by Alan Brough
You see three pests,
But that’s not
Who we are.
They kept singing as I slipped as fast as I could out of my room, down the stairs and towards the front door.
I love hats,
sang the smallest cockroach.
I’ll fix your ills,
sang the red-coloured cockroach.
I’m an opera STAR!
sang Pavaroachi in an amazingly loud and high opera voice.
I could hear the walking-mountain-man stomping towards the stairs.
I slipped faster.
Inside the broken, shiny, mysterious black karaoke box the cockroaches kept on singing.
We love to sing,
We’ve given you a fright.
We love to sing,
But you’ll be all right.
I slipped out the front door.
More than anything,
We love to sing.
I slipped onto the grass outside the front door.
We love to sing,
And we’ll be friends.
We love to sing,
Before this song ends.
My feet hit the dirt and I stopped slipping.
We love to sing,
Through thick and thin.
We love to sing,
Come on! Join in!
The music slowed right down. The cockroaches linked arms, formed a line and started doing high kicks in time to the music.
I started running.
But . . .
More . . .
Than . . .
Any . . .
Thing . . .
RUNNING AWAY FROM MY HOUSE CARRYING THREE SINGING COCKROACHES.
WE . . .
LOVE . . .
TO . . .
SIIIIIINNNnnnnnnGGGGGGGGGGG.
Inside the broken, mysterious karaoke box the three cockroaches dropped to their knees and finished their song.
Yes, sir, we really do love to sing.
Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
39
THE CARAVAN
I only slipped over seventy-three times between my house and Hils’s caravan.
I knocked on the door of the caravan.
‘Mark my words,’ said Pavaroachi. ‘You will lose your job over this. I have never been treated so badly in my entire life. I AM PAVAROACHI. I WILL NOT BE TREATED LIKE THIS.’
‘Can you please be quiet,’ I said to Pavaroachi.
‘DO NOT SPEAK TO ME. DO NOT LOOK AT ME,’ said Pavaroachi.
‘Now stop your fussin’, Big Lucy,’ said the red cockroach. ‘This child needs care. He needs the care that only Sister Roachetta Tharpe can give him.’
I knocked at the door again.
Sister Roachetta Tharpe started to sing.
‘Ooooooooooo-ooo-ooo,’ she sang.
She had an amazing voice. It made me shiver. In a good way.
‘That sounds amazing,’ I said. ‘But can you please be quiet?’
I knocked again.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, child,’ said Sister Roachetta. ‘I’m doin’ important work.’
Hils opened the door. (She was wearing My Little Pony pyjamas.)
‘HILS THE WALKING-MOUNTAIN-MAN TRIED TO BREAK INTO MY HOUSE AND THAT IS WHY I’M ONLY WEARING MY UNDERPANTS AND A DUNCAN’S WOOLLY SAUCE HELMET PAN™ AND I’M COMPLETELY COVERED IN OLIVE OIL AND I AM CARRYING THE SHINY, MYSTERIOUS BLACK BOX I TOLD YOU ABOUT ONLY NOW IT’S A SHINY, MYSTERIOUS, BROKEN BLACK BOX AND YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT IS IN THIS BOX AND I WOULD REALLY LIKE TO BORROW SOME CLOTHES BECAUSE I’M STARTING TO GET REALLY COLD.’
‘At ease,’ said Hils. ‘You have clearance to enter the base.’
‘You have clearance to enter the base’ is army-talk for, ‘You can come into my caravan, just don’t get oil over everything.’
40
THE EXPLANATION
I slipped the broken box onto Hils’s table.
‘Look inside,’ I said.
‘Cockroaches?’ said Hils.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But not ordinary cockroaches. This is Luciano Pavaroachi.’
‘Are you here to give me a massage?’ said Pavaroachi to Hils.
‘This is Sister Roachetta Tharpe.’
‘You look puzzled, sugar,’ said Sister Roachetta to Hils.
