Ishmael and the Return of the Dungongs

  Razza gasped in exaggerated horror and placed the diary slowly back on the desk as if it were nitroglycerine.

  ‘There – you happy?’

  I nodded and waited for my heart to stop bouncing around like a Lotto ball in my chest.

  ‘Look,’ Razza said calmly, ‘didn’t you just say you wanted to know what Kelly really thought about you? Well … I bet the answer is right here.’ He placed his hand on top of the diary and flicked the pages casually with his thumb.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘You heard what Sally and Phoebe said. Kelly writes in it all the time. We’re all in there somewhere. I’m just saying if you really wanted to find out what she thinks about you …’

  ‘Razz, it’s Kelly’s personal diary-her private thoughts. There’s no way I would read that. No way. It … it wouldn’t be right. It’d be … wrong. Tell me you’re not seriously suggesting I read her diary.’

  Razza reacted as if he’d been accused of war crimes. ‘No!’ he said, looking wildly around the room. ‘No, of course not! What do you think I am? No way am I suggesting that you read Kelly’s diary … No, no way … Just a leeeeeeeetle bit of it, that’s all,’ he said, holding up his thumb and index finger and moving them together so that they almost touched.

  ‘What!’

  ‘Dude, chill out, OK? It wouldn’t be like you were reading the diary. You’d be just … gathering necessary information. See … it’d be more like … like … research. That’s it, research – the same thing you do for the debating team all the time. Yeah, just imagine the topic is That Kelly Faulkner has the hots for Ishmael Leseur and you need to get some supporting evidence, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. This is unbelievable, even for you. You’re actually calling poking around in Kelly’s most private thoughts research?’

  ‘Sure … and anyway, you’ll be doing her a favour.’

  ‘Doing her a favour!’

  ‘Yeah. Look, if you read the diary and find out she’s hot for you, then you can go for it and you’ll both be happy, right? Then again, if you read the diary and find out that the sight of you makes her want to up-chuck, then you can stop harassing her and she’ll still be happy plus you won’t make a complete idiot of yourself. See what I’m getting at, man? It’s a win, win, win, win situation.’

  ‘Razz, it doesn’t matter how you explain it, you’re asking me to read Kelly’s personal diary and I’m not going to do it.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do anything, dude. I’m just pointing out to you a window of opportunity, that’s all.’

  Razza picked up his backpack and leant in close to me. ‘Look, she’d never know, man, so what’s the harm? Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll hang around right outside the door. I can see the stairs from there. Soon as I see feet coming down, I’ll thump on the door and give you plenty of warning. No sweat. You can’t get caught. It’ll just take a couple of seconds and then you’ll know exactly what Kelly thinks about you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Well, here’s your window of opportunity, man. Here’s your chance to climb right through. Up to you, of course … but I know what I’d do.’

  He stepped outside, then stuck his head back through the narrow opening of the door. ‘I’ll be right here,’ he said with a wink then added, ‘She’ll never know, dude.’

  When the door clicked shut I was alone – alone, that is, except for a small red book that could tell me the one thing I desperately wanted to know.

  34.

  A BOTTOM–DWELLING SCUM–SUCKER

  No way! I told myself. No way was I going to read Kelly Faulkner’s diary.

  I sniffed at the thought of it, pushed my jumper into my backpack and hoisted it over one shoulder. The diary was there on the desk in front of me. I reached out and felt the soft velvety suede with my fingers. I glanced over at the closed door. No way!

  If Razza thought I would read Kelly’s diary, he was dreaming. See, I could even pick it up and hold it in both hands and not be tempted to flip it open and start poking around inside … even though what I wanted to know so badly was just a few easily flicked pages away. I turned it over a couple of times. I tugged gently at the thin red ribbon that marked the last entry. The diary edged open. I saw some words. No way!

  I pulled the ribbon a little harder. The diary sort of opened itself … just like it wanted to be read. I saw some cute drawings … poems … and words … lots of words. But I didn’t read any of them. No way!

  I slammed it shut. I shot another look over at the closed door. The cover felt smooth and soft in my hands. I opened it up again and flipped back a few pages towards the date when we met at Sally’s place. I wasn’t reading. I was researching. Researching about love. Yes, that’s right. I was a serious researcher in the web of love. Either that or a bottom-dwelling scum-sucker. Who, me? No way!

  That was it. No more. I’d decided to close the diary for good when one last page fell over – and I saw ‘Razza’ in capital letters followed by some writing. The words ‘crazy’ and ‘hilarious’ caught my eye and something about Sally. No, what was I doing? This was wrong, wrong, wrong! I made up my mind to stop, to walk away. But then … there it was. My name in capital letters at the bottom of the page. No way …

  My heart was climbing up into my throat. My eyes drifted down. I began to read.

