Finally I reached the goat. It wasn’t a bit scared. The silly thing didn’t even seem to know it was trapped. It started to nibble at my socks.
‘Stop it,’ I yelled. ‘Stop it, you stupid goat.’
Billy kept on nibbling. He took a whole chunk out of my sock and swallowed it.
With my left hand I propped myself up so that I didn’t fall. I tried to untangle the chain with my other hand. It was hard work because I was trying to hold the opal at the same time.
I felt the opal fall. It just slipped out of my fingers. It seemed to take for ever to hit the ground. It was as if it was in slow motion. I made a wild grab but the opal fell onto the track and rolled towards the edge.
Quick as a flash, the goat bent down and licked it up.
‘No,’ I screamed.
But I was too late. The goat gave a little swallow and had the opal for dessert. It was gone. Buried deep in the blackness of Billy’s bowels.
The goat had swallowed the Paper Man’s opal.
4
The chain came away from the bush and Billy tried to escape. He shoved between me and the cliff. I tottered on the edge. If it hadn’t been for the root of a dead tree I would have tumbled to my death. I hung on like crazy.
The ungrateful goat pushed past and bolted up the track. With the opal still in its belly.
I managed to crawl back up the cliff on my knees. I stood up and looked around. Just in time to see Billy clip clopping off in the distance.
I felt cold all over. I began to shake as I realised what had happened. The opal was gone. The goat was going. And the poor little kangaroo would miss out on its operation. It would die. And it was all my fault. I couldn’t go back and face the Paper Man. I couldn’t look into his trusting brown eyes and tell him that I’d lost his opal. The opal I was supposed to have sold for two hundred dollars.
The goat. I had to catch him. I belted after Billy as fast as I could go. I tore along the clifftop. Billy was heading for town. Flat out. You might not think it but goats can run fast. I tried to keep up but I couldn’t. My sides ached. I had a stitch. My lungs hurt.
I slowed to a fast walk. It was the best I could do. As I went I thought about the opal. How could I get it back?
I could take Billy to the vet’s. I could offer him half the opal to operate and take it out. Or I could say, ‘Operate on the goat and get the opal back. Then you can fix the little kangaroo and keep the opal. Two operations for one opal.’
But in my heart I knew he would just laugh. I was just a kid. And what if the opal had gone? Moved on, so to speak.
No, I had to catch that goat and get the opal back myself. But how? What goes up must come down. What goes in must come out. All I had to do was catch Billy and collect the droppings. Sooner or later the opal would appear in a little ball of poo. And everything would be all right.
Then I started to worry. How long would the opal take to complete its journey? Goats eat quickly. Maybe the opal would pass through before I could catch up with Billy. Slow motions wouldn’t be Billy’s style. I had to hurry.
5
I started to run again. I could see Billy munching some flowers in a garden just outside of town. This was my chance.
Boy, was I tired. But I kept running. Even with a stitch. Billy looked up just as I reached him. He broke into a trot along the footpath into town. He went past the shops. People stopped and laughed as he passed.
‘Stop that goat,’ I yelled at the top of my voice.
But no one did. Everyone thought it was a great joke. Billy ran across the road against a red traffic light. Then he stopped outside the chemist’s shop. And did something.
‘Oh no,’ I groaned.
Billy ran on. I looked at the little black balls on the footpath. There was nothing else I could do. I couldn’t risk leaving them there. One of them might have the opal inside. I picked up the pellets of poo and shoved them into my pockets.
You can imagine how I felt. There I was. On my hands and knees in the middle of the main street. Picking up goat droppings in my bare hands. With everyone looking. I went red in the face. Then I jumped up and tore after the goat. How embarrassing.
Well, it was a terrible chase. Every time I caught up to Billy he dropped a few more pellets. I had to stop and pick them up. By the time I finally grabbed him my pockets were bulging with poo. And the people in the street thought I was crazy.
I walked slowly down the road, stopping every now and then to pick up Billy’s latest offerings. Finally I reached home. I took Billy into the back yard and tied him up behind the garage where Dad wouldn’t see him. ‘Don’t make any noise,’ I said. ‘This is a secret between you, me, and the little black balls.’
