Tigers on the Beach (9 page)

‘I'm sorry about this, Mr Panozzo,' says Nathan, ‘but it's probably best if you let the koala have the pants. I don't think he's going to let go.'

Two children burst into fits of laughter.

‘It's not funny, children,' the mother says.

‘Stop that,' orders the father, even though he's trying to stifle a laugh himself.

‘I am
not
removing my pyjama pants,' says Mr Panozzo.

‘I'm afraid you may have to.' Nathan takes charge. ‘Please, everybody, I think Mr Panozzo would like some privacy.'

The group of holiday-makers turns away.

‘Go back to your cabins,' orders Mr Panozzo.

‘But we want to make sure the bear is all right,' says one of the children.

‘It's not a bear, it's a marsupial,' says Nathan.

‘Please, everyone, return to your cabins,' Mum says. ‘There is nothing to see here.'

This is patently untrue, but people drift away. Mr Panozzo glares down at the marsupial gripping his pyjama leg. Dad races to fetch a dressing gown for Mr Panozzo to wear. With the look of a beaten man, Mr Panozzo lets go of his pyjama bottoms and wriggles out of them. Sure enough, the koala wanders off into the night, one of its claws still gripping Mr Panozzo's night attire. The pants are never seen again. Dad helps Mr Panozzo into one of his old dressing gowns. It's a bad fit.

‘I'll be departing in the morning,' says Mr Panozzo.

‘Please stay,' Mum says. ‘This won't happen again. You'll be able to write your book in peace. It must be interesting, being an author.'

Even Mum, with her powerful people skills, cannot charm Mr Panozzo. But she keeps trying. She asks him what his book is about, and he replies it is a guide to Australian holiday resorts. He's probably lying, but Dad groans.

Once the guests have returned to their cabins, Nathan, Mum, Dad and I wander back from the pine trees. Grandma is watching from her cabin doorway. Nathan is angrier than I have ever seen him. He steps up to Grandma and looks her right in the eye. ‘Your possum trap just caught a koala.'

‘It's not my fault,' Grandma says.

‘Of course it is.'

‘But I didn't want to catch a koala. It's a possum trap. It's got a label saying so.'

‘Unfortunately, koalas can't read,' says Nathan.

‘You shouldn't have set the trap,' says Mum.

‘I didn't,' says Grandma.

‘Then who did?'

‘Stanley Krongold.'

Dad turns. ‘Krongold?'

‘I spoke with him at the store. He doesn't like the possums either. He came and set the trap for me.'

‘Why on earth would you have anything to do with that man?' Dad fumes. ‘He doesn't have a decent bone in his body. He's a liar, a conman, and he's got an orange head.'

Mum rests a hand on Dad's back.

‘Go inside, Ken,' Mum says. ‘I'll handle this.'

‘Can I borrow the torch?' says Xander.

Dad is too muddled to ask why Xander needs the torch, and you should always ask Xander questions like that. He merely hands it over without a word.

Mr Panozzo leaves without paying. He doesn't touch the guest book. What would he write?
A very nice place to visit if you want your pyjama pants stolen by a native bear.

‘Good morning,' says Dad, as I enter the office. He looks as though he hasn't slept.

‘Hi, Dad.'

‘Everything will be fine, Adam,' he says. ‘Don't look so worried.'

‘You're the one who looks worried,' I tell him.

‘No. I'm smiling.'

‘But it's a sort of worried smile, not your usual one.'

‘I must try harder, for the sake of the business.'

‘Dad, a lot of kids at Samsara High have parents who are separated. The teachers keep telling us it's no big deal.'

‘Your mother and I are not planning to divorce. We love each other and we love you boys. I promise.'

I need comfort food. I pull out a packet of chocolate-coated peanuts from the charity box next to the till.

‘You have to pay for those,' says Dad. ‘They're to help the orphans in Sumatra or something.'

‘I will.'

Dad takes a pack too. We chomp on chocolate peanuts.

‘These taste disgusting, Dad.'

‘Well, they've been here a while now. I told your mother we shouldn't have taken that box.'

‘Maybe whoever left it has forgotten about it?' I say. Dad shakes his head. ‘People never forget when it comes to money. Mark my words, we'll have orphans from Sumatra banging on our door one day, demanding money or their chocolate peanuts back.'

‘I think I'll have to spit this out,' I say.

‘It's a shame Stanley Krongold isn't here,' says Dad, chewing slowly. ‘You could spit it at him.'

I spit the peanuts in the bin.

‘Why does he keep coming around?' I ask.

‘He's trying to wear us down.'

‘But he won't, will he?'

‘Never. We are invisible.'

‘That would be cool,' I say, ‘but I think you mean
invincible
.'

