Give Peas a Chance

by Morris Gleitzman

  DONT DO IT RO IF YOU TRY AND TOW ANYTHING WITH THAT TRACTOR YOULL OVERSTRESS THE CHEWY

  OH JEEZ IF THE TRACTOR BLOWS UP ILL NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF

  WHERE ARE YOU LOVE I DONT GET IT IM PULLING INTO TOWN NOW AND THERES NO SIGN OF YOU.

  DID I PASS YOU IN A DUST CLOUD ON THE DIRT TRACK AND NOT SEE YOU CAUSE THE TRACTOR HAD ALREADY BLOWN UP AND ALL THE BITS OF YOU ON THE ROAD WERE TOO SMALL

  OH NO

  BLACK SMOKE

  DIRECTLY OVER THE SCHOOL CARPARK

  NO PLEASE NO IF YOURE STILL ALIVE LOVE JUST LIE STILL DONT TRY TO MOVE IM GETTING TO YOU AS FAST AS I CAN

  WHY DO PEOPLE HAVE SO MUCH GARDEN FURNITURE IT MAKES THEIR BACKYARDS REALLY HARD TO DRIVE THROUGH

  HANG ON RO

  HOW OFTEN AT P AND C MEETINGS HAVE I SAID THE SCHOOL CARPARK NEEDS A BACK ENTRANCE NOW ILL HAVE TO DRIVE THROUGH THE PETROL STATION FENCE

  OUCH ITS OK IM NOT HURT

  SHOULD HAVE LOOSENED MY BELT BUCKLE BEFORE THE IMPACT BUT ITS ONLY A FLESH WOUND

  SMOKE EVERYWHERE NOW

  RO WHERE ARE YOU

  I CANT LOOK DON’T BE DEAD

  WHAT HAVE I DONE

  EVERYTHING I DO IS TO TRY AND PROTECT YOU THATS THE ONLY REASON I STOPPED THE SPRAYING PLUS AS YOU CORRECTLY POINTED OUT WHEN THE WIND BLOWS THE SPRAY ONTO THE WASHING IT ROTS THE ELASTIC IN MY UNDIES

  BE ALIVE RO PLEASE

  I WANT TO HAVE LOTS MORE DEBATES WITH YOU ABOUT WHETHER ORANGE GOES WITH PURPLE AND THE BEST RECIPE FOR APPLE FRITTERS EVEN THOUGH THE DOG WONT EAT THEM WHEN YOU PUT SALT IN THEM AND

  WAIT A SEC

  THAT SMOKE ISNT FROM THE TRACTOR ITS BLOWING ACROSS FROM DOUG THE WRECKER BURNING OLD TYRES OUT THE BACK OF HIS PLACE

  I CANT EVEN SEE THE TRACTOR IN THE SCHOOL CARPARK ONLY GLOSSOPS CAR AS FLASH AS EVER AND NOT IN THE RIVER

  OH JEEZ RO

  THERES THE TRACTOR PARKED IN THE PETROL STATION WORKSHOP AND THERES YOU SHOWING THE FUEL TANK TO THE MECHANICS

  YOU DROVE IT IN TO GET IT FIXED

  YOU KNEW I WAS BUSY IN THE ORCHARD TELLING THE WEEVILS OFF SO YOU DID IT TO HELP ME OUT

  OH LOVE I DUNNO WHAT TO SAY

  AS YOUR DAD I SHOULD BE TELLING YOU OFF FOR RISKING YOUR LIFE BUT INSTEAD IM HAVING A BLUB

  I LOVE YOU RO

  THERES ONE THING I DONT GET BUT

  YOUVE SEEN ME AND YOURE GRINNING AND WAVING BUT YOURE NOT LOOKING AT YOUR PHONE JEEZ RO WHY HAVENT YOU ANSWERED MY MESSAGES AND WHY ARE YOU POINTING AT MY PHONE

  I GET IT YOUVE SENT ME A TEXT MESSAGE OK ILL READ IT

  G’day Dad. Actions speak louder than words with texts too. You have to remember to press send. Love Ro xx :)

  Give Peas A Chance

  ‘Ben,’ said Mum. ‘Eat your veggies.’ Ben didn’t hear her. He was too busy staring gloomily at the dead kids on TV.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ said Dad. ‘A few carrots and zucchini won’t kill you. Bung some tomato sauce on them and pretend they’re sausages.’

  Ben didn’t hear him either. This was the third lot of dead kids just on tonight’s news.