‘Baaa,’ said Billy.
6
That night I found it hard to sleep. I snuck out twice and searched around in the night with a torch. But no opal. Just more of the same.
In the morning I dressed for school. I found a small cardboard box and borrowed a cheese knife from the kitchen. Then I went to check on Billy. He was gone. ‘Oh no,’ I groaned. I scooped up the new droppings near the fence and put them in a box. Then I followed the trail. Out through the hole in the hedge and down the lane. The pile in the box grew bigger. Finally I found him. His chain was tangled around a letterbox. The silly goat was munching away on someone’s roses.
I didn’t know what to do. If I tied Billy up he might get away again. And if the opal made an appearance someone else could find it. I thought of the little kangaroo. And my friend the Paper Man. I had to make the supreme sacrifice.
‘Billy,’ I said. ‘You’re coming to school.’
Well, talk about terrible. The first class was music. I sat there looking out of the window hardly singing at all. I could see Billy outside where I had left him. Chained up to a post on the school oval. He was straining on the chain. Looking towards me.
I had the box of goat poo under the desk. I hadn’t had time to examine it carefully for the opal. I slipped up the lid and started cutting open the little black balls with the cheese knife. My hands were shaking with excitement. I didn’t notice that the class had stopped singing. The silence was deafening.
Suddenly I realised. Everyone was looking at me. Shame. I tried to close the lid but my shaking hands let me down. The box fell onto the floor. The contents of Billy’s belly scattered everywhere.
The kids laughed and jeered. They looked at me with disgust. I felt like a creep.
While all of this was happening, Billy had been busy. Goats are stupid things. It was lonely. It wanted to find me. It had broken free and was looking for me. Billy wandered through the front door and straight into the classroom.
‘Who owns this goat?’ yelled Ms Quaver.
Everyone looked at me.
‘Sally Sampson,’ she said. ‘I might have known. What on earth have you brought a goat to school for? And what’s that filthy stuff on the floor?’
I didn’t know what to say. My head seemed as if it was going to explode. The kids were all giggling and laughing. ‘I’ve got asthma,’ I blurted out. ‘I have to drink fresh goat’s milk every hour.’
There was a long silence. ‘You’re not going to get much milk from a billy goat,’ said Ms Quaver in a sarcastic voice.
The kids packed up. Talk about laugh. They rolled around on the floor, helpless with mad mirth. Some kids held their sides as they hooted and cackled. I felt stupid. Caught out in a silly lie.
7
Ms Quaver pointed outside with a quivering finger. I grabbed Billy and took him back to the oval. ‘Stay there,’ I ordered. ‘And don’t let that opal drop until I come back.’
The class was singing some song about pennies from heaven when I returned. I had to clean up the mess in front of everyone. As I worked, I stared out of the window at Billy. He was eating and doing his business at the same time.
A feeling came over me. It was sort of like when you know that someone is looking at you. Like the time I threw an orange in the air ju
st for fun. As soon as it left my hand I knew it was going to fall next door and hit our neighbour on the head. I just knew it was going to and it did. Well, I had another feeling like that.
I knew that Billy had finally dropped the opal. It was lying there on the grass. I just knew it.
A football team jogged out onto the field. One of the boys untied Billy because he was in the way. Another boy with a large 2 on his jumper kicked at the goat droppings. Then he stopped and looked down. He bent over and picked something up.
I forgot all about the music class. And Ms Quaver. I rushed out the door and over to the oval. ‘Hand that over,’ I shrieked at Number Two.
‘No way,’ he said. ‘Buzz off, little girl.’
Little girl. He called me little girl. I saw red. And I saw the blue opal in his hand. There was no time for talking. I grabbed Number Two’s arm. The opal flew into the air. Up, up, up.
Then it started to fall. Way over the other side of the oval. It landed right between the goal posts. My opal almost landed on a bird that was searching for worms. A black bird with a yellow beak.
You might not believe what happened next. I could hardly believe it myself. The bird picked up the opal and flew off with it. It flapped right over our heads. I could see the opal clearly in its beak.
