‘So I kept it in my locker all day at school. Every chance I got I checked on the little wriggling guppy. To be quite honest I can’t see the value, Jill. Okay, it looks pretty with its little orange and green spots. And it wriggles around in a funny way. But gees, you could get a good bike for that sort of money.
‘After school I plucked up my courage. “Jill,” I said. “Will you wait back after netball practice? I want to talk to you.”
‘“What about?” you said.
‘“A secret,” I told you.
‘You nodded your head. You did. And don’t deny it. You agreed to meet me here. Not with words. But with a nod.
‘And you waited like I said. Just the two of us. Way out in the sale-yards car park after everyone had gone home. I had to walk all the way. I couldn’t take a little glass fishbowl on my bike, could I? It took me an hour to walk here, Jill.
‘So finally I held out my present. I was waiting for you to say, “Oh thank you, Jeremy. You shouldn’t have. These are so rare. Where did you get it? All that money. You wonderful person.”
‘I was waiting for you to lean over and kiss me with those soft lips. Even a peck on the cheek would have been something.
‘But you just left me standing there with my eyes closed, and you said nothing. You are good at saying nothing. Aren’t you?
‘Do you know how I felt? Stupid. Ridiculous. A total nerd. I could feel my face burning. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say thanks.
‘I was so embarrassed that I ran and hid behind the boys’ toilets. Can you believe that? What a dork. The toilets were locked. But if I could have got inside I would have stuck my head in the dunny in shame.
‘But then I stopped and thought, Hang on a bit. Okay, okay. She has rejected me. But there is still the fish. There is still the stupid wriggling guppy. Jill can’t expect to keep it. I will take it back to the man in the shop. He might give me my money back. But I had better get moving. Before it uses up all the oxygen.
‘Oh gees. Hurry. Quick.’
2
I run out from behind the toilets on to the netball courts. And what do I find?
She has thrown my present on the ground. She has smashed the glass fishbowl. And still she won’t say anything. What a mean, horrible, rotten stinking person. Standing there sipping out of her stupid yuppy water bottle.
‘Guppy, guppy, guppy, where are you?’
I fall to the ground and search around on my knees. Has it gone down the drain? Is it in the grass? Has she chucked it on the roof?
All because I wanted a kiss.
Jill grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me to my feet. Boy, she is strong. She just stands there staring at me. A tear runs down her cheek. She takes another sip out of her bottle. Then she holds it out to me with a funny look on her face. It is too late for tears now. Two hundred and ten bucks. All for a kiss from a stupid girl.
She suddenly grabs me and pulls my face towards her. She presses her lips up to mine.
No, no. Not now. I don’t want a kiss anymore. You are not worth it, Jill.
Oh shoot. She is pushing her tongue into my mouth.
What, what, what? It is soft and squirming around. I never experienced anything like this before. It is a tongue-tide. Oh gees. It feels like . . .
It feels like . . .
A little wriggling fish.
It is the guppy.
She had it in her mouth. It wasn’t her tongue. It was the fish. And she has pushed it into my mouth.
She talks.
‘Oh, Jeremy,’ she yells. ‘I am so sorry. I didn’t know what to say. Such a generous present. I was shocked. I couldn’t get any words out. Then you ran off behind the toilets. I started off after you but I tripped. And broke the fishbowl.’
I just stare at Jill and try not to swallow the fish. Jill shoves the water bottle into my hand. ‘Fill your mouth with water,’ she screams. ‘I can’t find a container anywhere. We have to keep the guppy alive.’
I gulp in water and blow out my cheeks. Jill looks around furiously for something to put the fish into. But there is nothing. Not even a rusty can. And there is no one to help. The netball courts are deserted.
‘See if you can take the top off the water bottle,’ she yells. ‘We can put the fish in there but I can’t open it.’
I twist at the little squirting cap and shake my head.
I can’t talk because the guppy is swimming around inside my cheeks. The water fills my mouth. I can’t speak. I am tongue-tied.
