ENJOYING STORIES ER /HAYLLAR/ POWELL MACMILLAN‘Copyright © R. K. Sadler, T-A. S. Hayllar, C.J. Powell 1990 All righis reserved. Except under the conditions described in the ‘Copyright Act 1968 of Australia and subsequent amendments, no past of this publication may be reproduced, ‘stored ina retrieval system, of transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, ‘without the prior permission ofthe copyright owner. First published 1990 by {627 Chapel Street, South Yarra 3141 Reprinied 1990, 1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, 1995 (1wice), 1996, 1997, 1998 (twice), 1999 Associated companies and representatives ‘throughout the world National Library of Avwstalia cataloguing in publication date, Sailer, RK. (Rex Kevin). Enjoying stories. Book 1. ISBN 07329 03009. 1. Shon stories L Hayllar,7.A. 8. (Thomas Albert S). II, Powell C.1. (Clifford). MD. Tie. 808.31 ‘Typeset in Baskerville and Helvetica by Selrte Typesetters, Hong Kong, Printed in Malays Ilustrated by John Burge ‘Cover design by Jan Schmoeger Cover illustration by Bettina OgdenContents Introduction: The Short Story ‘The Cyclops Homer Never Try to Help a Kangaroo Kenneth Cook The Copy Paul Jennings Rikki-Tikki-Tavi Rudyard Kipling Somebody Lives in the Nobody House Ruth Park The Goalkeeper’s Revenge Bill Naughton Send Three and Fourpence We are Going to a Dance Jan Mark How Do They Get Cranes on Top of Tall Buildings? Doug MacLeod The Loaded Dog Henry Lavoson ‘The Crimson Pirate Chris Powling The Fun They Had Isaac Asimov 27 45 69 87 97 LL 127 141 157iv Contents My Simple Little Brother and the Great Aversion ‘Therapy Experiment Lilith Norman Through the Tunnel Doris Lessing The Fish Scales Colin Thiele Acknowledgements 165 179 195, 204Introduction: The Short Story One of the features of life today is the emphasis upon speed. Almost everyone wants everything done ASAP (as soon as poss- ible). It is not surprising, then, that there is great interest in short stories. In the past, some writers were acknowledged as ‘great® short story writers because they specialised in writing gripping short stories. Writers such as Arthur Conan Doyle, who wrote the Sherlock Holmes stories, come to mind. What seems clear, however, is that nowadays most good novelists, sooner or later, try their hand at writing a book of short stories, not always with success. However, they recognise that the demand is there because many people are unwilling to commit themselves to reading full- length novels. All of this could make us wonder if short stories are just poor- quality writing, a sort of inferior, ‘light-weight’ novel, When we look at the names of short story writers we find people such as Robert Louis Stevenson, H.G. Wells, Doris Lessing, Jack London, Henry Lawson, Katherine Mansfield, Arthur Clarke, Alan Marshall, and the list goes on, Each name supports the fact that the short story is not second-rate, but a marvellously respectable and enjoyable literary form. Characteristics of the short story © 1 They are short Although this sounds obvious, it is the most distinctive feature of a short story and so needs to be emphasised, In actual fact, short stories are usually written according to the guideline that they2 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 should be able to be read at a single sitting. This means that short story writers have to discipline themselves. There is no room for lengthy descriptions or masses of detail. Charles Dickens, in a major novel like Bleak House, takes several pages to describe fog hanging over a city. The short story writer will probably only take a few lines to do the same thing. Because it is a short story, there is usually only a brief introduc- tion. Often there is no introduction at all; we are plunged straight into the action. Characters are described only to the extent that the story requires, and the writer keeps the action moving. The climax of the story is usually towards the end. 2 They usually have a single focus Short stories contain all the elements found in other literature, such as character, setting, theme and plot. However, because short stories are brief, usually only one of these elements can be brought into focus. Thus, for example, in Jack London’s famous short story ‘To Light a Fire’ the setting of the freezing arctic region is the focus; we do not even have the name of the main character in the story. On the other hand, in Conan Doyle’s short stories, the character of Sherlock Holmes is the central focus. The focus may vary, but usually there is room only for one element to receive special emphasis in any short story. 3 They usually have few characters The short story writer usually introduces characters very sparingly into the story. He or she cannot afford the luxury of having unnecessary characters slowing down the action and lengthening the story. Quite often, in fact, a short story has just two central characters who are, in some way, in conflict. Even then the focus is sometimes on just one of these characters. 4 They often have a surprise ending Short stories frequently have unexpected endings. Just as we thought we had things worked out there is a sudden twist to theIntroduction 3 story. As long as the surprise ending fits with the preceding action, we usually feel a strong sense of satisfaction, even though we have been caught unawares. Judging a short story As with other forms of literature (such as novels, poems and plays), short stories can be either well written or poorly written. In trying to judge the quality of a particular short story you could consider the following features. Classification How would you classify this story? Is it humorous, dramatic, realistic, satirical, sentimental, or something else? Is it a fantasy, a science fiction, a romance or an adventure? While there is no single, complete list of kinds of short stories, it is useful to try to classify each story in some way. Introduction How successful is the opening paragraph in grabbing your atten- tion? Does it move quickly or slowly? Does it shock or surprise you? Does it introduce you to an interesting character or describe an unusual event? As you read the introduction, do you feel ‘I must continue’ or do you feel ‘This isn’t worth reading’? Plot What is the story about? Is it interesting, even exciting? Or is it boring? What are the points in the story when the dramatic interest is at its highest? Is it a success in terms of artistic achievement? Characters Who are the main characters? How adequately are they described? How much information are you given about them? Is it sufficient?4 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 Do they seem to be ‘real’ enough? Is this important in the short story? How much does this short story rely upon a focus on the characters? Setting Where does the action take place? How fully is the setting de- scribed? Is it described sufficiently for this story? Does the setting have an important bearing upon the action? If so, why is it important? Ending Does the ending fit well with what has gone before? Is it a surprise ending and, if so, what is the surprise? What did you expect to happen? Were you prepared for the ending in some way? Were you able to guess it? Was the ending strong, or was it a bit too ‘gimmicky’? Are some aspects of the story left to your imagination? What emotions did you have after finishing? Do you think these are the emotions