Grace

by Morris Gleitzman

  I had to be like Jonah, but in real life.

  Chapter 19

  I needed a whale.

  There weren’t any near our place, so I settled for the next best thing, the Breezy Whale carwash.

  Luckily it opened early.

  I’d left the house at 4am because Dad had told me once that’s when humans have their deepest sleep and I didn’t want anyone to hear me breaking the downstairs bathroom window to get out.

  I stood outside the Breezy Whale, watching a car disappear slowly into the mist of froth and spray, while I planned my next move.

  Jonah had spent three days and three nights inside the whale’s tummy. What I needed was an ordeal as dangerous as that, so God could see I had total faith in Him. And also, when God kept me safe, so the church elders could see that even sinners like me and Dad were precious in God’s eyes.

  There was one problem.

  I couldn’t do the whole three days and three nights because the Breezy Whale was only open from 7am to 10pm.

  I spoke to God about it. I explained that my ordeal was going to be shorter than Jonah’s, but that didn’t mean my faith was any less than his.

  ‘Probably the reason Jonah’s ordeal took three days and three nights,’ I said to God, ‘was because he was way out in the middle of the ocean instead of just on Steve Waugh Boulevard.’

  I walked up the concrete slope to the gaping mouth of the carwash. The car I’d been watching had finished its ordeal, and the massive plastic strips were hanging there, dripping and gently swaying, waiting for their next grubby visitor.

  Now I was up close, I was pleased to see that the inside of the carwash did look a bit like a whale’s tummy, if you ignored the fluorescent lights and the sign advertising liquid wax.

  The giant plastic strips looked scary, which was good. I knew from the Bible that fear was an important part of an ordeal.

  I reached into my pocket and took out the dollar coins I’d brought. I put five of them into the slot and walked towards the green light, commiting myself to the care of the Lord.

  ‘Stop,’ boomed a mighty voice high above me.

  I stopped.

  I looked up.

  I waited for further instructions.

  But the voice was silent. All I could hear was a faint whistling sound coming from a big metal loudspeaker bolted to the roof.

  ‘What d’ya think ya doin’?’

  The voice wasn’t coming from on high, it was coming from behind me.

  I turned. A chubby bloke in an orange jacket was sprinting over.

  ‘You wander in there, girlie,’ panted the bloke, ‘and the auto-safety shut-off image-sensor in that camera’ll have us closed down for the rest of the morning.’

  I looked up to where he was pointing. Bolted to the roof near the loudspeaker was a video camera.

  I sighed.

  ‘What ya doin’ anyhow?’ said the bloke.

  I decided not to explain. He looked like a nice person, but he probably wouldn’t like the idea of his carwash being used for religious purposes.

  He pointed at my school bag.

  ‘Project?’ he said.

  I tried to give him a smile, like you do when you don’t want to commit the sin of lying. But I was finding it hard to smile. Everything was going wrong. God had lost His temper with me and now He didn’t even want to give me the chance to prove myself.

  That’s what I thought until I saw the name tag the bloke was wearing on his carwash jacket.

  Then I did smile, because I realised God was just telling me I’d chosen the wrong ordeal. And now I knew exactly which ordeal He wanted me to undergo.

  It was written on the name tag.

  Daniel.

  I was feeling pretty nervous by the time I got to Denny’s Salvage.

  I knew Kyle and his dad would probably be angry when they saw me. I couldn’t blame them. They’d opened their hearts to me and lo, I’d been totally ungodly back. They had every right to chuck rusty bits of metal at me if they wanted to. I just hoped they’d control themselves long enough to give me the technical information I needed.

  The salvage yard gates squeaked as I went in.

  Mr Denny came out of the house, took a cigarette from his overalls, lit it, and squinted at me through the smoke.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  I went over to him, watching him nervously for signs of anger.

  ‘Jeez,’ he said. ‘That’s crook.’

  For a sec I thought he meant it was crook me coming to him for help after the way I’d treated him. Then I realised he was peering at my very short hair.

  But I still needed to apologise.

  ‘I’m sorry about the other day,’ I said. ‘I was worried that if you rescued me, it would make things worse for my dad. I should have explained. I’m really sorry.’

  Mr Denny grunted. I took a deep breath.

  ‘I know it’s a lot to ask after what happened,’ I said. ‘But can you give me some advice, please?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Mr Denny. ‘Next time you cut your hair, don’t use a hedge-trimmer.’

  I explained I needed advice about which tool was good for cutting through the bars of a cage.

  ‘A cage?’ said Mr Denny.

  I nodded. I could see doubt was upon him. I hoped he wouldn’t guess that by cage I really meant lions’ den.

  Mr Denny looked at my school bag.

  ‘Homework?’ he said.

  Nervously I gave him the smile.

  ‘At least they’re teaching you kids practical stuff,’ grunted Mr Denny as he rummaged through a big rusty toolbox. ‘Here.’

  He held up what looked like a pair of garden clippers, but ten times bigger.

  ‘Bolt cutters,’ he said. ‘Cut through anything, these will.’

  I was about to ask if I could borrow them, when Mr Denny’s eyes went narrow and behold, he was angry after all.

