Unreal Collection!

by Paul Jennings

  I can’t describe the thrill that ran up my arm. The fox’s heart was beating. It was alive but not alive. It still dangled from the peg. But its nose was wet and warm. A red tongue trembled between its teeth.

  I had done my work. The lemons had given back what my grandfather had taken and buried beneath the tree. I opened the cupboard door wide. ‘Go,’ I said. ‘This is your chance.’

  The fox didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Something was wrong.

  The glass eyes stared without life.

  The eyes. It needed its real eyes.

  7

  I stared out of the window at the first signs of the day. The last two lemons glowed redly in the sunrise. The tree stretched upwards from its roots. Its branches were like arms offering gifts from below.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow I’ll get your eyes.’

  I closed the door and snuggled down into my bed. I fell asleep for many hours.

  The sound of the mulcher drilled away at my slumber. There was something wrong. In my dreams I knew it. I sat upright and listened to Dad feeding branches into the hungry machine.

  ‘No,’ I yelled. ‘No.’ I ran over to the window. ‘Stop,’ I screamed. ‘Stop.’

  I was too late. The lemon tree was nothing but a pile of wood chips. I ran down the stairs in my pyjamas and bare feet. ‘The lemons,’ I shouted. ‘Did you save the last two lemons?’

  Dad looked up in surprise. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They were green.’

  Tears ran down my face. I thought of the blind fox, still hanging in the blackness of the cupboard that for so long had been its coffin. I stood there and sobbed.

  ‘They’re only lemons,’ said Dad. ‘For goodness’ sake. What a fuss.’

  I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t say anything. I trudged back to my room. ‘I’m sorry, fox,’ I said. ‘Now you’ll never see.’

  A voice floated in the window. It was Dad. ‘This little lemon tree still has two lemons, Shane. If you want lemons, why don’t you take these?’

  I stared sadly down. That tree wasn’t any good. It wasn’t growing where the fox had been buried. Still and all, it was worth a try.

  8

  I waited all day. I waited until the sun had set and the moon filled the evening. I walked slowly. Not really hoping. But wanting so badly to give the fox my last gifts.

  The lemons seemed to tremble. They dropped into my hands as I reached up. As though they had been waiting.

  What was inside? For a moment I wondered what I would see if I peeled the lemons. Two eyes? Or just pith and pips and lemon pulp? I shuddered.

  I placed the lemons between the white teeth of my friend the fox. And shut the door. I heard nothing. No sighs. No chomps. No swallows.

  I had failed the fox.

  Slowly I walked downstairs to supper. Dad and Mum tried to cheer me up. ‘Are you ill?’ said Mum.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think I am. But you can’t fix it with medicine.’

  Dad looked up. ‘What was that?’ he said. ‘I thought I heard something upstairs. Someone’s in the house.’

  We all ran up to my room. The cupboard door was open. The window was open. Dad looked at the empty cupboard. And then at me. I nodded my head. I didn’t care what he said or what he did. I was happy in a way that I had never been happy before. I picked up the two glass eyes that lay rejected on the floor.

  ‘Look,’ shouted Mum.

  On the edge of the garden, under the little lemon tree, stood a magnificent fox. Its tail glistened in the silver light. Its shoulders shivered. Its ears pricked and pointed towards us. It took our scent and turned and gazed.

  We all gasped. ‘Look at its eyes,’ whispered Mum.

  The fox stared at us. Unafraid. Its large blue eyes drank us in. They looked deep into me. I knew what they were saying.

  ‘Thank you. And farewell.’

  My eyes were moist. I wiped away a tear.

  When I looked up, the fox had gone. I never saw it again.

  In the morning the little lemon tree was dead. Every leaf was curled and brown.

  ‘It’s never grown well,’ said Dad. ‘And it should have. Because we planted it on Grandad’s grave.’

  There are two rich kids in our form. Sandra Morris and Ben Fox. They are both snobs. They think they are too good for the rest of us. Their parents have big cars and big houses. Both of them are quiet. They keep to themselves. I guess they don’t want to mix with the ruffians like me.

