The smallest of the actors cried out, ‘Wahooo! Go, Sam, go!’
A boy took off down the dune, surfing on a rusty sheet of corrugated iron. Down he flew, knees bent and arms spread like the wings of a gliding pigeon.
‘Yeoooww!’
At the base of the dune he surfed into a sweeping turn and came to a spectacular skidding stop at the very front of the stage, almost over the edge and into the audience. A fine veil of orange sand rose in an arc from beneath the iron. Everyone gasped!
There was spontaneous applause.
‘Good one, Sam!’ Danny smiled.
‘That’s my Sam!’ Vicki cried, pointing and laughing. ‘And my Danny Allen.’
She kept pointing. ‘The big one’s Mark, isn’t it, Mum?’ Thommo had let out a loud cheer when he saw himself.
Danny was chuffed. He thought Maggie’s idea of bringing his stories of Mundowie to life on the city stage was wonderful. He liked the idea of both worlds being brought together. People would learn about Mundowie and how much fun he had had there. They would come to know that his dad was a good farmer and even good farmers . . . no, great farmers, like his dad, couldn’t help it if the rains weren’t right.
They would see how exciting it was to swing across creeks on ropes, run from mad rams, be terrified by cornered snakes and feel fat raindrops explode on your skin and run in tiny rivers down your face in a summer storm. Danny treasured his memories and hoped the city folk would as well.
He watched it all, amazed at how his memories had been brought to life.
Maggie not only produced the play; she acted in it as well. She played Aunty Jean. She was perfect, even Aunty Jean said so.
Mr Caruso played her husband. He sang ‘What a Wonderful World’, even though Aunty Jean’s husband couldn’t sing at all in real life, according to Aunty Jean.
That didn’t matter. Some things were changed and that’s how it had to be. Even with the changes, the stories were just as Danny’s memory painted them. They were just as he had told them to Maggie that rainy night in Caruso’s World of Fine Cakes and Confectionery.
The last scene showed Danny sitting on his front fence at night gazing across at Thommo and his dad working in their garage: a living diorama.
Danny felt as though he was right back in Mundowie, sitting in the full glow of moonlight just across from the Mundowie Institute Hall with the white marble soldier statue glowing like the ghost gums down by the creek. Even the white gravel road that cut through the town glowed. It never looked hard and full of stones. It looked like a fluffy blanket. This was a magical place. This was Danny Allen’s place.
The dog playing Tippy, much more obedient than Tippy ever was, sat and wagged his tail. It was as though Tippy were still alive, it was so real. ‘Tippy,’ Danny mouthed.
Danny felt the incredible urge to leap from the balcony, run to the stage and hold his little dog just one more time and cradle him. It was the same feeling he’d had when Tippy died after the snake bite. The desperate want, need, wish to hold him, just one more time. Danny loved Billy, but Tippy was different. They’d grown up together.
He tried to swallowed back tears, but couldn’t. They came, like the warm summer rain, running down his cheeks in tiny rivers. He couldn’t help it. He felt foolish and embarrassed until . . .
He looked at his mum and saw she was sniffling hard, wiping her eyes. Don’t cry, Mum, don’t cry. Vicki turned to her sharply. ‘Shush, Mum,’ she hissed, putting a finger firmly to her lips. ‘Get a handkerchief and wipe your nose.’
Mum wasn’t the only one. Aunty Jean was a blubbering mess.
And Danny even heard Thommo sniffling before muttering defensively, ‘Jeez, this cold of mine is getting worse.’
Danny didn’t turn round. He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and fixed his watery gaze back onto the stage.
The moon was full, the stars were twinkling and the scratchy radio song echoing from the Thompson garage made Danny feel good inside. The whole cast wandered back into view for the grand finale, a song led by Maggie and Mr Caruso: a reprise performance of ‘What a Wonderful World’.
The play ended with a standing ovation and rapturous applause.
The next morning Danny was disturbed when Vicki scrambled across his bed to peer out of the window. It was open slightly. The morning air was cool. The city noises were the same as the day before and the day before that and the day before that.
Danny sat up, eyes blinking.
‘What are you doing?’ he growled. ‘Get off.’
‘No! Look, Danny,’ she cried, waving wildly to the street. ‘Look at Mr Caruso. Good morning, Mr Caruso!’ she bellowed. Mr Caruso was at the front of his shop giving away newspapers to passers-by.
‘Good morning, everyone, helloooo. Here, have a newspaper, no charge!’
Yawning and scratching his head, Danny looked down.
Mr Caruso waved wildly. ‘Helloooooooo up there!’
He waved a newspaper like a flag. ‘Come and see! Come and read. They like our play.’
Within minutes Danny and his family were on the pavement in front of Mr Caruso’s shop reading newspapers. Aine arrived with her dad. Weaver arrived on his skateboard. The men from the Mercedes dealership joined them. Maggie was there, laughing and skipping with joy. One newspaper said the play was a triumph. Maggie kept reading that particular newspaper over and over and over again.
Vicki was twirling and Billy bounced about on his lead, while Mrs Caruso fed him morsels of cake.
Pigeons swooped and soared through the city. The ducks in the park were under attack from early morning toddlers. The possums were well hidden away, bedded down for the day in their new homes. Maggie had called their new housing estate Possum Paradise. Danny’s dad was making a sign.
The city was bathed in sunshine and the Old Kings Theatre was sparkling like a jewel. Danny couldn’t stop smiling.
In the weeks that followed Danny was allowed to see the play as many times as he liked, but he didn’t go every night. He didn’t need to – it was all stored away in his memory. Besides, his tin of treasures would always be under his bed if he needed them.
The Mundowie days would never go away, ever, no matter how long he lived in the city, not even if he travelled around the world to Africa. But Danny couldn’t leave the city just now. He hoped they wouldn’t leave for a while because, well, he quite liked the city.
Nice place, nice people.
Acknowledgements
Sincere thanks to my agent, Jacinta di Mase, for her guidance, input and advice. Special thanks must also go to Anna McFarlane at Pan Macmillan and her editorial team, especially Julia Stiles and Kylie Mason.
Take it Easy, Danny Allen Page 13