‘Pass the fish to me,’ Jill says. She sucks some water into her mouth from the bottle and then pouts her lips. I press my lips against hers and push the guppy back into her mouth with my tongue. Gees, it feels good. Her lips are really soft.
‘We have to get to a tap,’ I gasp. ‘Twenty steps each and then we pass back the fish.’
Jill nods. She is smiling.
So we walk back down the road, passing the fish to each other with our lips. Each time the fish gets a new mouthful of water. And I get a kiss. A fish kiss. We walk slowly.
Finally, after many fish kisses, we reach a tap.
I decide to confess. ‘Jill,’ I say. ‘I really could have got the top off the bottle. I felt it move.’
She grins and pulls my head to hers. It is my last turn to have the guppy.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says when she finally comes up for air. ‘I swallowed the silly fish five minutes ago.’
Lehman’s father sat still on his cane chair. Too still.
A hot breeze ruffled his hair. He stared out of the window at the island. But he did not see. He did not move. He did not know that Lehman was alone.
But the boy knew. He realised he was trapped. Their boat had sunk in the storm. And their radio had gone with it. There was not another soul for a thousand miles. Lehman was rich. The house was his now. The whole island belonged to him. The golden beach. The high hill. The palms. And the little pier where their boat had once bobbed and rocked.
He had no more tears. He had cried them all. Every one. He wanted to rush over and hug his father back to life. He wanted to see that twisted grin again. ‘Dad, Dad,’ he called.
But the dead man had no reply for his son.
Lehman knew that he had to do something. He had to close his father’s eyes. That was the first thing. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. What if they wouldn’t move? What if they were brittle? Or cold? Or soggy?
And then what? He couldn’t leave his father there. Sitting, stiff and silent in the terrible heat. He had to bury him. Where? How? He knew that no one would come. The blue sea was endless. Unbroken. Unfriendly to a boy on his own.
Lehman started to scratch nervously. His nails were growing. More of them all the time.
He decided to do nothing for a bit longer. He sat and sat and sat. And remembered how it was when they had come to the island. Just the two of them.
2
‘Is that where we live?’ said Lehman.
They both looked at the tumbledown hut on top of the hill. ‘We’ll fix it up in no time,’ said Dad. ‘It’ll soon be like it was in the old days. When I first came here. As good as new.’
And after a while it was. It was home. Lehman became used to it. Even though he was lonely. Every morning he did his school work. Dad told him which books to read. And how to do his sums. Then he left Lehman alone with his studies. And disappeared along the beach.
Dad searched the shore. But he never let Lehman go with him. He took his camera and knapsack. And his shovel. He peered out into the endless sea. He dug in the golden sand. And every lunch time he returned with rocks and strange objects from the sea.
‘One day I’ll hit the jackpot,’ he said for the thousandth time. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll find one. Tomorrow will be the day. You’ll see.’ Then he grew sad. ‘There were plenty here once.’ He dumped his sack in the corner. It thumped heavily in the floor.
‘Let’s see what you’ve got,’ said Lehman.
Dad sh
ook his head. ‘When I find what I’m looking for, you’ll be the first to know.’ He picked up the sack and took it into his room. He shut the door with a smile.
Lehman knew what his father was doing. He was putting his finds into the old box. The sea chest with the heavy brass lock. Lehman longed to take a look. He wanted to know what his father was searching for. But it was a secret.
He began to scratch his fingers. Just as Dad came out of his room. ‘I’ve told you not to do that,’ said Dad.
‘I’m itchy,’ said Lehman. ‘On the fingers. And the toes.’
‘Eczema,’ Dad told him. ‘I used to get it when I was a boy. It’ll go when the wind changes.’ But he didn’t look too sure. He examined the red lumps growing behind Lehman’s fingernails. Then he stamped out of the hut.
3
Lehman stared around the silent bungalow. He was lonely. Dad was good company. But he was a man. Lehman wanted friends. And his mother. He picked up her photograph. A lovely, sad face. Staring at him from the oval frame. ‘Where did you go?’ whispered Lehman. ‘I can’t even remember you.’