Dad decides to spit his peanuts into the bin as well. I am proudly showing Mum my nearly finished Ponderosa website. I am trying to think of FAQs, but I'm struggling. I can't think of any Qs, let alone ones that are FA.

‘Should I mention that there has never been a serious fire at The Ponderosa?' I say.

‘No,' says Mum.

‘What about, “There has never been a major disaster of any sort at the Ponderosa”?'

‘It might be better to focus on other things. Like the beach and the wildlife.'

‘I have described you as cheerful managers. Is that okay?'

‘Of course it is. Even if we're not all that cheerful at the moment. It will pass.'

Sam rings the next morning as I am beating doormats. I imagine that the doormats are Stanley Krongold, which makes my work easier. My pulse races so quickly that I wonder if it's possible to have a heart attack at the age of thirteen years, ten months, three weeks, six days and sixteen hours.

‘How have you been?' I say.

‘Good,' says Sam. ‘You?'

‘I was afraid you wouldn't call.'

‘I said I would.'

‘I know, but things haven't been going that well for me lately. One of our guests had his pants stolen by a koala.'

Sam laughs, even though I don't think it's funny.

I explain about how my parents are arguing, and Grandma is making life difficult and Xander is worse than ever. Sam cuts in.

‘Do you still want to see me play the flute?'

‘Sure. Of course. I want to see you. Even more than the next Star Wars movie.'

‘The woodwind ensemble will be giving a concert this afternoon.'

Sam tells me that they will be playing a selection of popular classics, including ‘Air on the G String' by J. S. Bach. I laugh at the title. Sam groans. Apparently
everyone
laughs when they hear the title. The ‘G String' refers to a string on a musical instrument. J. S. Bach did not, in fact, write a tune to be played on skimpy underwear. I tell Sam that I'll be at the concert, if my assistant managerial duties permit, which I'm pretty sure they do.

‘See you, Adam.'

‘See you, Sam.'

‘Oh, one more thing.'

I pray for Sam to tell me that she has been thinking about me a lot and that she has missed me. Instead she gives me the address of an elderly people's home.

When I ask Dad if I can take the afternoon off, he tells me that if the guests keep leaving, we can
all
take the afternoon off. Twenty silver-haired ladies and two bald men sit on plastic chairs, awaiting their afternoon's concert. The Park Lake nursing home is about to be entertained by
Il Gattopardo Pazzo
. The five musicians sit at their music stands on a small stage. Sam waves to me, the only person in the audience who is under eighty. I give her a little wave back. Sam's tights are blue. I think I like these even more than the red and black ones, and
definitely
more than the green ones. I'm certainly getting to know my tights. As the musicians tune their instruments, the little old lady seated next to me asks who I was waving at. I tell her it's Sam. The lady asks me if Sam is a boy and if I am gay. She must see my look of surprise because she immediately tells me she has a gay grandson and she likes him the best of all her grandchildren. He comes to visit more than all the others. Mind you, all the others are in juvenile detention, so that figures. I tell the lady that I'm reasonably sure I'm not gay although I think my little brother is, and that Sam is actually short for Samantha, the beautiful red-haired girl on the stage. The lady tells me that Samantha is a beautiful name. She adds that her own name is Ethel. I tell her that's a beautiful name too, and she chuckles, shaking her head.

‘It's bloody awful. It makes me sound like a chemical,' she says. ‘Why do so many old ladies have such flipping horrible names? We sound like minerals or nasty organs of the human body.'

I tell Ethel that my name is Adam. She asks if I'm named after the first man in the bible. I explain that I'm named after a cowboy on a TV show. Ethel thinks this is funny. She says that if
she
could be named after a character in a TV show she'd like to be called Flipper, after the famous dolphin. Ethel may be a bit crazy, but I like her.

Their tuning done,
Il Gattopardo Pazzo
starts its first number, ‘The Entrance of the Queen of Sheba'. Ethel taps her foot and nods happily. Sam looks fantastic as she plays her shiny silver flute, even though it dribbles from time to time. The Queen of Sheba takes quite a long time to enter, and some ladies nod off. But they wake up when everyone claps. I ask Ethel how she knows the tune so well. She tells me that she was around when it was written, two hundred years ago. And she chuckles again.

‘Turkey in the Straw' is next. It goes over better than ‘The Queen of Sheba'. Rico the ensemble leader says the audience can get up and dance if they like. Ethel wants me to dance with her, to make all the other ladies jealous, especially Agnes, whom she hates. She forces me to my feet. There's a thirty-centimetre height difference between us.

‘Relax and follow me,' she says.

Ethel reaches up and places her left hand on my right shoulder. She places my right hand on her left shoulder. We then clasp together our other hands and hold them out, rocking to and fro.

‘You're doing very well,' she says.

‘I feel a bit embarrassed.'

‘Don't.'

