Tigers on the Beach

Doug MacLeod is an award-winning Melbourne writer of books and TV. His most recent books are
The Life of a Teenage Body-Snatcher
, a CBCA Honour Book in 2012, short-listed for the Victorian Premier's Literary Awards and the Aurealis Awards, and
The Shiny Guys
, short-listed for the 2013 CBCA Book of the Year Awards. He has also written and produced TV shows such as
Fast Forward
and
SeaChange,
and worked as script editor on three seasons of
Kath and Kim
. In 2012 he wrote the book and lyrics for
Margaret Fulton: Queen of the Dessert
, a musical about the life of the Australian cookery icon.

dougmacleod.com.au

The Birdsville Monster

Sister Madge's Book of Nuns

On the Cards

Tumble Turn

Spiky, Spunky, My Pet Monkey

I'm Being Stalked by a Moonshadow

Leon Stumble's Book of Stupid Fairytales

Kevin the Troll

The Clockwork Forest

Siggy and Amber

The Life of a Teenage Body-Snatcher

The Shiny Guys

My grandpa tells jokes. Some are ridiculous and rambling, like the one about the boy born with a screw in his belly button. He goes to every doctor in the land to try to remove the screw, but no one can help him. One day, the boy meets a brilliant wizard who hands him a magic screwdriver, but he must not use it until the night of a full moon. The boy waits. Finally, when the moon is full, he takes out the screwdriver. It fits the screw perfectly. He turns and turns. The screw miraculously twists out of his belly button. Then the boy pulls out the screw and his bum falls off. Okay, you've probably heard it. It was written by Oscar Wilde. At least, that's what Grandpa told me.

Some of Grandpa's jokes are short and stupid. ‘What do you get if you cross a parrot with a lion?' ‘A very fierce pet that sits on a perch and screeches, “Polly wants a zebra.” ' I especially like that one.

He has other jokes that you have to think about. ‘Two goldfish were in a tank. One said to the other, “How do we drive this thing?” ' No one ever laughs at that joke. They just sort of smile and nod when they get it. Come on, it took you a moment, didn't it?

And some of Grandpa's jokes are about Grandma.

‘I've been married to Doris for fifty years and I don't regret one day. The one day I don't regret was in 1989 when she stayed at her mother's.' This is one of those jokes that are funny to me because it could
almost
be true.

Grandma can be difficult. She gets grumpy. She likes animals, but she's not crazy about pet owners who don't put bells on their cats to warn native birds of their approach. Grandma is good with computers and doesn't like it when people assume she isn't. She's short, tubby and has silver curly hair, so she looks like sweet grandmothers the world over. But don't get her started on cats without bells.

We spend the first Sunday of every month with Grandma and Grandpa. Mum calls these days ‘meaningful family outings'. She says they help to keep the family together. Usually we have picnics in the park at nearby Carlington. There are hedges there, trimmed to look like dinosaurs. Someone must have thought this would make a good tourist attraction, but the park is usually deserted, except for one day a year, when everyone goes dinosaur mad and you'd swear that hedge dinosaurs were the best things in the universe.

As usual, Grandma is driving us to the park in the SUV. Unlike Grandpa, she likes to drive. Today she nearly hits a pedestrian in the Carlington shopping strip. We're all a little shaken, but not Grandma.

‘Not my fault,' she says.

‘Doris, please try not to run people over,' says Grandpa.

‘He was a jaywalker,' says Grandma.

‘It's still against the law to run him over,' says Grandpa. ‘If you end up in prison I'll have to visit you on weekends and I couldn't bear all those female crims undressing me with their eyes.'

‘You're a nong, Reginald,' says Grandma. ‘A total nong.' She says it with affection, the way she often does when she calls Grandpa names.

‘Sadly, Doris, you're correct,' says Grandpa.

The sign with its peeling paint says,
Welcome to the WORLD-FAMOUS Carlington Dinosaur Park. WORLD-FAMOUS
is overstating it. I'd be surprised if anyone in Paris or Rome has heard of the Carlington Dinosaur Park. The hedges need a trim and the dinosaurs look shaggy.

