Belly Flop

by Morris Gleitzman

She seemed to be in shock.

  I tried to help her snap out of it.

  ‘So,’ I said, ‘want to come swimming?’

  ‘I hate swimming,’ she said.

  I tried to think what to say next.

  ‘Prefer sailing, eh?’ I said weakly.

  ‘I hate sailing,’ she said.

  We looked at each other.

  ‘Plus,’ she said, ‘I hate bull.’

  For a sec I didn’t know what she meant.

  ‘Angel bull,’ she said with a scowl.

  Don’t take it personally, Doug, she was upset.

  ‘Did you think angels were bull when you had one?’ I asked her.

  She had a think.

  Her eyes went darker and glintier and I knew they were filling with tears.

  ‘Not at first,’ she said. ‘Not till he dumped me.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure he dumped you?’ I said. ‘He might have just lost your address.’

  Carla looked at me like I was something she’d found growing in her lunch box.

  OK, it was a dopey idea.

  I had a better one.

  ‘Doug could get his secretary to make inquiries and find out what happened to him,’ I said. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Dad,’ said Carla quietly.

  I stared at her.

  ‘And I know what happened to him,’ she said. ‘He fell off his fishing boat and drowned.’

  She picked up a rock and hurled it at the boat.

  ‘So don’t waste my time with bull,’ she said, picking up another rock and facing me. ‘If you’re gunna be a pin brain, rack off.’

  I tried to think of something to say, something to make her feel better, but before I could Mrs Fiami stuck her head out of the house and glared at me.

  I racked off.

  I wasn’t gunna bother you with this, Doug, you being so busy, but I’ve been thinking about it most of the way home and there’s something I think you should know.

  Remember I told you once about a dopey thought I’d had?

  About Dad rescuing me?

  Forget I ever thought it.

  Poor old Carla thought her dad could be a guardian angel and look what happened.

  I’m lucky, I’ve got the real thing.

  I’ll stick with you, Doug.

  Sorry to interrupt again, Doug, but I just want to let you know things are looking pretty grim for Carla’s sheep.

  I decided to have a word to Dad about them.

  It was almost dark when I got home and I thought Mum and Dad would chuck a fit.

  Luckily they were doing paperwork so they weren’t completely on the ball.

  ‘Have a good splash, love?’ said Mum, barely looking up. ‘Get your new swimmers wet?’

  I nodded and felt them sticking to my buttocks and hoped we weren’t having tinned tomatoes for tea.

  ‘Any clues yet,’ said Dad, ‘about who’s behind the water?’

  I opened my mouth to tell him, then closed it again.

  One thing at a time, as we’re always telling Gran.

  ‘I reckon it was Martians,’ said Gran without looking up from the telly.

  ‘Kind-hearted lotto winner more like,’ said Mum, ‘touched by the way a group of misguided but determined young people had a punt.’

  While Gran had a coughing fit and I banged her on the back, I explained to Dad about Carla’s sheep and how if the bank lent Carla’s mum more money they’d probably win an animal welfare award, plus get some good chops later on.

  Dad gave a big sigh and rubbed his hand wearily over his face and knocked his paper-clips over.

  I’m sorry, Mitch,’ he said. ‘I wish I could help, but the bank won’t be lending Mrs Fiami any more money. She owes them a stack already.’

  I pleaded with him.

  Dad said he’d swing it if he could, but he knew he couldn’t.

  I saw the way his shoulders were slumped and I knew he couldn’t as well.

  ‘Hopeless,’ muttered Gran.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, I’ll ask Doug.’

  Dad went out of the room.

  Mum winced and rubbed her tummy.

  I felt terrible I’d even mentioned it.

  I should have known it’d be a waste of time.

  I should have come straight to you, Doug.

  Which is what I’m doing now.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking you to rush things.

  As Gran always says, if you rush things you won’t do a good job and you’ll probably give yourself a stressed ligament.