  ‘The only reason I’m talking to you now,’ he said, ‘is cause of your mum. She rang me yesterday, poor woman. I feel for her, the strife she’s in. But I had to tell her I don’t get involved in domestics.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m hoping God will help her.’

  Mr Denny snorted.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said, ‘if you want to stay in God’s good books you should take a look at yourself, girlie. Dragging people halfway across town on a wild-goose chase. Mucking around with a young bloke’s feelings. Not very holy behaviour if you ask me.’

  Mr Denny tossed the bolt cutters back into the toolbox.

  ‘Now take a hike,’ he said, and went into the house, slamming the door so hard a sheet of rusty metal slid off the roof.

  I stood there, looking at the toolbox and wondering what to do.

  Kyle came out of the house holding a breakfast bowl. He stayed on the verandah, looking at me.

  I went over to him.

  ‘Thanks for the other day,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t very grateful.’

  Kyle thought about this.

  ‘No sweat,’ he said. ‘I got to go up the big ladder. Never done that before. Dad reckons I’m ready to learn cable-greasing now.’

  I wasn’t sure exactly what that was, but I could tell it must be exciting from the look on Kyle’s face.

  Mr Denny’s voice boomed out from inside the house.

  ‘Kyle.’

  ‘Better go,’ said Kyle. ‘Um, he’s changed his mind about looking for your dad. Sorry.’

  I’d guessed that already.

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘And thanks again for coming to rescue me.’

  As Kyle went into the house I was tempted to call him back and ask if I could borrow the bolt cutters.

  I decided not to.

  What I was planning to do was probably against the law, so best not to get him involved. Instead, on my way out, I just put the bolt cutters into my school bag.

  Technically it was stealing, but I was pretty sure God understood.

  Chapter 20

  On my w
ay to the zoo I learned two useful things.

  (1) Outsiders are very kind with directions.

  (2) Bolt cutters are even heavier than they look, but it’s not so bad if you put your school bag down every five minutes.

  Luckily the woman selling the tickets at the zoo wasn’t worried about looking in my bag. She was only worried about the time.

  ‘It’s four o’clock,’ she said. ‘We close at five. You won’t have time to see much.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m just here for the lions.’

  The woman gave me a map and drew an X on it to show where the lions were.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘If you need more information,’ she said, ‘ring our education office any morning after nine.’

  I told her I hoped I’d get everything I needed this visit.

  ‘Good luck,’ she said.

  I went straight to the lions to check how thick the bars of their cage were.

  Talk about my lucky day, there weren’t any bars, or even a cage.

  The lions were in a kind of paddock with trees and bushes. The fence was high, but it wasn’t very thick. It was only about three times as thick as a chook fence. I could see it was strong because the lions hadn’t bitten through it, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be able to withstand the ways of bolt cutters.

  There was one problem.

  The lions didn’t look right.

  They didn’t have enough hair. I know I wasn’t one to criticise because I hardly had any myself, but these lions just looked wrong. There were four of them, and not one of them had a thick mane of hair. In every picture I’d seen of Daniel having his faith tested in the lions’ den, the lions all had hairy necks.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said to a keeper. ‘Are these proper lions?’

  The keeper grinned.

  I was very tempted to tell him that it wasn’t a joke. That God had revealed to me a name tag. That my ordeal wouldn’t count if the den didn’t have proper lions in it.

  But I kept quiet.

  ‘They’re females,’ said the keeper.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  I thought about this. Female lions would probably be OK. In our church the elders reckoned females weren’t as important as males, but things were probably different here in the outside world.

  ‘We had to move the males out to the open-range zoo for a while,’ said the keeper. ‘One of the cubs isn’t well and males can cause problems when there’s a sick cub.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  I wondered what sort of problems. When I was sick I loved having Dad around. He was brilliant at making healthy drinks and putting frozen peas into socks to cool your head down.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the keeper. ‘You’re getting your money’s worth. I reckon the female lions are the scariest. They do most of the hunting. They’re the real killers.’

  I didn’t ask any more questions.

  Just before five o’clock, announcements started coming over the loudspeakers telling people the zoo was closing.

  I waited till the crowds had moved towards the exits, then I ducked into a patch of rainforest which I had beheld earlier.

  A sign said rainforest was a habitat whose residents were in danger. I knew how they felt. I huddled behind some bushes trying to stay quieter than the quietest rainforest creature.

  It wasn’t easy. If I moved even a tiny bit, twigs cracked and leaves rustled. I didn’t know how jaguars did it.

  Luckily the monkeys in their enclosure next door were very noisy too, chattering and screeching and howling. I wondered what they were arguing about. Who got to sleep where, probably, and who’d grabbed the best food, and who was getting the most attention from their parents. They were a bit like the people in our church, getting stressed about what would happen if everybody was allowed into heaven.

  I felt sorry for the monkeys, but I was grateful too. They were making even more noise than me. Which meant that even when I rustled, the zoo keepers in golf buggies driving past the rainforest habitat didn’t have a clue I was there.

  I waited till it was completely dark and I hadn’t seen a golf buggy for ages. Then I had something to eat.

