Selby Sorcerer Page 8

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Melanie Mildew, gardener and part-time actress. ‘But I wonder if the poem is really about a mother and baby kangaroo separated by a creek?’

  ‘What else could it be about?’

  ‘About the harshness of the land. The creek is life itself — one minute peaceful, the next minute a raging torrent that could sweep you away. Do we give up at the first sign of hardship or do we plunge in and struggle against the current?’

  ‘I agree,’ said Camilla Bonzer, librarian at Bogusville Primary School and former president of the Bogusville Dino diSwarve Fan Club. ‘We must look inside ourselves and reach out. The real question is: Who can we reach out to?’

  ‘That was interesting,’ Mrs Trifle said when the program ended. ‘But I just want to know what happened to Baby Roo.’

  ‘And I’m going to tell them,’ Selby thought. ‘Well, maybe I won’t finish it off just yet.’

  Once again Selby typed late into the night. And once again the poetry flowed from his paws like sap from a hot tree.

  The next morning he didn’t have to sneak off to the radio to hear his poem because Dr Trifle had stopped work on his invention and had the radio turned on.

  ‘And now for the news,’ the announcer said. ‘At the top of the news is the story that is being followed on networks around the world. It’s about the poem that stopped a town. That town is our own town of Bogusville and after the news we will be bringing you the latest episode of It Happened at Bogusville Creek. Other items in the news today are: the cyclone that flattened one of our cities last night; Parliament House collapses in an earthquake; and a huge tidal wave is about to hit Perth. Now back to the poem.’

  Selby listened to the latest part of his poem.

  ‘I love being a writer,’ Selby sighed. ‘It’s sooooooo good.’

  Throughout the day listeners called the radio station to talk about the poem.

  ‘The bit I liked best,’ a woman said, ‘was when the handsome stranger fought off the crocodile. But I wonder what it meant when it said that he’d hit the crocodile with his paw?’

  ‘Ooops, did I say paw?’ Selby thought.

  ‘I think he just said that to make it rhyme with jaw,’ the announcer said. ‘The part that had me biting my fingernails was when the handsome stranger climbs the cliff with Baby Roo clinging to his back and the eagles attacked.’

  ‘Tomorrow is Rhyme Time’ Selby thought that night as he sat at the computer again. ‘I’ve got to finish the poem tonight. But how will I end it? Maybe I should just leave the whole thing hanging again?’

  That night Selby worked as hard as he’d ever worked on anything. The next morning he awoke to the sound of Mrs Trifle’s voice.

  ‘The mysterious poet slipped the latest episode of It Happened at Bogusville Creek under our door,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, that poem,’ Dr Trifle sighed. ‘Yesterday a barn burnt down. The firefighters got there in time but they were listening to the poem on the radio and wouldn’t get out of the truck to fight the fire.’

  ‘A similar thing happened to the police,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘There were burglars in a house but the police sat outside in their police car listening to the poem on the radio.’

  ‘So the criminals got away?’ Dr Trifle asked.

  ‘No, they were listening too. When the poem finished they gave themselves up. And,’ she added, ‘I just heard that the students at Bogusville High are getting sadness counselling.’

  ‘Gulp,’ Selby thought. ‘I guess there is such a thing as the power of poetry.’

  That evening everyone gathered at Bogusville Town Hall for Rhyme Time.

  Dr and Mrs Trifle sat in the front row with Selby at their feet as Melanie Mildew prepared to read the poems. As the lights dimmed, Gary Gaggs squeezed into a seat next to Mrs Trifle.

  ‘Gary!’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘Isn’t your show about to start?’

  ‘Nobody came,’ Gary whispered. ‘Everyone’s here.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Mrs Trifle said.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Gary whispered. ‘I want to hear the end of the poem too.’

  ‘What happened to your head?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

  ‘I got half a haircut,’ Gary said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

  ‘This is awful,’ Selby thought. ‘Gary had to cancel his show — because of me. I wanted to write a poem that touched people but I think it touched them too much. This town may never be the same again.’

  Melanie was reading a poem about a dying budgie when suddenly Gary yelled,’ What do we want?!’

