Tim was worried. He should have told Mum and Dad so they could use the car to search. But Dad was angry with Richard. This might be the last straw.
Richard could be in danger. He would often run across roads without looking. At this very moment he might be on top of someone’s roof. Or hanging off a bridge over a river. Or crawling down a drain.
Blood-red clouds began to swirl in Tim’s mind. But there was no time to call the snowman to drive them away. Sweat began to form on his brow and he felt faint.
5
Tim wandered the streets for hours. Up and down. Along and around. He couldn’t find Richard anywhere. He had tried all of the usual places. The bridge. The station. The river. Nothing.
Finally Tim leaned his crutches on a wall and sat down. He felt very, very tired. He had just decided to give up and go home when something caught his eye. A letter-box. A letter-box wrapped in toilet paper.
Richard had been this way.
Tim struggled on. A dog ran past. A dog wrapped up in a paper bandage. This dog had met Richard for sure.
The houses gave way to fields. A herd of black cows grazed lazily in the sunshine. Twenty black cows. And one white one. A farmer was cursing and pulling away the shroud of paper which entwined his mooing animal.
Tim hobbled on, following the paper trail. He found it hard to breathe. He was hot and the pain in his chest grew worse and worse. But he kept going. He had to.
Finally he stopped. A long stream of paper fluttered in the gutter. It wound like a country road through the long, brown grass to a barbed-wire fence. A few strands of paper were impaled on the wire. The trail led through the fence and onto …
‘The train line,’ gasped Tim. He rolled under the fence and climbed up onto the tracks. Cold sweat formed on his brow as he followed the steel and paper trail. His breath came in gasps. His chest seemed to be enclosed in a ring of iron which grew tighter and tighter. The tips of his crutches slipped and jarred on the heavy stones between the tracks.
Tim knew what lay around the corner. He tried not to think about it. ‘Think of snow,’ he said to himself. ‘Think of snow.’ But the snow would not come. The dancing snowman had deserted him. There was nothing but angry, red clouds. And a railway line running across a tall, tall bridge.
In the centre of the bridge a tiny figure danced crazily, waving a long, white stream of paper. A fragile rope which suddenly broke and fell uncaringly into the river far, far below.
6
Tim stopped when he reached the bridge. It stood on huge wooden legs which spanned the river beneath. At the top it was narrow with one set of tracks which ran along close to the edge.
Gentle vibrations, growing strongly, came up through Tim’s crutches. The train was somewhere on the other side of the bridge. Tim wanted to run onto the bridge and grab his brother. But he knew in his heart that if he did, neither of them would come back.
‘Richard,’ he screamed. ‘Richard. The train is coming. This way, quick. Get off the bridge.’ He took one wobbling step towards his brother but could go no further. One crutch lodged in a gap in the planks. Tim fell sprawling between the tracks. His chest hurt terribly. And one leg was bleeding freely. For a second he just wanted to stay there. Just stop and let things happen. Blood-red clouds swirled. He lay back and shook his head. Then he closed his eyes. ‘Where are you?’ he said. ‘Where are you? Don’t let me down now.’
And through the mists of his mind came the wonderful, dancing snowman. Calling, calling, calling. Beckoning with a snowy finger.
Tim smiled. He opened his eyes and crawled towards his crutches which were balanced on one of the rails. He moved his fingers like the legs of a spider. He could just reach the crutches and scratch them towards himself. In a second he had them and was up on his feet. The vibrations from the tracks grew stronger and stronger. He looked towards the other side. In the distance a train whistle sounded.
‘Richard,’ he shouted. ‘This is for you.’ He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a sachet of honey. He lifted his arm and threw with all his might. The tiny container arced into the air and then fell down, down, down until it disappeared in the pebbles by the river.
The train was on the bridge. Thundering towards Richard. Brakes screaming. Sparks flying high into the air.
Richard looked down after the honey. He looked at Tim. He looked at the train behind him. ‘Aargh, aargh, aargh,’ he screamed. Then he ran, stumbling towards his brother. Fleeing before the steel monster which screeched and roared towards him. He fell at Tim’s feet.
