Читать книгу Mr Humperdinck's Wonderful Whatsit (2017 ed) - Wynand Louw - Страница 8

The Garbage Man

Suddenly something came crashing down from the sky, scattering the rats. It was an old, battered dustbin. It started rolling in all directions, chasing the rats over the edge of the roof, crushing the ones who didn’t get away fast enough. When the last rat had disappeared from the roof, the dustbin shot through the air and landed with a bang on the water tank next to Pete and Squeak. Its lid fell off and what seemed to be a load of garbage spilled over the edge and dropped onto the surface of the tank. The garbage walked around the bin, and then gave it a kick.

“Piece of junk!” it exclaimed.

Pete was flabbergasted. First he finds out that his mouse can speak and then he meets a talking heap of garbage.

“Excuse me,” said Squeak.

“Yes, excuse us,” echoed Pete.

The pile of garbage walked over to them. Pete could see now that it looked like a man. Well, almost. A garbage man, that is, as high as Pete’s waist.

His nose was an old carrot, and his hair was an assortment of cool drink straws, toffee wrappers and various other pieces of junk. He wore a jacket and pants made from newspapers, magazine covers and bits of old rags, and his shoes were two sardine tins.

“Howzit, bro!” The garbage man raised a hand covered in an old lady’s glove. “I’m Ben Babbage, but most people call me Garbage for short. Not that I could ever figure out why,” he said to Squeak, ignoring Pete.

“I’m Squeak,” said Squeak. “And this is Pete Smith.”

“Haven’t seen a talking beast in a long while. In fact, ever. Nice meeting you,” said Garbage. He inspected Pete from head to toe, slowly circling him. “Does he have the sight?” he asked, waving his hand in front of Pete’s eyes.

Pete wanted to say something, but Squeak said, “He sees you.”

“What are you?” Pete could no longer contain his curiosity.

“Don’t be rude,” Garbage said to Pete, and then to Squeak, “Now ’scuse me while I sort out my transportation. And then we have to get out of here before those rats come back with some real nasty pals.”

With that he turned and disappeared into his dustbin.

A terrible noise came from inside: clanging, banging and a lot of hammering. A spark plug flew out and almost hit Pete on the head. A fan belt, an air filter and a lot of nuts and bolts followed. Pete had to duck and dive to avoid being hit. Something inside the belly of the bin exploded with a cloud of black smoke and a spray of dirty oil. Garbage’s head appeared above the rim when the smoke cleared.

“Now it’s really bust,” he said, trying to spit the dirt from his mouth. He took a rag and wiped his face. “I HATE being dirty.”

“What’s wrong with this thing?” asked Pete.

“Didn’t you see how pathetically it flew? It had no POWER!”

Pete walked over and peered into the bin. The inside was as dark as one of Freddy’s black holes. “How does it work?” he asked.

“Is this guy stupid or what?” Garbage asked Squeak. “By magic, of course! Do I look like I’d waste my time with the laws of physics?”

“Oh,” said Pete, and thought for a second. “If it works by magic, then why does it have an engine?”

“Because …” The garbage man jumped out of the dustbin. “Because …” He held his hands behind his back and wandered around his malfunctioning vehicle.

“I’m sure it …” He pressed his right thumb and forefinger against his eyes.

“Dang! You’ve got me on that one.”

“Well, you said you weren’t bound by the laws of physics,” reasoned Squeak, “so why don’t you just throw the engine out?”

It was as if Garbage suddenly had a mystical experience. His face lit up and he slammed his right fist into his left hand.

“Of course! Throw out the engine! Hey, Mouse, my man, you’re an absolute genius!”

“Well, actually it wasn’t my idea; it was the boy’s,” said Squeak.

Garbage grabbed Pete’s hand and shook it.

“Pete, bro, I’m sure you’re almost as clever as your mouse friend here! We’ll soon see if your plan’s any good.”

He jumped back into the dustbin, and this time the noise was much worse. While they waited for him to finish, Pete asked Squeak, “Why did you say the rats were after you?”

“I was an eyewitness to Mr Humperdinck’s murder.”

Pete’s heart jumped to his throat. “You saw who did it?”

“No. It was too dark, and we mice don’t see as well as people think we do. We rely more on our sense of smell. But I’m sure that it wasn’t your father. The murderer was much shorter than him, and I couldn’t smell any liquor.”

“But why do they want to kill you if you don’t know?”

“They don’t know that I don’t know, and they can’t take any chances.” Squeak was silent for a while, and then he said, “I suppose now that I’m with you, they’ll assume that I told you. So you’re in danger too.”

At last Garbage emerged from the dustbin. He kicked it at the bottom, and it flipped over to hang upside down in the air, about half a metre above the water tank. Then he banged the side with his fist, and a massive V6 engine fell with a bang on the water tank, making a big dent in it. Pete was amazed. There was no way that that engine could ever have fitted into the dustbin. Garbage kicked the bin again; it flipped over three times and stabilised in a horizontal position. He picked up the lid and slammed it in position, and then jumped onto the bin like a cowboy would jump on his horse.