  The way I saw it, my ordeal was to go into the lions’ den, not starve myself to death.

  I ate two bananas and some cold sausages. Normally I’d have brought sandwiches, but when I left home that morning I thought my ordeal was going to be in a carwash, so I chose food that wouldn’t go soggy.

  While I ate, I thought about Mum and the others at home.

  I hoped they weren’t worrying too much. I’d left a note explaining I’d gone to sort things out with God, but without any actual details of course.

  It wasn’t much to make them feel better.

  I hoped they’d have faith, like I did.

  The bolt cutters were really hard to use. Not only were they very heavy, they were very stiff.

  But finally I got the hang of them and lo, Mr Denny was right. They cut through the fence of the lion enclosure like it really was chook wire.

  I did about ten snips, just enough to make a flap I could pull back. A flap big enough for a girl to squeeze in, but not big enough for lions to squeeze out. This was meant to be my ordeal, not the rest of the outside world’s.

  Before I went in, I had a few words with God. I apologised about hurting His feelings, and told Him I wouldn’t ever do it again.

  ‘Sorry about the misunderstanding,’ I said. ‘I’ve never lost faith in You. Just in the elders sometimes. But not You. Watch and You’ll see.’

  I pulled back the flap and squeezed through the fence.

  ‘When this is over,’ I said to God, ‘me and Dad are going to be so obedient You won’t believe it.’

  I was amazed how much your hearing improves the second you’re in a lions’ den. Even as I was pushing the flap back into place, the zoo sounds in the night air seemed twice as loud.

  Squawking, grunting, squeaking, hooting.

  And rumbling.

  The lions were awake. I could hear them thudding around in the darkness. But the moonlight was so faint I couldn’t see where they were.

  I lay down just inside the fence. There was nothing in the Bible about Daniel going up to the lions and introducing himself, and I was sure God didn’t expect me to do that.

  I curled up on the ground and hugged my school bag and kept as still as I could, which wasn’t very still because I was shivering all over.

  The grass was damp, but it wasn’t just that.

  I was terrified.

  Terrified of the lions and terrified God would see my fear and think I didn’t have faith in Him.

  I wanted to run, but I just lay there. When that much fear is upon you, your brain forgets how to do all the normal things.

  Breathe.

  Pray.

  Save yourself.

  Then a lion found me.

  I heard her footsteps first, padding towards me through the darkness. As she got closer I heard her breathing softly, like she was roaring but in a whisper.

  Suddenly she was above me.

  Her head and shoulders were huge. I couldn’t see exactly where she ended and the dark sky began, but I knew she was most of it.

  I tried to squeeze myself into a ball so tiny I’d disappear. I braced myself for mighty teeth to do their worst.

  But behold, there were no teeth. Just her huge eyes, staring down at me.

  Her breathing rumbled on and slowly a miracle happened.

  I started to relax.

  I uncurled a tiny bit and stared up into her eyes and it was the weirdest feeling because something about it was familiar.

  I felt like I’d been here before. And I could see in her expression that she was feeling the same thing. Which was why she wasn’t killing me. And why she was staring down at me with such sadness in her eyes.

  Yes, I thought. I’m safe.

  ‘Thank You,’ I said to God.

  I didn’t mean to say it out loud. The
words whispered out of me before I could stop them.

  And behold, her eyes gleamed and there was a blur. A huge paw moving so fast I didn’t fully see it. Just felt it, tearing my flesh.

  There was probably a roar too.

  But I didn’t hear it.

  The last thing, the only thing I heard was my own despairing wail.

  Chapter 21

  There were lots of pretty lights above me.

  I knew it wasn’t the home-lighting warehouse because the people peering down at me as I lay on the trolley were all wearing white and the home-lighting warehouse uniform was green.

  I wondered if I was in heaven.

  Then I remembered what had happened. And I knew I wasn’t. Grandpop always said that God only invited saved people into heaven.

  My brain wasn’t working properly, but one thing I knew for certain.

  You weren’t saved if God let a lion attack you.

  I had tubes in me, and pain, and lo, the people bustling around me were saying something about serious loss of blood.

  I started to cry.

  My head was fuzzy and my hearing had forsaken me and instead of serious loss of blood, I thought they were saying serious loss of God.

  Chapter 22

  The next time I opened my eyes I was still in hospital and a kind nurse was looking down at me, but this time I could understand what she was saying.

  ‘Hello, Grace. Do you know what’s happened to you?’

  ‘I think so,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘So I can see if the anaesthetic’s wearing off.’

  ‘Serious loss of God,’ I said quietly.

  She smiled, but not in a cruel way. She looked a bit like Miss Parry, but with blonde hair.

  ‘Blood,’ she said. ‘A serious loss of blood. A lion hurt your arm, remember?’

  I nodded, which made my arm hurt a lot more. I looked down to see how bad the damage was, but I couldn’t tell because my whole left arm was in a bandage and held up by a kind of pulley attached to the bed.

  ‘You needed a blood transfusion,’ said the nurse. ‘It was a bit dramatic because you’ve got a rare type of blood and we were having trouble finding enough for you. But luckily your dad is the same type as you.’