The train was upon them. Richard peered down the grassy slope towards the river, searching with his eyes for the honey. Then he jumped off the tracks and bounded over the fence and down the hill.
Tim had no strength. He simply fell, like a tree teetering after the axeman’s last blow. He toppled sideways, away from the train. The thundering wheels crunched his crutches to splinters. Tim rolled like a log. Down the gentle bank and under the fence. At last he stopped by a small stand of bushes.
‘Aargh, aargh, aargh,’ came Richard’s voice from the river far below. He scrabbled among the rocks, looking for the honey.
‘Stupid little idiots,’ came a fading voice from the last carriage of the train as it rushed into the distance.
Richard struggled back up to his brother with the sachet of honey. He held it out in one hand. But Tim was too tired to even notice.
7
Later, at home, the doctor pulled the sheet back up to Tim’s chin and looked at the sleeping figure. ‘He’s a very sick little boy,’ he said to the two parents. ‘He must have walked ten kilometres. On crutches. And that fall down the bank. It was too much for him. It was getting near the time anyway. You should think about putting him into hospital soon.’
Tim’s dad shook his head. ‘We’ve talked about this over and over,’ he said. ‘We knew this day was going to come. And we’re ready for it. We want him to spend his last days in his own bed. At home with us.’
Above their heads, in the bedroom ceiling, an eye swivelled and stared down through a small hole. The eye moistened and formed a tiny droplet. The tear wobbled for a second and then fell. It spun glistening through the warm air and plopped onto Tim’s cheek. His mother wiped it away, thinking it was her son’s. She was right. And she was wrong. ‘He’s crying in his sleep,’ she said. The eye in the ceiling blinked.
‘He wanted to see the snow,’ said Dad. ‘He’s never been to the snow. He’s never seen a snowman. Or a snowstorm. It’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.’
They all looked out of the window. Insects buzzed in the warm summer air.
‘And now he never will,’ said Mum. ‘I wish he could see snow before he …’ She found it almost impossible to say the word. ‘Dies.’
The eye in the ceiling vanished. A terrible banging and crashing came from above. A long barking howl filled the air. ‘Aaaargh, aaaaargh, aaaargh.’
‘What on earth …?’ said the doctor.
They all looked up at the ceiling. ‘It’s Richard,’ said Dad. ‘He’s had a bad day. Don’t worry. I’ll get him down. He’ll be okay.’
After the doctor had gone Dad climbed the ladder to the loft. The noise grew worse and worse. Dad pushed up the hatch and peered inside. A hail of toilet rolls drove him back.
‘What’s happening?’ said Mum.
‘He’s gone crazy. He’s completely wrecked his castle. Demolished the whole thing. Toilet rolls are everywhere.’
Suddenly the noise stopped. Mum climbed the ladder and peeped in.
‘Well?’ said Dad.
‘He’s angry about something,’ said Mum. ‘He’s sitting there with a toilet roll. He’s pulling it to shreds. Just biting it and ripping it to bits like a wild animal.’
She quietly lowered the hatch and climbed down.
‘Do you think he knows?’ said Dad. ‘About Tim?’
‘Who knows what he knows,’ said Mum. ‘But just for once we are going to have to forget about Richard. An
d worry about Tim.’
8
Two days passed and Tim grew weaker and weaker.
In the ceiling above all was quiet. Richard refused to come down. Every time the hatch was lifted a furious hail of toilet rolls met the intruder.
‘Just leave him,’ said Dad. ‘He’ll get sick of it up there and he’ll come down like he always does.’
‘He’s hardly touched the food I put up there,’ said Mum. ‘But I’ve got something special. I’ve been keeping it for an emergency.’ She fetched a two-litre jar of honey from the kitchen. ‘This ought to bring him down.’ She climbed the ladder and carefully lifted the hatch. Then she waved the honey jar through the opening. ‘Richard,’ she said softly. ‘Look what I’ve got.’
There was no reply. Then, before she could blink the honey disappeared. Snatched from her hand. ‘Rats,’ she yelled. ‘He’s grabbed it. Now he’ll never come down. We’ll just have to leave him.’