‘Come back,’ I screamed. ‘Drop that opal.’
But it was no good. The bird flapped off towards the sea. I ran after it as fast as I could go. Billy trotted along behind. He stopped every now and then to nibble at a gate or some flowers.
What a day. Everything was going wrong. I puffed after the bird and finally caught up. It stopped for a rest by the beach and perched on top of a swing in the playground. ‘Good bird,’ I said. ‘Good birdy. Drop it, birdy.’ I tiptoed towards it.
Deep in my heart I knew it was hopeless. Birds don’t come to you when you call. But I hoped that it might throw the opal away if I came close. I mean, why would a bird want an opal?
I could see the bird watching me with one beady eye. I crept closer. I reached up.
And the bird flew off. I watched as it flew out to sea, higher and higher. Then it opened its mouth and dropped the opal. It seemed to take for ever falling. A small speck plunging down. I didn’t hear it hit the water but I saw it disappear. Way out deep. Where no one would ever find it. The opal was gone. Lost at sea.
‘Rotten blackbird,’ I shouted at the bird.
8
I turned and started walking towards the Paper Man’s hut. What was he going to say? I had no opal. And no two hundred dollars. And the poor little kangaroo was dying and needed an operation.
Soon I was on top of the cliff, walking along a twisting track. I walked slowly. I didn’t really want to get there. It was the worst day of my life. ‘Baa,’ said Billy. He was still following me.
‘It’s all your fault,’ I said. ‘Stupid goat.’ I grabbed his chain and looked around for somewhere to tie him up. I’d had enough of goats for one day.
I found a tree by a small pond and this time fixed the chain very carefully. ‘There’s enough for you to eat here until I come back,’ I said to Billy.
He stared back without saying anything. Trying to make me feel guilty. The way dogs do when you won’t take them for a walk.
I trudged along the cliff with my head down. The poor little kangaroo. Now it couldn’t have the operation because we didn’t have the two hundred dollars. What if it died?
I had ninety-five cents in the bank. That was no good. I could ask for my pocket money in advance. I tried it out in my mind. ‘Dad,’ I could say. ‘Will you let me have the next one hundred weeks’ pocket money right now?’
The answer would be ‘no’ with a long lecture to follow.
By now I could see the Paper Man’s shack in the distance. I stopped. I just couldn’t tell him. My feet refused to move.
‘Excuse me,’ said a voice.
I just about jumped through the roof. Except there wasn’t any roof.
I turned around and saw a man with a worried look and a bald head. ‘Have you seen a goat?’ he asked.
‘A goat?’ I replied.
‘Yes, a Kashmir goat. With long hair. I brought it out from India. But it’s run off. It’s worth fifteen thousand dollars.’ He hung his head and shook it in despair.
Then he looked up and said something that was music to my ears. ‘There’s a two hundred dollar reward for whoever finds it.’ He took out two one hundred dollar notes and waved them in the air.
I gave an enormous smile. Then I grabbed the money. ‘Follow me,’ I said.
Well, that’s just about the end of the story. I took the bald-headed man to Billy and the little kangaroo to the vet’s for the operation. The Paper Man was rapt. I’ve never seen anyone as happy as he was when the kangaroo came back. She made a complete recovery.
9
Mum was standing there, still holding the jeans with goat-poo stains on the pockets. She had a soppy smile on her face. The sort of smile people have when they see someone’s new baby. It was the type of smile that Mum rarely gave me any more.
‘Why, Sally,’ she said. ‘What a lovely story. How sad. You kind girl. What a terrible time you’ve had.’ She looked at the little black balls on the floor and the dirty jeans. ‘Don’t worry about the stains. Just clean up the mess and we won’t say any more about it.’
I gave her a big smile and ran up to the kitchen to get a brush and dustpan. Dad was there. He was just going to open the fridge and get a beer. ‘Don’t,’ I screamed.
But it was too late. He opened the fridge door. There on the top shelf was a little mouse. Sitting up on a saucer, begging. A dead mouse all covered in mould. It looked lovely. As if it was a polar bear wearing a long white coat.