  ISHMAEL

  I always thought Ishmael was a nice guy especially after what he did for Marty – though I must admit, some pretty weird things seem to happen to him – eg Sally’s pool! But now that I’ve got to know him a bit better, I think that he’s …

  This was key information for my research – crucial. I was about to turn the page to read the rest of the entry when I heard the door squeak open.

  ‘Ishmael, your …’

  Kelly Faulkner’s smile collapsed as her eyes dropped down to her diary. I slapped it closed. It tumbled from my hands. I snatched at it and caught it with the second grab. I stood there with it clutched in my hands. Some of the pages had been creased and buckled.

  ‘… mother’s … here …’

  I stood deathly still. There was no other option. I was dead anyway. I watched as Kelly’s face knotted in confusion. She looked at me like a little girl who’d just been robbed by the Tooth Fairy.

  ‘You’re reading my diary?’ It wasn’t really a question. More a statement of utter disbelief.

  ‘No … I … It’s not like that … I … I just … I … I …’

  ‘You’re reading my diary,’ Kelly stated again, this time as bluntly as a prosecuting attorney.

  ‘Well yes, but … I’m not … It’s not … what you think … I … I … I …’

  Kelly cut through me with her ice-blue eyes and they were cold and hard and sharp. ‘You’re reading my diary,’ she said finally, as if all her emotions had been drained from her.

  ‘Kelly … I … I didn’t read much … really … hardly anything … I …’

  She walked over slowly and took it from me. She kept her head bowed as she opened it, carefully unfolded the creased and crumpled pages and closed it up again.

  ‘Kelly … I’m sorry … I … I …’

  And that’s when my evil fairy godmother granted my wish because Kelly Faulkner raised her head, looked deep into my eyes and spoke my name with real passion.

  ‘Piss off, Ishmael,’ she said, and left.

  35.

  BUMMER!

  ‘Man, I just cannot believe you read her diary!’

  I’m telling you now, that if it hadn’t been for the fact that it was Mr Barker sitting behind the teacher’s desk and we were supposed to be working quietly, it’s highly likely that Razza would, at that moment, have been extracting my Social Studies textbook from deep within a cavity of his body not normally associated with reading.

  ‘What!’ I whispered back between clenched teeth as I ducked down behind the ample cover provided by Bill Kingsley. ??
?The whole thing was your idea, remember. Just read a little bit, you said. It’s only research, you said. I’d be doing her a favour, you said. It’s what you’d do, you said.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s right, I’d do it, sure. I just didn’t believe that you’d do it. Man, sprung reading Kelly’s private stuff – bummer!’

  There was a scrape and shuffle of sound from the teacher’s desk and we both buried our eyes in our textbooks and did a furious pantomime of note-taking. I knew I’d regret telling Razza what happened on the weekend, but he’d been pestering me all morning to explain why Kelly had acted so strangely as we were leaving. I’d finally cracked just before Mr Barker marched in for first lesson.

  When it seemed safe to continue I crouched down a little and turned to Razza. ‘Hey Razz, by the way, can you run through that win, win, win, win situation just one more time for me? I think I may have missed something. Like the bit where I become the world’s biggest loser.’

  ‘Well, don’t blame yourself-it was just bad luck.’

  ‘Blame myself? Blame myself? I’m blaming you! What happened to I’ll be right outside the door? I’ll give you plenty of warning? Don’t worry, you won’t get caught?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I had to take a leak, didn’t I? And anyway, who would’ve thought you of all people would read some chick’s private diary?’ Razza clicked his tongue. ‘Geez, I gotta be honest with you, man. As far as you and the Kelster go, this is a mega setback.’

  I glared at the bobbing head beside me. ‘Setback!’ I hissed. (Yes, I really did hiss.) ‘Setback! The Titanic and the iceberg – that was a setback. The Alamo – that was a setback. Custer at Little Bighorn – they were all setbacks. Me getting caught with my nose stuck in Kelly’s diary-that’s a disaster! Oh, and just in case you were wondering, there were no survivors.’

  A slight screeching noise came from the front of the room. Mr Barker had pushed his chair back from the desk and was looking in our direction. Razza immediately became intensely interested in his textbook while his finger tracked swiftly along the lines of words. Then he frowned and stroked his chin and gazed off into the distance as if he were contemplating the greatest mysteries of the universe. Finally his face lit up like a light bulb and he jabbed his index finger into the air to signal some burst of inspiration. This was followed by a flurry of scribbling in his notebook. All in all it was the worst display of over-acting since Roger Rabbit tried out for the lead role in Hamlet.

  It seemed to do the trick, though. Mr Barker shifted his chair forward and returned to the papers he was marking. I decided to try to block the diary disaster from my mind by burying myself in the thrilling and fascinating world of the federal parliamentary system. My efforts were interrupted by a nudge on my arm.

  ‘Hey Ishmael, I just remembered. I brought this back for you.’

  Razza dug down deep into his shorts pocket and pulled something out. He sneaked a look at Mr Barker then handed it over. It was the Dugongs cassette he’d borrowed.