We lay out the picnic blanket near the hedge shaped like an apatosaurus. (Grandpa corrected me when I called it a brontosaurus. ‘Brontosaurus' is Latin, apparently, for ‘wrong name'.) Mum and Dad take out containers of meat and cheese while Grandma slices bread. Gulls gather, hoping for food scraps. When they get too close, Grandma glares at them and they back off. Grandpa chuckles. He says that Grandma's glare is one of the most powerful things in the world. Mum isn't bossy like Grandma, but she can do the glare as well. Believe me, you do not want to see it. A gull suddenly drops from the sky into the sea and I wonder if it's dead because Grandma glared at it.

Grandpa gazes at the nearest dinosaur hedge. ‘What's the point of planting a perfectly good tree if you're going to trim it so it looks like something else?' he asks. ‘What's wrong with trees that are tree-shaped?'

Nobody answers. We're used to Grandpa asking questions like this, that aren't supposed to be answered. They're usually good questions, nevertheless.

Mum and Dad start making ham and cheese sandwiches for everyone, except my little brother Xander. He has to make his own sandwiches, because he has special requirements. On a Xander sandwich, the cheese and the ham need to be perfectly square, and positioned so that they are exactly parallel to the bread. The slice of cheese must be slightly bigger than the ham, which always rests on top, so that the ham has an even yellow border like the
National Geographic
trademark. When Xander builds his sandwich it's like watching a scientist at work. Xander's Asperger's syndrome makes him brilliant and clumsy and focused and funny and annoying all at the same time. We have to be patient with him. If you don't look out for him, he walks into trees. Seriously, he has tree blindness.

We eat lunch and Grandpa asks more questions without answers. Xander drinks green lemonade too quickly and burps loudly. Grandpa laughs and does the same.

‘Could we please act like
civilised
people?' Grandma says. Then
she
burps as well, which catches her by surprise. Xander laughs so much that he spits lemonade everywhere. Some of it lands on Dad. There are little green droplets in his eyebrows.

‘I do enjoy these meaningful family outings,' sighs Dad, wiping his face.

‘Did you know that the apatosaurus had two brains?' says Grandpa, studying the hedge. ‘One in its head and one in its tail.'

‘Well, that's two more than you,' says Grandma, not unkindly.

‘I wonder if the brains ever had arguments with each other,' says Grandpa. ‘What if the tail-brain wanted to go in one direction, but the head-brain wanted to go in the other? Would the apatosaurus divide in two?'

‘Don't be a gibbon,' says Grandma.

‘Perhaps that's why the dinosaurs died out?' Grandpa continues. ‘Maybe they weren't destroyed by the ice age at all? Maybe they all split in half?'

‘But then there would be heaps of fossils of half dinosaurs,' I say. ‘And there aren't.'

‘Quite correct.' Grandpa decides to abandon his theory. ‘Let's go to the beach.'

‘It's too soon after lunch,' says Mum.

‘You'll get crabs,' says Xander.

‘
Cramps
,' Mum corrects.

‘I still think we should go to the beach,' says Grandpa, ‘even if we don't swim.'

Grandpa, Dad and I wander off to the beach together. Xander stays behind with Grandma and Mum. I hear him ask Grandma if he will go bald like Grandpa. She tells Xander that he shouldn't worry about it at such an early age but that yes, he probably will.

A fresh bunch of seaweed has washed up on the sand. There is a newly dead puffer fish, blown up like a balloon. I'm grateful that Xander isn't with us. He'd probably want to take it home.

Grandpa squats to inspect it. ‘Fascinating creature, isn't it? All puffed up and poisonous like that. Reminds me of Doris. It could be her identical twin sister.'

‘I'll tell Doris you said that,' says Dad.

‘Go ahead,' says Grandpa.

‘She'll clobber you.'

‘If she does, I'll divorce her and marry the fish.'

Grandpa and Dad laugh. Sometimes I think that Dad is in love with Grandpa. They behave like naughty kids when Mum and Grandma aren't around. Dad looks a bit like Grandpa, even though they are not blood relations. My father is short and he's losing his hair. He was handsome ten years ago. It doesn't take men long to lose their looks, especially if they work in the hospitality business, like my family does.

The dead puffer fish no longer interests Grandpa.

‘I couldn't live with a dead fish instead of Doris. I'd miss the companionship, not to mention the arguments.' He turns to Dad. ‘I've always admired you and Georgia. You
never
argue or seem stressed. I'm sure I couldn't run a place like The Ponderosa.'