  After a second’s silence the crowd roared back, ‘It Happened at Bogusville Creek!’

  Then Gary yelled,’ When do we want it?!’

  And the crowd yelled, ‘Now!’

  ‘Okay,’ Melanie said, putting the dying budgie poem aside. ‘Here we go.’

  As Melanie read It Happened at Bogusville Creek the crowd fell silent. They listened as the handsome stranger fought his way through quicksand, then a snowstorm and finally collapsed in the desert. It finished with the words of the handsome stranger as he looked down at Baby Roo lying unconscious on the burning sand:

  ‘I’m really sorry, little guy,

  Now I’m afraid we’re gonna die.’

  As those last words came out of Melanie’s lips the audience went deathly quiet. Suddenly there were sniffles followed by boo hoo hoos and the blowing of noses.

  ‘I can’t leave them like this,’ Selby thought. ‘I have to do something — quick!’

  No one noticed the little paw that slipped a scribbled sheet of paper onto the table in front of the poetry reader, gardener and part-time actress.

  ‘Excuse me, but it seems that wasn’t the last bit of the poem. There’s more. Here it is.’

  But no! And what is this I hear?

  A helicopter drawing near!

  And out hops Mother Kangaroo

  And snatches up her Baby Roo.

  ‘Oh, thank you, sir!’ she cried and cried,

  “Without you, Baby might’ve died!

  So once again I have my chappy.’

  And isn’t it great things turned out happy.

  As Melanie finished reading, her voice suddenly brightened. The crowd cheered and clapped.

  ‘Wow!’ she said, looking down at Gary Gaggs. ‘I think we could stand some lightening up after that. Excuse me, Mr Gaggs, you wouldn’t happen to know a kangaroo joke, would you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Gary said, bounding up onto the stage. ‘But last night I shot a kangaroo in my pyjamas. What he was doing in my pyjamas, I’ll never know.’

  The audience laughed.

  ‘But seriously, folks,’ Gary said. ‘A mother kangaroo was really upset. It was raining and her kids wanted to play indoors. Woo woo woo,’ he added, as he strutted around like a chicken (the way he liked to do at the end of a joke). ‘Do you know the difference between a kangaroo and a woodcutter? A kangaroo hops and chews while a woodcutter chops and hews. Woo woo woo. What do you get when you cross a kangaroo with a sheep? A woolly jumper …’

  On and on Gary went till he’d not only used up all his kangaroo jokes but he’d done his whole But Seriously, Folks show. Finally, everyone went home, exhausted from laughing.

  ‘I still like poetry,’ Selby said, as he went to sleep that night, glad that the whole poem episode was over. ‘But give me the power of laughter any day.’

  Paw note: For more on Camilla falling in love with Dino diSwarve read ‘Selby’s Set-Up’ in the book Selby Surfs.

  S

  GARY GAGGS’

  FAVOURITE

  KANGAROO

  JOKE

  from his ‘But Seriously, Folks’ comedy show

  A new zoo opens and a guy goes there looking for a job.

  The head keeper says, ‘You’re hired. Just put on this kangaroo suit.’

  ‘What’s this all about?’ the guy asks.

  ‘Well, we won’t be getting our kangaroos for another week or two,’ the keeper
says. ‘So just put on the suit, hop around, and let people take pictures of you.’

  So the guy hops around, he lies down for a while and scratches, and hops some more. People have no idea that he’s not a real kangaroo.

  Soon the guy looks around and there’s a lion right next to him. He starts to hop away but there’s a bear in front of him. He’s terrified. He turns around again and there’s a huge crocodile right at his feet.

  So he starts screaming, ‘Help! Help! Save me!’

  The lion, the bear and the crocodile come towards him and the lion whispers, ‘Shut up, mate, or we’ll all lose our jobs!

  THAT SORT-OF SMILE

  ‘This is the most famous and valuable painting in the whole world!’ Dr Trifle exclaimed. ‘How did you manage to get it?’

  Dr Trifle was talking to his old friend Reginald Scumble, the director of the Federal Art Gallery.

  ‘We’ve only borrowed it,’ the director said. ‘And we had to pay a lot of money just to do that. But we should get the money back if lots of people come to see it.’