‘I’m sorry but I don’t know your name,’ I said to the smallest cockroach.
‘I TALK TO HATS!’
‘Talking cockroaches?’ said Hils.
‘Affirmative,’ I said.
‘Affirmative,’ said Hils.
‘I TALK TO HATS!’
You may have wondered why the smallest cockroach keeps screaming out, ‘I talk to hats!’ I certainly did. Well, Sister Roachetta explained it to me.
The smallest cockroach was always the most adventurous of the three singing cockroaches. His favourite thing to do was to escape the safety of their shiny black box and leap onto the hat of a passer-by.
One day he had just leapt onto a passing hat when the owner of the hat was struck by lightning. The hat and the owner were both instantly vaporised. (The cockroach wasn’t vaporised because nothing can kill cockroaches. Not even lightning.) But just before the hat was vaporised it spoke to the cockroach: it said, ‘HEY, YOU! TALK TO HATS!’
From that day onwards the smallest cockroach started talking to hats.
41
THE RE-FREAK-OUT
‘THEY CAN TALK,
HILS! THEY’RE
TALKING
COCKROACHES!’
I said.
‘AAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHH-HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!’
42
THE SHOWER
Hils’s caravan has a shower.
I was in the shower.
Hils was outside the shower.
‘Why do you think the walking-mountain-man was trying to break in?’ I said to Hils.
‘I think the hostile’s incursion has something to do with those three talking cockroaches.’
‘Yes, I think you’re right. But who are they? Why do they talk? How do they talk? Why did Vivien have them? Why does the walking-mountain-man want them?’
‘If I am going to provide answers to those questions I believe you are going to have to inform me of some highly classified information,’ said Hils.
‘If I am going to provide answers to those questions I believe you are going to have to inform me of some highly classified information’ is the army way of saying, ‘We’re never going to work out what is going on unless you repeat the amazing thing Vivien told you that you swore you would never repeat to anyone.’
I really, very, super didn’t want to repeat what Vivien had told me.
I also really, very, super did want to repeat what Vivien had told me.
What should I do? I asked my brain.
It didn’t know.
I decided to forget about my brain. I decided to just open my mouth and see what my mouth did or didn’t repeat.
I opened my mouth.
So I repeated the amazing thing Vivien had told me. The thing I swore I would never repeat to anyone.
Thanks, mouth. I knew you would know what to do.
43
THE REPEATING
‘There once was an Emperor. The Emperor’s empire was small but beautiful. It had high white mountains and wide green valleys and all the people were happy because the Emperor was kind and good. Except for one thing. He was sad because his beloved wife, the Empress, had died. When he was sad he liked to walk around his empire and fix things. If he walked past a door with a squeaky hinge he would not rest until that hinge no longer squeaked. Most people would simply put oil on the hinge. Not the Emperor. That was the one thing. The Emperor would fix the squeaky door hinge by inventing a huge and incredibly complicated machine that would keep the door hinge oiled until the end of time.
‘The Emperor would stand in front of
the door with the squeaky hinge for hours and hours, staring at the hinge, staring at the door, staring at the house the door led into. Then he would order his servants to bring him his desk. Ten servants would carry the Emperor’s huge, heavy oak desk to him and place it in front of the door with the squeaky hinge.
‘The Emperor would sit down at his desk and start designing the huge and incredibly complicated machine that would keep the squeaky door hinge oiled until the end of time.
‘Then he would summon his builders, show them his plans and they would begin to build the huge and incredibly complicated door hinge-oiling machine.
‘The huge and incredibly complicated door hinge-oiling machine would have many levers, many ropes, many pulleys, many tubes, hoses, cans, reservoirs, nozzles, funnels, switches, lanterns, pedals and a tiny painting of his beloved Empress, which he placed on all his inventions.
‘The huge and incredibly complicated door hinge-oiling machine would take many months to build and would mean that the people who lived in the house with the squeaky door hinge weren’t able to use their door and had to climb into their house through the window.
