by Lisa Nicol
‘You need to rest!’ said Bessie. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a room full of patients again who need you.’
The Doctor climbed down from his ladder. Usually upright as a brand-new pencil, he slumped into his chair, his shoulders rounded with defeat.
‘I can’t help them, Bess. All I can think about is Blue. In three hundred years, no one, not one person, has left the Boogaloo Family Clinic of Musical Cures without a cure. Do you realise that, Bess? I’m the first Boogaloo ever to send someone away uncured. I’ve snapped the string, put a hole in the family drum. I’m a disgrace!’
‘Stop that talk. You did everything you could, Toots. Your family would be proud,’ said Bessie. ‘You just need to sleep.’
The Doctor knew Bessie was right. With other tricky cases, a cure had always come to him at night. An instrument or song would pop up in his dreams. But it was impossible to dream if you couldn’t sleep. Although his family’s reputation weighed heavily on his shoulders, it was a far more terrifying thought that was keeping the Doctor awake. Dr Booglaoo knew that, in two twangs of a banjo, Blue’s childhood would be over. If her laughter hadn’t returned by then, she would never ever laugh again.
CHAPTER 16
Closed for Business
‘Well, you sucked the life out of those Boogaloos, didn’t you, Blue?’ Blue’s mother thrust a piece of paper into Blue’s hand.
‘Now people might sympathise with what I’ve had to go through. I tell you, I can’t get on that plane soon enough. You’ve no idea what a blow this has been to your father and I. You’re worse than you were before! I’m going to Switzerland to check out some of those all girls’ boarding schools. And while I’m there, I’ve planned a tour of the best comedians of Europe to repair some of the damage. There’s no point you coming along, is there? That would be a complete waste of time and money. And an absolute bummer, if you’ll excuse the expression. LUZ! TRACEE! Get my suitcases, will you? They’re upstairs. Outside en suite neuf. I’ll be in the car. MELVIN! Where’s a chauffeur when you need one?’
Pouting like a tropical fish, Blue’s mother made two kissing noises in Blue’s direction and promptly left.
Blue looked at the piece of paper her mother had shoved in her hand.
BOOGALOO FAMILY CLINIC OF
MUSICAL CURES CLOSING DOWN SALE
MASSIVE INSTRUMENT COLLECTION
EVERYTHING MUST GO!
SATURDAY 15th AT 2 PM
Blue felt dizzy. She ran to the kitchen and looked at the calendar. Today was Saturday the 15th.
Her mother was right.
This was all her fault. She hadn’t imagined it was possible for things to get any worse than they already were. But they had. And they were. To think that she was responsible for the closure of the Boogaloos’ clinic! The Doctor and Bessie’s life’s work! It was too much to bear.
A metallic thudding noise descended down the stairs.
BANG …
BANG …
BANG …
‘Aw my gawd. What she got in here? These bags heavier than horse,’ moaned Luz.
Luz and Tracee struggled down the stairs, loaded with gleaming white suitcases and hauled them out to the limo. Blue’s mother was already in the back, sipping champagne and watching reruns of the Queen’s comedy gala special, laughing like a siamang ape from the Sumatran jungle. As Melvin drove off, they waved goodbye.
‘Aw, thank gawd she gone,’ said Luz. ‘My back! I need sit down.’
‘Bathroom twelve not going anywhere,’ said Tracee, flinging a rag over her shoulder.
Completely puffed, they headed for the lounge room. They plonked themselves on the plush white sofas and found Blue with her head in her hands.
‘What’s wrong, Blue?’ said Luz. ‘Is it your mummy? Off on her laughing tour of Europe? Don’t worry, Blue. She go laugh with strangers in dark room. We have party Filipino-style – shake our mabungos!’
Luz got up off the couch and did some swishing movement with her bottom. It looked like it belonged in the inappropriate section of a Snorkel Porkel Laughter Test. Tracee laughed and joined in.
‘I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for a party,’ said Blue. ‘Read this.’ She handed Luz and Tracee the flyer about the Boogaloos’ closing-down sale. ‘It’s all my fault. If the Boogaloos had never met me, they wouldn’t be closing down the clinic. I’ve ruined everything.’
‘You know what we say in the Philippines?’ said Luz.