  ‘Watch out, young man,’ said Mum. ‘If you don’t eat those vegetables now, you might get them cold for breakfast tomorrow. With milk. And only one spoonful of sugar.’

  Ben still didn’t take his eyes off the TV.

  The small blood-stained bodies were lying on a stone floor, arms and legs flopped in different positions like the kids were asleep. Except they weren’t asleep, they were dead.

  ‘Ben,’ said Dad. ‘Did you hear what your mother just told you?’

  Angry men were standing next to the small bodies, yelling and waving guns. Ben could tell they were upset about the dead kids. But this didn’t make him feel any better. The men looked like they were yelling for revenge, so by tomorrow night other kids in Iraq would probably have bullets in them too.

  ‘Ben,’ said Dad in a voice like a gun going off.

  Ben realised the others were all looking at him. Mum wearily, Dad crossly and Claire with that you-are-such-a-der-brain expression big sisters liked so much.

  Claire leaned towards him.

  ‘You won’t lose any weight skipping veggies,’ she said. ‘I went on a veggie-free diet last year. Waste of time. You end up eating extra ice-cream to get the vitamins.’

  Ben sighed. How could a whole family not see what was happening to the world? Specially now they all had their new contact lenses.

  ‘I don’t understand, Ben,’ said Mum. ‘You like veggies.’

  Ben had to admit she was right.

  But that was before.

  Dad tossed a two-dollar coin onto the table near Ben’s plate.

  Ben stared at it. Then he realised what Dad was doing. Giving him tomorrow’s tuckshop money now. Hoping the thought of tomorrow’s jam donut or cream lamington would be enough to help him force down tonight’s veggies.

  It wasn’t.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ben. ‘I can’t.’

  He hadn’t planned any of this. It was just sort of happening.

  ‘Why not?’ said Dad with that about-to-explode expression dads liked so much.

  ‘Because,’ said Ben, ‘I’m not eating any more vegetables until people stop shooting each other.’

  Later that evening, after Mum and Dad calmed down, Ben explained that his strike wasn’t just vegetable-based.

  ‘I won’t be tidying my room either,’ he said quietly. ‘Or clearing the table or taking the bins out or doing homework or being polite to relatives.’

  Dad ran his big raw butcher’s hands through his thinning hair.

  Ben hoped all this wasn’t going to make Dad’s hair go even more thinning.

  For a fleeting moment, Ben was tempted to tell Mum and Dad he was only joking. But he didn’t, because he wasn’t.

  Now I’ve started this, he thought grimly, I have to keep going.

  ‘This is crazy, Ben,’ said Mum. ‘People can’t change the world even if they want to. Not unless they’re Bono or that bloke who invented the iPod. You’ll feel different in the morning. Have an early night, there’s a good boy.’

  ‘I’m not being a good boy any more,’ said Ben. ‘Not until grown-ups get rid of all the guns and bombs.’

  ‘Why us?’ moaned Dad. ‘We haven’t got any guns.’

  Mum went out to the kitchen and came back. In one hand she had the gas gun for lighting the stove. In the other she had the kitchen waste-bin. She dropped the gas gun into the bin.

  ‘There,’ she said to Ben. ‘Will you eat your veggies now?’

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘Those Iraq and Africa and Palestine people aren’t killed by kitchen appliances,’ he said.

  Mum ran her slim office-manager’s hands through her lightly permed hair.

  Ben hoped all this wasn’t going to make Mum’s hair go even more permed.

  At bedtime, Claire came into Ben’s room for a chat.

  ‘You’re making a big mistake, you know,’ she said. ‘You might think this is a clever way to get out of eating veggies and clearing the table and all that other stuff, but it’s not.’

  Ben could hear the distant sound of gunfire in the living room. Mum and Dad must be watching the late news.

  ‘I tried something like it last week,’ said Claire. ‘I told Mum I wasn’t going to stop biting my nails unless she let me wear nail polish. So she let me wear some and I forgot and my finger got glued to my mouth.’

  Ben looked at his sister’s frowning face and, he now saw, her slightly green teeth.

  ‘You must know why I’m doing this,’ he said to her. ‘You watch the news. Every night there’s more and more people being killed in wars. Doesn’t it make you upset?’

  Claire thought about this.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I don’t look. Not when I’m eating.’

  Ben wished he had that skill.

  ‘When I see those dead people,’ he said, ‘it makes me think how I’d feel if it was you or Mum or Dad or my friends.’

