Читать книгу NO BRIDGE, NO WAY! - Jan Murray - Страница 5

Even though some islanders swear they’ve seen a light burning in that high window, most of Glencairn reckons the dilapidated old house is just a relic from another age and should be pulled down. To make way for progress, they say.

But, thought Xanthe, would we still say, “around by Island Gertie’s” to describe the far side where Deep Passage is and where all those cliffs are? Lindquist Hill is the official name on maps for the escarpment, which is covered in huge gums and rainforest and waterfalls and Aboriginal art. But “Gertie’s Hill” is what everyone has called it for all her life and it felt right.

‘But hello? It’s not like it’s really haunted,’ she said to the Fabs, each of them wearing a black FIFU t-shirt her father had printed for them at his agency last year.

This was their meeting to discuss the making of A Gecko Needs Friends.

She and her dad were still editing the promotional video they had made on Saturday, but they had to plan for the big one while they waited for the money they were going to need for production.

‘We’d look stupid,’ she said, staring down those who were assembled around the old teak table––one they had rescued from a chuck-out day. ‘So dumb if we made out like we really believed it was haunted.’ She was hoping in her heart that the others would help her out because a little bit of Xanthe O’Rourke wanted to believe that the creepy stories were true.

‘Or that a witch lives up there?’ Honey chimed in.

‘You’ll look like dorks, that’s what you’ll look like,’ said Zoran, throwing his favourite word into the discussion, but not bothering to raise his eyes from his manga comic.

They were at Fab HQ, the deserted old timber boatshed they had claimed two Christmas holidays ago and, with help from their mums and dads, had done up as their clubhouse. It was all old and splintery timber and broken decks, but it was hidden in the mangroves and totally forgotten about by the adults.

FIFU had painted the walls white inside and collected heaps of old things such as anchors and chains and ropes and tables and chairs. And they found a large oil painting of an old-fashioned sailing ship riding a wild storm that had been thrown out on another Council chuck-out day. You find amazing things if you hunt around the tracks at the back of people’s houses on those days, thought Xanthe as she looked around admiringly at their special place.

‘In my opinion, she would make a great subject for your movie,’ said Jo Purdy, the Identicals’ aunty, breaking in on the young Director’s thoughts.

Jo was twenty-six and an actor who was between roles at the moment, the reason she was staying with her sister, Annabelle Summers, the twins’ mother. Jo was the only adult ever to have been allowed in Fab HQ to take part in meetings. She was here today to help FIFU get started with the movie script.

‘You have a genuine legend on your back doorstep, guys. Make the most of it.’ Jo Purdy looked at Xanthe. 'And, yes, make her a ghost. Or a witch. Why not? You’re the creators. It’s your story.’

‘Because we’ll look like babies. It’s corny,’ Xanthe said, aware Zoran was sniggering behind his stupid comic. Couldn’t look like he’s interested, could he? ‘If she’s not a real witch ...’ she continued, unsure of where she was going with this. ‘... even if she is ... what’s she got to do with saving our geckos and all the other creatures ... and rock art?’

‘If she were real, darling, would she be a ghost? Or a witch?’ said Jo.

That just confused Xanthe. ‘There is no Island Gertie!’ she finally said, angry with herself for weakening. She was determined to make her point. Even to lovely Jo.

‘What’s real and what’s unreal aren’t always two different things. Sometimes things aren’t as simple as that, Xanthe, darling.’

Jo reached across for the Harry Potter book Xanthe had brought with her and flipped through it.

‘See, Zanth?’ she said. ‘Your eye really only sees black marks on white paper, right? Everyone sees the same letters on the page, don’t they? But if it’s good writing, you let go and soon forget about the black and white squiggles. You’re seeing pictures. You’re creating a whole new world inside your head. With new friends in it.’ She looked around the table. ‘That’s your personal imagination, guys. There are more ways to save your environment than just beating your audience around the head with the bad news.’

They looked at each other.

‘Engage them!’ Jo thumped the table to emphasize her point and everyone jumped. ‘That’s what we do in the theatre,’ she said. ‘That’s storytelling, kids!’

Of course, Xanthe knew Jo was addressing her in particular ––the scriptwriter. She blushed. I hate it when I blush, she chastised herself.

‘That’s the magic,’ said Jo. 'It doesn’t have to be real to be wonderful. Quite the opposite.’