  Selby looked up at the poster of the Smiling Lady in front of the gallery.

  ‘This is so exciting!’ he thought. ‘Even I know that painting! I’ve seen lots of pictures of it. I just love the way she’s sort of smiling but sort of isn’t. She’s mysterious. She’s beautiful. And you can tell it’s a great painting because when you move, her eyes look like they’re following you around.’

  Outside the gallery was a long queue of people waiting patiently to see the painting.

  ‘The reason I’ve asked you here,’ the director told Dr Trifle, ‘is to check out the PCM.’

  ‘The what?’ Dr Trifle asked.

  ‘The PCM. Your very own Painting and Cleaning Machine. The one you gave us last year, remember?’

  ‘Oh, that PCM,’ Dr Trifle said, suddenly remembering the machine. ‘Is there a problem with it?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ the director said. ‘The real problem is with our painting restorer. You see the Smiling Lady has a lot of dust and grime on her that needs to be cleaned off before we hang her. Our restorer refuses to put her through your machine because he says that it’s the most famous and valuable painting in the world and should only be cleaned by hand.’

  ‘Maybe he’s right,’ Dr Trifle said, suddenly feeling a bit iffy about his invention.

  ‘We’ve used it dozens and dozens of times and it works like a dream,’ the director said. ‘Of course we follow your instructions exactly. And we only ever use it on old paintings.’

  ‘Yes, that’s very important,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘With old paintings like the Smiling Lady the paint is as hard as a rock. With newly painted paintings, the little rubber cleaning fingers in the machine could smudge the paint — or even scrape it off. But, still, I think I wouldn’t risk putting the Smiling Lady through the PCM.’

  ‘But there’s no time to clean it by hand!’ the director exclaimed. ‘It would take five restorers a week and it’s due back in Europe next weekend! Please just have a look at the PCM to make sure it’s okay and then we’ll bung the old girl through.’

  ‘Well, if you say so.’

  The director opened a side door into the basement of the art gallery. As he did, he whispered to Dr Trifle.

  ‘I must warn you about Etto, our painting restorer. He’s not a happy chappy at the moment. He’s a bit of a fusspot at the best of times but the Smiling Lady has made him very cranky. Quite apart from the cleaning problem, I think he’s jealous of her.’

  ‘Jealous of a painting?’

  ‘Yes, he’s a painter himself. All restorers can paint a bit. Otherwise they couldn’t fill in the gaps when there are cracks or flakes of paint missing. Etto is good at copying other people’s paintings but he also does his own paintings — and they’re dreadful. Cats with big eyes. That sort of thing. And I’m afraid he thinks he’s a genius and that people should be queueing up to see his paintings instead of the Smiling Lady. So just be nice to him.’

  The laboratory was filled with paintings and strange pieces of equipment. At the very end of the big room was Dr Trifle’s PCM. Lying on a bench next to the machine Selby saw the famous Smiling Lady.

  ‘I can’t believe that I’m actually in the same room as the most famous and valuable painting in the world!’ Selby squealed in his brain. ‘Oh, this is sooooo exciting! I wish I could see it properly.’

  ‘Get that stupid dog out of here!’ a man in a white coat screamed. ‘Out! Out! Out! This is not some kind of stinky dog kennel!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘I’m Dr Trifle and he’s my dog.’

  ‘I don’t care if you’re the prime minister!’ the man cried. ‘I’m not having a dog coming in here! He might make water all over priceless works of art!’

  ‘Calm down, Etto,’ the director said. ‘I’m sure that Selby will do nothing of the kind.’

  ‘Make water all over priceless works of art?’ Selby thought. ‘Does he really think I’d do a thing like that? I’ll make water over him if he doesn’t watch it.’

  The painting restorer gave Dr Trifle a long stare.

  ‘In case you don’t know it,’ he said, ‘I am Etto Pittore, Chief Painting Restorer of the DCTL.’

  ‘The what?’ Dr Trifle said exactly as he did earlier in the story.

  ‘The Dusting, Cleaning and Touching-up Laboratory. And I think that if you put the most famous and valuable painting in the world through your stupid machine then you are stupid. It is a big stupid mistake.’

