Toad Delight

by Morris Gleitzman

  Let’s see, thought Limpy as he headed down the next street. When the flies said ‘a bit further on’, I wonder how far they meant?

  He kept his eyes open for Penny and Goliath.

  Then he saw Penny.

  ‘Stack me,’ he gasped.

  At first Limpy thought his brains were still scrambled from the whizzing machine. Then he realised this must be what the flies had been trying to warn him about.

  Inside the big shop window there was only one thing for sale.

  Penny.

  But not just one Penny.

  A mountain of Pennys. All carefully stacked so their rows of big dark eyes stared out into the street and their piles of zip-up pockets and plastic straps gleamed in the sunlight.

  ‘Penny,’ came a miserable wail.

  For a moment Limpy thought the wail was coming from the rows of yellow beaks in the shop window.

  Then with a jolt he recognised the voice.

  He peered around, trying to see Goliath.

  Goliath was hopping slowly towards him from the opposite direction. His shoulders were slumped, a weary love-warrior despairing of ever seeing his beloved again.

  And he mustn’t, thought Limpy.

  If Goliath caught sight of that shop window, Limpy shuddered to think what would happen.

  Wild greed, probably, involving the smashing of large panes of glass and some nasty cuts to the warts. Then deep misery when Goliath realised his beloved was being produced in a factory in larger numbers than he could ever personally go out with, and that at least some of them would probably end up with other boyfriends.

  Limpy imagined Goliath lumbering around the city with a bunch of flowers in each fist and a crazed look in his eye. Until the human army brought in snipers. Or maybe cricketers.

  That mustn’t happen.

  Limpy knew what he had to do.

  ‘Goliath,’ he yelled, hopping urgently towards his cousin.

  Goliath blinked and looked at Limpy, but not with his usual grin.

  ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ said Limpy. ‘This way.’

  Before Goliath could get a glimpse into the shop window, Limpy steered him into a laneway that ran along the side of the shop.

  ‘Is Penny down here?’ said Goliath, his face brightening.

  ‘Um,’ said Limpy. ‘Maybe.’

  He hated lying to his cousin. He’d only ever done it once before, when Goliath asked him who invented sticks. Limpy said it might have been Goliath’s father, who Goliath had never met.

  Goliath had really liked that answer, and Limpy could see he really liked this one.

  ‘Penny,’ yelled Goliath excitedly, flinging himself along the laneway.

  He hopped past a dumpster bin, glancing into it, then scrambled to a stop and turned back and clambered into the bin.

  Limpy hurried over.

  Goliath had disappeared. But Limpy could see exactly where he was. Rubbish and cardboard boxes were flying into the air.

  Cardboard boxes, Limpy saw with concern, with pictures of Penny on them.

  ‘Penny,’ croaked Goliath’s voice.

  Limpy feared that Goliath was about to discover how busy the Penny factory was these days. Good news for the factory, heartbreak for Goliath.

  But when Goliath appeared, his face was ecstatic and his arm was round a familiar yellow-beaked fully insulated plastic figure.

  ‘Penny,’ he whispered, gazing into her big penguin eyes.

  He clambered out of the bin, clasping his beloved to his chest, and stroked her straps.

  ‘Look, Limpy,’ he said, his eyes wide with joy and wonder. ‘It’s Penny.’

  Well, thought Limpy sadly, a Penny.

  Goliath’s smile turned into a scowl.

  ‘That brute of a human child,’ he said. ‘Dumping my love in the garbage. And look, that monster broke her zip.’

  Limpy saw that the toggle was missing from one of Penny’s zips. Which probably explained why the shop had put her in the bin.

  Goliath was rummaging around inside Penny’s pockets.

  ‘And,’ he said, outraged, ‘the greedy little mongrel ate all our cheese sticks.’

  In Penny’s pockets, Limpy saw, were just white beads of industrial packing material. For a fleeting hopeful moment, Limpy wondered if this might be when Goliath started to go off Penny.

  But Goliath popped some of the packing material into his mouth and seemed to quite like it.