‘Once the machine was finished it was always so big that it took over the entire house and the people who used to live there had to move out and go and live in a cave.
‘No one ever complained, though, because, after all, the Emperor was the Emperor and, apart from inventing huge and complicated machines, he was a good, kind and just Emperor.
‘The only thing that would stop the Emperor building one of his huge and complicated machines was his daughter. When he was out walking, if he heard a squeaky hinge or saw a broken chimney, a servant would quickly run and fetch the Emperor’s daughter. She would immediately go to her father and start singing. Her singing was so beautiful that he would forget about the squeaky door hinge or broken chimney and walk off without doing any inventing of huge and complicated machines at all.
‘One day the Emperor’s daughter died. The Emperor was so grief-stricken that soon every house in his empire was covered in a huge and complicated invention and all of his subjects were living in caves.
‘In the highest cave in the empire lived an alchemist. An alchemist is like a cross between a chemist and magician. The Emperor’s subjects begged the alchemist to help them make the Emperor happy again so they could all move out of the caves (which were very crowded) and back into their houses.
‘The alchemist worked day and night searching for a solution while the inconsolable Emperor started covering the caves in his empire with huge and complicated inventions, causing his subjects to have to go and live in trees.
‘Then, one morning as the sun’s first rays hit the high white mountains and cast shadows across the wide green valleys, the alchemist climbed out of his cave. In his hands he held a large, shiny black box. He walked across the widest, greenest valley, past all the complicated inventions and up to the door of the Emperor’s palace. He knocked at the door. The Emperor emerged. The alchemist handed the Emperor the large, shiny black box and proclaimed, “I have done it! Take this box and you shall be happy once more!”
‘The Emperor took the box inside his palace.
‘The next day the Emperor emerged from his palace. He held the large, shiny black box above his head and smiled.
‘He was happy.
‘He was very happy.’
44
THE CONFIRMATION
‘You were in that box,’ I said to the cockroaches.
‘Yes indeed,’ said Sister Roachetta.
‘Unlike you,’ said Pavaroachi, staring at me, ‘the Emperor and his subjects knew how to treat us. We sang for the Emperor –’
‘You made the Emperor happy,’ I said.
‘We healed him with song,’ said Sister Roachetta.
‘I could get a massage whenever I wished,’ said Pavaroachi. ‘We even had our own guardians. A group of mighty warriors who vowed to protect us. Because there are many people like you –’ Pavaroachi stared at me again, ‘– who don’t treat us as they should. Some even wish to exterminate the great Pavaroachi.’
‘Big Lucy speaks the truth, children,’ said Sister Roachetta. ‘People wanted to exterminate us.’
‘They VOWED to exterminate us!’ said Pavaroachi. ‘They said that we were unnatural. That we were evil.’
‘These guardians,’ said Hils. ‘Are they still around?’
‘Yes,’ said Pavaroachi. ‘Of course. The great Pavaroachi must be protected.’
‘Is Vivien one of those guardians?’ said Hils.
‘She surely is,’ said Sister Roachetta. ‘What a sweet child.’
‘If Vivien is one of your guardians, then . . . ?’ I said.
I thought back to the walking-mountain-man bursting into our classroom. Was he one of the people who had vowed to exterminate the cockroaches?
45
THE FLASHBACK
he shouted. Exactly as loudly and as scarily as you’d imagine a walking-mountain-man would shout.
46
THE REALISATION
‘He is talking about them,’ I said to Hils. ‘The walking-mountain-man is talking about the cockroaches. He is one of the people who has vowed to exterminate them.’
‘WHAT HAS PAVAROACHI EVER DONE? WHY MUST PEOPLE TREAT PAVAROACHI SO BADLY?’
Pavaroachi starting crying. Hysterically.