‘No,’ said Blue.
‘As you go through life, watch the doughnut, not the hole.’
‘I never heard that!’ said Tracee.
‘No? Where you been? Famous Filipino saying. Anyway, sound like jumbo jet in here, hard to think. Don’t worry, Blue. Every road has a puddle. It will all work out. But first, it’s time for dance.’
Luz and Tracee switched off Blue’s mother’s white noise and put on some pop music.
They jiggled around their makeshift dancefloor. Hands on thighs, they poked their bottoms out and moved them around in a washing-machine swish.
‘Come on, Blue, come shake your MABUNGO! You can’t shake your mabungo and feel bad at the same time, trust me,’ said Luz.
But Blue wasn’t in the mood to dance, let alone shake her mabungo. Eventually, Luz and Tracee gave up. Pop music still blaring from their iPhones, they went back to bathroom twelve to study.
Blue headed outside and sat down under the fence. Mrs Taylor was yelling so loudly Blue could hear her from inside the Taylors’ house.
‘SOMEONE GET ME OFF THIS SHIP OF FOOLS!’ screamed Mrs Taylor. ‘CARROTS WON’T GROW IN A BLOODY BATH! AND BESIDES, HOW ARE WE GOING TO WASH ALL THAT DIRT OFF NOW THAT YOU’VE TURNED OUR BATH INTO A VEGIE GARDEN? ANSWER ME THAT, MR NED FRANCIS SMARTYPANTS TAYLOR!’
‘Oh. I didn’t think of that,’ said Ned. ‘But you can’t move it now. I’ve already planted potatoes, sweet peas, baby tomatoes, and that’s Vietnamese mint … I know, we can take a bath in the kitchen sink! Problem solved!’
‘No, Ned, I will not be bathing in the kitchen sink! Now, get a shovel and get that dirt out of my bath!’
‘But look, an inbuilt watering system! See?’ Blue heard Ned turn on the handheld shower hose. ‘You’ve got to admit that’s pretty handy.’ Ned sounded completely chuffed with his invention.
‘Ned Francis Taylor, I’m only going to say this one more time – GET THAT DIRT OUT OF MY BATH!’
‘Nope.’
‘I’ll count to three, Ned. One … two …’
Ned was by far the smartest of the Taylor children. He’d worked out that the only thing that came after the number three was the number four.
‘THREE!’
Silence. Blue could imagine the Mexican stand-off taking place in the Taylor bathroom.
‘I’m not finished with you, Ned Francis Taylor! I’ve got to take your brothers to karate. If that bath’s still full of dirt by the time I get back, you won’t believe how much bloody trouble you’re in!’
Blue heard a door slam and Mrs Taylor corralling her ship of fools out the front and into the family wagon.
Instead of removing his vegie garden from the bath as instructed, Ned Taylor must have picked up his guitar. He began to play. Although there was much room for improvement, he wasn’t half bad, especially when he was in the mood. Despite being separated by the especially high fence, Blue could feel the sound of Ned’s guitar as it came towards her.
She pulled out her castanets from her pocket. She looked at the painted flamenco dancers. Their magnificent skirts reminded her of Bessie.
Her hands began to flick and click the castanets together.
Clack-clickety-clickety clickety clack-clickety-clickety clickety clack.
Blue clicked them above her head, she clicked them behind her back, she clicked them out to the side. Ned’s guitar wrapped itself around the sound of her castanets until, somehow, a song fell upon them both like a falling star. Unable to see each other but joined through song, they played together perfectl
y. Blue danced. Her plain white skirt became a sea of red ruffles. Her heart lifted. This time, she could feel the wings attach. Snap, snap.
And only when she noticed the time on her watch was she yanked back down to earth.
2.15 pm.
The sale had begun.
Blue shoved the castanets in her pocket and ran to the front door.
CHAPTER 17
The Biggest Instrument Sale on Earth
Word had spread quickly about the biggest instrument sale on Earth. Musicians and private collectors came from around the world. Museums and auction houses sent their best instrument specialists. Many were here for the swan-bone flute alone. Rumours swirled that it could fetch nearly half a million dollars.
Dr Boogaloo’s enormous collection had been removed from the shed and spread across the sprawling lawns so buyers could inspect the instruments. There were fields of them, as far as the eye could see.
