Pookie Aleera is Not My Boyfriend, Page 4
Steven Herrick
except the pigeons and doves
who came to his window
each afternoon
to eat the scraps of food he’d offer,
a piece of fruit,
a bowl of water
and, pretty soon,
the birds were tame enough
to let the man reach through the bars
and touch their beating chests.
The man would whisper his sorrow
of all he’d done wrong
the crimes he’d committed
the hurt he’d caused.
Grandpa said
when the birds had finished eating
they’d fly away
and with them went the man’s guilt
for all the bad things he’d done in his life.
Grandpa said the birds
saved that man’s life,
so every day
before leaving home
I pick an apple
from the tree in our garden
and I take it to school
and leave it lodged in the tree branch
for the birds
and for Grandpa.
SELINA
As soon as we finish roll call this morning
Cameron raises his hand
but before he can speak
Ms Arthur picks up her phone from the desk
and says,
‘What’s your mobile number, Cameron?’
‘0418816928, Ms.’
Ms Arthur presses the numbers
and
all of a sudden
the tune of ‘Jingle Bells’ sounds
from somewhere under Cameron’s desk.
Ms Arthur smiles,
‘Where’s your phone, Cameron?’
Cameron reaches into his pocket
and holds up his phone,
it’s Christmas time in March!
Ms Arthur stops her call and asks,
‘I thought your phone was missing?’
Cameron says,
‘That’s what I wanted to tell you, Ms.
I found it . . . and I’ve given it a name.’
Everyone looks at Cameron
until Mick asks,
‘What’s it called?’
‘Mr Nokia!’
Ms Arthur interrupts our giggles,
‘Cameron, can you switch Mr Nokia to silent
and return it to your pocket, please?’
I wave at Cameron’s phone and say,
‘Bye, Mr Nokia.’
Cameron jiggles his phone
and says, in a mechanical voice,
‘Bye, children.’
RACHEL
It’s this thing we do.
A few of us,
at lunchtime, under the cherry tree,
near where Mick jumps over the fence
to sneak to the river,
even if he’s not allowed.
He just shrugs and does it anyway.
Sometimes when he comes back to school
just before bell-time
he almost lands right in the middle of us.
He leans back against the fence
and listens to me and Selina
and Pete and Cameron
and Alex, of course,
talking about school and the weekend
or what we plan to do this afternoon,
or on Saturday night if our parents
let us visit each other.
Sometimes we take a vote
on what we’re going to do next week,
as a group,
something special like bring in my DVD player
to watch a movie at lunch.
Or listen to music,
with everyone choosing one song.
Or bring in photos of when we were young,
the most embarrassing photos we can find.
Mick wouldn’t be in that.
He said every photo is embarrassing.
Alex brought in a photo
of when he was a baby . . . wearing only a nappy!
He turned bright red when the others laughed.
It’s my lunchtime gang.
My true friends.
The people I trust.
LAURA
There’s a garden seat that Mr Korsky built
and he placed it under the gum trees
in the far corner of the schoolyard
away from the playground
and the classrooms and the canteen
and the bike racks
and the Principal’s office
and the netball goals
and the library.
It’s shady and cool here
and the grass doesn’t grow
because the trees don’t let in enough light.
Mr Korsky built the seat with old timber
and he painted it pale green,
the same colour as the trees,
and on the top rail of the seat
he carved the date he placed it in the shade
and every lunchtime
as soon as the bell rings
I race to my schoolbag for my sandwich
and I run up here and sit down
alone
and I watch everyone else
and I wish I could thank Mr Korsky
for making this seat
and for putting it here
away from the rest of the school.
MICK
I got named school captain.
Me and Selina.
And I’m captain of the football team
and the cricket team
and the other kids always ask me what I think
whenever something happens at school.
They reckon I’m a leader.
And Mum and Dad
trust me with the tractor
and the quad bike
and Dad knows I’ll come home
straight after school
during harvest and I’ll work until dark
and get up at first light and work some more.
Jacob follows me round the farm
and I can see he tries to do the things I do,
even if it’s something stupid
like jumping off a shed roof.
And I get good marks in school
even though I don’t try too hard
because I’m not going anywhere
other than this farm
and everyone in town knows that
but still they expect heaps from me.
And that’s why when I get into trouble
and Mr Hume gives me one of his lectures
and reminds me of my duty
as school captain
and he shakes his head
as if he would have voted differently
if he had a choice.
That’s when it takes all my effort
to stand there and not say a word,
in his office,
waiting for the lecture to end
so I can go back to class
where
all my true friends are.
RACHEL
It comes just before school finishes.
We hear it rumbling in the west
and Ms Arthur stops writing on the whiteboard,
looking nervously out the window.
Alex raises his hand and says,
‘It’s not a truck, Ms. Just a big storm.’
>
She asks Alex to shut all the windows in the library
and I stammer,
‘Can I . . . can I help him, Ms?’
She nods and the two of us
race to the library,
Alex closes all the windows on the left side
and I take the right.
But before heading back to class,
Alex asks me to follow him
down to the flame tree by the back fence.
We watch the storm approaching,
like God’s fists hammering down.
The purple clouds roll in,
the lightning crackles over the hills
and the sheep huddle near the saltbush,
but still we wait.
A storm takes its own good time.
When all we can hear is thunder
and our own breathing
we race each other back to class.
Everyone is crowding around the window.
The first drops kick up the dust
and batter the iron roof
and then it all goes silent,
just for a moment,
as if the storm is taking one huge breath,
before the rain, in angry waves,
dumps on the school
and the sheep paddocks
and the wheatfields
and everyone in the room cheers
except Mick who puts two fingers to his mouth
and whistles loud enough to crack the glass.
