Edsel Grizzler (2 page)

J
ust as he often did after school, Edsel dropped in to Nicks ‘n' Nacks on the way home for a bit of a poke around, after stopping briefly outside the skate shop to peer longingly through the front window at the Gary Fletcher board he'd wanted for so long.

It had taken his parents a long time to agree to him stopping off at the Grabbits' old junk shop. They'd wanted him to come directly home after school each day, but after a lot of pleading and maybe even a bit of sulking, he'd managed to convince them.

‘So long as you're careful of spiders,' Dad had said. ‘Spiders like to hide in those sorts of places.'

‘And be careful when you move stuff around,' Mum added. ‘You don't want something heavy falling on your head.'

‘And don't open anything that looks suspicious.'

So far Edsel hadn't come across a single spider, hadn't pulled anything down on his head, and hadn't seen anything even slightly suspicious.

This day Edsel came in and saw Mrs Grabbit sitting behind the counter with a transistor radio pressed to the side of her head. She could be found there most days, listening to the horseracing, with the reedy voice of the race announcer droning along in a frantic kind of way.

‘Hello, Mrs Grabbit,' he said. ‘Where's Pete?'

‘Shh! I'm listening to the horses!' She jerked her thumb towards the rear of the shop. ‘He's out the back working on the ute, I think.'

‘Thanks.'

‘Shh!'

Leaving Mrs Grabbit to her horses, Edsel went through the warehouse, between the dusty furniture and the piles of nicks and the crates of nacks, and out to the yard behind the shop.

Pete had his head under the hood of his old ute. This wasn't an unusual situation for Edsel to find his friend in – that truck seemed to spend more time broken down than it did actually running.

‘Pete,' Edsel called.

Pete looked up. ‘Hey, Edsel.'

‘Ute broken down again?'

Pete rolled his eyes. ‘I'm getting too old for this.' He stood up and stretched his back. ‘Time for a new truck, I think. Oh, hey,' he said, brightening suddenly, ‘we got some new stuff in today, and there was something that you might like the look of.'

‘Yeah? What is it?'

‘That's just the thing – I'm not exactly sure. In fact, I'm not even slightly sure. Do you want to take a peek?'

‘Yeah, all right.'

He followed Pete inside. ‘Cool! New stuff!' he said, spotting the fresh pile of junk by the door. There was a velvet-covered bedhead, an old pair of brown hi-fi speakers, a zip-lock plastic bag of Monopoly houses and hotels, and a few other bits and pieces. But what really caught Edsel's attention was … a
something.

This something was roughly the size of a large wheelbarrow, and shaped like half an egg. Standing high on three spindly chrome legs, it appeared to be made of the same kind of material as bathtubs and vanity basins. Recessed into its outside, just below the rim, was a chrome handle, like you might find on the door of an old car, and beside the handle, embossed into the surface, was a small, simple logo: a curly V with a slightly distorted oval around it.

Edsel stretched up to look into this mysterious something. He was a little intrigued when he saw what could only be called a cockpit. It wasn't
much
of a cockpit, but it did have a seat, and a joystick, and a large green button, right in the middle of the dashboard. And beneath the green button was a small opening, bigger than a keyhole but smaller than the drawer in a DVD player.

‘Is that what you were talking about?' he asked Pete.

‘Yup.'

‘What is it?'

Pete shrugged. ‘Not sure. I thought you might know.'

‘Is it one of those coin-operated ride things, like you see at the supermarket?' Edsel suggested.

‘There's no slot for the money. Or a power cord.'

‘You know what it looks like? I reckon it looks like an inside-out bath.'

Pete grinned. ‘Yeah, it's weird, huh?'

‘What's this mean?' Edsel leaned closer to the side of the strange object, examining the logo. ‘Have you seen this? What brand is that?'

Pete shrugged, and grunted. ‘Never seen it before in my life.'

‘How much do you want for it?' asked Edsel, who'd just had a terrific idea, but was trying not to get too excited. It was sure to be more than he could afford.