that the writer wanted to arouse in you? Theme Does the story have a general theme, or a message that it wants to convey? If so, how would you describe the theme? Or is this simply an exciting story, written to entertain you? Style How would you describe the writer's style? Is it distinctive in any way? Is the language simple or complicated? Are sentences short or long? Are they balanced and rhythmic? Does the language fit the story well? Summary If you have considered questions such as those above you should be able to make a sensible judgement about the quality of any short story. However, keep in mind that ‘Did you enjoy it? is theIntroduction 5 most important question. Did the story succeed in grabbing your interest and holding it? If your answer is ‘Yes’, the above questions will certainly help you to sort out what made it so successful for you.STORIES: FROM 2 v } ‘This edition of Stores from Homer contains a different version of “The Cyclops’.The Cyclops HOMER Homer’s Odyssey, written around 800 BC, describes the terrible dangers faced by the brave Ulysses as he struggles to return home after fighting in the Trojan Wars. Among the dangers that delayed him were the Cyclops, the horrible one-eyed giants. Here is a modern-day version of Homer's timeless story. Sailing on we presently saw the dim coastline of another strange country. Not knowing the kind of people who might live there, J ordered the ships to put in at a little island nearby. When the fog over the mainland cleared, we saw many huge caves, and cattle much bigger than any I had seen before. What new mysteries were we to discover there? I called some of my strongest warriors together and told them to fetch a large skin bottle of wine. ‘We will offer it as a gift to whoever we meet. Let us take one of the boats and explore the place.’ Once across the strait we found a twisted path rising steeply to the mouth of a cave. Cautiously we went inside and, when our eyes had grown used to the dark, saw a strange sight. The cave was clearly used as a home. There were pens filled with sheep and cows of that large species we had seen from the island. All around the walls hung enormous cheeses, and gigantic churns of goats’ milk stood against the walls. ‘Food!’ cried one of my men, his voice echoing across the cavern. ‘Enough food to keep us going for a hundred voyages! Shall we kill the sheep now and make off? How many of those cheeses can we carry?” ‘Silence!’ I replied, ‘Are we common robbers to steal food from& Enjoying Stories: Book I someone while he is away from home? This cave belongs to a shepherd, I suppose. When he returns we will give him the wine and no doubt he will make us a present of meat and cheese in return. Sit down, and wait.” Tt was evening before we heard the slow, heavy footsteps of someone approaching the cavern. Through the opening we were startled to see a giant of a man staggering up the steep path carrying a bundle of huge logs on his back. The creature wore only a loin-skin, had shaggy hair and beard and—strangest of all—a single eye fixed in the middle of his forehead. Terrified, we hid ourselves in a dark corner of the cave. The giant had returned with his flock of goats, which he drove into the cave, blocking the entrance behind him with a great boulder. He crouched down in the middle, milked the goats, then, piling the wood on the floor, lit a fire. The dancing flames soon lighted our dark corner and the giant saw us.The Cyclops 9 ‘Who may you be? he demanded in a thundering voice. My legs trembling, I stepped forward and replied, ‘My name is No-man! My warriors and I are on our way home from the Trojan War. The great god Zeus watches over us, and will be pleased with you if you treat us kindly.’ I had hoped that by mentioning Zeus I would make the giant afraid to harm us. But he merely laughed and roared, ‘I am Polyphemus, son of Poseidon who is god of the seas. Fools! Do you think we Cyclops care a fig for Zeus and his heavenly family? Where is your ship? I could tell by the the look in his single, wicked eye that if I told him of the ships and warriors waiting on the island, he would find a way to destroy them. So I said, ‘Our ship was sunk ina storm and we few are the only survivors. Have mercy on us, we beg you!” “What is mercy?’ demanded the terrible fellow. Then he reached down, grabbed two of my men and ate them. There was nothing we could do to save them from their wretched fate. Afterwards, the Cyclops drank a pail or two of milk, stretched himself out by the fire and fell asleep. I longed to kill him there and then, But I remembered the huge stone blocking the cave mouth and knew that without a living giant to push it away we should be shut in the cave for the rest of our lives. We spent the night anxiously seeking a way of escape. In the morning, the Cyclops ate two more of my men and, rolling the stone away, took his goats out to graze. Left alone in the darkness, we at last hit on a plan. . ‘The Cyclops had left some of his firewood in a corner. We chose a slender young tree trunk from the pile, sharpened it to a point, then hardened the tip by holding it in the red-hot coals. Our weapon ready, four of us were chosen to use it when the time came, then with more cheerful hearts we waited for the monster’s return. Once more he drove the goats into the cavern and blocked the10 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 opening. Next he made a meal of two more of my warriors. I filled a milk bowl with some of the wine from the skin we had brought and took it to the giant. ‘This is the finest wine in all the earth, Taste it and see.* The Cyclops snatched the bowl and gulped it down. ‘More!’ he cried, and I filled the bowl again. ‘Still more, and I will make you a gift. The gift will be that Pl eat you last of all!” Unused to the strong wine of warriors, the Cyclops soon lay down and fell half asleep. Now we crept to the corner, seized the sharpened tree trunk and drove it into the giant's single eye. He gave a terrible scream, which brought others of his kind thundering towards the cave mouth. ‘What is the matter?” they called. ‘No-man is killing me!’ yelled the giant, believing this to be my true name.The Cyclops 11 ‘If no man is killing you, why are you screaming?” demanded the Cyclops outside. ‘Go to sleep! You are keeping us all awake with your noise!” Then they went away. The blinded giant crawled as far as the entrance stone, pushed it away, and squatted outside, expecting to catch us as we dashed through the narrow opening. But my companions and I crawled beneath some of the goats, and clinging to their long hair let them carry us out of the cavern. ‘The giant’s groping hands felt only the hairy backs of the animals and we were free. We made for the boat at once, and when we were safely out of reach I cried across to the cave. ‘Polyphemus! Zeus has punished you, and rightly so, for you defied him, The enraged giant heard our voices and, seizing some large stones, pelted us with them. Not one struck the boat. Across the waves came the Cyclops’ wail: ‘Poseidon, my father! Avenge this cruel deed.’ I then knew that the god of the sea would treat me badly from that day on. Wherever I went, he followed me with storm and disaster. Reading for understanding 1 How does the writer create a feeling of mystery at the beginning of the story? 2 Where does this story take place? 