Other couples join in. There is laughter as a lady tries to get a male orderly to dance with her. The ladies encourage him and he finally gets to his feet. It's as if the ladies have turned into children. They're as happy as can be, dancing to ‘Turkey in the Straw', even though crutches sometimes get in the way. The music finishes and we return to our seats. I see Sam smiling at me.

The next tune is J. S. Bach's ‘Air on the G String'
.
It makes me realise that J. S. Bach is a genius, even if he's lousy at naming his tunes. It's a sweet, sad melody. The mood in the room changes. Everyone looks reflective.

‘This is the music I want for my funeral,' says Ethel.

I tell her it's a good choice. I'd like it for my funeral too.

‘I also want “Da Doo Ron Ron”,' she says.

‘Why?' I ask.

‘Just in case people get too sad.'

After they've played, the five musicians join their audience for tea and pieces of Swiss roll served on paper plates. Xander will only eat Swiss roll if the spiral goes anti-clockwise. I give Sam a friendly kiss. Her lips feel odd. Sam explains that I'm kissing her
embouchure
, the shape her lips have to make so she can play the flute. I say it's the first time I've ever kissed a girl on the
embouchure.
Ethel overhears and bursts out laughing, as if I've said something funny. Maybe I have? Even though the elderly ladies liked the concert, I can tell that Rico is not happy. He's having some quiet words with the skinny emo girl who plays the oboe.

‘That's Trisha,' Sam says. ‘She's a bit of a loony.'

I wonder if Sam is telling me this because she doesn't want me to pay too much attention to Trisha. Sam doesn't need to worry. Trisha is easily twenty years old, which means she's as old as some of my aunties. She also plays the oboe, which is nowhere near as sexy as the flute.

‘Trish is in love with Rico, the bassoon player,' says Sam.

‘The old guy?' I say.

‘He's only forty,' says Sam.

‘But forty is
ancient
.' I'm speaking too loudly.

‘Try eighty-seven,' says one of the old ladies within earshot. ‘I'm older than the pyramids.'

‘Are those two guys gay?' I ask, inclining my head in the direction of the horn player and the clarinet player.

‘They're Oscar and Felix,' says Sam. ‘Yes, they're gay. How can you tell? Is it because they're dressed well? You shouldn't think in clichés.'

‘They're holding hands and they just kissed. It kind of gives it away.'

While Oscar is holding Felix's hand, it looks as though Felix would rather he wasn't. Maybe Felix is worried about scaring the old ladies? He doesn't need to be concerned. The ladies are far too busy eating cake to notice there is some gayness going on in their general area. Even if they
do
notice, I suspect they aren't bothered and it's nothing new for them. After all, I notice that Park Lake has cable television, which means they probably watch HBO where
everyone
is gay.

I try to hold Sam's hand, but Sam lets go because she wants to talk, and she can't talk without using her hands. How come Oscar and Felix are better at holding hands than we are? I wonder if I may be a complete failure as a heterosexual.

‘We played badly,' Sam says.

‘I thought you were great,' I say.

‘Trisha kept missing her cues during “The Entrance of the Queen of Sheba”.'

‘No one noticed,' I say. ‘And your flute sounded amazing.'

Sam is flattered. ‘Really?'

‘You are a brilliant
flauntist,
' I say.

I've been waiting to use this word, having learned from Wikipedia the technical name for someone who plays the flute.

‘
Flautist
,' says Sam. ‘Not flauntist. But it's nice that you looked up the word.'

Now that the function is over, Rico asks Oscar and Felix if they could stack the chairs. Rico can't do it because he has made Trisha cry and feels bad. I offer to help the boys, but Oscar tells me that he and Felix can manage
without
my assistance. He says it in a voice that implies I am prejudiced for believing that gay people are incapable of stacking chairs unaided. However, Felix tells Oscar to take a chill pill.

‘Thanks for offering,' Felix says. ‘It would be great if you could help us.'

I can see why Oscar fell in love with Felix. If I were gay, I would too.

The three of us stack chairs while Sam packs up her flute. As she wipes her instrument, she watches us and smiles. I'm happy that I have become a part of Sam's life, even if it is not yet a major part.

Sam and I are biking back to her place after the concert. A big blue-tongue lizard is sunning himself in the middle of the road, oblivious to the danger. I can't leave the blue-tongue lying on the road where a car might run over it. I tell Sam we have to stop. We leave our bikes in the spinifex alongside the road. Sam watches as I creep up on the blue-tongue. I know the correct way to move them. You grab them, not too tightly, just behind the earholes. They always hiss but you shouldn't be afraid, because they can't bite you when you hold them like this. I pick up the lizard. He's a real beauty, more than thirty centimetres long. Carefully, I move him away from the road, and place him in a sunny patch of spinifex, well out of the way of cars. I've probably saved the lizard's life but he just hisses at me ungratefully.