  On the other hand there are some sheep around here who are pretty desperate for a feed and a wash and who’ll be getting a bullet instead if it doesn’t rain very soon.

  I can’t sleep.

  My body’s tired, specially my feet and neck, but my brain won’t knock off

  When I first went to bed I kept thinking I could hear rain, but the noises just turned out to be the fridge, then Gran making popcorn, then the wind blowing dust against the house, then Gran frying an egg.

  Mum got up and made Gran go to bed, then came in to see if I was being kept awake by the wind noise.

  Dust storms make people pretty nervous in these parts. As well as over-exciting livestock they make car engines go out of tune and play havoc with false teeth.

  I told Mum not to worry, that you were keeping an eye on us, Doug.

  I know that’s not strictly true at the moment, but I don’t want her to worry.

  Mum gave a big sigh, of relief I suppose.

  ‘Go to sleep, Mitch,’ she said softly.

  I wished she’d said it to my brain.

  Immediately she’d gone it started thinking about Carla.

  And her Dad.

  And his boat.

  And the bricks propping it up.

  At first I reckoned it was just desperate for subjects to think about.

  Then I remembered something that woke my guts up, and my lungs, and that bit of your chest that thumps when your heart beats fast.

  The colour of the bricks.

  Dirty pink with black bits.

  Exactly the same colour, I suddenly remembered, as the brick that was hurled through our window.

  And the same shape.

  And the same size.

  I tried to stop my brain thinking the next thought.

  It wouldn’t.

  I had a vision of Carla chucking the brick.

  I should feel angry, but I just feel like crying.

  You’d feel like crying too, Doug, if you only had one friend and it turned out she’d chucked a brick at you and your family.

  I’ve just taken a deep breath and told my chest to go back to sleep and my brain to stop being so suspicious.

  Heaps of people in the district have got dirty pink bricks with black bits.

  The bush fire brigade hut’s completely built of them.

  So’s Mr Howard the brigade captain’s barbeque.

  OK, they’re all cemented down, but still.

  Anyway, it could have been Carla’s mum.

  I’m making my brain think about something else now to cheer me up. How great it’ll be when the drought’s broken and Dad doesn’t have to dob people any more and we can all become respected and well-liked members of the community.

  I’m thinking about my birthday party next year.

  Heaps of kids watching me do championship dives into the pool we’ll probably install in the back yard.

  Dad next to the fountain and the waterfall juggling ping-pong balls with his mouth.

  Gran juggling chocolate crackles with hers.

  It’s gunna be great, eh Doug?

  When I woke up and saw how late it was, I rushed out to the kitchen to gobble some Rice Bubbles so I could get down to the pool and do some dives before the water filled up with farmers.

  Dad was at the kitchen table in purple undies.

  I didn’t know where to look.

  I was glad Gran wasn’t up.

  She can be really
cruel about Dad’s underwear.

  Don’t be offended, Doug, if you wear purple undies.

  I bet they look cool on you.

  It’s just that they look pretty tragic on overweight Bank Liaison Officers.

  I kept my eyes on the Rice Bubbles.

  Then I remembered something.

  Dad doesn’t have any purple undies.

  ‘Don’t guts yourself,’ said Dad, pointing to the big bowl I was filling. ‘I’m not giving a diving lesson to a bloke who’s gunna sink on me.’

  I realised they were purple swimmers.

  I stared at him in amazement, partly because I’d never seen him in swimmers before and partly because I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.

  For a sec I thought being up on the diving board yesterday had damaged my eardrums.

  It hadn’t.

  I’ve been thinking about you fancying yourself as a diving champ,’ said Dad. ‘If a bloke from these parts wants to take on the world at that caper, I reckon he could use a few tips.’

  I felt like doing cartwheels across the kitchen and hugging him.

  Except there was something I had to ask first.

  ‘Um . . . Dad,’ I said, ‘do you know anything about diving?’

  Dad grinned and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his swimmers.

