10
It was much better in the house. The flies were only knee deep. At least we could walk around. We went upstairs as quickly as we could and looked out of the window. It was still raining flies, but it was starting to ease off. At last it stopped. Every fly was dead. The Cow Dung Custard had killed the lot. The smell of it was terrible.
Our place was on the top of a hill. We could see the whole town. Every house was covered in dead flies. They covered the road and the cars, the trees and the gardens. It looked just like a snow-covered village, but with black snow. There was not a person in sight. Everyone was trapped inside their houses. The whole town was silent. And over it all hung the terrible smell of Cow Dung Custard.
Dad looked at me. ‘Good grief, Greg,’ he said. ‘All of your hair has gone.’
I felt the top of my head. It was smooth. I was as bald as a badger. I rushed to the mirror. ‘Oh no,’ I groaned. ‘Not that. Not bald.’ Then I looked at Dad. He was bald again too. All of his new hair had fallen out.
‘It’s the Cow Dung Custard,’ I said. ‘It’s so strong that it makes hair fall out.’
I looked out of the window again. It was still very quiet, but four or five people were out. They were trying to clear the flies away from their front doors. It was hard work – they were up to their armpits in flies. I looked at them more closely. There was something strange about them but I couldn’t work out what it was. Then I got a shock. They were all bald. I knew there was going to be big trouble over this.
A bit later we heard the sound of a motor. It sounded like a tractor, but it wasn’t. It was a bulldozer. It was clearing the streets. It pushed the flies to the side of the road in huge banks. Behind the bulldozer was a police car. They came slowly up our street. People were following them, lots of bald people. Men, women and children. They were angry. They were mad. They were yelling and screaming at us.
The bulldozer stopped at our house. It turned around and came through our garden. It cleared a path up to the front door; then it stopped. A bald policeman stepped down from it. He had a handkerchief tied around his nose to stop the smell. He came into the house without knocking. ‘Quick,’ he said. ‘Get into the police car. I’ll have to get you out of here before the mob gets you. I don’t know what they will do if they get their hands on you. They might tear you to pieces.’ He was worried – very worried. So was I.
He pushed us into the car and started driving down the street. Crowds of bald people surrounded the car. They threw things at the car and tried to open the doors. They wanted to pull us out. Some even threw handfuls of flies at the car.
I could see why they were mad. Everyone was bald, even the dogs and cats. Not one person in the town had a hair left anywhere on their body.
In the end the police got us safely through the town. They took us down to Melbourne, which was a long way away. Then they let us go. Dad and I were both upset. We knew one thing for sure – we could never go back to Lakes Entrance again.
11
There was a big fuss about the whole thing. It was in all the papers and on the TV. Dad and I changed our names so that nobody could find us. Then it all died down and people started to forget about it. There was a shortage of wigs in Australia for a while. But after a couple of months everybody’s hair grew back. As time passed people started to think it was funny.
I’m writing this next to the swimming pool on our farm. Dad is out the front cleaning our Rolls Royce. Things worked out quite well for us in the end. Dad made a lot of money out of an invention. It’s yellow stuff for getting rid of hair. People buy it in tubes. They put it on their legs. It works really well and it smells lovely.
It’s called CDC Hair Remover. Everybody likes it. They think it’s wonderful. But nobody knows what CDC stands for.
‘Can you lend me ten dollars, Dad?’ I asked.
‘No,’ he answered without even looking up.
‘Aw, go on. Just till pocket money day. I’ll pay you back.’
He still didn’t look at me but started spreading butter onto a bread roll. He was acting just as if I wasn’t there. He ate the whole roll without saying one word. It was very annoying but I had to play it cool. If I made him mad I would never get the money.
‘I’ll do some jobs,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ll cut the whole lawn. That’s worth ten dollars.’