3 Ulysses is the name of the character telling the story. What does Ulysses decide to do when the fog has cleared? 4 What do Ulysses and his warriors find in the cave? 5 How does one of the warriors react to the sights in the cave?12 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 a How does Ulysses show that he is in command? x What is it about the physical appearance of the Cyclops that startles Ulysses and his men? oo What do Ulysses and his men do after they sce the Cyclops? ° How does the Cyclops become aware of the presence of Ulysses and his men? 10 What information does Ulysses give the Cyclops about himself and his men? What does the Cyclops reveal about himself? 11 How does the Cyclops show that he is a horrifying and evil creature? 12 ‘I longed to kill him there and then.’ Why doesn’t Ulysses do so? 13 What ‘gift’ does the Cyclops promise Ulysses? 14 What effect does the wine have on the giant? 15 ‘Now we crept to the corner, seized the sharpened tree trunk and drove it into the giant’s single eye.’ Why do Ulysses and his men perform such a horrifying act? 16 ‘No-man is killing me! Why does the giant scream out these words? 17 How do the other giants react to these words? 18 How do Ulysses and his warriors manage to escape from the Cyclops? 19 What did you learn about the character of Ulysses from your reading of the story? 20 Did you find Ulysses’ adventure with the Cyclops a good story?The Cyclops 13 Story activity Learning about myths, legends and famous tales Here is an excellent opportunity for you to develop your research and speaking skills and at the same time to learn all about myths and legends. In your school library you will find a wide range of books containing myths and legends from many different countries. Once you have located some of these books, with the aid of the catalogue or your librarian, read some of the myths and select one that you find interesting. Summarise the myth and, in a short talk, describe for the class the story of the myth and the characters that have made it memorable for you. To help you, here is a list of only a few of the hundreds of myths, legends and famous tales that are available in most libraries. English: Robin Hood, King Arthur, Sir Gawain Greek: Helen Of Troy, King Midas, The Minotaur, Jason and the Golden Fleece, Pandora, Perseus, The Clash of the Titans Roman: Romulus and Remus, Venus, Atlas, Vulcan, Aeneas, Achilles Viking: Thor and his Hammer, Odin, Fafnir Aboriginal: Why the Koala has No Tail, The Black Swans, The Timid Frogs Most countries tend to have their own myths, legends and folklore. Russia, Ireland, China, Egypt and Czechoslovakia, to name just a few countries, have many such stories.Never Try to Help a Kangaroo KENNETH COOK Kenneth Cook is a well-known Australian writer. ‘Never Try to Help a Kangaroo’ appears in Wombat Revenge, a collection of very Sunny stories that come from his experience in the bush over many years. Never try to help a kangaroo. They are ungrateful creatures, quite likely to repay your kindness with sudden violence. I know, because this was what happened to me when I tried to help a kangaroo in trouble in South Australia’s Flinders Ranges a few years ago. I was driving peaceably through the ranges when a big red kangaroo bounded onto the road ahead of me. He was very big, even as big reds go, a good two metres tall, and he bounded along the road just ahead of me and to my left, I am very used to kangaroos on the road and I knew exactly what this one would do. He would bound to my left until I tried to pass him. Then he would commit suicide by veering suddenly to the right so that my car crashed into him. I don’t know why kangaroos do this, but they always do. But I am more cunning than the kangaroo. I sped up, pretending that I was about to pass him, then suddenly braked. He, mis- takenly supposing that I was about to crash into him, swerved across the road in front of me. I drove on and the kangaroo, deprived of his death scene, bounded off to the right and tried to jump a wire fence. ‘Jumping wire fences is something kangaroos almost invariably fail at. They bound resolutely up to them, rise gracefully into the 5IG Enjoying Stories: Book 1 air and usually catch their back legs on the top strand and fall flat on their faces. Then they pick themselves up, looking foolish, and hobble away. This one followed exactly that pattern. With that ‘splendid grace that characterises the kangaroo, he sped up to the fence and gave a great bound that should have taken him as high as two-storeyed building. It didn’t, His back legs caught the top strand.of wire and he went down on his face. That was par for the course, but this kangaroo was particularly inept. His back legs picked up the second strand of wire as he fell forward, The second strand was behind his paws and his weight pulled it up above the first strand. As soon as the kangaroo hit the ground, the second strand tightened on the first and the roo was firmly trapped by the feet, so firmly trapped that he would never get loose unless some sucker of a human being helped him. Tam such a sucker. I stopped the car and walked over to theNever Try to Help a Kangaroo 17 roo, which looked very silly with his legs in the air and his head turned sideways on the red, hard earth. He was what they call a boomer —a big old man red kangaroo. In the west they describe any evil odour as a ‘real boomer’ because a boomer smells like a mixture of dead cat, dead dog and very dead fish. Gagging a little, I stood by the roo and considered the problem. The only way of releasing the pressure on the wire was to lift the kangaroo. As he weighed about a tonne, this was clearly impossible. Obviously the wire would have to be cut. I did not carry wire- cutting implements in my car. The kangaroo was gazing at me with absolutely no expression. Kangaroos are very short on expression, like sheep. Every now and, then it gave a deep and loud, presumably threatening, grunt. But lying on its face with its great rump in the air, its tail dangling to one side and its huge clawed fect firmly trapped by the fence wire, the animal did not pose any sort of threat, even to a man as sensitive to threats as | am. I pondered. The kangaroo went on grunting and smelling. It occurred to me that I could drive on to Arkaroola and get help, but that would take a couple of hours. It was very hot. The kangaroo would probably die in two hours. There was a .303 rifle in the car, and it occurred to me that a bullet would cut the wire. I pulled the rifle out and loaded it. Keep in mind that this was the first really close encounter I had had with a kangaroo. These days, in the same circumstances, I would simply drive off at high speed. As it was, I carefully put the muzzle of the rifle against the top strand of wire and pulled the trigger. The bullet cut the wire cleanly and the kangaroo’s legs, rump and tail flopped onto the ground. I expected it to pick itself up and bound away happily, but it didn’t. It lay on its side and grunted and smelled. Thad no idea what to do. Administering first aid to kangaroos is not one of my skills.18 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 I vacillated, as I tend to do in most circumstances, for a few minutes, then laid my rifle on the ground and climbed over the fence with the intention of somehow encouraging the kangaroo to pick itself up and bound away happily. The kangaroo lay there