  ‘I might be just a mild-mannered Bank Liaison Officer to you, digger,’ he said, ‘but I’ve been around and done a few things, OK?’

  I reckon sometimes we have to trust people, eh Doug?

  We’re in the car on the way to the pool now, and I’ve just told Dad about you filling it.

  He went quiet for a bit.

  Then he changed the subject and explained why Rice Bubbles don’t help you float, even if you eat them dry. It’s got to do with digestive juices and compacting.

  I’m glad he took the time to explain that.

  I reckon if a person’s good with the theory, there’s a good chance he’ll be OK with the practical stuff too.

  The pool was just as crowded as yesterday.

  All the Wicks’s were there, climbing onto each other’s shoulders and falling off with shrieks.

  Not their dogs, but.

  The whole pool was full of shouting, splashing people.

  As me and Dad walked in, I wondered how Dad was gunna give me a diving lesson if there weren’t any vacant patches of water.

  I needn’t have worried.

  As soon as Dad stood at the edge of the pool and started showing me arm positions, the people in the water stopped splashing and shouting and started muttering to each other and backing away.

  They’re still doing it.

  There’s a patch of water in front of Dad big enough for an elephant to dive into.

  Dad doesn’t seem to have noticed.

  He’s probably concentrating on other things.

  Like keeping his balance that close to the edge of the pool without falling in.

  Oh, no.

  He’s fallen in.

  Everyone’s laughing.

  People can be so predictable.

  Just cause a person’s been talking about the importance of keeping his arms and legs together and his neck and ankles straight, and then he’s slipped and fallen into the water with his arms and legs and neck and ankles all over the place, people think it’s funny.

  Dad’s very sensibly staying under water till the unkind laughter stops.

  Jeez, he’s got good lungs.

  He’s been under there for ages.

  It’s hard to see exactly where he is cause the water’s pretty murky from the dust storm.

  People are starting to look anxious.

  I’m starting to feel anxious.

  Dad’s not that good at holding his breath, I’ve seen him try and do it after he’s hit his thumb with a hammer.

  Dad, where are you?

  People are shouting and swimming towards where he disappeared into the water.

  Doug, drop what you’re doing, this is urgent.

  Thanks, Doug.

  Thanks for moving so fast.

  Another second and I’d have jumped into the water and then I might never have found Dad with so many people swimming around yelling.

  Making him float to the surface was a great idea.

  It meant I could be the one to grab the back of his swimmers and drag him out.

  It’s much less embarrassing to be rescued by your own son than by a bunch of people who hate your guts, even if they do have to help with a bit of pushing.

  I reckon Dad handled it really well.

  After he’d finished coughing up pool water, he thanked everyone and pretended he didn’t hear them muttering things like ‘stay out of the water you cretin’.

  I was proud of him.

  Right up till we got to the car.

  ‘Well,’ he said, rubbing the bruise on his forehead where he’d banged it on the concrete on his way into the pool, ‘not such a bad start, en?’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Dad grinned.

  ‘Next time,’ he said, I’ll leave my shoes on for better grip.’

  I tried to smile.

  ‘Few more lessons,’ said Dad, punching me in the shoulder, ‘and you’ll be diving like a champ.’

  I was trying to think of a way to tell him that we’d both be better off without the lessons when he put his arm round my shoulders.

  ‘You and me,’ he said.

  I think I knew what he was gunna say next because my insides suddenly felt like they were doing a reverse double somersault off a thousand-metre cliff.

  ‘We don’t need any dopey old wizards, gremlins or angels,’ he said, ‘do we mate?’

  Sorry, Doug, that’s what he said.

  I could hardly breathe.

  I waited for my mouth to stop having spasms of indignation so I could tell him how not only did you just save his life, you’re pretty close to saving the lives of six hundred sheep.

  He didn’t give me time.

  ‘Mitch,’ he said, ‘I want you to stop filling your head with nonsense about this Doug character.’