  Claire gave h
im the der-brain look.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘When the kids at school find out you’re behaving like a complete psychiatric, you won’t have any friends.’

  The kids at school didn’t think Ben was behaving like a complete psychiatric.

  When he told them he was on strike and wouldn’t be eating veggies or clearing the table or tidying his room or taking the bins out or being polite to rellies or doing homework, their part of the playground went quiet and they all looked sort of impressed.

  And thoughtful.

  ‘That is such a great excuse, guns and bombs,’ said Skye Borlotti. ‘When I want to get out of doing all that stuff, I can only think of things like headaches and pet allergies, and we haven’t got any pets.’

  ‘I’m gunna tell my parents they have to get rid of guns and bombs and spiders,’ said Shane Moore. ‘Our bathroom’s a death-trap.’

  Several of the other kids started discussing what they were going to add to the list.

  Water pistols.

  Sticks.

  Aunties who kiss.

  Ben was a bit worried some of the kids might be missing the point.

  He explained about the thousands of people around the world who were killed each day by bullets and explosions, and what it must feel like to have a bullet or a piece of shrapnel go through your head or your mum’s head.

  The kids all stared at him, even more thoughtful than before.

  Shane started to ask how many people were killed by spider bites, then changed his mind.

  That night, Ben sat in front of a large plate of steaming vegetables.

  He peered at them.

  The peas and broccoli looked new, but those carrots and zucchini looked like last night’s.

  ‘They are last night’s,’ said Dad. ‘And if you don’t eat this lot, they’ll be on your plate with tomorrow night’s lot.’ He shrugged. ‘Up to you how long this goes on for.’

  Ben frowned as he chewed a mouthful of chop.

  He didn’t know how long it would go on for, but he was pretty sure the plate probably wouldn’t be big enough.

  Mum came in from the kitchen, also frowning.

  ‘That was Jean on the phone,’ she said. ‘Jason’s on strike. Veggies, bins, rellies, same nonsense as Ben.’

  Dad got his about-to-explode look.

  ‘Typical,’ he said. ‘There’d have to be one other clown and it’d have to be Jason.’

  ‘Not one,’ said Mum. ‘Jean’s the seventh school parent I’ve had ringing up complaining tonight.’

  Dad stared at her in surprise.

  Then Claire gave a yell.

  ‘Look.’

  She pointed to the TV. The news had started. On the screen was a headline. Ben had to read it three times to make sure he was seeing it right.

  Kids On Strike.

  ‘A text-message craze swept the country today,’ said the newsreader. ‘Thousands of children have gone on the offensive against what one nine-year-old described as weapons that hurt people’.

  A girl Ben had never seen before appeared on the screen. She was standing in a milk bar with her arms folded. Behind the counter, looking on proudly, were her parents.

  Ben hoped the girl wouldn’t say anything about spiders or aunties who kiss.

  She didn’t.

  ‘I’m not helping in the shop any more,’ she said. ‘Plus I’m not eating hamburgers, chips, toasted sandwiches or any other hot food or snacks. Not until there’s world peace.’

  The girl’s mother looked even prouder.

  Ben felt dazed.

  Incredible.

  He wanted to hug someone. But he didn’t. The available people in the room were all staring at the TV, mouths open.

  ‘Police are investigating,’ said the newsreader. ‘They say that with the aid of phone records, they will eventually trace the person or persons behind what some commentators are calling un-Australian behaviour.’

  Ben had trouble swallowing his mouthful of chop.

  Police? Investigating?

  Mum, Dad and Claire were all staring at him now with grim faces.

  ‘I tried to warn you,’ said Claire.

  Ben stayed home the next day.

  ‘I don’t want you running around at school causing more trouble,’ said Dad as he left for work. ‘Keep your head down here till it all blows over.’

  ‘If a SWAT team busts in looking for you,’ said Claire as she grabbed her school bag, ‘you can hide in my wardrobe.’

  ‘Don’t answer the phone,’ said Mum, zipping up her briefcase. ‘Your veggies are in the microwave.’

  Ben felt too excited to be hungry.

  He spent the day on his computer, checking the news sites.

  It wasn’t blowing over.

  Kids all around the country were staying home from school as part of the strike. Others were being driven to school by parents but refusing to get out of the car. Others were sitting in the playground, saying teachers would have to carry them into the classroom. Teachers were refusing because of their backs.

  Grown-ups were getting very upset.

