by Doug MacLeod
We go back to the hut, where we manage to sleep for the rest of the night.
Dawn is beautiful and reassuring. The birds that have been lucky enough to avoid oil slicks arkle-arkle to one another. We leave the hut and walk across the island. The trees are wet and glittering in the morning sunlight.
Before we leave, Mum takes a picture of us sitting on the beach, in the same spot where Grandma and Grandpa sat, all those years ago.
At The Ponderosa, safely returned from our trip to Herring Island, Grandma hands the empty urn to Xander. She knows he wants it. Mum thinks this is a bad idea.
‘Are you sure you want Xander to have it?’
‘Yes, Georgia.’
Mum turns to Xander. ‘You’ll look after it, won’t you?’ Xander nods.
‘You won’t keep anything nasty in it?’
I cut in. ‘Of course he will. This is Xander. He’ll fill it with dead bugs or something.’
‘I won’t,’ Xander says.
‘You can if you want,’ says Grandma.
Mum looks amazed.
‘It’s just an urn, Georgia. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Reginald won’t mind. We left him on the island. He’s happy now. He’s had a good funeral.’
‘The first one wasn’t so bad,’ says Mum.
‘It was bloody awful,’ says Grandma. She puts on a silly voice that is supposed to be her at the crematorium. ‘ “What I remember most about Reginald is how he used to go to the shop, then come back.” ’ Grandma shakes her head at the memory, then laughs. Mum laughs too. They can’t stop themselves. They keep saying, over and over, ‘Reginald went to the shop, then came back.’
Every time they say it, they laugh harder.
The phone rings in the office and Dad answers. The call is for me. Dad hands me the receiver.
‘Hello?’ I say.
‘Hey Adam, is your grandma okay?’ It’s Zebulon from Purple Haze.
‘Yeah, she’s fine. Thanks. I was going to call you.’
‘Did you tell your parents my idea about putting wagon wheels out the front of The Ponderosa?’
‘Not yet. But I will.’
‘I know where you can get some. Cheap.’
‘I’ll let them know. And thanks for the mercy dash.’
‘Hey – grandmothers are important.’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t sound too happy.’
‘My girlfriend dumped me,’ I say.
‘Boy, I know what that’s like. I had a girlfriend once. Her name was Infinity. Well, actually it was Peg, but she changed it to Infinity. You know, the symbol. We had the biggest fight of all time over whether new Doctor Who is better than old Doctor Who. It went on for hours and got really ugly. In the end, Infinity chucked me out of the house, which was weird because it was actually my house and she was just visiting, but –’
‘I’d better go, Zebulon.’
‘Just thought I should check up on you. Take care, Adam. Come and buy something, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
‘You’re just saying that.’
‘No, Zebulon, I really will.’
Six new guests arrive at The Ponderosa. Dad tells me that business is looking up. I notice his lopsided eyebrows are growing back.
That night I ring Sam. Even though we are no longer in a relationship, I don’t see any reason why we can’t at least be friends. I want to tell her the story of the night we spent on Herring Island. But when Sam answers her phone and I say hello, she hangs up.
I don’t sleep well and dream of being chased through primeval jungles by dinosaur hedges.
The next morning, I deliver Grandma’s breakfast. She emerges from cabin number two and takes the tray.
‘I’ll be going home soon,’ she says. ‘But please come and visit as often as you can.’
‘Okay,’ I say. It no longer seems such a dreadful proposition.
‘You’ve cut yourself shaving.’
‘I know.’
‘You need an electric shaver. I’ll give you Reginald’s. He doesn’t need it. Nor do I, for that matter.’
‘The reason I cut myself shaving is that I can’t lock our bathroom door and Xander keeps bursting in.’
‘He’s a terror,’ Grandma nods. ‘He definitely needs a firm hand.’
‘He’s out of control,’ I agree.
‘You shouldn’t be sharing a room with him. You’re having this cabin when I’m gone. I’ve told your parents.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re mostly welcome.’
I smile when I hear Grandpa’s old line.
‘Adam, if you don’t mind my asking, why did you and Samantha break up?’
‘It was her fault.’
‘What did she do?’
I pause. Is it a good idea to tell Grandma this?
‘Do you remember when we were on The Escarpment,’ I say slowly, ‘and you tried to scatter Grandpa’s ashes and some of them blew in Dad’s face?’
‘Of course I remember. I’m not ready for the nursing home just yet.’
I gulp. ‘Sam laughed.’
‘I know.’
I’m staggered. Grandma doesn’t seem bothered at all.
‘I could see she was laughing.’
‘How come you aren’t mad at her?’
‘She didn’t know Reginald. And even though what happened was horrible for us, your father probably did look funny with a grey face and big white circles around his eyes.’
‘But don’t you think it’s offensive that Sam laughed?’
‘What I think isn’t important. What do you think?’
My mouth feels dry. ‘Well, I do miss her. But she said she never wants to see me again. You see . . . I laughed at her as well. When she fell backwards off a stage. She saw me laughing.’
‘Good heavens!’ Grandma gasps.
‘I think I laughed from relief that she was okay.’
‘And you explained this to her?’