The face seemed to say that it knew. Understood. But it was only a photo of a woman’s head. A woman lost in the past. In her hair she wore a golden clip set with pearls.
During the day, Lehman kept the photo on the kitchen table where he worked. And at night he placed it on his bedside table. It watched over him while he slept.
Lehman sighed and closed his book. He looked up as Dad came back carrying some potatoes from their vegetable patch. ‘I’m going early in the morning,’ he said. ‘Just go on with the work I set you today. I’ll be back at lunch time.’
‘Let me come with you,’ pleaded Lehman.
His father looked at him in silence. Then he said. ‘When I find what I’m looking for. Then I’ll take you.’
‘It’s not fair,’ shouted Lehman. ‘I’m all alone here. Every morning. You owe it to me to tell me what you’re looking for. I don’t even know what we’re doing here.’
‘I can’t tell you,’ said Dad slowly. ‘Not yet. Trust me.’
That night, in bed, Lehman’s eczema was worse. He scratched his itching fingers and toes until they hurt. He dreamed of dark places. And watery figures. Faces laughing. And calling. Voices seemed to whisper secrets from inside his father’s sea chest.
In the morning he stared at his itching fingers. And gasped. At first he couldn’t take it in. He had ten fingernails. On each hand. Another row of nails had grown behind the first ones. Clean, pink, little fingernails.
He tore back the sheets and looked at his toes. The same thing had happened. A second row of toenails had burst out of the skin. They pointed forwards. Lapping slightly over the first row.
‘Dad,’ he screamed. ‘Dad, Dad, Dad. Look. Something’s wrong with me. My nails. I’ve got too many nai . . .’ His voice trailed off. He remembered. Dad was down at the beach. On another secret search.
4
Lehman had been told never to go down the path to the cove. Dad had told him it was dangerous. And out of bounds.
But this was an emergency. Lehman stared in horror at his hands. He pulled at one of the new nails. It hurt when he tugged. It was real. It was there to stay. He staggered as he ran down the steep track to the beach. Tears of fright and anger streamed down his cheeks. His chest hurt. His breath tore harshly at his throat.
He pounded onto the hot sand and stared along the shore. His father was nowhere to be seen. Lehman took a guess and ran along the beach to his right. He came to a group of large rocks that blocked his way. The only way around was through the water. He waded into the gently lapping waves. The water came up to his armpits. He carefully strode on, feeling gently with his feet for rocky holes.
At the deepest point the water came up to his chin. But he was nearly round the corner now. Lehman let his feet leave the bottom. He began to swim. He rounded the rocks and splashed into a small cove that he had never seen before.
His father was digging in the pebbles against a rocky wall. At first he didn’t see Lehman. Then he looked up. And noticed the dripping figure staggering out of the waves. His face broke into a radiant smile. The look of someone who has found a pot of gold. Then he saw that it was Lehman and his face grew angry.
‘I told you never to come here,’ he shouted. ‘I can’t believe that you’d spy on me. You’ll ruin everything. Go back. Go back.’ He wasn’t just cross. He was furious.
Lehman said nothing. He just held out his hands. Turned the backs of his fingers towards his father. There was a long silence. His father’s anger melted. He stared at the double row of nails. Silently Lehman pointed to his feet .They both looked down.
‘Oh no,’ said Dad. ‘No. I never expected this. Not really.’
‘What is it?’ yelled Lehman. ‘Am I going to die?’
‘No. You’re not going to die.’
‘I need to see a doctor,’ said Lehman.
‘No,’ said Dad. ‘A doctor can’t do anything. Not for that.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong with me? You have to tell me.’
They stared at each other. Both afraid.
Dad sat down on a rock. ‘I can’t tell you. Not yet. What I’m looking for here. It’s got something to do with it. If I find what I’m looking for it will be all right. You won’t have to worry. But I can’t tell. Not yet.’
‘What if you never find it?’ said Lehman.
‘I will,’ said Dad. ‘I have to.’