At precisely two o’clock, the auction began.
First up were the strings, the very heart of the Doctor’s collection.
‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ said the auctioneer, an inflatable-looking gentleman. His pants, which were slightly too short, revealed he followed the popular but peculiar trend of wearing no socks.
‘Let’s begin with this magnificent cigar-box guitar,’ continued the auctioneer. ‘Built in 1886, most likely from the deep south of the Americas. I guarantee you won’t find another like it. It’s in mint condition. Now, who’s going to get this auction started?’
Dr Boogaloo and Bessie stood at the back of the crowd.
‘That was one of Grandfather’s finds. I hope it goes to a good home,’ said Dr Boogaloo to Bessie. ‘Works wonders for folks who can only walk in straight lines.’
‘You used to play it for me on warm summer nights when we were done for the day. Do you remember, Toots?’
Dr Boogaloo nodded and smiled at the memory.
‘Fifty!’ said a man barely visible beneath the double bass strapped to his back.
‘Five hundred!’ said a tall man up the front. When he raised his hand to bid, the Doctor noticed the man was wearing white gloves.
‘Why’s he wearing gloves, Bess?’ said the Doctor. ‘They’re not going to lock it up in a display cabinet, are they? That instrument needs to be played! That’s what it was built for!’
‘I have a feeling they are,’ said Bessie. ‘Look around. Most of these people are from museums.’
Dr Boogaloo looked around the crowd.
Bessie was right. Nearly everyone was wearing white gloves. The only ones who weren’t were clearly musicians, none of whom looked like they had two cents to rub together. It was obvious they would all be outbid by the wealthy collectors and museums specialists, whose temperature-controlled packing crates could be heard humming from the car park.
‘I can’t watch!’ said Dr Boogaloo, horrified. ‘Instruments are for making music. They’re for playing, not for putting on display!’
‘Come on, Toots, let’s go.’ Bessie grabbed the Doctor’s hand and led him away.
Bessie and the Doctor headed off on the iBike, which Bessie had steadfastly refused to sell. She took the road that ran alongside the railway line. She knew the tuneful clickety-clack of trains and some old school Jamaican rocksteady would settle the Doctor’s aching heart.
‘My goodness,’ he said to Bessie. ‘I’d forgotten what a wonderful contraption this is.’
Dr Boogaloo hadn’t ridden the iBike for years. He’d been so busy fixing other people’s tunes he realised he’d been more than a little neglectful of his own.
An afternoon train slid up alongside them.
Ka-ch-ka-chaar … ka-ch-ka-chaar … ka-ch-ka-chaar … ka
ch-ka-chaar.
The Doctor’s bones relaxed. He breathed a deep sigh. His breath emptied out.
The weather changed. It began to sprinkle. Bessie headed for the Yellow Moon Hotel in town. A tall glass of their yellow lemonade would be just what the Doctor ordered. Opposite the train station, the only traffic light in town turned red. Bessie stopped the iBike and waited for the green. The rain fell harder.
Suddenly, the iBike stopped playing music. Instinctively, Bessie and Dr Boogaloo looked around and tuned in to the landscape. They could hear the rain and three birds singing on the electricity wires above them. Wa waar wa waar. Then, out of the pedestrian tunnel that ran beneath the train station, wafted some sort of music.
‘I don’t recognise that music. Do you, Bess?’
Bessie shook her head. This was a highly unusual situation.
‘Let’s have a listen, shall we, Bess? For old times’ sake?’
‘Let’s,’ said Bessie.
They parked the iBike and wandered into the tunnel. Busy people, with their eyes on their phones and heads bowed, walked swiftly past.
In the middle of the tunnel the Boogaloos found a scruffy three-piece band. Their clothes were torn and dirty. Their hair looked as if they’d just got out of bed. But their playing was extraordinary. The drummer, a hairy podgy fellow, played unlike anyone Dr Boogaloo had ever seen or heard. Stirring and stroking the drums, the beat swirled and eddied like a fast-flowing stream. The guitar – played by a young boy who, apart from a pair of bright purple sneakers, almost blended into the grey walls – twinkled like the stars. On piano, the Doctor immediately recognised a wizard. Not an ordinary wizard, of course, but a musical wizard of the highest order. He had long hair and a long pointy beard. His fingers were encrusted with rings. His neck hung heavy with pendants and beads. His tiny piano, balanced on his knees, bounced about as his feet tapped along. And his playing sounded like the breath of all living things.