This time he looked up. ‘You must be crazy,’ he said, ‘if you think I’ll ever let you near that lawn mower again. The last time you cut the lawn you went straight over about fifteen plants I had just put in. They cost me twenty-five dollars to buy and five hours to plant. You cut every one of them off at the base and now you want me to give you ten dollars.’
I knew straight away I had made a mistake by mentioning the lawn. I had to change the subject. ‘It’s important,’ I told him. ‘I need it to take Tania to the movies on Saturday.’
‘That’s important? Taking Tania to the pictures is important?’
‘It is to me,’ I said. ‘She is the biggest spunk in the whole school. And she’s agreed to go with me on Saturday night if . . .’ Another mistake. I hadn’t meant to tell him that bit.
‘If what?’ he growled.
‘If I take her in a taxi. If I can’t afford a taxi she’s going to go with Brad Bellamy. He’s got pots of money. He gets fifteen dollars a week from his Dad.’
‘Good grief, lad. You’re only fifteen years old and you want to take a girl out in a taxi. What’s the world coming to? When I was your age . . .’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Forget it.’ I walked out of the room before he could get started on telling me how he had to walk five miles to school when he was a boy. In bare feet. In the middle of winter. And then walk home again and chop up a tonne of wood with a blunt axe. Every time he told the story it got worse and worse. The first time he told it he had to walk two miles to school. The way it was going it would soon be fifty miles and ten tonnes of wood chopped up with a razor blade.
I walked sadly out into the warm night air. Dad just didn’t understand. This wasn’t just any old date. This was a date with Tania. She was the best-looking girl I had ever seen. She had long blonde hair, pearly teeth and a great figure. And she had class. Real class. There was no way that Tania was going to walk to the movies or go on a bus. She had already told me it was a taxi or nothing. I had to give her my answer by tomorrow morning or she would go with Brad Bellamy. He could afford ten taxis because his Dad was rich.
‘I’m going for a walk down the beach,’ I yelled over my shoulder. There was no answer. I might as well be dead for all Dad cared.
I walked along the beach in bare feet, dragging my toes through the water. I tried to think of some way of getting money. I could buy a Tattslotto ticket. You never knew what could happen. Someone had to win. Why not me? Or maybe I could find the mahogany ship. It was buried along the beach there under the sand but it hadn’t been seen for over a hundred years. What if the sea had swept the sand away and left it uncovered that very night? And I found it? I could claim the reward of one thousand dollars. Boy, would I be popular then. I could hire a gold-plated taxi to take Tania out.
The beach was deserted and the moon was out. I could see quite clearly. I walked on and on, well away from the town and the houses. It was lonely and late at night but I wasn’t scared. I was too busy looking out for the mahogany ship and thinking of how I would spend the reward money. Every now and then I could see something sticking out of the sand and I would run up to it as fast as I could. But each time I was disappointed. All I found were old forty-four-gallon drums and bits of driftwood that had been washed up by the heavy surf. It’s funny, I didn’t really expect to find the mahogany ship. Things like that just don’t happen, but in the back of my mind I kept thinking I might stumble over it and be lucky.
After a while I decided to climb up to the top of the sand dunes that ran along the beach. I knew I could see for miles from up there. I struggled to the top and sat down under a bent and twisted tree. Just at that moment t
he moon went in and everything was covered in darkness.
‘What are you looking for, boy?’ said a deep voice from the shadows.
I must have jumped at least a metre off the sand. I was terrified. There I was, miles away from any help, on an isolated beach in the middle of the night. And an unseen man was talking to me from the depths of the shadows. I wanted to run but my legs wouldn’t move.
‘What are you looking for, boy?’ the voice asked again. I stared into the darkness under the tree and could just make out a shadowy figure sitting on the sand. I couldn’t see his face but I could tell from the voice that he was very old.
I finally managed to say something. ‘The mahogany ship,’ I answered. ‘I’m looking for the mahogany ship. Who are you?’
He didn’t answer me but asked me another question. ‘Why do you want to find the mahogany ship, boy?’