“Yee-ha!” he shouted and kicked the bin in the sides. It reared, and then shot away with such force that Garbage made a full back flip and landed on his nose on the water tank.

“Whoopee! Now THAT’s what I call POWER!” he shouted excitedly.

But the dustbin was gone.

“Looks like you’ve lost your transport,” said Squeak.

“No problem.” Garbage wiped the grime off his face. “It has homing magic built into it. It’ll find me in a while.”

Pete was getting tired. The first red of the new day glowed in the east, and he needed to sleep. He had left his skateboard in the alley below, and he was afraid that someone might take it.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr Garbage. Have a nice day.” Pete didn’t want to be told not to be rude again. “Oh, and thanks for saving our lives.”

“No sweat. Where are you going?” asked Garbage.

“To … I don’t know. I have to find my skateboard, and a place to sleep.” Pete jumped off the water tank and walked to the edge of the roof.

“Wait, I’m going there too, so if you don’t mind, I’ll join you,” called Garbage and followed him. He looked like a mobile trash heap in the poor morning light.

“Where did you say you were going?” asked Squeak.

“To I don’t know,” Garbage answered. “It’s close by.”

Pete climbed down the iron ladder to the top landing of the fire escape. Garbage simply jumped over the edge. He hit the top landing of the fire escape with a bang and lost quite a few pieces of garbage in the process.

“Remind me not to do that again,” he said, straightening his nose. The next moment his dustbin came hurtling around the corner and slammed into the wall next to him, raising a cloud of dust. Mortar flew in every direction. Pete almost fell off the fire escape, and Squeak hid in his shirt.

Garbage dusted himself. “Well, the homing magic works fine,” he declared, “but the auto-pilot magic definitely needs some fine-tuning. Want a lift?” The dustbin hovered just above the landing. He jumped in.

“No thanks,” said Pete. “I’d rather take the stairs.”

When Pete and Squeak arrived in the alley below, the dustbin was standing next to the cardboard box they had slept in. Garbage handed Pete his skateboard.

“Follow me. I’ve found a better place for you to sleep in.”

They followed him to a big box that stood against the wall. It must have contained a big chest freezer or something. Pete crawled in. He stared in disbelief. On a low table next to a bed with the whitest and softest sheets that were turned back and ready, stood a bed lamp. Next to it was a steaming mug of cocoa for Pete and a small dish of seeds for Squeak. Pete sat down on the bed, and put Squeak next to the seeds on the table. Garbage sat down on the floor.

“Won’t the rats find us here?” Squeak wanted to know.

“Well, they could,” said Garbage, scratching his head, “but I don’t really know what else to do with you right now. I did a bit of hiding magic to prevent it. You must be Humperdinck’s mouse.”

“Do you know about everything?” asked Squeak.

“Only what I read in the papers,” said Garbage. “Nasty business.”

Between them, Pete and Squeak told Garbage the whole story. Then Garbage left them so they could sleep. When he got into the bed, Pete found a little chocolate sweet on the pillow, with a note, Sweet dreams, Compliments of the Management.

He fell asleep almost immediately.

Pete was dreaming that he was running from old Schiz when the lid of the dustbin fell with a clang on the ground just outside his box. He woke into a world even more unreal than his dream: the soft white bed, the cardboard box, confusing memories of the night before.

“Mgggnnhhm,” said a very real mouse with a piece of cheese in his mouth. The sun shone through the opening of the cardboard box.

“Morning,” said Pete, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Didn’t your mother tell you not to speak with your mouth full?”

Squeak took the cheese in his right paw. “Sorry. It’s afternoon already.” He took another bite of cheese and chewed with obvious disgust.

“It’s a good thing humans think mice like cheese,” he said after swallowing a chunk. “Otherwise the whole of the world’s mouse population would’ve been caught in their traps.”

“So what do you like?” asked Pete.

“Why d’you ask?”

Pete grinned. “Well, you never know when I may want to set a mousetrap.”

A piece of cheese hit Pete between the eyes.

“Or buy a mouse friend a present,” Pete added, but Squeak had already gone.

Next to the bed there was a basin with taps for hot and cold water, a bar of soap and a towel. Pete turned the hot water tap, and it worked. He washed his face, and then followed Squeak outside. Garbage was sitting on top of his bin. He was wet and his ears and hair were full of soapsuds. His clothes were soaked, and since they were made of old newspapers and magazine covers, they were falling apart. He pinched his nose and blew, and a spray of suds squirted from the cool-drink straws on his head.

“Howzit, bro!” he greeted Pete. “How about lending me that towel you just used?”

Pete got the towel from the box and handed it to Garbage. He started rubbing his face with it.

“Did you take a bath?” Pete asked.