  Ben felt sorry for them, particularly the vegetable shop owners who were saying they’d go broke if the major world powers didn’t seriously rethink their armaments policies.

  He knew the same could happen to Dad if kids started not eating meat.

  Ben pushed the thought out of his mind. He clicked to another news site.

  Incredible.

  Kids were going on strike in New Zealand too.

  And Japan.

  Suddenly Ben felt a bit faint. He wondered if his blood sugar levels were being affected by the speed of the whole thing and how big it was getting.

  He went to the kitchen and got a cold sausage from the fridge.

  ‘It’ll blow over,’ said Dad. ‘Just watch.’

  Ben looked at the pile of vegetables in front of him. Claire had just done a huge sneeze, but the five nights of veggies heaped on Ben’s plate weren’t even wobbling.

  Ben realised Dad didn’t mean the veggies.

  ‘There were crazes when I was a kid,’ Dad was saying. ‘Pointy shoes. Disco. Smurfs. Hoola hoops. Mohawk hairdos. They all blew over.’

  Mum gave Dad a look. She pointed to the TV screen, where a classroom full of Tibetan students were sitting at their desks, ignoring the bowls of yak’s-milk porridge going cold in front of them.

  ‘Didn’t you hear what the news just said?’ demanded Mum. ‘Two hundred and thirty million kids in eighty-six countries have gone on strike. I don’t think mohawk hairdos were ever quite that popular.’

  Dad stared at the screen too.

  His shoulders sagged.

  He turned to Ben, not looking cross any more, just very worried.

  ‘Why couldn’t you have eaten your veggies?’ he said pleadingly.

  Ben didn’t know what to say. He was feeling a bit stunned. He also hated seeing Mum and Dad unhappy, but that was partly why he was doing this, so it would be a safer happier world for them to grow old in.

  The front door bell rang.

  Claire went to answer it.

  She came back looking frightened.

  ‘It’s the federal police,’ she said.

  After posing for photos with Ben on the steps of Parliament House, the Minister for Defence spoke briefly to the crowd of reporters.

  ‘I salute the vision of this young Australian,’ he said. ‘The government shares his desire for a peaceful world. But unfortunately guns and missiles and our new fighter-bombers with their laser-tracking capability are a necessary evil. To have peace we must be well-armed.’

  Ben took a deep breath and spoke up.

  ‘Excuse me, your honour,’ he said. ‘But if nobody else was armed, why would we need to be?’

  The defence minister smiled for quite a long time.

  ‘Young people get confused,’ he said to the cameras. ‘It’s up to you, parents of Australia. Explain it to them.’

  Ben saw that Mum was looking a
bit doubtful.

  ‘Could you just run through the main points?’ she said to the defence minister.

  The minister hesitated, then smiled some more.

  ‘I know it’s not easy,’ he said to the cameras. ‘I’m a parent too.’

  Dad was looking thoughtful.

  He nodded towards Ben.

  ‘If you were his father,’ Dad said to the minister, ‘how would you get him to eat his veggies?’

  For a horrible moment Ben thought the minister was going to announce a new law with on-the-spot fines for kids who wouldn’t eat all their dinner.

  Instead, Claire spoke up.

  ‘Do you think any countries’ll get rid of their guns?’ she asked the defence minister loudly so the reporters could hear.

  The defence minister stopped grinning and shook his head.

  ‘Not a chance,’ he said.

  The first country to get rid of its guns was Iceland.

  Ben stared at the TV, struggling to stay calm, a piece of roast pork unchewed in his mouth.

  Mum and Dad and Claire stopped chewing too.

  ‘Unreal,’ said Claire.

  ‘We’re doing it for our children,’ said the Icelandic prime minister, standing next to a big drilling machine that was drilling into the ice. ‘We’ve decided to bury our weapons in this glacier, so future generations of young Icelanders will be able to see them in the ice and think about how much better off we are without them.’

  ‘And are you also doing it,’ said one of a large group of journalists, ‘so the current generation of young Icelanders will get out of bed and start eating fish again?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Icelandic prime minister. ‘That as well.’

  Ben realised the rest of the family had stopped looking at the TV and were all looking at him.

  So were the reporters outside the lounge room window.

  Dad reached over and squeezed Ben’s shoulder.

  ‘Incredible,’ he said in a stunned voice.

  ‘Well done, love,’ said Mum to Ben, sounding pretty stunned herself. ‘Now will you eat your veggies?’