Lehman scratched the back of his hands and up his arms. The itch was growing worse. And spreading.
Dad looked around as if he was frightened of Lehman seeing something. As though he had a guilty secret. ‘Go home,’ he said. ‘I’ll pack my things and follow. We’ll talk back at the house.’
5
Lehman pushed into the water. His mind swirled. His arms itched. Something was terribly wrong. He turned around and shouted back. ‘What’s going on? You’re not telling. I’ve got a right to know.’
Tears pricked his eyes. Tears of anger and frustration. Dad hung his head. ‘Go back,’ he called. ‘We’ll talk. But not here.’
Lehman swam out into the swell. He passed the furthest rock and headed back to the beach on the other side. Dad was out of sight now. Lehman’s feet touched the bottom and he walked through the water past a deep, black cave in the rocks.
Something moved inside.
The world froze. Lehman could hear the blood pumping in his head. A shiver spread over his skin like a wave. He choked off a cry. Two dark eyes stared out at him. He turned and thrashed through the water. Half swimming. Half running. Falling. Splashing in panic. He fell and sank under the surface. When he came up he snatched a frightened glance back at the black space between the rocks. He caught a glimpse of a man’s face. Staring. Watching. Hiding.
Lehman fled along the beach, stumbling in terror, not daring to look behind him. He didn’t stop until he reached the bungalow. He rushed inside. The thin walls and open windows offered no protection. But he felt better. His breath slowed. His heart beat less loudly. He looked down the track and wondered if Dad was safe.
He scratched his elbows. And then screamed. More nails had grown. Rows and rows of them. Along his fingers and the backs of his hands. And up over his wrists.
Perfectly formed fingernails lapped over each other. They looked like two gloves of armour.
The world around began to spin. Lehman felt dizzy. His legs wobbled. He looked down. The backs of his toes, feet and ankles were covered too. A gleaming pair of toenail socks grew out of his skin. He opened his mouth to call out. And then fainted onto the floor.
6
When he awoke, the first thing Lehman saw was the photo of his mother. Her soft smile seemed to have faded. The pearl clip in her hair was dull. Then he realised that his eyes were half closed. He was staring at the world through his eyelashes. He suddenly remembered the nails. Was it a dream? He sat up and found himself on his bed. He stared at his hands. The nails had grown up his
arms to his elbows. His legs were covered too. Toenails grew up to his knees.
Dad put out a hand and gently touched his shoulder. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Everything is going to be all right. Don’t worry.’
Lehman smiled for a second. Dad was safe. Then he examined the nails. The smile disappeared. He was angry.
‘Don’t worry,’ he yelled. ‘Don’t worry. Look at my arms. And legs. I’m covered in nails. I’m not normal. What are we doing here? What are you looking for down on the beach?’ He stared at the photo next to his bed. ‘What happened to my mother? I want to know what’s going on.’ The wind rattled the windows and shook the bungalow. A sultry storm was brewing up. Far down below their boat tugged and pulled at the ropes that tied it to the pier.
Dad took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘It’s time I told you everything.’ He stood up and shut the shaking window. He raised his voice above the noise of the wind. ‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said.
Lehman held up a nail-covered arm. ‘Start here,’ he cried. ‘What’s happening to me?’ As they looked, another row of nails slowly erupted from his left arm, just above the elbow. It was like watching a flower open in fast forward. Lehman felt nothing. It wasn’t painful.
Dad stroked the nails gently. As if Lehman was a cat. ‘You’re not sick,’ he said.‘But I think more nails will grow.’
‘How many more nails? Will they grow on my face? On my head? On my chest?’
Dad gave a kindly smile. ‘Not your face. Maybe the rest of you though. I can’t be sure. But I can find out. That’s what I’m here for.’
7
There was a long silence. ‘Are you looking for that man?’ said Lehman.
‘What man?’ snapped Dad. His eyes were startled.
‘I saw a face in the rocks. Down by the point. He was staring at me. Spying.’
Unreal Collection! Page 26