  Ben Fox always wears expensive gym shoes and the latest fashions. He thinks he is good-looking with his blue eyes and blonde hair. He is a real poser.

  Sandra Morris is the same. And she knows it. Blue eyes and blonde hair too. Skin like silk. Why do some kids get the best of everything?

  Me, I landed pimples. I’ve used everything I can on them. But they still grow and burst. Just when you don’t want them to. It’s not fair.

  Anyway, today I have the chance to even things up. Boffin is bringing along his latest invention – a lie detector. Sandra Morris is the victim. She agreed to try it out because everyone knows that she would never tell a lie. What she doesn’t know is that Boffin and I are going to ask her some very embarrassing questions.

  Boffin is a brain. His inventions always work. He is smarter than the teachers. Everyone knows that. And now he has brought along his latest effort. A lie detector.

  He tapes two wires to Sandra’s arm. ‘It doesn’t hurt,’ he says. ‘But it is deadly accurate.’ He switches on the machine and a little needle swings into the middle of the dial. ‘Here’s a trial question,’ he says. ‘Are you a girl?’

  Sandra nods.

  ‘You have to say yes or no,’ he says.

  ‘Yes,’ replies Sandra. The needle swings over to TRUTH. Maybe this thing really works. Boffin gives a big grin.

  ‘This time tell a lie,’ says Boffin. ‘Are you a girl?’ he asks again.

  Sandra smiles with that lovely smile of hers. ‘No,’ she says. A little laugh goes up but then all the kids in the room gasp. The needle points to lie. This lie detector is a terrific invention.

  ‘Okay,’ says Boffin. ‘You only have seven questions, David. The batteries will go flat after another seven questions.’ He sits down behind his machine and twiddles the knobs.

  This is going to be fun. I am going to find out a little bit about Sandra Morris and Ben Fox. It’s going to be very interesting. Very interesting indeed.

  I ask my first question. ‘Have you ever kissed Ben Fox?’

  Sandra goes red. Ben Fox goes red. I have got them this time. I am sure they have something going between them. I will expose them.

  ‘No,’ says Sandra. Everyone cranes their neck to see what the lie detector says. The needle points to truth.

  This is not what I expected. And I only have six questions left. I can’t let her off the hook. I am going to expose them both.

  ‘Have you ever held his hand?’

  Again she says, ‘No.’ And the needle says TRUTH. I am starting to feel guilty. Why am I doing this?

  I try another tack. ‘Are you in love?’ I ask.

  A red flush starts to crawl up her neck. I am feeling really mean now. Fox is blushing like a sunset.

  ‘Yes,’ she says.The needle points to TRUTH.

  I shouldn’t have let the kids talk me into doing this. I decided to put Sandra and Ben out of their agony. I won’t actually name him. I’ll spare her that. ‘Is he in this room?’ I say.

  She looks at the red Ben Fox. ‘Yes,’ she says. The needle points to TRUTH.

  ‘Does he have blue eyes?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ she says.

  ‘Brown?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ she says again.

  I don’t know what to say next. I look at each kid in the class very carefully. Ben Fox has blue eyes. I was sure that she loved him.

  ‘This thing doesn’t work,’ I say to Boffin. ‘I can’t see one kid who doesn’t have either blue eyes or brown eyes.’

  ‘We can,’ says Boffin.
They are all looking at me.

  I can feel my face turning red now. I wish I could sink through the floor but I get on with my last question. ‘Is he an idiot?’ I ask.

  Sandra is very embarrassed. ‘Yes,’ she says in a voice that is softer than a whisper. ‘And he has green eyes.’

  My brother Chris is only eight years old, which is rather young to have a baby. Well, ‘have a baby’ is probably not quite the right way to put it, but there was a baby and it sure thought Chris was its father. He was in charge of it, that’s for certain. Anyway, I had better start at the beginning so you know the whole story. If you don’t believe it I don’t blame you – but it’s true.

  It all started at tea time. The whole eight of us – six kids and Mum and Dad – were eating spaghetti. We kids were all killing ourselves laughing because Chris (who can be a real pain at times) had put a piece of spaghetti up his nose and left one end hanging out over his lip so that it looked like some-thing I would rather not talk about. It was a grotty thing to do but it really did look funny and we couldn’t help cracking up.