  ‘Sorry Dad,’ I said, ‘I can’t do that.’

  His arm dropped away from my shoulders.

  I’m not asking you,’ he said. I’m telling you.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  I was wondering whether angels are allowed to adopt kids.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  His face was going as dark as his bruise.

  I could see it was pointless trying to argue.

  I just shook my head.

  ‘Jeez,’ exploded Dad. ‘Why won’t anyone listen to me?’

  He grabbed my shoulders and squeezed them hard.

  ‘I forbid you,’ he shouted, his face very close to mine, ‘to talk about Doug, think about Doug, play with Doug, draw pictures of Doug, write letters to Doug, dream about Doug, invite Doug to your birthday party or have diving lessons with Doug.’

  Then he got in the car and drove off.

  It’s the pressure, Doug.

  The pressure of being the most hated man in town.

  It’s getting to him.

  It’s only natural.

  My legs have almost stopped shaking.

  When they have I’m gunna go home and talk to him.

  I reckon he’ll calm down when I remind him that if it wasn’t for you, people would probably have just stood around this arvo and watched him drown.

  When I got home, Mum and Gran were in the kitchen.

  Mum went gastric.

  ‘You can be a very selfish boy, Mitch,’ she yelled.

  Gran stood up for me.

  Except because she’s old she did it sitting down.

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ she muttered through a mouthful of muesli.

  ‘I am blaming him,’ yelled Mum, ‘because he knows the pressure Noel’s under and he still carries on with these ridiculous fairy stories.’

  Gran had a small coughing fit.

  I thi
nk it was mostly guilt.

  ‘Where is Dad?’ I asked after I’d banged Gran on the back.

  ‘He’s taken a Panadol and gone to bed,’ said Mum.

  ‘Hopeless,’ muttered Gran.

  Mum gave a big sigh and pushed me down into a chair next to Gran.

  ‘Mr Grimmond from the bank is coming up from the city day after tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Dad reckons Mr Grimmond’s coming to give him the sack.’

  The kitchen spun a bit.

  I could see why Mum had sat me down.

  Even Gran looked shocked.

  ‘Why?’ I managed to ask.

  Mum sighed again.

  ‘Dad wrote a report on the Fiami property,’ she said. ‘Mrs Fiami owes the bank a heap of money and she’s going broke and can’t pay them. Dad knew the bank’d take her farm if they found out so he left it out of the report.’

  ‘Good on him,’ said Gran.

  I thought so too, but I was puzzled.

  ‘Why did he do that for the Fiamis,’ I asked, ‘when he’s never done it for anyone else?’

  ‘He’s done it a bit for other families,’ said Mum, ‘but he went further for Carla and her mum because he didn’t want you to lose the only friend you’ve got.’

  I stood up to go and give Dad a hug.

  I’d been feeling numb since he disappeared into the water this arvo, but suddenly I just wanted to throw my arms round him.

  Then a thought hit me.

  ‘With all this on his plate,’ I said, ‘why did he try and give me a diving lesson today?’

  Mum sat down and closed her eyes, but I could still see tears squeezing out from under her lids.

  ‘Because,’ she whispered, ‘he’s your dad.’

  That’s when my own eyes started to get hot and drippy.

  Mum pulled me onto her lap and put her arms round me and we sat like that until Gran lit a cigarette and inhaled a piece of muesli.

  OK, Doug.

  I know this is the point where you’d normally leap into action.

  But this time I don’t want you to.

  You’ve had enough interruptions and it’s more important you finish the drought job.

  I’ll take care of this bank bloke.

  After Mum had gone to look after Dad, I asked Gran for a hand.

  ‘It’d be a tragedy if Dad got the boot now,’ I said, ‘before the drought breaks. He’d be remembered forever as a mean and nasty person.’

  Gran agreed.

  ‘What we need to do,’ I said, ‘is get hold of Mr Grimmond between the airstrip and the bank and keep him somewhere till it rains.’