Both parents went down to Tim’s room. They were shocked by what they saw. ‘Get the doctor,’ said Dad. Tim was pale and sweaty. His eyes rolled wildly in his head and his breath came in heavy gasps.
Above them in the ceiling an eye stared down and then disappeared.
Outside the warm summer breeze was swinging around and becoming cooler.
The doctor arrived within twenty minutes and gave Tim an injection. ‘Stay with him,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in the lounge. It’s not going to be long now.’
Tim opened his eyes and tried to sit up. His father lifted him so that he sat upright on the pillows. ‘I want to look out,’ said Tim. ‘At the garden.’
His father pushed the bed until it was hard up against the window. Without warning something crashed onto the path outside.
Dad stared out. ‘A tile,’ he gasped. ‘A tile’s come off the roof.’ Another tile hurtled down and smashed into a thousand pieces. And then another and another.
‘It’s Richard,’ said Mum. ‘He’s on the roof. And he’s wrecking the place.’
Like a furious fiend Richard grabbed tile after tile and threw them to the ground. Then he crawled up and over to the other side of the roof. He grabbed tiles wildly and tossed them into the air. Soon there was a yawning hole on both sides of the roof.
The wind dropped completely. It was the stillness that always comes before a cool change in Melbourne.
9
And still the tiles fell.
‘Get the fire brigade,’ said Mum. ‘We have to get him down.’
‘No,’ said Dad. ‘This is one time when Richard is not getting all the attention.’ He took his wife’s hand and led her back to their fevered son.
‘What’s going on?’ said Tim weakly.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ said Dad. ‘You just lie back there and think about …’
‘Snow,’ said Mum softly. She nodded through the door at the doctor. He quietly left the room and went outside.
He placed a ladder against the wall and climbed to the top. ‘Good grief,’ he said as he stared into the roofless house. He turned and scrambled back down. He beckoned to Mum through the window.
‘What’s up?’ she whispered.
‘He’s taken off all his clothes,’ said the doctor. ‘And he’s smeared honey all over himself. And those toilet rolls. He’s …’
A cold breeze stirred and turned into a gust.
‘He’s torn up all those toilet rolls into little scraps. There’s not one left.’
The gust became a gale. And lifted a billion tiny pieces of toilet paper into the air.
From his bed by the window Tim’s eyes grew wide. He stared in amazement at the eddying cloud of white flakes.
‘Snow,’ Tim choked. ‘Oh, it’s snowing. Oh, just look at that snow. That snow,’ said Tim, ‘is as fresh as an apple still on the tree. It’s as cool as the breeze across a deep, deep lake. Oh, I thought I’d never see it.’
Another gust lifted the paper and drove it crazy like a billion white bees swarming in furious silence over a winter garden.
Then the wind dropped. And the paper began to settle. It filled the air and flurried down covering the brown grass with a snow-white coat. Branches bowed in reverence. The car disappeared like a cake under Christmas icing.
Drifts formed on the window. Distant houses vanished under the swirling clouds. The world was white, white, white.
‘Look,’ called Tim. ‘Look. Yes, it is. I’m sure it is. A snowman. Oh, can you see that snowman?’
And there, faintly emerging from his private storm, was Richard. Paper stuck to the honey. A wild, snowy figure. Prancing and dancing amongst the flurries. The finest snowman ever. Dressed in a warm, white coat.
Tim gazed in wonder as his dream came true before his staring eyes. ‘Just look at that,’ he said in wonder. ‘A snowman. Look at him go.’ He gave a happy laugh.
His last laugh.
He lay back on the pillows with an enormous smile on his face.
His last smile.
Then he closed his eyes for the last time.
And went off to dance with the snowman.
For ever.
Too Many Rabbits
Sex is not talked about in our place. No one has told me anything. I have worked out quite a few things myself though. I keep my ears open and my eyes to the ground.
I know the main bits. I see things. Like when Sky’s dog had pups. One day Sandy was fat and there were no puppies and the next day she was thin and there they were. You don’t have to be too smart to work out where they came from.