  Dad hadn’t noticed because he was too busy pretending not to be watching Doctor Who on the TV. It is a rule in our family that the TV is not on at tea time but somehow or other Dad never notices it is on until Doctor Who is over.

  Suddenly Dad saw the piece of spaghetti and he began to throw a wobbly. ‘Take that disgusting thing out of your nose,’ he roared at Chris. ‘You are a hopeless child.’ Dad started to go purple. Then he began banging his head up and down on the table next to his plate. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ he moaned. ‘First the boy puts a length of spaghetti up his nose and then when I ask him to remove it he sucks it in his mouth and swallows it. Doesn’t anyone in this family have any table manners at all?’

  We all tried hard not to laugh but giggles kept breaking out.

  On the TV I saw Doctor Who was just about to be eaten by a green, two-headed monster. The funny music came on which meant you had to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened. I knew Doctor Who would not be eaten alive. He never is because he has to be around for the next episode. Anyway, now that the show was over Dad got up and switched it off. ‘That’s it,’ he yelled. ‘From now on there is no TV at tea time. We are having good manners and proper conversation for a change.’

  He says this about once a week but it never lasts more than one or two days, so we were not too worried.

  ‘I want a proper discussion,’ Dad went on. ‘Intelligent conversation about important things you do at school. Like who made the moon or where flies go in winter. Who has a topic for discussion?’

  There was a long silence and then Chris said, ‘Where do babies come from, Dad?’

  Dad started to go red. He was not expecting this one. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Um, er, well, it’s like this, er, you see, Chris, well, er … they come from, from, er … the cabbage patch. Yes, they come from the cabbage patch.’ Mum was looking at Dad in a funny way. She didn’t like it because Dad was not telling Chris the truth. Everyone knew that it was a fib except Chris. He looked interested.

  ‘How do they get there?’ he asked.

  ‘They grow out of the cabbages. Yes, they grow out of the cabbages at night,’ Dad said weakly.

  ‘Wow,’ responded Chris. ‘There could be a new kid arrive tonight couldn’t there?’

  Everyone was looking daggers at Dad but he just said, ‘You never know – we could just be that unlucky.’ Then he got up and switched on the news, which meant we had to do the washing up. It’s not fair how parents make their kids do all the work while they watch the news but that is the way it always is – even on days when they are not trying to get out of answering a difficult question.

  2

  Well, the rest of the evening passed as normal and no more was said about babies. Finally I went to bed and was just starting to fall off to sleep when I heard Chris get up. We share a room and he sleeps on the bunk above me.

  He climbed out of bed and got dressed. Then he took his torch out of the top drawer of the dressing table.

  I heard him leave the bedroom and then I heard a ‘click’ as the back door closed. He had gone outside. I quickly put on my tracksuit and followed him out into the back yard.

  Everything outside was dark and at first I couldn’t see where Chris had gone. Then I noticed the torch flashing right at the bottom of the garden in the vegetable patch.

  I made my way down to Chris as quietly as I could, but he heard me coming and looked up from where he was rummaging about among the cabbages.

  I called out to him through the darkness, ‘What do you think you are doing?’

  ‘Looking for babies,’ he said. ‘Dad reckons that one could be sprouting tonight. We can’t just leave it out here until morning. It might catch a cold and die.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘You don’t believe that load of codswallop, do you? Babies don’t come out of cabbage patches, they grow inside their mother.’

  A look of disbelief came over his face. ‘Where?’ he asked. ‘Whereabouts in their mother?’

  ‘Here,’ I said, rubbing my stomach. ‘Somewhere in here.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ he said. ‘Pull the other one. That’s where all the potato and sausages and gravy and custard go. You couldn’t have a baby mixed up with that lot. Ugh. The poor thing. You don’t have to hide it from me. I’m old enough to know the truth about babies growing in the cabbage patch.’