‘I don't know. I haven't talked to my mum about it. Haven't had a chance, with the races on.'

‘Yeah, she wasn't very talkative when I came in.'

Pete leaned closer, and lowered his voice. ‘You know what, Edsel? You can have it, if you like I'll even take it home for you, so long as I can get this stupid ute going. But we'll have to wait till the next race,' Pete added. ‘We'll do it then, when Mum's not paying attention.'

As soon as the next horse race was underway, Pete and Edsel shifted the egg-shaped thing out of the shed. It was a lot lighter than Edsel had expected it would be, and in a very short time it was sitting proudly on the back of Pete's ute, held in place with a couple of frayed occy straps.

Twenty minutes and a couple of minor breakdowns later, the object had been deposited safely on the front lawn at Edsel's house. It stood there in the middle of the yard like some kind of weird roadside monument to alien bathroomware. Edsel stood back, crossed his arms and smiled. ‘Yes, perfect,' he said.

‘What are you going to do with it?' Pete asked.

‘Don't worry, I've got a plan.'

T
he first part of Edsel's plan involved him digging about in the back shed for a large piece of board, on which he painted
SPACESHIP RIDES – 50c FOR 5 MINUTES
in large red letters. Then he leaned the board against the Egg, sat down on the front step, and waited.

It didn't take very long for his first customer to arrive. It was Hoagy Wendl, a funny little redheaded kid with a lisp, who lived three doors up on the other side of Bland Street. He was rattling by on his bike, but he almost fell off it when he saw the sign.

‘Hey, Edsel!' he called, his brakes squealing, his saliva spraying all over the place. ‘What's that? Is it a real spaceship?'

‘Yeah, I think so,' Edsel replied. ‘It just landed this afternoon. I got home from school, and there it was.'

‘Where's the spaceman from it?'

‘Dunno,' Edsel replied with an exaggerated shrug. ‘Gone, I think. Would you like to have a go?'

‘I haven't got any money, but I can go back to my place and ask my mum for some,' Hoagy said.

Edsel had an even better idea. ‘Why don't you see if you've got some friends who'd like to have a go? If you can find three friends, I'll let you have a turn for free.'

‘Wait there, Edsel,' Hoagy said, before rattling off down the street like he was being chased by a swarm of angry bees. Meanwhile, Edsel went into the garage and found an old blue milk crate, which he set down beside the Egg for a step.

Five minutes later, Hoagy Wendl was back with not three, but five little pals. ‘I'm first, aren't I, Edsel?' he asked, standing close to the Egg and touching it cautiously with one finger.

‘Yep, you sure are,' Edsel replied. ‘Go on, Hoagy, in you get. And don't forget your space helmet,' he added, handing Hoagy an old bike helmet, which he'd covered with several layers of aluminium foil.

Soon Hoagy was sitting high and proud in the cockpit of the Egg, a silver space-helmet on his head, wiggling the joystick around, pressing the big green button, and making shooty noises in the back of his throat. All too soon his five minutes were up, and he climbed down with a sheepish little look on his funny freckly face. ‘That was awesome, Edsel!'

‘I'm glad you liked it. You can have another turn in a minute, if you like.'

By the time it started to get dark and the little kids had begun to drift away to their houses to have their dinner and watch bad TV, Edsel had made over $5. He turned the sign over and painted
SPACESHIP CLOSED
on the other side. Then he smiled to himself. He had some grand additions for his master plan, but for that to work there was something else he had to take care of.

He'd just stuffed his earnings into his pocket and was about to head off to the local corner store when he heard his mother calling from inside. He sighed. It would probably be some kind of very safe chore she wanted him to do.

‘What?' he shouted.

‘Can you come here for a minute?' she called back.

He sighed again, dropped his bike by the front door and went inside, shuddering with revulsion as he went past the big butterfly beside the door.