Dad didn’t think it was lovely. He stood there quite still. He didn’t even turn around. He spoke slowly with a really mean voice. ‘Sally, did you put this disgusting thing in the fridge?’
He turned on me with flaming eyes. ‘Come on, Sally,’ said Dad. He thrust the saucer under my nose. ‘Out with it.’
I could tell that he was just about to do something silly. Like ground me for a month. Or stop my pocket money.
I took a deep breath and tried to think of another good story. Fast.
Only Gilt
The bird’s perch is swinging to and fro and hitting me on the nose. I can see my eye in its little mirror. Its water dish is sliding around near my chin. The smell of old bird droppings is awful. The world looks different when you are staring at it through bars.
Fool, fool, fool.
What am I doing walking to school with my head in a bird’s cage?
Oh no. Here’s the school gate. Kids are looking at me. They are pointing. Laughing. Their faces remind me of waves, slapping and slopping at a drowning child.
Strike. Here comes that rotten Philip Noonan. He’s grinning. He’s poking bits of bread through the bars. ‘Pretty Polly,’ he says. ‘Polly want a biscuit?’
I wish I was an ant so that I could crawl into a crack. Then no one would ever see me.
Teachers are looking out of the staff-room window. I can see Mr Gristle looking. I can see Mr Marsden looking. They are shaking their heads.
I hope Gristle doesn’t come. ‘Get that thing off your head,’ he will shout. ‘You idiot. You fool. What do you think you are? A parrot?’ Then he will try to rip the cage off my head. He will probably rip the ears off my skull while he is doing it.
Mr Marsden is coming. Thank goodness. He is the best teacher in the school. I don’t think he’ll yell. Still, you never know with teachers. He hasn’t seen a boy come to school with his head in a bird cage before.
‘Gary,’ he says kindly. ‘I think there is something you want to say.’
I shake my head. There is nothing to say. It is too late. I am already a murderer. Nothing can change that.
Mr Marsden takes me inside. We go into the sick bay and sit down on the bed. He looks at me through the bars but he doesn’t say anything. He is w
aiting. He is waiting for me to tell my story.
After a bit I say, ‘All right. I’ll tell you all about it. But only if you keep it secret.’
Mr Marsden thinks about this for a bit. Then he smiles and nods his head. I start to tell him my story.
2
On Friday I walk over to see Kim Huntingdale. She lives next door. I am in love with her. She is the most beautiful girl in the world. When she smiles it reminds me of strawberries in the springtime. She makes my stomach go all funny. That’s how good she is.
My dog Skip goes with me. Skip is a wimp. She runs around in circles whenever anyone visits. She rolls over on her back and begs for a scratch. She would lick a burglar’s hand if one came to rob our house. She will not fight or bark. She runs off if Mum growls. Skip is definitely a wimp.
Mind you, when Mum growls I run off myself. When she is mad it reminds me of a ginger-beer bottle bursting in the fridge.
Anyway, when I get to Kim’s house she is feeding Beethoven. Beethoven is her budgie. She keeps it in a cage in the back yard She loves Beethoven very much. Lucky Beethoven.
Beethoven can’t fly because he only has one wing. Kim found him in the forest. This enormous, savage dog had the poor bird in its mouth. Kim grabbed the dog without even thinking of herself and saved Beethoven’s life. But he was only left with one wing and he can’t fly at all.
Now Kim loves Beethoven more than anything.
I love Skip too. Even though she is a wimp.
Kim looks at Skip. ‘You shouldn’t bring her over here,’ she says. ‘Beethoven is scared of dogs.’
Skip rolls over on her back and begs with her four little legs. ‘Look at her,’ I say. ‘She wouldn’t hurt Beethoven.’ When she rolls over like that Skip reminds me of a dying beetle.
Kim walks into Beethoven’s aviary. She lets me in and locks Skip out by putting a brick against the door. Kim picks up Beethoven and the little budgie sits on her finger. It starts to sing. Oh, that bird can sing. It is beautiful. It is magic. A shiver runs up my spine. It reminds me of the feeling you get when fizzy lemonade bubbles go up your nose.
Unbearable! Page 2
