  What if he’s a miserable grump who doesn’t have a flicker of peace and goodwill in any of his internal organs or body cavities?

  Just another human who hates cane toads?

  ‘Eat wood, you mongrel,’ Goliath yelled at the ute, brandishing his stick.

  But no wood was eaten.

  Limpy saw the firefighter’s eyes widen with alarm as he desperately turned the steering wheel.

  The ute swerved across the road.

  It thumped into the kerb and stopped with two wheels up on the footpath.

  ‘Chicken,’ yelled Goliath.

  Limpy was too weak with relief to speak to Goliath about his manners.

  The firefighter, who was squinting at them through the ute window, was looking very relieved too.

  Oh well, thought Limpy. At least Christmas hasn’t been a total disaster. At least now we know there’s one human in the world with peace and goodwill in his heart.

  It’s just a shame he’s the only one.

  By the time Goliath had done his victory dance and finished boasting to some ants about how he’d defeated a ute twice, the firefighter had parked properly and gone into the house.

  ‘Come on,’ said Limpy to Goliath. ‘We’ve got a long trip home. Let’s grab Uncle Vasco and get started.’

  They clambered into the back of the ute.

  There, to Limpy’s relief, was Uncle Vasco, still safely hidden.

  Limpy and Goliath slid their flat sun-baked uncle out from under the coil of rope.

  ‘G’day, Uncle Vasco,’ said Goliath. ‘Good to see you again.’

  Limpy felt the same. He couldn’t wait to see Mum and Dad and Charm again too, even though he knew they’d be sad and disappointed when they heard the quest had failed.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ said a cheery voice.

  Limpy turned.

  A centipede was perched on the coil of rope, pointing at Uncle Vasco with quite a few of its legs.

  ‘I kept an eye on your uncle for you,’ said the centipede.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Limpy. ‘That was very kind.’

  ‘You’re worth your weight in dust mites,’ said Goliath to the centipede.

  ‘Can’t be too careful in this neighbourhood,’ said the centipede. ‘That brute of a dog next door thinks anything flat and round is a dog biscuit.’

  Limpy could believe that.

  ‘The bloke who owns this ute is a worry too,’ said the centipede. ‘Poor old Stan. He’s been doing so much blubbing lately I was worried he’d make your uncle all damp and mouldy.’

  Limpy remembered how sad the firefighter had looked when they first saw him in his house.

  ‘Blubbing?’ said Limpy. ‘Is that the thing humans do with their eyes when they’re sad?’

  The centipede nodded.

  ‘And when they’re embarrassed,’ said Goliath. ‘Because, for example, a cane toad has just totally defeated their ute.’

  ‘Look over there,’ said the centipede. ‘Stan’s at it again.’

  Limpy peeked over the edge of the ute in the direction the centipede was pointing.

  Stan had come back out of the house and was standing near the verandah, staring at a shrub with flowers on it. His beard was trembling and his shoulders were shaking and Limpy could see wetness on his cheeks.

  So that’s blubbing, thought Limpy.

  He wondered what could make a tough firefighter so upset.

  ‘Those were his wife’s favourite flowers,’ said the centiped
e quietly. ‘She died a few days ago.’

  Limpy stared at Stan.

  He knew what it felt like to have an uncle die, and an aunt, and even a second cousin.

  But a wife?

  That must be almost as bad as losing a mum or a dad or a sister.

  Poor bloke, thought Limpy.

  It didn’t seem fair. The only human they’d ever met who had Christmas peace and goodwill in his heart, and this awful thing had happened to him.

  Limpy watched sadly as Stan put his head into his hands. His beard and shoulders were shaking even more now.

  ‘Yum,’ said Goliath’s voice.

  Limpy looked down.

  Goliath was out of the ute, on the ground, happily chomping away.

  ‘This place keeps getting better,’ he said. ‘The worms here are really big and juicy.’

  ‘Not so loud,’ pleaded Limpy. ‘There’s somebody over there feeling very sad.’

  ‘I’m chewing as quietly as I can,’ protested Goliath.

  Limpy didn’t say any more. Watching Stan was making him feel too sad to argue.

  ‘Be patient, you lot,’ Goliath whispered loudly to the worms. ‘I’m eating you as fast as I can. The rest of you, while you’re waiting, stay away from Mrs Stan’s flowers or you’re in big trouble.’