‘I tried, but she has a very fiery temper.’
‘Redheads often do. I should know. I was one myself.’ I must look surprised.
‘I wasn’t born with grey hair, Adam,’ says Grandma.
‘How come you never laughed at Grandpa’s jokes?’ I ask.
‘Because I never thought they were very funny,’ she replies.
‘Didn’t that bother him?’
‘Of course not. Queen Victoria never laughed at a single thing that Prince Albert said, but they had nine children, so it obviously didn’t affect their sex life. Though I’m not suggesting that you should have babies all over Europe. Not for a few years anyway, once you’ve really thought hard about it.’
Grandma chuckles because she knows she’s startled me. I think of our oldest guests, the Provans, and how Mrs Provan wanders away when Mr Provan tells his jokes to me. Obviously she doesn’t like her husband’s jokes either. And yet they have been together and in love for half a century.
‘Are you sure it’s over between you and Samantha?’ Grandma says. ‘She seemed to like you, the poor misguided creature.’
‘Well, she hasn’t rung me back,’ I say.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Take the initiative.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You’re smart, Adam. You’ll think of something.’
‘I tried to ring Sam last night and she hung up.’
‘Then you’ll have to think of something smarter.’ Grandma gives me no clues.
‘Now that Xander has found your memory stick,’ I say, ‘you should probably apologise to Marika for calling her a thief.’
‘I already have,’ says Grandma, though I notice she still wears the bracelet.
‘What did Marika say?’
Grandma smiles. ‘She told me she’s getting her nose pierced.’
Marika has a new boyfriend, but it isn’t Nathan. This means she actually has someone other than herself to talk about. I no longer hear about her eye infections or various beauty treatments. Instead, a
s we clean cabin number eight, she tells me everything about her new boyfriend Matthew. I learn about Matthew’s star sign, his favourite colour, the foods to which he is allergic and his tremendous sense of humour.
‘He’s the funniest person in the world,’ Marika says, and she repeats one of his jokes: ‘How many social workers does it take to change a light bulb?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. How many?’
‘One,’ says Marika, and giggles. I wait for the rest of the punchline but Marika has forgotten it. She assures me, however, that it’s hilarious. I’m left feeling cheated. This shows that you should never tell a joke unless you are absolutely sure of the punchline. It is one of the worst things you can do to a person, nearly as bad as happy slapping.
Now that Mum and Dad have returned Xander’s confiscated wacky balls, he has decided to make a whole suit out of them. He has stuck them all over his winter pyjamas and is walking around the bedroom like a robot, making stupid ‘beep’ noises. At the computer I try to send Sam a Facebook message, only to find that she has unfriended me. I don’t care. The only reason I wanted to send her a message was to tell her that I was unfriending her.
‘Hey, Adam,’ says Xander.
I’m in a rotten mood. ‘Go to bed,’ I say.
‘But this is important.’
‘Go to bed or I’ll take a photo of you on the toilet and post it on Facebook.’
‘You’re juvenile.’
‘You’re the one who put my penis on the internet.’
‘That’s your fault for sleeping in the raw.’
‘God, I hate you. You’re worse than a haemorrhoid. You’re a haemorrhoid on a haemorrhoid.’
‘It’s Grandma’s birthday soon,’ says Xander. ‘She’ll be seventy-two.’
‘I know. Take off your balls and go to bed.’
‘That’s 3744 weeks.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘Or 26,280 days.’
‘Xander, why are you so weird?’
‘I don’t think I’m weird.’
‘Weird people never do.’
‘What are you going to give her for a birthday present?’
‘I don’t know. Soap.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’
I exit Facebook then open a desktop folder that I have labelled Stuff. Everyone seems to have a folder with that name on their computer. They’re usually interesting. My Stuff file is full of stuff about Sam, like the ‘jokes’ she has sent me. There are also a few clippings and MP3s about Bach. He became blind when he got older. Poor guy. I wonder if he had a friend who explained Rob Ryder movies to him. Unlike Bach, Beethoven went deaf. I know sign language, so I would have been able to do jokes to cheer him up. Or maybe you can’t write ‘Ode to Joy’ if you’re happy.
‘How come you like Grandma all of a sudden?’ I ask.
‘She gave me the urn and she’s started calling me Xander.’
‘You’re fickle.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You don’t even know what fickle means.’
‘I can tell it’s something bad.’
‘How? Can you see my aura?’
Xander looks at me intently. ‘Yes.’
I’m startled. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What sort of aura is it?’
‘A retarded one,’ says Xander.
I say nothing.
‘Aren’t you going to murder me for saying that?’
‘No.’
‘Not even a little bit?’
‘I hate you too much to murder you.’
‘Don’t you want to hear my idea for a present for Grandma?’
I ignore Xander and stare at my computer screen, at the cartoon of the two tigers on Bondi Beach. It takes me a full half hour to realise why the cartoon is actually funny. I immediately send a text message to Sam:
B@ Carlington Beach
@ noon 2morrow
2c something funny
All I get back from Sam is:
????
I think hard about my next text. It could be my last chance to have a relationship with Sam. It’s a message too serious to abbreviate:
I can make your dreams come true.