Music filled the tunnel, just like a swan-bone flute. It was the saddest music in the entire world. Everything the Doctor felt about being unable to help Blue swam through his body. He bowed his head and began to weep. He wept and wept and wept. Bessie held his hand and wept too. Even the musicians cried. Tears fell onto the piano keys and splashed onto the skins of the drums.
After a while, Dr Boogaloo stopped crying. He looked at Bessie. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘Where to?’ asked Bessie.
‘To Blue’s house.’
CHAPTER 18
A Dash of Red Castanets
Before they had a chance to knock, Blue burst out the front door.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said, hugging them both. ‘You’ve got to stop the sale, you can’t close the clinic. You can’t, you can’t, you just can’t.’
‘Never mind about that now. You have to come with us,’ said Dr Boogaloo. ‘Quickly!’
Dr Boogaloo and Bessie grabbed Blue by the hand and they ran to the iBike.
‘How are we going to fit?’ asked Blue.
‘On the iBike?’ said Bessie. ‘There’s room for a quartet, let alone a trio!’
Blue squished her way up between Bessie’s arms. ‘I never thought I’d get to ride this lovely machine again,’ she said. ‘Oh, how I’ve missed my rides with you, Bessie.’
‘We’ve missed you too, Blue. Go ahead,’ said Bessie, nodding towards the musical gears.
Blue pulled the jukebox lever. A Mexican mariachi band began to play, mixed in with a bit of honky-tonk piano.
‘I know this one,’ said Blue excitedly.
‘Thought you might,’ said Bessie.
‘Such sweet violins and those trumpets! And that big warm guitar sounds just like a cuddle. I’m pretty sure they’re playing live on a hillside. I can hear the notes bouncing off the slopes,’ said Blue.
‘You’re right, luv. How far you’ve come. And listen to the piano – played near a river on a bright sunny day, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Definitely. I can hear the sun shining on the piano keys, and the soft flow of the river mingling with the notes.’
Blue closed her eyes. Seconds, or maybe days, later her nose tingled with the familiar smell of burning rubber. She felt an abrupt thud. They were outside the pedestrian tunnel near the tr
ain station in town.
Dr Boogaloo leapt off the bike. ‘Come on!’ he said, breaking into an impolite trot. ‘There’s no time to waste.’ The three of them ran towards the tunnel. The rain was falling hard, hammering their faces like sharp nails.
As they entered the tunnel, the music hit them. Gravity doubled. They struggled to walk against the force of the music. Blue felt it penetrate every atom of her being. Her chest heaved beneath its weight. The music was so unbelievably sad. As she stood and watched the strange trio, Blue realised this music was how the Doctor and Bessie felt about being unable to help her. Blue couldn’t hold back her tears any longer. She began to cry.
Heads bowed, Blue, Bessie and the Doctor all wept together. Without even knowing it, Blue reached into her pocket and pulled out her castanets. She pressed them together. Her fingers danced, tapping out the tune of their unbearable pain.
Trains came and went above them. The lights in the tunnel had flickered on. A warm shade of electric yellow. Blue looked at the weeping musicians and the weeping Boogaloos. Their clothes, drenched through by the rain, stuck to their bodies. Their hair dripped. Puddles of rainwater pooled at their feet. The three of them and the three scruffy musicians all crying like babies in a busy railway tunnel.
Blue smiled.
Her tears stopped falling.
How funny we look, she thought with a snort.
Blue snorted again. A puff of air escaped from her nose, which wasn’t the least bit extraordinary. What was extraordinary was piggybacking on that small puff of air was a teeny tiny ‘hee’ sound, not unlike the noise of a dreaming dog.
Another ‘hee’ followed.
And quickly behind that ‘hee’ came another.
Suddenly, Blue let out a ‘ha’.
Then another.
Then another and another and another, until they all joined up and formed a hearty, happy, UNMISTAKABLE …
LAUGH.
Yes, that’s right. Blue was LAUGHING!