  He wouldn’t listen to me any more. He just kept searching under the cabbages. ‘Help me look,’ he said. ‘One might have crawled over there into the potatoes.’

  I decided to humour him and pretended to be searching for a baby amongst the vegetables. After a while I heard him say, ‘Got one.’

  ‘Got what?’ I asked.

  ‘A baby, of course,’ he replied.

  ‘Great,’ I said, making out I believed him. He certainly had a good imagination.

  ‘Keep looking,’ he ordered. ‘There might be another one. It might be twins.’

  I started to laugh quietly to myself but quickly stopped. I heard something that made my hair stand on end. It was a baby crying.

  3

  I rushed over to where Chris was pointing his torch at something on the ground inside a cabbage leaf. I couldn’t believe it. Chris was right. There was a baby but it was the funniest looking one I had ever seen. It was green and had a long, pointed chin. It was naked and it was crying. It didn’t even have a blanket but just lay there shivering in the night air.

  ‘Poor little thing,’ said Chris and he picked it up. It stopped crying right away and started smiling and gooing.

  ‘It likes me,’ exclaimed Chris.

  ‘But it’s green,’ I said. ‘Babies aren’t supposed to be green. It must be sick. It might be dying. Here, give me a look at it.’ I took the baby from his arms. Straight away it took one great breath and then screwed up its nose and closed its eyes.

  ‘It’s stopped breathing,’ yelled Chris. ‘Quick, do something.’

  I tried to remember my first-aid but my mind was a blank. ‘Oh, no,’ I groaned. ‘It’s holding its breath. And look. It’s turning purple.’

  It was too. The baby had stopped breathing and instead of being green it was turning purple. I started to jump from one foot to the other. I panicked. I couldn’t think of one thing to do to get that baby breathing again. ‘Give it to me,’ yelled Chris as he grabbed the still, purple infant from my arms.

  As soon as Chris had the baby in his arms it let out a huge breath and commenced breathing. Slowly its colour turned from bright purple back to bright green.

  ‘It thinks you are its mother,’ I said to Chris. ‘You are the first one to pick it up and so it thinks you are its mother. I have heard about this sort of thing before. I once read of a duck that thought it was a rabbit because the first thing it saw after it hatched out was a rabbit. This is the same thing. This baby thinks you are its mother. But green. I have never heard of a green baby before. We had better get
Mum and Dad.’

  We hurried inside and woke up Mum and Dad. They were amazed. Their eyes nearly popped out of their heads when they came out and saw the green baby. ‘Get the doctor,’ screamed Dad. ‘The poor thing is green. It needs a doctor immediately.’ He ran off to the phone and called for the doctor.

  ‘Give it to me,’ said Mum and took the baby away from Chris. At once the baby screwed up its nose, closed its eyes and stopped breathing. It started turning purple again.

  Chris grabbed the baby out of her arms and once again it began breathing and went back to its normal colour.

  ‘It won’t let anyone hold it except Chris,’ I told Mum. ‘It thinks he is its mother.’

  ‘Father,’ corrected Chris. ‘It thinks I am its father.’

  The doctor arrived and the same thing happened. The baby wouldn’t let anyone get near it except Chris. The doctor couldn’t even put his stethoscope on its chest without the baby turning purple. He called for an ambulance which arrived with sirens blaring.

  ‘Chris will have to come to hospital with the baby,’ said the doctor.

  ‘It needs special help. It stops breathing when Chris is not there so he will have to come too.’

  ‘No,’ said Mum slowly. ‘Chris is not going. I am not going to have him spend the rest of his life in hospital with this baby. He has to go to school. If you want to examine the baby you will have to come here.’

  The green baby started to suck Chris’s arm. ‘It’s hungry,’ said Mum. ‘You had better give it its bottle, Chris.’

  Chris was grinning his head off. He liked being a father.

  For a little while anyway.

  4

  The baby soon took over Chris’s life. He had to do everything for it because it would stop breathing as soon as anyone else came near it. It would even hold its breath if Chris went off and left it.

  Chris changed its nappies, gave it bottles, bathed it, and even had to take it to bed with him. Everywhere that Chris went the baby had to go too.