  ‘Never mind, darling,’ he cooed into one of Penny’s plastic ears. ‘We’re back together and we’ll never be parted again.’

  Limpy wanted to feel happy for Goliath. He did in a sort of way. But something inside him didn’t feel right. It was the sharp pang he got when he was even a little bit dishonest.

  Should he tell Goliath about the other Pennys?

  No, Limpy said to himself. That would be selfish. I’d be causing Goliath pain just to make myself feel better. Plus he might turn into a jealousy-crazed monster. Best not to tell him. Let him live with a little lie.

  Limpy felt a big grateful muscly arm crushing his shoulders and slobbery grateful lips kissing his head.

  ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Limpy,’ said Goliath. ‘You found Penny. You’re an angel.’

  Limpy’s crook leg started to twitch.

  A lot.

  ‘Storm’s coming,’ he said to Goliath. ‘A big one. We’d better get back to the TV studio.’

  He dragged Goliath and Penny along the lane, away from the shop.

  Goliath was frowning.

  ‘Why don’t we just go home?’ he said.

  ‘Because,’ said Limpy, ‘there’s still a chance we can do what we came here to do. If the TV chef is still at the studio and if we can get her to taste some Toad Delight, there’s still a chance cane toads everywhere can live in peace and safety.’

  Goliath didn’t say anything.

  Which was, Limpy realised, because he wasn’t even listening.

  They’d come to the end of the laneway, and Goliath was staring at something across the road.

  A grassy oval behind a metal fence. Lots of human children running around. The children were wearing a kind of uniform, and Limpy wondered for a nervous moment if this was a human army battalion for younger soldiers.

  He didn’t think so.

  The children were running around very happily and they reminded Limpy of young cane toads enjoying recess at the swamp academy at home.

  This must be a school.

  Goliath suddenly rushed across the road towards the fence, not looking either way for traffic.

  ‘Goliath,’ yelled Limpy, following anxiously. ‘Where are you going?’

  Goliath stopped at the fence.

  He stood there, one arm round Penny, his other hand gripping a metal fence post, and his whole body trembling.

  He was staring across the oval at something.

  ‘What is it?’ said Limpy, peering in the same direction.

  Goliath gave a wail of disbelief.

  Limpy saw what it was.

  On the other side of the oval was a school building. On the verandah, hanging from hooks, were lots and lots of Pennys.

  Before Limpy could stop him, Goliath squeezed between the fenceposts and started hopping frantically across the oval.

  ‘Come back,’ yelled Limpy.

  Goliath ignored him. And ignored the human children too. Just kept going straight towards the row of Pennys.

  The children were too busy with their games to notice Goliath. Plus Goliath was mostly covered by his own Penny, so a child glancing over would just think an insulated lunch bag was being blown around in the strong wind that was springing up.

  That’s what Limpy hoped.

  He squeezed through the fence and went after Goliath.

  Some camouflage of his own would have been good. A Penny or a couple of fluffy cane toad toys. But the only places for him to catch his breath were a few clumps of long grass.

  Limpy finally made it to th
e verandah in one piece and only slightly grazed by a passing football.

  Goliath was already there, in a frenzy.

  He was jumping up, trying to grab the straps of the Pennys and haul them off the hooks.

  ‘Limpy,’ he panted. ‘Help me. There’s been a tragic mix-up. We’ve got to get all these Pennys home so I can work out which is the real one.’

  Limpy wondered how to break it to Goliath that they couldn’t do that.

  Goliath didn’t seem to have noticed that all the bags had personal things on them. Stickers and charm bracelets and footy club keyrings. And each bag had a different squiggly line on it.

  Limpy wasn’t totally sure what the squiggles were, but he was fairly certain they were names.

  ‘We need transport,’ said Goliath. ‘I’ll grab the Pennys, you get a truck.’

  Limpy opened his mouth to try to calm Goliath down, but before he could, his leg started twitching again, more than it ever had before.

  It didn’t stop.

  Limpy looked at the sky.