Even if they are just jokes.
From my vantage point on Carlington Beach I can make out the hedge dinosaurs in the park. They are no longer the celebrated attractions of the weekend. They look abandoned and lonely as they wait for their leafy bodies to grow shaggy and out of shape, which will happen as inevitably as the coming of the ice age.
Then I see a distant figure in a black coat, jeans and dark glasses. She walks through the garden and to the beach. I remain crouched behind a tussock of seagrass, hidden in the dunes. I observe as the dark visitor strolls along the beach, approaching the funny thing that she has been promised. At last she sees the two tigers that I have placed on the sand. They are proud carnivores, ruminating on why there are so few humans about. In reality, the lack of humans is due to Carlington being a very ordinary beach, not the fact that two man-eating tigers are idling on the shore. But for the moment I have made Carlington Beach a magical, funny place, with my big plush tigers from Purple Haze. As soon as I hear Sam laugh, I leave my hiding spot and join her on what has become the best beach in the entire world.
‘They’re yours,’ I say.
‘They’re beautiful,’ says Sam, patting one of the tigers, which startles her by growling.
I take a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry about –’
Sam cuts in before I can finish the sentence, ‘Someone recorded it.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Someone recorded me falling off the stage. Oscar put it on his YouTube channel.’
‘Oscar the horn player? The one who wants to marry Felix?’
‘Yes. So I’m refusing to be his best man.’
Sam’s shining red hair blows across her face. I want to touch it and help her to get it out of her eyes, but it isn’t the right moment yet.
‘The thing is,’ says Sam, ‘quite a few people have seen it and left reviews.’
‘That’s the problem with the internet,’ I say. ‘What are the reviews like?’
‘Well . . . there are a few LOLs.’
‘How many?’
‘Eight. And even a ROFL and a LMAO.’
I try to make a sympathetic whistling noise, which I find is almost impossible. I must work on my sympathetic whistles.
‘I asked my dad to give a legal opinion,’ says Sam.
‘Well, he is a lawyer,’ I say. ‘Did he charge you?’
‘I told him how I fell off the stage and he said that it may be a public liability issue and that the Shire of Port Argus could be taken to court and made to pay for the harm they’ve caused.’
‘You’re not harmed, are you?’
‘Psychological harm,’ says Sam. ‘That’s what Dad called it.’
‘Are you psychologically harmed?’
‘Dad said I might be. Sometimes psychological harm doesn’t happen till years later. So I played Dad the YouTube of me falling off the stage. And Dad . . . well, he laughed.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘I accused him of laughing and he said he didn’t. But he did. Just like Sarah in the Old Testament. Do you know about Sarah in the Old Testament?’
‘No, but we have a stack of bibles at home so I can easily look her up.’
‘I was so angry with Dad. I showed the YouTube to Mum. She didn’t laugh.’
‘Good,’ I say. ‘She’s obviously a very well-balanced person.’
‘She hit my father with a large ornamental wooden spoon.’
‘Reasonably well-balanced,’ I say.
There is another gust of wind. Now is the right time for me to help Sam with her hair.
‘I’m glad you like the tigers,’ I say.
Sam looks deep in thought. ‘I think we should try being boyfriend and girlfriend again,’ she says, ‘if you still want that.’
‘I do. I definitely wa
nt that.’
‘And I have a present for you,’ says Sam.
‘I don’t need a present,’ I say. ‘You’ve given me exactly what I want.’
‘Did you know I can read Chinese?’ says Sam.
Lying across a mound of seaweed is a plank of wood that was once part of a shipping crate. You often see them washed up. Some Chinese characters are printed on it.
‘This is for you,’ says Sam.
‘A plank?’
‘It’s a gift from me.’
‘It’s . . . nice. It’s probably the nicest plank anyone has ever given me.’
‘The message on it is what’s important.’
‘Oh. What does it say?’
Sam points to one of the characters on the plank. ‘This one means “Adam”,’ she says.
‘That’s odd.’
‘Yes. You don’t see that name on many Chinese planks.’
‘Adam isn’t a Chinese name.’
‘Neither is Sam. But you see those characters below?’
Sam points to the next ones.
‘Do they mean “and Sam”?’ I ask.
‘They do. Those three characters mean “Adam and Sam”.’
‘Amazing. What do those ones down the bottom mean?’
Sam studies them closely. ‘ “Forever.” ’
I feel dizzy and overwhelmed by the message on the plank. ‘ “Adam and Sam Forever,” ’ I whisper in awe.
‘That isn’t the only language I know,’ says Sam. ‘I taught myself another one. Watch.’
She makes four gestures with her hands:
‘Do you know what that spells?’
‘Yes,’ I say.
And we kiss. Like lovers kiss.
Nathan and I are painting the two wagon wheels at the front gate of The Ponderosa. He is sullen because Marika has fallen in love with the parallel-universe Nathan. It’s a cruel trick of fate. Nathan wears an agonised look as he sees Marika climb into parallel Nathan’s car.
‘I pray that you will never know what this feels like,’ he says. ‘I’m like one of those widowed magpies by the roadside. One drop of my despair would kill you dead.’