Mum was in the kitchen, dusting icing sugar over a tray of cupcakes she'd just taken out of the oven. ‘Edsel, is there something you need to give me?'

He thought for a moment. Had she read his mind? How did she know what he was about to go and buy? ‘I don't know – is there?' he asked at last.

‘A letter from the school, maybe?' She pushed back her hair with her wrist, leaving a patch of flour on her ruddy cheek.

‘How … how would you know about a letter from the school?' he asked.

Mum looked up at him, her face was stern. ‘Just a feeling I had. Plus a phone call from Mr Sullivan. So, do you?'

‘I'll go and get it,' he muttered, trudging off to his room. He took the letter out of his bag, carried it back into the kitchen and dropped it on the table like it was some kind of bad luck charm. ‘Why doesn't anyone trust me?' he muttered. ‘I would have given it to you.'

‘Would you? Would you really?'

‘Probably.'

‘Honestly, Edsel, I'm not angry, but what if it was important, like some … I don't know … immunisation information, or something about keeping kids home from school because there's a teacher strike, and no teacher supervision?'

‘Mum, it's not about anything like that.'

‘Off you go,' she muttered, running her finger around the edge of the mixing bowl and licking it, before wiping her hands on a tea towel. Then she picked up the envelope.

‘I'm going to the corner shop for a second, Mum.'

She glanced up at the clock on the wall. ‘All right. Don't be long. And don't talk to—'

‘I know, Mum. I'll see you in a bit.'

The local corner store sold everything from lollies and ice-creams and magazines to nappies and cooking oil and toothbrushes. But Edsel wasn't there for any of those things.

‘Hello, Mr Waldon,' he said to the man behind the counter.

‘Good afternoon, Edsel,' Mr Waldon replied, closing his newspaper and forcing a smile, which quickly changed into a scowl. ‘You can't bring that dog in here.'

‘What dog?'

‘That
dog,' Mr Waldon said, nodding towards the door. A large, stupid-looking brown dog with a chunk missing from one of its ears was sniffing around the doorframe.

‘That's not my dog,' Edsel said.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Of course I'm sure. I've never had a dog. My parents won't let me.'

‘Really? Why not? Are you allergic?'

‘Maybe. But it's the hydatids, mostly.'

Mr Waldon frowned. ‘Who are the Hydatids?'

‘It's not who, it's
what
are the hydatids. They're like this tapeworm thing that dogs can give to people. They grow in your liver or something. It's horrible, apparently. Sounds horrible, anyway.'

‘Hydatids. Never heard of them.'

‘Oh, they're real things,' Edsel said. ‘Just ask my mum.'

‘And your parents won't let you have a dog because it might give you these worms?'

‘Yeah.'

‘That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.'

‘Plus a dog could maul me to death.'

Mr Waldon looked at the big dog in the doorway, and snorted. ‘Like
he'd
ever maul anything. Might lick you to death, but …'

‘And then you'd get hydatids, see?' Edsel shrugged. ‘So no dog for me.'

‘Fair enough,' Mr Waldon said, and coming around the end of the counter, he poked the dog away with the toe of his shoe. ‘Go on, you big lug, get lost.'

The dog looked up at him with tragic eyes, then wandered out onto the front step, and flopped himself down across the doorway.

‘Close enough. So, Edsel, what will it be today?'

Edsel went over to the bunches of flowers, which were lined up on a rack next to the DVDs. ‘How much are these?' he asked, picking up a dozen white and pink roses.

‘Six dollars for those beauties,' Mr Waldon said.

Edsel screwed up his nose. ‘They're looking a bit tired.'

‘Oh, I don't know – I think they're all right.'

‘What will they be like tomorrow?' Edsel asked.

Mr Waldon shook his head grimly. ‘Oh no, they'll be no good by then.'

‘What time do you close today?'

Mr Waldon glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘In about half an hour. And I've got to close up on time tonight – I'm taking the missus to the movies.'

‘Hmm,' said Edsel, scratching his chin. ‘I'll tell you what – I'll give you $2 for this bunch.'