How they got in there, I even know that too.
Sandy is a great dog. And the puppies are beautiful. I would like one of them more than anything in the world. But I just can’t talk Dad around. He will not have any pets at all.
‘Can I have a pet, Dad?’ I asked him.
‘What sort of pet?’ he said.
‘A dog?’
‘Nah, they bark too much. And they dig holes and annoy the neighbours.’
‘A cat?’ I said.
‘Nah, they leave fur everywhere.’
‘A bird?’
‘Nah, it’s cruel to keep them in cages.’
‘A mouse?’ I begged.
‘Nah, they breed like rabbits.’
‘An elephant,’ I yelled.
Dad grinned at this. ‘If you can find one you can have it,’ he said.
I raced out and grabbed Saturday’s paper. Before he changed his mind. You have to strike while the lion is hot. I looked and looked but there were no elephants for sale. Not one. I bet that Dad knew this all along. Parents can be so sneaky sometimes.
After this I was sent to my room for throwing the paper on the floor and yelling.
We live in a bookshop in the main street. Upstairs is Mum and Dad’s room. Under that is the shop. Down the bottom is the storeroom and my bedroom. There are no windows in my room. It’s like a jail. I am always getting sent to my room. It’s not fair.
If I was to dig a hole in the wall I could make a tunnel. I could escape. Like prisoners of war do.
It would be great to have an escape tunnel. Even if it took me twenty years to dig, I would have a way out when I was sent to my room. It would be worth it in the long run.
Anyway, there I was lying on my bed and not allowed out. I just stared at the wall. It was made out of wooden panels. There was nothing else to do so I decided to pull a panel off and start to dig into the wall behind it. I started pushing at the wood with an old screwdriver. I put the blade in a crack and levered.
Bingo. Kerpow. Wow. The panel just swung open. Just like that. It was a door. A secret door. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t have to dig a tunnel. There was already something there.
I stared into the hole but I couldn’t see a thing. It was dark. And musty. It smelled all stale. I wanted to go straight in and explore. But I didn’t have a torch. It might be dangerous.
No, this would take a bit of thinking about. I wouldn’t go in until I could get a torch. There could be horri
ble things lying around. I could hurt myself in the dark. It’s important to look before you weep.
I shut the door and waited for my time in solitary confinement to be over.
2
The following day I went next door to see Sky. She owned a junk shop and I knew she would have an old torch somewhere. You could find wonderful things in that shop.
Sky grinned when I asked her. ‘A torch? I don’t know, love. There might be one in the corner over there.’
I rummaged around for ages. Beads, candles, bits of broken bikes, one thong, hats, a cracked toilet seat, a knife with no handle, a rabbit in a cage.
A rabbit in a cage.
A beautiful, lovely, pink-eyed rabbit with a black patch on its white back. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘This is the most beautiful rabbit in the world. I wish it was mine.’ I pressed its warm fur up to my face.
‘Ten dollars,’ said Sky. ‘You can have it for ten dollars. That’s what I paid for it.’
I shook my head. ‘Dad will never let me have it,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I haven’t got ten dollars.’
Sky smiled at me kindly. ‘You can have it for eight,’ she said. ‘That’s pretty generous. But you’ll have to be quick. I had six yesterday and this is the last one left.’
I spent ages stroking the rabbit. ‘Pinky,’ I said. ‘Her name is Pinky and she loves me.’
‘I’ve only got ten cents on me,’ I said. ‘But I’ve got eight dollars at home.’ I knew that Dad wouldn’t let me keep the rabbit but I had an idea. I would hide Pinky. Dad would never know.
But where? Where could I hide her?
Of course. The space behind the wall. You could keep a rabbit in there and no one would know. But first I would need a torch.
‘What about this?’ said Sky. She had a torch in her hand. Not a bad one either. And it had batteries that worked.
‘How much?’ I asked.
Sky was wearing about a hundred strings of bright beads around her neck. She always fiddled with them when she was with a customer. ‘Ten cents,’ she said.
Uncovered! Page 2