‘The reward,’ I stammered. ‘There’s a reward of one thousand dollars.’
‘And what would you do with one thousand dollars if you had it?’ the voice asked sadly.
I don’t know why I didn’t turn and run. I was still scared but I felt a little better and thought I could probably run faster than an old man if he tried anything. Also, there was something about him that made me want to stay. He sounded both sad and wise at the same time.
‘A girl,’ I said. ‘There’s this girl called Tania. I need the money to take her out. Not a thousand dollars, only ten. But a thousand dollars would be good.’
The old man didn’t say anything for a long time. I still couldn’t see him properly but I could hear him breathing. Finally he sighed and said, ‘You think that money would make this girl like you? You think that a thousand dollars would make you popular?’
He made it sound silly. I didn’t know what to say.
‘Sit down, boy,’ he commanded. ‘Sit down and listen.’
I nearly ran off and left him. It was all very spooky and strange but I decided to do what he said. He sounded as if he expected to be obeyed, so I sat down on the sand and peered into the darkness, trying to see who he was.
‘I am going to tell you a story, boy. And you are going to listen. When I am finished you can get up and go. But not until I have finished. Understand?’
I nodded at the dark shadow and sat there without moving. This is what he told me.
2
Many years ago there was a busker who worked in Melbourne. He stood by the railway station and played music to the people who went by. He dressed completely in flags. His trousers, coat and vest were made from flags and his bowler hat was covered with a flag. When he pushed a button a small door would open on his hat and flags would pop out.
He played a number of different musical instruments. With his feet he pushed pedals which banged three drums. He had a mouth organ on a wire near his face and he played a guitar with his hands. His music was terrible but people always stopped to watch and listen because of his small dog. The dog, whose name was Tiny, walked around with a hat in her mouth and took up the money people threw into it. Tiny had a coat made out of the Australian flag. Whenever the hat was empty Tiny would stand up on her hind legs and walk around like a person. Everyone would laugh and then throw money into the hat.
The Busker, for that is what everyone called him, was jealous of the dog. He could see that the people really stopped and gave money because of Tiny and not because of the music. But there was nothing he could do about it because he needed the money.
As the months went by The Busker became more and more miserable. He wanted people to like him and not the dog. He started to treat Tiny badly when nobody was looking. Sometimes he would blame her if the takings were poor. Often he would forget to feed Tiny for days at a time. The little dog grew thinner and thinner until at last she was so weak that she couldn’t hold the hat up for the money. She had to drag it along the ground with her teeth.
Finally a man from the RSPCA came to see The Busker when he was working outside the station. ‘That dog is a disgrace,’ he said. ‘You are not looking after it properly. It is so hungry its bones are sticking out. It is not to work again until it is healthy. I will give you three weeks to fatten it up. If it isn’t healthy by then I will take it away and you will be fined.’
A crowd was standing around listening. ‘Yes, it’s a shame,’ said a man who had been watching. ‘Look at the poor little thing.’ Other people started to call out and boo at The Busker. He went red in the face. Then he packed up his drums and guitar and put them in his car and drove off with Tiny.
It was a long way to The Busker’s house for he lived well out of town. All the way home he thought about what had happened.
‘It’s all the fault of the rotten dog,’ he said to himself. ‘If it wasn’t for her none of this would have happened.’ The further he went, the more angry he became. When he reached home he grabbed Tiny by the scruff of the neck and took her round to the backyard. In the middle of the yard was an empty well. There was no water in the bottom but it was very deep. It was so deep you couldn’t see the bottom.
‘I’ll fix you, Tiny,’ said The Busker. ‘You’re not allowed to work for three weeks. Very well then, you can have a holiday. A very nice holiday.’ He went and fetched a bucket and tied a rope to it. Then he put Tiny into the bucket and lowered her into the well. The poor little dog whimpered and barked but soon she was so far down she could hardly be heard. When the bucket reached the bottom Tiny jumped out of the bucket and sniffed around the bottom of the well. It was damp from water that trickled down the wall but there was nothing to eat. The Busker pulled up the bucket and went inside.