‘I suppose not,’ By now, Xanthe was handing around pencils and paper for their scriptwriting workshop, knowing they had to get busy and come up with something. Anything. ‘The Hobbit isn’t true, I suppose. It’s just words,’ she said, thinking about one of her favourites––a goofy story about little people living under the earth and in enchanted forests. As if?

After sitting and thinking for a while longer she started scribbling notes on her writing pad, covering them with her hand so the others couldn’t see. She realized she was just a little bit fired up with the whole "personal imagination" thing and ideas were beginning to tumble out.

'It’s great to share our personal imagination,’ said Jo, softly.

Xanthe could feel Jo looking at her.

'If we’re game,’ added Jo.

That gave Xanthe a tingle and straight away she made her decision. ‘Right, that settles it!’ She started underlining what she had just written. ‘We’re making this movie for Children’s ABC Three, right? And it’s going to be about witches and ghosts and graveyards and haunted houses and caves and baddies and everyone’s going to love it!’ She jumped up, excited, knocking her water all over Harry Potter and sending her chair flying backwards.

‘And to hell with saving our geckoes,’ Zoran chipped in––sarcasm on a grand scale from behind a manga comic, which Xanthe did not appreciate.

She walked across to the window, leaving them to deal with her wild blast as they went on arguing about ghosts, witches and worthy geckos.

‘It’s all there. I can just see it in my head––the opening scene,’ said Angel, getting to her feet. ‘We have this long-distance view of Gertie’s house, right?’

She looked around at her audience.

Summers needs an audience like trees need sunshine, thought Xanthe.

‘The narrator ... that’s me––'

‘Oh, yeah?’ Xanthe said, not bothering to look around.

...starts telling a creepy story ... and ... and we’re zooming in on the front door as the camera comes closer and closer and suddenly––’

‘A witch runs out and grabs you!’ laughed Zoran, grabbing Angel by her shoulders.

But, of course, Angel was too professional to squeal. ‘We’ll need to get inside the house, though,’ she continued, ignoring Zoran’s lame attitude. ‘Like, we’ll have to go around there and do a reckie.’

‘She means a reconnoiter,’ said Honey.

‘Thanks for that!’ said Xanthe, turning to face the Identicals. ‘As if I didn’t know!’

‘Whatever,’ shrugged Angel.

‘Oh my god! It’s going to be so freaky.’ It was Honey, again.

Xanthe let them rave on while she staid by the window looking out at Salvation Bay – at the sailing boats coming into view. It was a mid-week twilight race, a handicap event. The timber boats – all shapes, sizes and ancient histories – were out in front, catching the first winds as they tacked to starboard and port, making their way down towards the island.

The competition was in the rear. These were the big Sydney-to-Hobart style racing yachts that had waited for the second starting gun to go off. Now it was all frantic shouting and yanking and pulling ropes and leaning off the sides. Once they caught a good wind the fancy yachts would blitz the smaller craft. You could hear the savage flapping noises of their huge sails as they flew past. Xanthe breathed onto the salty glass and wiped it for a clearer view then, after some serious thinking, she turned and walked over to the noisy table.

‘Quiet!’ she yelled over the salad of voices. ‘Listen up! Unless we get going – and I mean, like right now– then the mainland’s going to beat us to it. Think about our competition, you guys! All those older kids over there ... on the mainland ... doing film as an elective. If FIFU’s going to get something on ABC Kids, then we better get going. Like, I mean today!’

‘Here, here!’ the Identicals yelled out.

‘Our introductory video’s in the can,’ said Xanthe. She slammed the flat of her hand down hard on the table. As Jo had done. ‘Now let’s make the movie, guys!’

‘Here, here!’ Twin time again.

No wonder I like them, Xanthe reasoned, always happy to have people agree with her bright ideas. ‘The ABC can only air so many kids shows. Right?’ She glanced out at the race. ‘And it better be us that’s out there in front!’ Applause all round. Even a nod from the Radz. She went on, looking across at Jo Purdy now. ‘And the way I see it, everyone, a movie with a good story in it is going to make a bigger impression on kids than just one more tired old doco about endangered species and all that.’

‘No way!’ said Zoran. ‘No ghosts. No stupid haunted houses!’ He scrunched up his comic, threw it down on the table and stood up. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, you, dorks. There’re are no such things as ghosts and you aren’t gonna catch Zoran Milos Radlic putting his good name to anything that pretends there is, okay? Okay?’