‘How's three sound?' Mr Waldon replied, and Edsel nodded and smiled, since that was the figure he'd had in mind all along.

As soon as he reached home, he followed the smell of baking to the kitchen, where his mum was wiping down the benches with small, absent-minded strokes. A rich fruitcake sat cooling on the table.

‘Hi, Mum, I'm back,' Edsel said. ‘I got something today.'

‘What have you brought home now?' sighed Mum, who was familiar – if not completely at ease – with Edsel's System.

Edsel hesitated. He still didn't know what the egg-like thing out on the front lawn actually was. ‘I'm not sure,' he admitted after a moment. ‘But I do have a plan.'

‘Is it dangerous?'

‘No.'

‘Is it in the driveway?'

‘No.'

‘Is your father likely to trip over it?'

‘No, Mum.'

‘It's not in the door of the garage, is it? He won't be happy if he can't get to the Corsair.'

‘No, Mum, it won't be in the way at all.' As he said it, Edsel stuck the bunch of roses under his mother's nose.

Mrs Grizzler hadn't been given roses since she and Mr Grizzler had gone on their first date, and even then he'd only bought them to get rid of the flower lady at the Chinese restaurant.

‘Oh Edsel, they're
lovely!
she gushed, burying her face in the petals. ‘Oh, and the perfume!'

‘So, Mum, can I leave the—'

‘Oh yes, of course you can,' she replied, waving him away casually, and with a dreamy expression, she wandered off to find a vase. ‘Just don't make a mess.'

‘Thanks, Mum.'

Edsel had one more job to do before he could call it a day. He took a large piece of cardboard and on it he painted:
SPACE DRINKS – MARS RED, NEPTUNE BLUE, 20c EACH.
Then he leaned the sign against his bedroom wall to dry and went to have a shower.

As he was putting on his pyjamas, Edsel heard his father come home. ‘Tilda, what's that in the front yard?' he shouted as he closed and locked the door behind him.

‘It's all right, Barry, I said it was okay,' Edsel heard his mother reply, and he smiled gently to himself, knowing that the $3 he'd spent on those slightly wilted roses would turn out to be worth every cent.

‘Whatever it is, it looks a little unusual,' Dad said. ‘Where is the boy, anyway?'

‘He's in his room, I think.'

‘You
think?
Could you be a little more certain, Tilda?'

‘He's somewhere in the house, Barry. After you've seen him, come and sit down and I'll bring you a cuppa.'

Edsel was at his desk, about to apply some touch-up paint to a couple of toy cars when his father came to the door.

‘There he is! Whatcha doing, boy?' his father asked.

‘Painting.'

Dad's voice changed immediately. ‘What sort of paint is it, son?'

Edsel held up the tiny can. ‘Just touch-up paint.'

Dad took the can and turned it over in his hand, looking for the information panel. ‘I hope this isn't lead-based,' he said. ‘How old is this can?'

Edsel took it back and put it on his desk. ‘It's just hobby paint, which I bought yesterday. Seriously, Dad …'

‘All right, all right, don't get defensive. I just don't want you exposing yourself to dangerous substances. Old paint can be full –
full
– of lead.'

‘Like what's all over that crappy old car in the garage?'

Dad sighed and loosened his tie. ‘Why do you have to make it so hard, Edsel? I just don't want you to get hurt. Ever.'

‘I won't, Dad.'

‘All right, son. I'll be up to tuck you in at ten. And don't forget to lock your window.'

Later that evening, just before ten o'clock, Edsel had just climbed into his bed and pulled up his quilt when he heard a noise in the front yard. Throwing off his covers, he went to his window and looked down, and through the security bars he saw a shadowy figure standing by the Egg. It was a short, squat kind of figure, the kind that Edsel immediately recognised to be that of Kenny Sampson, who lived across the street. Edsel sniffed and climbed back into bed. He'd deal with
that
little problem tomorrow.