  ‘Now, now,’ the director said. ‘If anything goes wrong then I’ll take the blame.’

  ‘I will clean the painting myself by hand,’ the restorer said. ‘I will work all day and all night and it will be clean by tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t possibly get it cleaned by then,’ the director said. ‘Now stand aside so Dr Trifle can check the machine.’

  ‘Okay, go ahead, Mr Stupid Inventor.’

  Dr Trifle opened the panels at the side of the machine and twiddled some dials.

  ‘It just needs a bit more water in the cleaning solution tray,’ he said, adding some water from a small plastic water bottle and then pressing theON button. ‘The little rubber cleaning fingers seem as soft as ever.’

  The machine hummed quietly to life and the lights on the control panel blinked.

  ‘I only wish I could see her properly,’ Selby thought, ‘so I can see how much better she looks after she’s been cleaned.’

  Dr Trifle was about to push the GO button, to start the painting going through the machine, when he suddenly stopped.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ the director asked.

  ‘Maybe we should put another old painting through first,’ Dr Trifle said, ‘just to be absolutely sure the machine is working okay.’

  Dr Trifle looked around at a painting propped up against a bench. The painting was of a kitten with very big eyes sitting in a basket. ‘How about that one?’

  ‘Don’t even think about it, you stupid man!’ the restorer screamed. ‘That is a beautiful painting! I painted it myself. And, Mr Know-Nothing-Cleaning-Machine-Inventor, it was painted just this morning. If you put that through your horrible machine all the paint will come off! Then you will have to pay me a hundred million dollars!’

  ‘I am terribly sorry,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘Is there another painting that needs cleaning? An old one?’

  Dr Trifle and the director went around a corner and started looking through a rack of old paintings. The restorer followed.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ the man yelled. ‘You are crazy — both of you!’

  ‘And while no one’s looking,’ Selby thought, as he climbed up on a stool to get a better look at the Smiling Lady, ‘I think I might just have a closer look at the most famous and valuable painting in the world. Hmmm. She looks okay but I think I like her poster better.’

  Selby swayed from side to side over the painting.

  ‘What’s going on here her eyes aren�
��t following me. I guess she does need a bit of a clean.’

  Selby was about to hop down from the stool but decided to have one more sway to see if the Smiling Lady’s eyes moved. He swayed way over to one side and then back to the other. All of which would have been okay if he hadn’t lost his balance.

  ‘Oh, no! I’m falling. I’m about to land smack dab on the Smiling Lady!’

  Selby’s front legs whirled around and around like a windmill as he tried to miss the painting. And they whirled so fast that he did miss her. What he didn’t manage to miss was the GO button on the machine. And as Selby went crashing to the floor the painting suddenly disappeared into the machine.

  ‘Hey! What’s happening!’ the director cried. ‘Who turned that on?’

  By the time the three men got to the PCM, the painting was just coming out the other end.

  ‘It’s — it’s blank!’ the director gasped. ‘There’s nothing there! The paint is all gone! This is a tragedy!’

  ‘Nya nya, I told you so,’ the restorer sang. ‘You didn’t listen to me. Now you’re going to be in big big trouble. You’re both going to jail.’

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to do that,’ Dr Trifle said. ‘How could it have happened?’

  ‘What have I done?’ Selby wailed silently in his head. ‘I can’t believe this.’

  ‘We’re ruined!’ the director said, staring at the blank painting. ‘The painting can never be replaced. The government will have to pay billions of dollars for this mistake,’ he sobbed. ‘And I could lose my job.’

  ‘And it’s all my fault,’ Selby thought, fighting back tears. ‘I ruined the most famous and valuable painting in the world. Her eyes will never ever follow anyone around the room again.’

  ‘Now you can get out of my laboratory — both of you!’ the restorer said. ‘And take that stupid dog with you!’

  ‘He’s right,’ Selby sniffed. ‘I am a stupid (sniff) dog. And now the only thing I can do is tell them exactly what (sniff) happened.’ Selby felt the tears collecting under his eyelids. ‘My secret doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t let Dr Trifle and the director take the blame for my mistake.’