‘We like meeting new people,' says Dad.

‘I couldn't bear that. Dealing with new people every day. It would be a nightmare.'

‘I'm sure Doris would hate it too,' says Dad.

‘She'd probably bite the guests,' says Grandpa.

More laughter from Dad and Grandpa. We come to another bunch of fresh seaweed. Among the slimy golden strips are little seaweed blooms, capsules of thick gooey stuff that snap off neatly and can be hidden in the hand. It's as if Mother Nature has provided for free something you'd have to pay for in a practical joke shop. I bend down and snap off one of the fattest seaweed-sacs. I squeeze it and its tip bursts with a satisfying popping noise. I cup my hand and hold it over my nose, squeezing out the slimy contents of the burst capsule.

‘I seem to have a serious sinus problem,' I say, as the gunk drips down.

‘What a foolish boy you are,' says Grandpa.

Dad agrees, pretending to be serious. ‘I don't know where he gets it from.'

‘It doesn't look at all convincing,' says Grandpa. ‘Just you watch this.'

Grandpa fossicks and finds some different seaweed, bright green in colour. He pulls off one of the seaweed-sacs and holds it to his nose.

‘If you're going to do the trick properly, you need to use the right type of seaweed.'

He bursts the sac in his hand and a torrent of opaque green stuff flows down. He's right. It looks much more effective. Trust Grandpa to know a trick like that.

‘Thanks for the advice,' I say.

‘You're mostly welcome,' says Grandpa.

‘Come on, let's head back,' says Dad.

‘Let's walk for a little longer,' says Grandpa.

‘You two keep going if you like,' says Dad. ‘I'll see you back at the hedges. I need to use the comfort station.'

Dad walks off and Grandpa chuckles to himself. ‘Comfort station. Who comes up with these names?'

I don't answer because I know I'm not meant to.

‘Adam, I notice you've started shaving,' Grandpa says. ‘You've nicked yourself in a couple of places.'

I touch my face. ‘Is it obvious?'

‘You're very vain for a young man who's happy to show me his sinus problem. No, it isn't obvious.'

‘Xander keeps stealing my shaving cream. He fills balloons with it. Then he lets the balloon go so it sprays shaving cream all over the bathroom. I hate sharing with him.'

‘I think it's time you had your own room.'

‘So do I. Xander should be in a cage.'

‘Shaving takes lots of practice,' says Grandpa. ‘When I was young I was always giving myself nicks with the razor. To stop the bleeding I'd put on a little piece of toilet paper. Or
comfort-station
paper, as your father would say.'

It's hard to believe that people went around with toilet paper on their faces, but Grandpa insists it's the truth.

‘People weren't so vain back then. When I first met your grandmother at a bus stop, I had two pieces of toilet paper on my face. It didn't matter, because a lot of the other boys did too. But I was the one your grandmother decided to talk to. Later, when I asked her why she decided to speak to me instead of all the other boys, she said it was because I had a superior brand of toilet paper on my face. Two-ply was her favourite.

‘I liked Doris from the very start. There was a glow around her. An aura. Did you know I can see auras?'

‘I don't even know what an aura is.'

‘Colours around people,' says Grandpa. ‘Sometimes I see colours. I must have mentioned it.'

‘You haven't,' I say. ‘I would have remembered.'

‘Perhaps I was afraid you'd think I was doolally.'

‘I would never think you are doolally. At least, not until I knew what the word means.'

‘I think you can guess.'

‘I can.'

‘I don't see auras around
everyone,
of course. That would drive me crazy. And I don't think I'm crazy. Do you?'

‘I didn't,' I say, ‘until you started talking about auras.'

‘Disrespectful child!' Grandpa pretends to be cross. ‘I hope your nose drops off and is eaten by a seagull.'

‘What about me?' I ask. ‘Do I have an aura?'

Grandpa narrows his eyes and looks mildly surprised.

‘Yes, you do. I've never noticed it before.'

‘What colour is it?'

‘Purple. Same colour as your grandmother's.'

By now I'm sure that Grandpa is pulling my leg, but I continue the conversation in absolute seriousness.

‘Does Xander have an aura?' I ask.

‘I've never seen one around him. But I'm sure it's a very complicated one.'