  A rim of darkness was growing on the horizon. He’d never seen anything like it. It was darker than the darkest bushfire smoke. Even darker than the vast swarm of flying insects he sometimes saw trying to get away from Goliath at lunchtime.

  Limpy peered anxiously at the oval.

  The children were all still playing.

  If this storm has hail, thought Limpy, these kids will be history.

  He hopped up and down and waved his arms.

  ‘Storm,’ he yelled at the kids. ‘Get under cover.’

  The children ignored him. Didn’t even hear him probably. Limpy knew he wasn’t croaking loud enough, not in this wind. Goliath always said cars shouldn’t be the only ones with horns. Right now, Limpy agreed.

  Lightning flashed in the distance.

  Thunder shook the air, getting closer.

  Limpy wondered if he should go and find a human teacher and spray them, just on their shoes, to get their attention.

  No need.

  An adult human appeared on the verandah and pressed a button on the wall. A loud bell rang several times. The children all stopped and turned, then started running towards the building.

  Limpy was relieved.

  Until he remembered Goliath.

  Several bags were now off their hooks and lying on the verandah. Goliath’s warts were bulging with effort as he tried to drag them away.

  ‘Leave them,’ said Limpy. ‘Come on, we’ve got to hide.’

  Too late.

  Human feet were all around them. A swarm of school shoes with rippled soles that looked even tougher than the skin on Goliath’s neck. Sometimes when Goliath was eating razor clams one or two tried to escape sideways, but they never made it through.

  Limpy tried to grab Goliath so they could escape sideways, but there were too many feet and Goliath was tangled up in the straps of too many bags.

  Hopeless, thought Limpy. When the kids realise Goliath is trying to steal their bags, those rippled school shoes will become merciless weapons.

  Limpy said a silent goodbye to Mum and Dad and Charm, and apologised for not making a difference.

  I should have been able to, he said to them. With a storm-warning leg and Toad Delight, I should have been able to make a big difference.

  He closed his eyes and waited to be trampled. Or if not that, torn apart by the storm.

  But instead he was gently picked up.

  Limpy opened his eyes. And blinked.

  Friendly laughing faces all around him. Human children, happy to see him. Limpy wondered which ones were the squiggles.

  Then he noticed something else amazing. The children seemed delighted by Goliath’s attempts to steal their bags.

  The wind was blowing hard and cold now. The verandah shuddered with thunder. More human adults appeared and clapped their hands. Limpy guessed they were teachers. The kids grabbed the bags, and Goliath, and they all went inside.

  Stack me, thought Limpy as he found himself carried into a classroom. Of course. That’s why the children are so happy to see us. They think we were trying to save their bags from the storm.

  It was a huge storm.

  The teachers made the kids pull the desks away from the windows and put them all in the middle of the room. Then everyone huddled under them.

  Humans and cane toads.

  The wind howled. Hail crashed against the windows. Tree branches did cartwheels across the oval. The metal roof of the school screeched like a galah Limpy knew with a really bad singing voice.

  A girl cuddled Limpy.

  It was very kind of her because he was starting to feel a bit scared. He’d just noticed that the roof of the school didn’t have a single hookworm holding it together.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ the girl whispered. ‘It’s just Mr Weather being grouchy. We’ve learned how Mr Weather gets cross sometimes. Mostly because accelerating non-renewable energy transfers are permanently altering carbon dioxide ratios.’

  Limpy didn’t have a clue what she was saying, but she was saying it in such a gentle friendly voice that he was sure it was something nice.

  ‘Next week,’ the girl said, ‘for homework, we’re going to think of ways to cheer Mr Weather up. Probably by dismantling the fossil fuel industry and forcing politicians to get real.’

  Limpy could have listened to her soft caring voice all afternoon, but he was worried about Goliath.

  Under the next desk, Goliath was sitting with a group of boys.

  The boys were chatting to him. Limpy guessed it was to keep their spirits up. But Goliath wasn’t listening. He was deep in thought, his arm round his dumpster Penny, staring at all the other Pennys strewn around the room.