and smelled and grunted. Its legs looked all right to me. ‘Come on, old chap,’ I said stoutly. ‘Up, up and away, and all that.” The kangaroo grunted and smelled. I bent down and poked it in the ribs. It grunted balefully, leaped to its feet and grabbed me around the neck with its arms, or front legs, or whatever kangaroos have. To the uninformed observer, this might have looked like a gesture of affectionate gratitude. It wasn’t. I had seen kangaroos perform this trick before with dogs. If hard pressed by a hunting dog, a kangaroo will stand with its back to a tree. As the dog comes in for the Kill, the kangaroo will grab it in its arms and hold it, The kangaroo then gets one of its back legs up under the dog’s belly and rips it to pieces with its huge claws. T once saw a very large German shepherd split almost in two by one sweep of a kangaroo’s hind claws. This was obviously the fate my particular kangaroo had in mind for me. I gave a yelp of protest, but the kangaroo took no notice. I tried to break away but the arms were firmly locked around my neck. The kangaroo still seemed slightly dazed, be- cause it was taking a long time to disembowel me. With surprising enterprise for me, I decided on the koala technique. I have written of this elsewhere. When attacked, a koala will cling to the underbelly of its attacker. This way the attacker, usually a dingo, cannot get its teeth or claws into any vulnerable part of the koala. If necessary, a koala will hang on like that until the dingo dies. Possessed of this piece of bush lore, I flung my arms around the kangaroo’s neck and wrapped my legs around its body.Never Try to Help a Kangaroo 19 The kangaroo grunted. I hung there, clinging like mad, wondering what exactly T would do next. The kangaroo made a couple of fecble attempts to get one of its legs up under my belly, but it had no hope. All that happened was that it bruised my rather large bottom with its thighs. ‘The situation wasn’t all that dramatic, just ludicrous. There was I, a middle-aged, portly man with my arms and legs wrapped around the largest and smelliest old man kangaroo ever to roam the Flinders. Anybody passing by would have been surprised. But nobody passes by out there, not often. But how could the situation be resolved? If I let go, the kangaroo would have at least one clear sweep at me with its hind claws. My ample bowels shook within their frail cage of unfit flesh at the thought. On the other hand, 1 could hardly keep hugging this infernal beast indefinitely. Koalas may be content to clutch dingos until the dingo perishes, but I was sure that the kangaroo had a much greater survival capacity than I had. My rifle lay a couple of metres away on the other side of the fence, but there was no way I could reach it. I stared into the kangaroo’s expressionless eyes and it stared back expressionlessly. ‘Then it jumped. Iam probably the only professional writer in Australia ever to have been clinging to the belly of a big red kangaroo when it jumped. It was an extraordinary experience. I could feel every muscle in the animal's body tensing and convulsing as the back legs sank like retracting springs then straightened violently. The kangaroo went two metres into the air and took me with it. Then it did it again. And again. The bloody thing was running away with me. You don’t think very clearly when you’re clinging to the belly of a kangaroo bounding through the rocky ridges of the Flinders. I simply didn’t know what to do.20 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 I just hung on and bellowed in fear. The kangaroo kept bounding off into the wilderness, bearing my hundred kilograms of miserable, frightened body with it, without apparent effort. It was a strangely smooth ride. There was no thump when the kangaroo landed, just a rhythmic convulsion of its muscles as it leaped forward, flew through the air, touched the ground and leaped again. ‘We seemed to be going terribly quickly and, looking over the kangaroo’s shoulder, I could see my car growing smaller in the distance. I thought I would have to let go, and then the kangaroo would probably disembowel me on the spot. In the meantime all I could do was hang on and hope that something would turn up. T couldn’t think what. This went on for about ten minutes. This strange rushing motion made me seasick. Seasick, the stench of boomer in myNever Try to Help a Kangaroo 21 nostrils, in an absurd and frightening situation with no apparent solution, I was not a happy man. Then the kangaroo stopped. I opened a couple of fearful eyes and found myself hanging over a cliff about ten metres high. The kangaroo had stopped because it could go no further unless it decided to fling itself—and me—over the cliff. Doubtless that was just what it was considering as it stood there, even less expression on its stupid face than before, with its toes on the edge of the cliff and me, consequently, dangling in space. Tt was all a bit too much for a man who had started off with no ambition except to help an unfortunate animal. I looked down. The cliff was no great height, but ten metres is a long way down for a man in my physical condition. However, a few metres away at the bottom of the cliff was a dense patch of lantana. T am the only person in the world who knows how it concen trates the mind to be in the arms of a homicidal kangaroo dangling over a ten-metre drop. I had to make the kangaroo move along the edge of the cliff until I was above the lantana. While not exactly desirable, a fall of ten metres into a thick clump of lantana bush was infinitely preferable to the situation I was in. The kangaroo, on the other hand, seemed hellbent on standing on the edge of the cliff, wondering whether to leap over onto the rocks immediately below. All I wanted it to do was move a few metres to the right so that I could tear myself from its grasp and fall into the relatively comfortable lantana bush. How do you make a kangaroo move when you are clinging to its belly and dangling over a cliff? There are no precedents. I improvised. The only part of its anatomy I could attack was its left ear. This ear was close to my face and it occurred to me that if I22 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 inflicted pain upon it, the kangaroo might move to the right. There was only one way I could inflict pain on that kangaroo’s left ear. I bit it, The hairy ear of a living kangaroo is a revolting thing to bite, but the effects are dramatic. The kangaroo gave a positively eloquent grunt of pain and bounded into the air, by the grace of God, moving right down the cliff edge. My blurred eyes saw the bed of lantana below me. I unwrapped my arms from the kangaroo’s neck, untangled my legs from its body, kicked it firmly and viciously in the belly and propelled myself into space. ° Naturally I thought I was about to die, but anything was better than the agony of suspense of being in the kangaroo’s clutches. In the event, I plunged into the lantana with no ill-effects except that most of the clothes were torn off my body and everyNever Try to Help a Kangaroo 23 inch of my skin was lacerated by those tiny sharp strips that protect lantana from fat men thrashing about in its midst. LT emerged after about ten minutes’ wrestling with the lantana, exhausted, bleeding (not seriously) and very cross with kangaroos, The kangaroo I had saved from a miserable death was standing on the cliff edge looking down on me expressionlessly. I walked along the bottom of the cliff until I found an easy place to climb up. My car was only about half a kilometre away, and I got back to it before I died of heatstroke or thirst. T retrieved my rifle and looked back at the kangaroo and thought seriously about shooting it in sheer, spiteful revenge. It was still on the cliff edge looking expressionless. I decided against revenge and drove away. However, never again will I help a kangaroo in trouble. Reading for understanding -_ ‘Never try to help a kangaroo.’ What reason does the writer give for this warning? ~ Where does the action of the story take place? we Explain how the kangaroo will ‘commit suicide’. How does the writer prevent the kangaroo from doing this? How does the kangaroo become trapped in the wire fence? Why does the roo look ‘very silly’? ‘Why does the writer refer to the roo as a ‘boomer’? Why at first can’t the writer free the kangaroo? eronan Why does the writer feel that his driving on to Arkaroola will not help to save the kangaroo’s life?24 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 9 How does the writer free the kangaroo? 10 What does the kangaroo do immediately after it has been freed? “I bent down and poked it in the ribs.’ How does the kangaroo react to this treatment? 12 ‘I decided on the koala technique.’ What is the koala technique? 1 = 13 ‘Anybody passing by would have been surprised.’ Why? 14 {I stared into the kangaroo’s expressionless cyes and it stared back expressionlessly.” What happens next? L & ‘The bloody thing was running away with me.’ How does the writer react? 16 ‘Then the kangaroo stopped.’ Why did the kangaroo stop? 17 What does the writer believe is his only hope of survival? 18 Why does the writer decide to bite the kangaroo’s left ear? 19 What happens to the writer when he falls into the lantana bush? 20 Do you think that this story is humorous or serious? Give reasons for your viewpoint? Story activity Animal tales ‘Never Try to Help a Kangaroo’ is written from a human being’s point of view. Now try your hand at writing a story from an animal’s point of view. Perhaps you could call your story ‘NeverNewer Try to Help a Kangaroo 25 Try to Help a Human’. You may like to tell your story from the point of view of one of the following animals: @ Wally Wombat © Sammie Sparrow © Esmerelda Emu © Roger Rabbit © Harold Hippopotamus © Christabel Crow © Freddie Fly © Roland Rat © Tamara Tiger © Jeannie Giraffe © Percy Platypus © Tabitha Tortoise © Penelope Pig © Ossie Ostrich . Horace Hare © Polly PythonThe Copy PAUL JENNINGS Wouldn’t it be great to be able to make an exact copy af anything you choose! The possibilities are endless, as this story shows. Paul Jennings is an Australian writer who has written several popular books of short stories, including Quirky Tails. I was rapt. It was the best day of my life. I had asked Fiona to go with me and she said yes. J couldn’t believe it. I mean it wasn’t as if I was a great catch. I was skinny, weak, and not too smart at school. Mostly I got Cs and Ds for marks, And I couldn’t play sport at all. I hated football, always went out on the first ball at cricket and didn’t know which end to hold a tennis racquet. And Fiona had still said she’d be my girlfriend. Every boy in year eleven at Hamilton High would be jealous. Especially Mat Hodson. It was no secret that he fancied Fiona too. I grinned to myself. I wished I could see his face when he found out the news. He thought that he was so great and in a way he was. He was the exact opposite to me. He was smart (always got As for everything), captain of the footy team, the best batsman in the cricket team and he was tough. Real tough. He could flatten me with one punch if he wanted to. I just hoped he took it with good grace about Fiona and me. I didn’t want him for an enemy. I headed off to Crankshaft Alley to see my old friend Dr Woolley. I always went to see him when something good happened. Or something bad. I felt sort of safe and happy inside his untidy old workshop and it was fun seeing what crazy thing he was inventing. Everything he had come up with so far had 728° Enjoying Stories: Book 1 been a flop. His last invention was warm clothespegs to stop people getting cold fingers when they hung out the clothes. They worked all right but no one would buy them because they cost two hundred dollars each. All of his inventions had turned out like that. They worked and they were clever but they were too expensive for people to buy. I walked on down past all the other little shop-front factories until I reached Dr Woolley’s grubby door. I gave the secret knock (three slow, three fast) and his gnomish face appeared at the window. I say gnomish because he looked just like a gnome: he was short with a hooked nose and he had a white beard and a bald head surrounded with a ring of white hair. If you gave him a fishing rod and a red cap and sat him in the front yard you would think he was a little garden statue. He opened the door. ‘Come in Rodney,’ he said.The Copy 29 ‘Tim,’ I corrected. He always called me the wrong name. He had a terrible memory. ‘Where’s that screwdriver?” he said. ‘It’s always getting lost.’ ‘In your hand,’ I told him. “Thanks, Peter, thanks.” ‘Tim,’ I sighed. I don’t know why I bothered. He was never going to call me by my right name. It wasn’t that he didn’t know who I was. He did. I was his only friend. Everyone else thought he was a dangerous crackpot because he chased them away from his front door with a broken mop. I was the only person allowed into his workshop. ‘Are you still working on the Cloner?’ I asked. His face turned grim and he furtively looked over at the window. “Sh ... Not so loud. Someone might hear. I’ve almost perfected it. 'm nearly there. And this time it is going to pay off.’ He led me across the room to a machine that looked something like a telephone box with a whole lot of wires hanging out of it. Down one side were a number of dials and switches. There were two red buttons. One was labelled cory and the other REVERSE. Dr Woolley placed a pinecone on the floor of the Cloner. Then he pressed the button that said copy. There was a whirring sound and a puff of smoke and then, amazingly, the outline of another pinecone, exactly the same as the first, appeared. It lasted for about ten seconds and then the machine started to rock and shake and the whirring slowly died. The image of the second pinecone faded away. ‘Fantastic,’ I yelled. ‘Blast,’ said Dr Woolley. ‘It’s unstable. It won’t hold the copy. But I’m nearly there. I think I know how to fix it.” ‘What will you use it for? I asked. ‘What’s the good of copying pinecones? There are plenty of pinecones already. We don’t need more of those.’ He started to get excited. ‘Listen, Robert.” ‘Tim,’ I said. ‘Tim, then. It doesn’t only work with pinecones. It will work30 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 with anything.’ He looked up at the window as he said it. Then he dropped his voice. ‘What if I made a copy ofa bar of gold, ch? What then? And then another copy and another and another. We would be rich. Rich.’ I started to get excited too. I liked the way he said ‘we’. Doctor Woolley started nodding his little head up and down. “All I need is time,’ he said. “Time to get the adjustment right. Then we will show them whether I’m a crank or not.’ We had a cup of tea together and then I headed off home. ‘That was two good things that had happened in one day. First, Fiona saying she would go with me and second, the Cloner was nearly working. I whistled all the way home. I didn’t see Dr Woolley for some time after that. I had a lot on my mind. IJ had to walk home with Fiona and every night I went to her place to study with her. Not that we got much study done. On weekends we went hiking or hung around listening to records. It was the best time of my life. There was only one blot on the horizon. Mat Hodson. One of his mates had told me he was out to get me. He left a message saying he was going to flatten me for taking his girl. His girl! Fiona couldn’t stand him. She told me she thought he was a show off and a bully. But that wasn’t going to help me. If he wanted to flatten me he would get me in the end. Fortunately he had caught the mumps and had to stay at home for three weeks. Someone had told me it was very painful. I decided to go round to see Dr Woolley about a month later. I wondered if he had perfected his Cloner. When I reached the door I gave the secret knock but there was no answer. ‘That’s strange, I said to myself. ‘He never goes out for anything.’ I looked through the window and although the curtains were drawn I could see the light was on inside. I knocked again on the door but still no answer. Then I started to worry. What if he had had a heart attack or something? He could be lying unconscious on the floor, I ran around to the back, got the key from the hiding spot in an old kettle and let myself into the workshop. TheThe Copy 31 place was in a mess. Tables and chairs were turned over and crockery was lying smashed on the floor, It looked as if there had been a fight in the workshop. There was no sign of Dr Woolley. I started to clean the place up, turning the chairs up the right way and putting the broken things into the bin, That’s when I found the letter. It was in an envelope marked with four names. It said, ‘John’, ‘Peter’, ‘Robert’, and ‘Tim’, The first three names were crossed out. Dr Woolley had finally remembered my name was Tim after four tries, Inside the letter said: ™ IF YOU FIND THIS LETTER SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED. YOU MUST DESTROY THE CLONER AT ONCE. WOOLLEY My eye caught something else on the floor. I went over and picked it up. It was another letter exactly the same as the first. Exactly the same. It even had the three wrong names crossed out. Dr Woolley really was the most absent-minded person. I looked at the Cloner with a feeling of dread. What had happened? Why did he want me to destroy it? And where was Dr Woolley? The Cloner was switched on. I could tell that because the red light next to REVERSE was shining. I walked over to it and switched it over to copy. I don’t know what made me do it. I guess I just wanted to know if the Cloner worked. I should have left it alone but I didn’t. I took a Biro out of my top pocket and threw it inside the Cloner, Immediately an image of another Biro formed. There were two. of them where before there had only been one. I turned the Cloner off and picked up both pens. As far as I could tell they were identical. I couldn’t tell which was the real one. They were both real. I sat down on a chair feeling a bit dizzy. This was the most fantastic machine that had ever been invented. It could make me rich. Dr Woolley had said that it could even copy gold bars. All sorts of wonderful ideas came into my mind. I decided that52 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 nothing would make me destroy the Cloner. I went over and switched the machine on to REveRsE. Then I threw both of the pens into the Cloner. I was shocked by what happened. Both of them disappeared. They were gone. For good. I turned it back to copy but nothing happened. I tried REVERSE again but still nothing. It was then that I noticed a huge blowfly buzzing around the room. It flew crazily around my head and then headed straight into the Cloner. It vanished without a trace. The Cloner was dangerous when it was switched on to REVERSE. It could make things vanish for good. I wondered if Dr Woolley had fallen into the machine. Or had he been pushed? There were certainly signs of a struggle. I thought about going to the Police. But what could they do? They couldn’t help Dr Woolley if he had fallen into the Cloner. And they would take it away and I would never see it again. I didn’t want that to happen. I had plans for that machine. It was mine now. I was the rightful owner. After all, Dr Woolley had said that ‘we’ would be rich. Unfortunately now it was just going to be me who was rich. I went back to Fiona’s house and spent the evening doing homework with her. I didn’t tell her about the Cloner. I was going to give her the first copies I made from it. At ten o’clock I walked home through the darkened streets, keeping an eye out for Mat Hodson, I had heard he was over his mumps and was looking for me. The next morning I borrowed Mum’s gold cameo brooch without telling her. I decided not to go to school but instead I went to Dr Woolley’s workshop. Once inside I turned the Cloner on to copy and threw in the brooch. Immediately another one appeared. I turned the Cloner off and took out both brooches. One was a mirror image of the other. They both had the same gold setting and the same ivory face. But on one brooch the face looked to the left and on the other it looked to the right. Apart from that they were identical. I whistled to myself, The copy was so good I couldn’t re-The Copy 33 member which way Mum’s brooch had faced. Still it didn’t matter. I would put one of them back where I had got it and give the other to Fiona. Next I decided to experiment with something that was alive. I went outside and hunted around in the long grass. After a while I found a small green frog with a black patch on its left side. I took it in and threw it straight into the Cloner. In a flash there were two frogs. They jumped out onto the workshop floor. I picked them up and looked at them. They were both alive and perfectly happy. They were both green but one had a black patch on the left and the other had it on the right. One was a mirror image of the other. This Cloner was wonderful. I spent all day there making copies of everything I could think of. By four o'clock there was two of almost everything in the workshop. I decided it was time to go and give Fiona her cameo. She was going to be very happy to get it.54 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 I never made it to Fiona’s house. An unpleasant surprise was waiting outside for me. It was Mat Hodson. ‘T’ve been waiting for you, you little fink, he said. ‘I heard you were hiding in here.’ He had a pair of footy boots hanging around his neck. He was on his way to practice. He gave a nasty leer. ‘I thought I told you to stay away from my girl.” ‘She’s not your girl,’ I said hotly. ‘She can’t stand you. She’s my ...’ Inever finished the sentence. He hit me with a tremendous punch in the guts and I went down like an exploding balloon. The pain was terrible and I couldn’t breathe. I fought for air but nothing happened. I was winded. And all I could do was lay there on the footpath wriggling like a dying worm. "You get one of those every day,’ he said. ‘Until you break it off with Fiona.’ Then he laughed and went off to footy practice. After a while my breath started to come back in great sobs and spasms. I staggered back into the workshop and sat down. I was mad. I was out of my mind. I had to think of some way to stop him. I couldn’t go through this every day and I couldn’t give up Fiona. I needed help. And badly. But I couldn’t think of anyone. I didn’t have a friend who would help me fight Hodson except Fiona and I couldn’t ask her. My mind was in a whirl and my stomach ached like crazy. I wasn’t thinking straight. That’s why I did the stupidest thing of my life. I decided to get inside the Cloner and turn it on. There would be two of me. Two Tims. I could get The Copy to help me fight Hodson. He would help me. After all, he would be the same as me. He would want to pay Hodson back as much as I did. The more I thought about it, the smarter it seemed. I would make an exact copy of myself and together we could go off and flatten Hodson. I wondered what my first words to the new arrival should be. In the end I decided to say, “Hello there, welcome to earth.’ I know it sounds corny but at the time it was all I could think of. I turned the Cloner to copy and jumped in before I lost my nerve. In a twinkling there was another ‘me’ standing there. ItThe Copy 35 was just like looking into a mirror. He had the same jeans, the same jumper and the same brown eyes. We both stood staring at each other for about thirty seconds without saying a thing. Then, both at the same time we said, ‘Hello there, welcome to earth.’ That gave me a heck of a shock. How did he know what I was going to say? I couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t until much later I realised he knew all about me. He had an exact copy of my brain. He knew everything I had ever done. He knew what I had been thinking before I stepped into the Cloner. That’s why he was able to say the same sentence. He knew everything about me. He even knew how many times I had kissed Fiona. The Copy wasn’t just a copy. He was me. We both stood there again for about thirty seconds with our brains ticking over. We were both trying to make sense of the situation. I drew a breath to say something but he beat me to it. “Well,” he said. ‘What are we waiting for? Let's go get Hodson.”36 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 The Gopy and I jogged along the street towards the football ground without speaking. I wondered what he was thinking, He didn’t know what I was thinking. We shared the same past but not the same future or present. From now on everything that happened would be experienced differently by both of us. I didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on in his head. But I knew what was going on in mine. I was wondering how I was going to get rid of him when this was all over, ‘Fiona will like that brooch,’ said The Copy. I was shocked to think he knew about it. He was smiling to himself. I went red. He was probably thinking Fiona was going to give him a nice big kiss when she saw that brooch, It was me she was going to kiss, not The Copy. At last we reached the football ground. Hodson was just coming out of the changing rooms. ‘Well look,’ he said. ‘It’s little Tim and his twin brother. Brought him to help you, have you?" he said to The Copy. ‘Well, I can handle both of you.’ He screwed up his hand into a tight fist. Suddenly he looked very big. In fact he looked big enough to wipe the floor with both of us. J felt like running for it. So did The Copy. I could sce he was just about to turn around and run off, leaving me on my own. We both turned and fled. Hodson chased after us for a bit and finally gave it away. ‘See you tomorrow, boys,” he yelled. I could hear the other footballers laughing at us. It was humiliating. I knew the others would tell Fiona about what a coward I was. I turned to The Copy. ‘A fat lot of use you turned out to be,’ I said. ‘What are you talking about,’ he replied. ‘You're the one who turned and ran off first. You knew I couldn’t handle him on my own.’ I realised The Copy was a liar. I decided to go home for tea. He walked along beside me. ‘Where do you think you're going?’ I asked. “Home for tea.’ ‘We can’t both turn up for tea. What’s Mum going to sayThe Copy 37 when she sees two of us? The shock will kill her,’ I told him. We both kept on walking towards home. The Copy knew the way. He knew everything I knew. Except what T was thinking. He only knew about what had happened before he came out of the Gloner. He didn’t know what was going on in my mind after that. I stopped. He seemed determined to come home with me. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘Be reasonable. Think of Mum and Dad. We can’t both sit down for tea. You go somewhere else.’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘You go somewhere else.” Finally we came to the front gate. ‘All right,’ I said to The Copy. ‘You go and hide in the bedroom. I’ll go down to tea and afterwards I'll sneak you up some food.” The Copy didn’t like it. ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ he told me. "You hide in the bedroom and I'll bring you up something.’ I could see he was only thinking of himself. This thing was turning into a nightmare. ‘All right,’ I said in the end. ‘You go down to tea and I’ll hide in the bedroom.’ So that is what we did. I sneaked up and hid in my room while The Copy had tea with my parents. It was roast pork. My favourite. I could smell it from my room and it smelt delicious. The sound of laughter and chattering floated up the stairs. No one knew The Copy wasn’t me. They couldn’t tell the difference. A bit later he came up the stairs. He poked his head around the corner and threw me a couple of dry biscuits. “This is all I could find. I'll try and bring you up something later.’ Dry biscuits. I had to eat dry biscuits while The Copy finished off my tea. And I just remembered Mum had been cooking apple pie before we left. This was too much. Something had to be done. Just then the doorbell rang, ‘T’ll get it? shouted The Copy before I had a chance to open my mouth. He ran down the stairs and answered the door. I was trapped. I couldn’t go down or Mum and Dad would sce there were two of us. I could hear a girl’s voice. It was Fiona. A bit later the door closed and all was silent. The Copy had gone outside with her. I raced over to the window and looked out. It was dark but I could38° Enjoying Stories: Book: 1 just see them under the wattle tree. The street light illuminated the scene. What I saw made my blood boil. The Copy was kissing Fiona. He was kissing my girlfriend. She thought he was me. She couldn’t tell the difference and she was letting the creep kiss her. And what is worse she seemed to be enjoying it. It was a very long kiss. I sat down and thought about the situation. The Copy had to be sent back to where he came from, This whole thing had turned out to be a terrible mistake. I had to get The Copy back to the workshop and get rid of him. After about two hours The Copy came up to the bedroom looking very pleased with himself. I bit my tongue and didn’t say anything about him kissing Fiona. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘We can’t both stay here. Why don’t we go back to the workshop and have a good talk. Then we can figure out what to do.”The Copy 39 He thought about it for a bit and then he said. ‘Okay, you’re right. We had better work something out.’ IT snuck out of the window and met him outside. We walked all the way to the workshop in silence. I could tell he didn’t like me any more than I liked him. T took the key out of the kettle and let us in. I noticed the Cloner was still switched on to cory. I went over and turned it on to REVERSE without saying anything, It would all be over quickly. He wouldn’t know what hit him. I would just push him straight into the Cloner and everything would be back to normal. He would be gone and there would be just me. It wouldn’t be murder. I mean he had only been alive for a few hours and he wasn’t really a person. He was just a copy. ‘Look,’ I said, pointing to the floor of the Cloner. “Look at this,’ I got ready to push him straight in when he came over. The Copy came over for a look. Suddenly he grabbed me and started to push me towards the machine. The Copy was trying to kill me. He was trying to push me into the Cloner and have Fiona for himself. We fell to the floor in a struggling heap. It was a terrible fight. We both had exactly the same strength and the same experience. As we fought I realised what had happened to Dr Woolley. He had made a copy of himself and they had both tried to push each other in. That’s why there were two letters. Probably they had both fallen in and killed each other. The Copy and I fought for about ten minutes. Neither of us could get the upper hand and we were both growing tired. We rolled over near the bench and I noticed an iron bar on the floor. But The Copy had noticed it too, We both tried to reach it at the same time. But I won. I grabbed it and wrenched my arm free. With a great whack I crashed it down over The Copy’s head. He fell to the floor in a heap. I dragged his lifeless body over to the Cloner and shoved him inside. He vanished without a trace. It was just as if he had never existed. A feeling of great relief spread over me but I was shaking40 Enjoying Stories: Book 1 at the narrow escape I had experienced. I turned and ran home without even locking up the workshop. By the time I got home I felt a lot better. I walked into the lounge where Mum and Dad were sitting watching TV. Dad looked up at me. ‘Ah there you are, Tim. Would you fill out this application for the school camp? You put in the details and I'll sign the bottom.’ I took the form and started to fill it in. I was looking forward to the school camp. We were going skiing. After a while I looked up. Mum and Dad were both staring at me in a funny way. ‘What's up? I asked. ‘You're writing with your left hand,’ said Dad. “So?” "You've been a right hander all your life.” ‘And your hair is parted on the wrong side,’ said Mum. And that little mole that used to be on your right cheek has moved to the left side.’ My head started to swim. I ran over to the mirror on the wall. ‘The face that stared back at me was not Tim’s. It was the face of The Copy. Reading for understanding 1 What makes this the best day of Tim’s life? 2 Why is Tim concerned about Mat Hodson? 3 What is the usual problem with Dr Woolley’s inventions? 4 What is the secret knock for Dr Woolley’s door? 5 ‘Where's that screwdriver” he said. ‘It’s always getting lost.’ ‘In your hand,’ I told him. What characteristic of Dr Woolley does this incident highlight?The Copy 41 6 Why do other people tend to think Dr Woolley is a ‘dangerous crackpot’? How might the Cloner be used to make Dr Woolley rich? ow Why doesn’t Mat Hodson come after Tim for three weeks? ° What does Tim worry about when no one answers the knock at Dr Woolley’s place? 10 There were two letters to Tim. Do you think Dr Woolley had absent-mindedly written the letter twice, or was one a clone of the other? What are your reasons? 11 What convinces Tim more than anything else that the Cloner ‘was dangerous when it was switched on to REVERSE’? 12 Why docs Tim decide not to go to the police? 13 What is the first indication Tim gets that the Cloner makes mirror-image clones? 14 What causes Tim to take the crazy step of cloning himself? 15 Why can’t The Copy read Tim’s thoughts? 16 Why,doesn’t Tim want both of them to turn up for tea at his place? 17 What finally convinces Tim that he has to send The Copy back where he came from? 18 How does Tim convince himself that it will not be murder if he pushes The Copy into the Cloner? 19 Identify three things you learn about Tim’s character in this short story. What statements or incidents are your supporting evidence? 20 Do you think the ending of this short story is effective? Why or why not?42° Enjoying Stories: Book I Story activity Thinking about themes ‘The theme of a novel, short story, play or poem can be thought of as the writer’s message. What is it that he or she wants to teach us, or have us think about? Listed below are ten possible themes from “The Copy’. You might think some fit the story very well, while others seem to have almost no connection with it. Here is what you are to do. First of all, arrange yourselves in groups of four or five. Your group is to discuss and decide which of the following themes best fit ‘The Copy’. Make sure that you refer to the story for evidence. After the discussion, when the class has reassembled, some members of each group should present their group’s reasons for choosing particular themes. Possible themes in ‘The Copy’ - Even unlikely people (‘skinny, weak, and not too smart’) can have great success at times. n The character of a bully never changes. wo Going too far with scientific discoveries can have very dangerous results. 4 Strange, eccentric people (like Dr Woolley) are often more brilliant than those around them, Friendships will not develop much unless we give time and energy to them. a o Brilliant people usually have poor memories.The Copy 18 7 Greed can cause a person to end up in terrible trouble sometimes, 8 Two cowards are no match for one tough, athletic person. 9 Sometimes when things seem to be going well, disaster is just around the corner. 10 The police should be involved immediately if a person disappears.Rikki-Tikki-Tavi RUDYARD KIPLING Rudyard Kipling’s jungle stories were first published in 1894. They have become classics. Based on his own experiences in India, the stories are full of unforgettable characters suck as: Mowgli, the Indian bay; Kaa, the rock python; Korick, the white seal; and, of course, Rikki- Tikki-Tavi, the amazing mongoose. This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought single-handed, through the bathrooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the muskrat, who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice; but Rikki-tikki did the real fighting. He was a mongoose, rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and his habits. His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink; he could scratch himself anywhere he pleased, with any leg, front or back, that he chose to use; he could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle- brush, and ris war-cry as he scuttled through the long grass, was: “Rikk- One day, a © high summer flood washed him out of the burrow where he lived with his father and mother, and carried him, kicking and clucking, down a roadside ditch. He found a little wisp of grass floating there, and clung to it till he lost his senses. When he revived, he was lying in the hot sun on the middle of a garden path, very draggled indeed, and a small boy was saying: “Here’s a dead mongoose. Let’s have a funeral.” 45