I can picture Dad and Mum
sitting on the verandah.
Mum’s pouring a pot of tea
and Dad’s slowly stirring in the sugar.
I can see the grin on his face from here.
CAMERON
My mum has these sayings
which I really like, but
I just don’t understand.
When I’m having trouble
with a maths equation for homework
and she finds another way
of getting the correct answer,
she always laughs and says,
‘There’s more than one way to skin a cat.’
With a razor blade?
Or her lady shaver?
Or the sheep shears?
And why would you want to do that anyway?
Cats aren’t sheep with woolly warm coats.
Seeing Rusty, the town tomcat, naked
would be quite a sight!
Late last night Mum said,
‘Don’t burn your candle at both ends’,
when I was falling asleep while watching a video.
I spent all morning
trying to light a beeswax candle at both ends.
I dripped wax all over my fingers,
singed the hair on my wrist
and wasted lots of matches.
You can’t burn a candle from both ends.
That’s what Mum should say!
RACHEL
It’s still raining lightly
when I get off the school bus
and I run,
slopping through the puddles
with the schoolbag over my head
until I reach the farm gate
where I hear music,
old-fashioned music,
coming from the front room
and
in the middle of the yard
is Dad, dressed in his overalls,
and Mum, in a summer dress,
and they’re dancing,
arm in arm,
slowly around the garden.
When they see me
Mum giggles
and Dad waves for me to join them,
‘Lovely weather, isn’t it, Rachel?’
SELINA
During roll call this morning
Ms Arthur calls all our names,
‘Pete
Tiffany
Selina (me!!)
Mick
Alex
Cameron
(he answers in a loud voice)
Grace
Rachel
right through until
Alice Zachary,
the last person alphabetically,
but before she closes the roll book
she smiles, to herself,
then calls out,
‘Mr Nokia?’
and, quick as a flash,
Cameron answers,
in his machine voice,
‘Here, Ms Arthur,
at your service
in all emergencies!’
CONSTABLE DAWE
‘Good morning, Class 6A,
as you may remember,
my name is Senior Constable Dawe . . .
yes, Senior,
no, I haven’t changed my name,
remember, it’s my rank.
No, senior doesn’t mean old, young lady,
it means
I’ve been promoted.
Today I’m here to talk about water safety,
swimmer safety,
as I think someone suggested last time.
Can anyone tell me
what you should do before swimming?
Yes, find some water to swim in.
That would be helpful.
But what about lessons?
Yes, I know you have lessons every day,
I mean, swimming lessons.
Have you all had swimming lessons?
Good.
So we’re all confident in water.
Does that mean we just dive into any water?
No, you can’t dive into a glass of water,
everyone knows that, young man.
Yes, I’m sure your dad says
he could dive into a bottle of beer in this heat
but I don’t think he means it literally, does he?
Class 6A, do we all just go and dive into the river?
Or the ocean?
Or even the municipal pool
when the council finally gets around to fixing it?
No, of course not.
What should you do before jumping in?
No, you shouldn’t get your friend to video
your fantastic dive.
Yes, I’m sure you can dive very well
but it’s not going to help if you land on a rock.
Yes, you probably would make it on
Australia’s Funniest Home Videos
but damaging your skull
to get on television
is not very funny, is it?
Please, Class 6A!
Yes, thank you, young lady,
we should check the depth of the water
before diving.
Or maybe not dive at all,
just step carefully into the water.
Yes, like an old man into a bathtub, young lady.
And what are we wearing, Class 6A?
I’m sorry,
we’ve been through the underpants issue before,
I hoped you’d all forgotten.
We are wearing swimmers and a rash shirt.
And why are we wearing a rash shirt?
No, not to stop you from getting rashes.
To stop sunburn.
Which means what should we also be wearing?
Anyone?
Remember slip, slop, slap?
No,
it’s not slip on a banana skin
slop on an ice-cream
>
and slap on a naked bottom.
I thought we’d made all the naked jokes last time.
Slip on a shirt, slop on sunscreen and slap on . . .
yes,
a hat.
Thank you, Class 6A.
That’s enough for today.
Next time we’re going to talk about bushfire safety.
Okay, bushwalker safety.
And koala safety, if you will.
No, not bunyip safety.
Bunyips don’t exist.
No, they didn’t all die in the bushfire.
They’re . . .
they’re . . .
I’ll leave that question to your teacher.
Thank you, Class 6A.’
LAURA
Ms Arthur
leads us into the library
and says
we have ten minutes
to choose a book to borrow
and
we can choose any book we like
including the comics
or
a picture book
or
a graphic novel
or
even just a magazine
but, she says,
we’re not allowed
to choose poetry.
She points to the back wall
where the poetry is filed
under non-fiction .821
and she repeats
any book but poetry.
When we line up
to leave the library
I notice
Selina, Mick, Alex,
Rachel, Pete
and even Cameron
have chosen poetry books.
Ms Arthur checks out
each book
without saying a word,
a satisfied look on her face.
MR KORSKY
It was against Health and Safety Regulations,
I’m sure,
so I waited
until all the children and teachers had gone home.
I carried the ladder to the tree
where someone leaves an apple for the birds.
I climbed the ladder
and nailed the wooden ledge,
half-a-metre square,
to the branch
coming out at right angles from the trunk,
and I placed
a few apples
some birdseed
and a bowl of water
to encourage the birds
and I figure
once the children see them
they’ll toss their fruit scraps
onto the platform