  Poor Goliath, thought Limpy. After this painful experience, he’ll probably never want to risk falling in love ever again.

  Thunder suddenly crashed so loudly, Limpy assumed it didn’t think Goliath would either.

  Some of the children were looking frightened and miserable and almost as unhappy as Goliath. Some of them were doing the wet thing with their eyes. The teachers were going from child to child, hugging them and talking to them softly and drying their faces.

  Their kindness reminded Limpy of Mum, and he wished that more of the drivers on the highway at home could be teachers.

  Finally, after a lot more howling wind and scary tree damage and even scarier galah karaoke, the storm blew over.

  One of the teachers opened a door and peered outside, then said something and all the children came out from under the desks.

  The girl put Limpy down on top of a desk and hurried away. He tried to see where she’d gone, to thank her for looking after him, but he couldn’t.

  A boy put Goliath onto the desk next to Limpy.

  Goliath was still holding onto Penny.

  ‘Are you OK?’ said Limpy.

  Goliath sighed.

  ‘I’m an idiot,’ he said, looking sadly at his Penny.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Limpy. ‘You fell in love. That’s not being an idiot.’

  ‘I’m not talking about falling in love,’ said Goliath. ‘I’m talking about what I’m feeling now. How I’m really glad I’ve got Penny, but I can’t stop thinking about all the Pennys I haven’t got.’

  Oh dear, thought Limpy. That is a problem.

  ‘So I’ve decided,’ said Goliath, ‘that I’ve got a lot more to learn about being in love, particularly where cheese sticks are involved.’

  Before Limpy could say anything, there was a commotion near one of the doorways.

  Limpy peered across the classroom.

  The girl who’d been looking after him had just been outside. She was back inside now, and she was doing the wet thing with her eyes, a lot.

  Limpy saw why.

  She was holding the remains of a Penny. It must have been left out in the storm. It was sodden and shredded to ribbons by the wind and the hail.

  Limpy wished he could do something to help her feel better. Like
she had for him.

  He had a wild thought. Would Goliath ever consider selling his frothy dribble to a human fast-food company and using the money to buy the girl a new Penny?

  No, probably not. All those times at home when the family had asked Goliath to share something. The protests. The tantrums. The stuffing everything into his mouth. Beetles. Worms. Sticks. Then pretending his jaws had got jammed so he couldn’t open them again.

  No, dopey idea.

  Limpy was trying to think of some other way to help the girl, when he heard a thud.

  Goliath had dropped onto the floor and was hopping over to her. Carrying his Penny.

  He stopped in front of the girl.

  He looked at his Penny for a long time. Gave it a long hug.

  Then laid it gently at the girl’s feet.

  It was dark when they arrived back at the TV studio.

  They would have got there earlier, but they had to hide for a while in a front garden after a car tried to drive over them in a side street.

  Limpy was worried Goliath would jump out of the prickle bush and yell at the car, and that the driver would see him in the rear-vision mirror and turn the car around and have another go.

  But Goliath just watched the car speed away down the street.

  ‘Might not be a vicious killer,’ he murmured. ‘Might just be feeling a bit grumpy cause his heart got broken when love went wrong.’

  Limpy pulled some prickles out of Goliath’s shoulders to clear a patch big enough to give him a hug.

  ‘Once they’ve had a proper taste of Toad Delight,’ said Limpy, ‘I don’t reckon any human will stay grumpy for long.’

  As the two of them got closer to the studio, Limpy wondered if the whole place would be shut tighter than Goliath’s bulging mouth in the old days, back when he was greedy and selfish.

  But like Goliath’s generous heart today, the studio was still open.

  At least, Limpy saw, a drain cover was.

  He and Goliath wriggled along inside a slimy pipe that Limpy hoped would lead into the studio.

  ‘Yum,’ murmured Goliath.

  Limpy was pleased that Goliath was having a snack. It had been a long day and a long hop back to the studio. Limpy would have nibbled some slime himself if he wasn’t feeling too anxious to eat.