Tiny looked up but all she could see was a small circle of light far above. She walked round and round the bottom of the well always gazing up at the patch of light at the top.
The next day The Busker went to work without Tiny. He had no dog to carry the hat around so he just put it on the ground for people to put their money in. But hardly anyone did. The Busker tried his best. He played every tune he could think of and he cracked jokes. But it was no good. In one day he took only fifty cents. Now he knew for sure that it was Tiny that the people liked and not him.
He went home and threw some meat down the well. He could hear the faint sound of Tiny barking far below. ‘It’s no good, Tiny,’ shouted The Busker. ‘I’m not letting you out for three weeks. That will teach you a lesson.’
Every day The Busker went to work and the same thing happened. He played his music but hardly anyone put money in the hat. ‘No one likes me or my music without Tiny,’ said The Busker to himself. He was angry. He wanted people to like him. It wasn’t the money so much. He just wanted people to like him. Each night when he reached home The Busker threw meat down the well for poor Tiny. ‘Hurry up and get fat, Tiny,’ he said. ‘Because you’re not coming out until you do.’
Tiny walked round and round at the bottom of the well. All day and night she looked up, hoping to be taken out. But no one ever came except The Busker and all he did was throw down meat once a day.
The three weeks went very slowly for The Busker. Each day he stood at the station playing his music to the people who walked by without listening. But the three weeks went much more slowly for the little dog who lay at the bottom of the well, always looking up at the sky for the help that didn’t come.
At last the three weeks was up. The Busker decided to get Tiny out. He lowered the bucket down into the well but the little dog didn’t know what to do. She walked around the bucket but didn’t get into it. The Busker hadn’t counted on this. ‘Get in, you stupid dog,’ he shouted. But it was so far down that Tiny could hardly hear him. In the end he had to go and have a rope ladder made. It cost him a lot of money because it was so long. And it took a long time to make. Tiny was down the well for another week before it was finished.
3
Then something happened that changed everything. The Busker won Tattslotto. A letter came telling him that he had won over a million dollars. He couldn’t believe his luck. It wa
s wonderful. The first thing he did was to take his drums, flags and guitar and throw them down the tip. He went and bought himself a new car and a stereo. Every day he went to the shops and bought himself anything he wanted. Soon the house filled with every luxury you could think of.
All this time Tiny was still at the bottom of the well, barking and walking around and around, looking up at the world that was out of reach so far above. Each night The Busker came and threw down meat. And each night he told himself that he would get Tiny out in the morning. But when the morning came he forgot and did something else.
The truth is, The Busker was still unhappy. He had no more friends than before. When he bought things, the salesmen were nice to him. They patted him on the back and told him how wise he was to buy this or that. But as soon as he had bought their goods they lost interest and didn’t want to talk to him.
In the end he realised he had only one friend in the world. Tiny. Tiny was the only one who really liked him. And he had put her down a well. He felt bad about what he had done to his little friend and he rushed to the well to get her out. The Busker climbed down the well to get Tiny. He was frightened because it was so deep but he knew that he had to go. There was a terrible smell in the well which got worse as The Busker went deeper. When he reached the bottom he put Tiny inside his jumper and started to climb back up the rope. All the way up Tiny licked The Busker’s face, even though he had put the poor little dog down a well for all that time.
When he reached the top of the well The Busker put Tiny on the ground. What he saw made tears come into his eyes. Tiny’s head was bent back and her eyes stared up at the sky. She couldn’t straighten up her neck. It was so stiff she could only walk around looking upwards. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ cried The Busker. ‘What have I done? Forgive me, Tiny, forgive me.’ Tiny licked The Busker on the face.
Unreal Collection! Page 24