‘There, there, Big Lucy. There, there,’ said Sister Roachetta as she patted Pavaroachi tenderly on the shoulder. (I think it was his shoulder; I don’t even know if cockroaches have shoulders.) ‘They’ve tried to exterminate us many, many times before. Remember? They haven’t got us yet. Have they? You know, yes sir, you know, we escape every time. Every time. Big Lucy, I think we should tell these children all about our adventures. Don’t you? We should tell ’em in a song. Let’s sing a song, Big Lucy. That’ll cheer a body up. Hit it!’
Again the smallest cockroach scuttled down inside the broken black box.
Again there was a loud, sharp buzzing, a pained yell and the smell of smoke.
Again the smallest cockroach emerged from the inside of the box with his antennae smouldering slightly.
Again music started coming out of the box.
Slow, sad music this time.
47
THE SONG
‘We’ve been alive for a long time,’ Sister Roachetta said to Hils and me over the slow, soulful music. ‘We’ve met many good folk. Many good folk. We’ve also met bad folk. Really bad folk. Folk who have tried to do us harm. Folk who’ve even tried to kill us. Kill us in many different ways. Only thing is, you can’t kill a cockroach.’
The three cockroaches started singing.
You can step on us
With your shoe.
You can flush us
Down the loo.
But you can’t kill,
Can’t kill us roaches.
You can shoot us
With poison darts.
You can gas us
With smelly farts.
But you can’t kill,
Can’t kill us roaches.
You just
Can’t
Kill
Us roaches.
You can freeze us
With liquid nitrogen.
Then shoot us
With a harpoon.
That won’t slow us down,
We’ll keep running round your room.
You can chop us repeatedly
With a sword.
We won’t die,
You’ll get bored.
You can’t kill,
Can’t kill us roaches.
You just
Can’t
Kill
Us roaches.
The cockroaches stopped singing.
They bowed.
Hils and I clapped.
‘Now, child,’ said Sister Roachetta to me. ‘This man, this man you think might want to exterminate us. This Exterminator. Where did you see him? When did you see him? Tell us everyth
in’. Everythin’ that has happened.’
I told them everything that had happened.
48
THE SWORE
‘YOU WERE GOING TO GIVE PAVAROACHI AWAY!’ said Pavaroachi.
‘No. I was going to give the box away,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know you were in it.’
‘You let us down, child. In our hour of need you let us down,’ said Sister Roachetta.
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ I said. ‘I’m not good at looking after mysterious boxes. I’m not good at looking after anything mysterious.’
‘BUT YOU SWORE TO PROTECT PAVAROACHI.’
Pavaroachi started crying again.
‘Pavaroachi will never trust you again,’ said Pavaroachi in between sobs.
Sister Roachetta looked at me and shook her head in disappointment. She shook her head in disappointment the way my parents used to shake their heads in disappointment before they became obsessed with their iPhones and forgot all about me. I missed them shaking their heads that way. It was a strange thing to miss. But I did.
‘I’ll make it up to you,’ I said.
‘How?’ said the still-sobbing Pavaroachi.
‘Ummmm,’ I said.
I stared at Hils.
My stare was stare-talk for, ‘Hils, I have no idea how I’m going to make it up to the cockroaches, please help me.’
‘I need you in a classified briefing,’ said Hils.
‘I need you in a classified briefing’ is army-talk for, ‘I know you have no idea how you’re going to make it up to the cockroaches so come down the other end of the caravan and I will help you.’
‘Excuse me,’ I said to the cockroaches. ‘I’m needed in a classified briefing.’
49
THE LURKER
Hils and I were sitting on her fold-out bed, down the other end of the caravan from where the cockroaches were.
‘We need The Lurker,’ said Hils.
‘No, we don’t. We most certainly don’t need The Lurker.’
I hate The Lurker.
The Lurker – real name Leon Lloyd-Llewellyn – is a weird, weedy kid who is always just lurking about. Half the time you don’t even know he’s there.