  Limpy sighed.

  ‘You OK?’ said the centipede.

  ‘Poor Stan,’ said Limpy. ‘I wish I could help him.’

  The centipede gave Limpy the sort of look you give one of those wood lice that eats its own brain.

  ‘You’re a cane toad,’ said the centipede. ‘He’s a human. You can’t help him.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Limpy.

  ‘Because he’s a mammal,’ said the centipede. ‘You’re an amphibian. The only thing you two have in common is you both do wees and poos. And you both look like you’re having an unhappy Christmas.’

  Limpy thought about this.

  He looked at Stan, head bowed miserably by the shrub, and at Goliath punishing a worm by chewing it twice as many times as normal.

  ‘I still wish I could help Stan,’ said Limpy.

  The centipede rolled its eyes and quite a few of its legs.

  ‘Dream on,’ it said.

  ‘Cheer a human up?’ said Goliath, standing in the back of the ute with his hands on his hips. ‘Are you crazy? We’ve tried to be nice to humans, but the mongrels aren’t interested.’

  Limpy sighed.

  It was always risky telling Goliath a new plan. Goliath was brave and adventurous, but sometimes new plans gave him wind.

  ‘Total waste of time,’ said Goliath. ‘Plus what’s in it for us? It’s not like he’s offering us pizza or a hi-tech military stick-sharpening machine.’

  ‘There’s nothing in it for us,’ said Limpy. ‘A human who was kind to us is feeling sad and lonely on Christmas Day. I just think it would be nice if we could cheer him up a bit.’

  ‘That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard,’ said Goliath.

  Limpy was glad Stan was back in the house and didn’t have to see Goliath carrying on like this.

  ‘Put yourself in Stan’s place, Goliath,’ said Limpy. ‘I know you’ve got a good heart. I’ve seen you helping sugar ants back onto their feet after you’ve finished licking them.’

  Goliath gave the centipede an embarrassed glance.

  ‘I only did it once,’ he muttered. ‘Anyway, sugar ants don’t kill you after you’ve helped them.’

  Limpy wasn’t sure what Goliath was on about.

  ‘What if Stan kills us after we’ve cheered him up,’ said Goliath. ‘Think about it. Think what humans do when they’re happy.’

  Limpy frowned, puzzled. He could think of a lot of things humans did when they were happy.

  ‘Gardening?’ said the centipede. ‘Line dancing?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Goliath. ‘Humans do hobbies. And what’s their favourite hobby? Killing cane toads.’

  ‘And counting legs,’ said the centipede. ‘They count legs a lot.’

  Limpy pointed out to Goliath that Stan didn’t seem like the sort of human who killed cane toads as a hobby. Not given all the swerving he’d done to avoid killing the two of them.

  Goliath grunted. He didn’t seem totally convinced.

  Limpy grabbed Goliath’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

  ‘Remember how sad you felt when Uncle Vasco got squashed?’ said Limpy. ‘And how much better you felt when me and Charm cheered you up with those dung beetles. The ones that did somersaults.’

  Goliath grinned.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘They were fun. They tickled for ages after I swallowed them.’

  Goliath gave the centipede another embarrassed glance. Limpy kept looking sternly at Goliath.

  Slowly Goliath’s shoulders drooped.

  ‘All right,’ he muttered. ‘I suppose we could think about doing a bit of cheering up.’

  Limpy gave Goliath a grateful squeeze. He felt like giving his cousin a hug, but he stopped himself. Goliath didn’t approve of toads showing their feelings in front of insects.

  ‘How are we gunna cheer him up?’ grumbled Goliath.

  ‘By giving him a Christmas present,’ said Limpy.

  While Goliath thought about this, the centipede stared at Limpy.

  ‘You are crazy,’ said the centipede. ‘Humans are rich. We’re poor. Why would you want to give a human a Christmas present?’

  Limpy didn’t try to explain. If the centipede didn’t understand now, it never would.

  Goliath hugged his Christmas sock to his chest.

  ‘All right,’ he said to Limpy. ‘We’ll do it. But that human’s not getting my gravel.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Limpy. ‘I’ve thought of something else we can give him.’

  ‘Oops,’ said Limpy.