‘I’m with you, bro,’ echoed Jack. At thirteen, you would.

Xanthe looked at the Identicals. They were looking across at their aunty but giving nothing away. Entertainment or an environmental message? It seemed FIFU had hit a dead end.

‘Who’s for a swim?’ yelled Zoran. It was always like that. When they couldn’t agree on something, they went swimming.

'No one’s going anywhere,' said Xanthe. 'Not till we’ve got a story outline. So, make up your minds!’

‘At least we’ve got the sets for a haunted house movie,’ said Honey, rising from the table. ‘We won’t have to make props.’

‘Maybe. Maybe we won’t,’ said Angel. ‘Not if the wreckers knock the old house down before we get a chance to make the film!’

‘I say, forget it. Let’s organize a public meeting, instead,’ Jacko said.

‘Here’s something to kick you off.’ Jo Purdy held up her sheet of paper.

FADE IN

JETTY - FERRY APPROACHES - DAY

NARRATOR

By Friday morning it was no longer just a rumour. The Island was buzzing with the news and a bunch of kids on Glencairn was ready for the fight.

'I love it!' said Xanthe. 'It’s a great start. And start we must, guys!'

‘Zanth’s right, I guess’ said Zoran, making like it was time he took control. ‘It’s gotta happen quick. So, what’s it to be? Dorky or dorkier? Come on.’

No answer. It looked like they were about to drop it for now and really go swimming.

‘Decide: Fact or Fiction?’ said Xanthe, leaving them to make up their minds while she went across to the window and tried to concentrate, ignoring the jabbering behind her. Is there a witch on Glencairn? Are there such things as ghosts? Would we look stupid if we made a movie about ghosts? Is the house really haunted? Who’s seen the ghost? On and on until, suddenly she had it! She turned and ran at the feuding Fabs, bustling them up out of their seats, one by one, and pushing them towards the door. ‘I’ve got the answer, you idiots!’

‘To what?’ said Honey, who could sometimes be so vague it hurt.

‘To whether or not there actuallyisan Island Gertie ghost! Or a Gertie witch.’

‘And there’s only one way to settle this thing, isn’t there, Zanth,’ Angel piped up. ‘Come on! I’m game!’

‘Yeah, like I believe in ghosts? Not!’ said Jack. ‘There’s no such thing.’

‘But are you game enough to try and prove that, Jacko?’ said Xanthe. ‘Are you game enough to come with me and see for yourselves if there’s anything creepy going on up there?’ She had dived into the locker and grabbed an armful of cricket bats and balls. ‘We go around there and flush her out. It’s simple. We settle it once and for all. If there’s no actual ghost ... or witch ... then we don’t write a freaky film. If there is ...’ She let her words trail.

‘We go around there and flush her out!’ said Honey.

‘What is she? A dammed wombat?’ said Zoran who might be allowed to swear at home but wasn’t supposed to swear around the clubhouse. ‘And what’s with the cricket stuff?’

‘What do you reckon, Zoran?’ said Xanthe. 'Huh? We run around and make lots of noise, right? We annoy her and make her come after us, of course!’

She tossed a cricket ball at the bag and landed it square in the pocket. ‘C’mon, guys. This is it!’ Xanthe called back to them as she ran out the door and headed up the steep steps through the lantana, towards the cliffs that ended on the dark side. She believed she might have just called their bluff.

There was general bewilderment in the clubhouse. Jack looked at Zoran who looked at Angel who gave her twin one of their special looks. Together, the four of them left the clubhouse.

'Gotta get home. Mum will be worried,' said Jack. 'I’m supposed to be pulling weeds.'

'Ours, too,' echoed the twins. 'She wants us to clean up our room.'

'Dad wants me to help him build a toolshed.' Zoran called out as he took off up the beach.

Amazing, isn’t it, Xanthe said to herself, looking back down the slope at her friends? At the mention of going around to the dark side, her reluctant crew suddenly remembered important reasons each had to hurry home.

‘Cowardly custards!’ she called out to them, knowing it was useless. She tossed the cricket gear back in the boatshed then stuck her head out the boatshed. ‘Gertie’s will still be there tomorrow, you lot. And we are going around there!’

But they were already half way home.