“Nah. I just went through the automatic car wash with my dustbin. Boy, does it give you a scrub. Whoopee! Now just hang in there while I get dressed.”

He disappeared into the bin. A moment later pieces of wet newspaper came flying out. When Garbage reappeared, he wore a brand-new suit made of old newspapers.

“I decided to do something about my image. People won’t think I’m poor for much longer! This suit’s made of the Business Times. Want to know how my shares are doing? It’s right here on my left arm.” He strutted around in a circle so Pete and Squeak could admire his outfit.

“See my pants? Fortune magazine. That should get them thinking!”

“Sure,” whispered Squeak, who had run up to Pete’s shoulder. “I have a friend who owns a book, now everybody thinks I can read.”

“I thought about your problem a lot in the last few hours,” Garbage said. “I have this friend who’s a VID (Very Important Dwarf). I’m sure he’ll know what to do. Get that skate thing of yours and let’s be off.”

Pete went back into the cardboard box to get his skateboard. The bed and table were gone, and the inside of the box was full of dust.

They flew straight up in the air among the towering skyscrapers. Pete stood next to Garbage in the flying bin, which now seemed to be empty. Squeak was in the top pocket of his jacket. Soon they were higher than the highest tower block in the city, and then even the biggest buildings seemed like little anthills, barely visible through a blanket of smog.

“Wow … The sky’s so blue!” exclaimed Pete. “And the sun!” He felt as if his problems had suddenly become as small as the buildings far below them.

Squeak stared in disbelief. “The world’s so big!”

“Being up here does tend to change the way you look at things a bit,” said Garbage. “So, who’s hungry?”

He ducked down into the bin and produced a rounded tray, which he clipped to the bin’s edge. Like a stage magician pulling rabbits from his hat, he started to produce all kinds of nice things from down below: peppered ham, salami, sliced roast beef, pork pies and fruit salad with pineapple, passion fruit and litchis. And, for the grand finale, there was a big bottle of sparkling orange juice to wash everything down.

Never before had Pete eaten such a meal. Garbage wolfed down most of the food. Squeak nibbled a bit at the salad, and when Garbage asked him if there was anything else he would like, he whispered in his ear. Garbage then produced a big jar of crunchy peanut butter. Squeak was on cloud nine.

When everyone had had enough, Garbage put the leftovers somewhere in the emptiness of the dustbin.

“Hold on, we’re going for a ride. YEE-HA!” he shouted.

Pete grabbed the edge of the bin, and the next moment they were in free fall. The city and its skyscrapers rushed up at them; in no time they were back in the concrete jungle. Garbage steered his bin at the speed of white light among the buildings, first dodging a satellite dish and then the façade of a bank. He dropped to just above street level.

“Hey, you just went through a red light!” shouted Squeak, clinging for dear life to the hem of Pete’s pocket. Garbage didn’t seem to hear him.

Within a few minutes, they landed with a thump in an alley among a lot of other dustbins. Pete recognised the building as the station. He climbed out of the bin.

“Where’s your friend?” Squeak wanted to know.

“He usually hangs around somewhere here,” Garbage answered. “We may have to search a bit. Let’s go to the main hall and start there. We’re looking for a short, fat dwarf.”

Since it was late on a Sunday afternoon there were very few commuters about in the station’s main hall. Pete pulled the dustbin, which was placed on his skateboard, by its handle. Garbage peeked from under the bin’s lid and whispered instructions to Pete: “Left!” or, “Go to the pizza place!” or, “Let’s try the bookshop!”

They couldn’t find the dwarf. When they reached the coffee shop, Vusi spotted Pete.

“Hey, Pete! New job clearing the garbage, hey?” he shouted.

“Hi! The bin belongs to a friend. How’re you?”

It was a mistake to ask Vusi how he was. He had an extended family, and started talking about his Aunt Jemima’s bunions, his cousin’s brush with the long arm of the law, his brother’s forthcoming wedding and the problems his brother-in-law was having with his taxi’s gearbox. And of course somebody had died and had to be buried, and his shop’s rent had gone up again and he had to pay tax. When he got to the appendix operation that he had had three years before, the dustbin jumped and hit the floor with a bang. A small wisp of smoke came from under the lid. Pete got the message, and he interrupted Vusi’s monologue.

“Have you seen a dwarf around here?” he asked.

“You mean Percy the Midget? Everyone knows him. He does that three-card con. I skinned him for a stack of dough about a week ago.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Haven’t seen him for a week. He’s probably moved to greener pastures.”

Before Vusi could start speaking again, Pete thanked him and disappeared around the corner with the dustbin in tow.

“What now?” Squeak asked Garbage. “We can’t search for your friend for ever.”

“I’ll call him,” Garbage answered. He produced a cellphone, and punched in a number.

“Hey, Percy! You were supposed to meet me on your turf, man!” The conversation was short. Garbage looked a bit embarrassed when he returned the phone to his bin. “He’s moved to the bus terminal. Hop in, guys!”