  It wasn’t easy, climbing up a kitchen chair with Uncle Vasco on your back, specially when your crook leg kept slipping on the shiny wood.

  Goliath was sharing the load, but it was still tricky.

  ‘Don’t fall,’ grunted Goliath. ‘I don’t want to have to say goodbye to an uncle and a cousin all at once.’

  Limpy gave Goliath a grateful glance. He knew this wasn’t easy for Goliath, giving Uncle Vasco away for Christmas, even though there were lots more uncles stacked up at home.

  ‘I won’t fall,’ said Limpy, trying to ignore the cramp in his leg.

  They paused for a breather halfway up the chair.

  Limpy peered over at the big brooding shape of Stan, who was sitting at the other side of the kitchen table, shoulders hunched, having his Christmas lunch. He was chewing mournfully, staring at his plate.

  ‘Look at that,’ muttered Goliath. ‘Chicken nuggets and he’s not even enjoying them. How could anyone with their own tummy not enjoy chicken nuggets?’

  ‘Poor bloke,’ said Limpy. ‘He must miss his wife terribly.’

  Limpy made a mental note that when he was old enough to have a wife, he’d try to find one who was tough and strong and wouldn’t die even if a truck ran over her.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Goliath, peering over at Stan. ‘Uncle Vasco’ll cheer him up.’

  Limpy hoped Goliath was right. Suddenly he was having a fleeting moment of doubt about his choice of gift for Stan.

  Was a flat sun-baked uncle the right present for a human who’d just lost a living breathing family member? Would Stan think the present was stupid and pointless?

  Limpy peered over at Stan’s plate again, and his warts tingled with relief.

  Phew.

  It was OK.

  Stan didn’t already have a placemat.

  ‘Come on,’ grunted Goliath, heaving Uncle Vasco onto his back. ‘Let’s get over there before the chicken nuggets are all gone.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Limpy. ‘If we leave Uncle Vasco here on the chair, out of sight, we can say g’day to Stan first, then give him his gift. Christmas presents are always better if they’re a surprise.’

  ‘You’re
the expert,’ said Goliath. ‘You know, at Christmas presents. I’m still the expert at stabbing things.’

  Finally they made it.

  ‘Oof,’ grunted Goliath as they flopped onto the table top. ‘I think I popped a wart.’

  Limpy’s crook leg felt like it was dropping off, but he didn’t mind. Some things hurt even more than crook legs. Losing loved ones, for example. He peered up at Stan, who was still staring at the plate and chewing a chicken nugget mournfully.

  ‘Strange,’ whispered Limpy. ‘You’d think he’d have noticed us by now.’

  But he hadn’t.

  ‘Hey, weed-face,’ yelled Goliath. ‘We’ve got something for you.’

  Now he had.

  Limpy watched Stan’s beard wobble and his mouth fall open as he stared at the two cane toads on his kitchen table.

  ‘Happy Christmas,’ said Goliath.

  ‘He doesn’t speak our language, remember?’ whispered Limpy.

  He gave Stan a big friendly Christmas wave, trying not to show how his warts were suddenly prickling with fear.

  An awful thought had just hit him. What if humans who were friendly on roads got really cross if you came into their houses without an invitation?

  At least Stan wasn’t holding a chainsaw, or a tyre lever, or pegs.

  But, Limpy saw with a shiver, he was holding a fork.

  Limpy waved again. Goliath was waving too, and dribbling mucus onto the table. Limpy hoped Stan understood what a friendly thing that was when a cane toad did it.

  Stan was starting to look like he did. His face was still stunned, but his eyes had softened and a tiny smile was tweaking the corners of his mouth.

  ‘It’s working,’ Limpy said to Goliath. ‘Quick, the prezzie.’

  They dropped onto their tummies and dangled over the edge of the table and hauled Uncle Vasco up. Once he was on the table top, they propped him against a sauce bottle.

  Goliath cleared his throat.

  ‘This is a gift from us to you to ease the pain of your broken heart,’ he said to Stan. ‘You’d better look after him, or I’ll come back and stab you. Happy Christmas.’

  Limpy was grateful Stan didn’t speak their language.

  Stan stared at Uncle Vasco for a long time.

  ‘Maybe we need to show him how to use his present,’ Limpy whispered to Goliath. ‘He might not know what a placemat is.’