  ‘Man, you know these guys are pretty cool. Not exactly my thing, but they’re tight all right and some of their stuff really rocks. Anyway, I hope your dad doesn’t mind, but I made my own copy. I’ve been using it to …’

  ‘Mister Zorzotto!’

  The entire room cringed. Mr Barker’s voice had that effect.

  ‘Would you mind coming out the front and bringing whatever it is you and Mr Leseur are so taken by?’

  My heart tore away from my chest cavity and did a base dive to the pit of my stomach. Every eye in the classroom followed Razza as he moved down the aisle and placed the cassette on the desk in front of Mr Barker.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Zorzotto.’

  As Razza slid in beside me I watched Mr Barker pick up the tape and slowly turn it over in his hand. He looked our way. ‘Mr Zorzotto and Mr Leseur-you will both be remaining behind when the class is dismissed.’

  Razza continued to pretend to read his textbook as he whispered out of the side of his mouth. ‘Now that’s a disaster.’

  And for the first time that morning, the Razzman and I were of one mind.

  36.

  THE TOWERING INFERNO

  Razza and I kept working as the rest of the class filtered out of the room.

  Then Mr Barker called us over to his desk. ‘Mr Zorzotto, Mr Leseur, I trust that the sound of all your classmates working quietly and diligently during that lesson didn’t spoil your conversation too much?’

  ‘No sir, no worries,’ Razza said without thinking. ‘Well … not that we were really having a conversation or anything like that. I was just asking Ishmael about … you know … the stuff we were reading about.’

  ‘And exactly which “stuff” might that have been, Mr Zorzotto?’

  ‘Well, sir, mainly … you know all that stuff about … the government … and how there’s local, state and feral government … and how they … govern … and stuff …’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Zorzotto,’ Mr Barker said with a thin smile. ‘For a moment there I was worried that my teaching wasn’t making a real difference to the world, but just being in the presence of such a knowledgeable, articulate young man like yourself, I can see I was mistaken.’

  ‘Gee thanks, sir. I’ve learnt heaps of stuff in your lessons.’

  ‘Don’t mention it … to anyone … please.’

  Then Mr Barker held up the cassette. ‘Now, explain this to me, Mr Zorzotto, and how it came to be in your possession.’

  ‘Well sir, I wasn’t doing anything really. I was just giving it back to Ishmael, because he lent it to me on account of his dad’s in the band and I …’

  Mr Barker’s head swung my way. ‘Your father was in the band?’

  The intense glare of Mr Barker’s eyes made me want to deny that I even had a father, but before I could come up with an answer he’d levelled his index finger at me. ‘Leseur … yes, yes of course … Leseur. I don’t believe it. You mean to say that your father is … the Towering Inferno?’

  Razza and I exchanged a look. It was obvious to both of us that the pressure of being Deputy Principal at St Daniel’s had taken its toll and that poor Mr Barker had finally gone barking mad. I was just hoping that things didn’t turn really nasty before the guys in the white jackets showed up. I smiled nervously at the pair of crazy eyes before me.

  ‘The Towering Inferno,’ Mr Barker said again as if that would help. ‘That’s what they called him because of the red hair … and because he was so tall.’

  Razza and I looked at each other and then back at Mr Barker.

  ‘Your father … Ronnie “The Red” Leseur … lead singer of the Dugongs.’

  ‘You know them sir?’ Razza asked.

  ‘Know them? Of course I know them. During my university days the Dugongs were huge. I’ve got a vinyl copy of this album at home – more scratches than grooves now.’

  Mr Barker stared at the cassette case and seemed to drift away in his own thoughts. ‘We used to travel miles to see the ‘Gongs. They were fantastic … “Dead Toad Society blues”, “Bad day for angels”, “Collision course” … Great days … magic days …’

  Mr Barker stopped and looked up at Razza, whose mouth hung open like the loading door of a cargo plane. ‘Yes, Mr Zorzotto, as impossible as it may be for you to comprehend, there once was a time in my life when I used to be a human being.’

  ‘Really sir?’ Razza said with perhaps a tad too much amazement.

  ‘Yes, really,’ Mr Barker growled, morphing for a moment into his old self.

  ‘No, sir … what I meant was … that it’s really good … ’cause I think they’re pretty cool too. That’s exactly what I was telling Ishmael when you … You know, when you … Anyway … I think it’s wicked that they’re getting back together again.’

  ‘The Dugongs are reuniting?’ Mr Barker fired the question at me.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘When? Where?’

  I hadn’t seen Mr Barker this excited since the day he put an entire busload of boys o
n afternoon detention for unruly behaviour.

  ‘In about a month … somewhere in town. They’re having a big meeting this weekend to sort it all out, tickets and stuff.’

  ‘And they’ve got all the original members?’

  ‘Except the drummer.’

  ‘Yes … Yes, of course … a terrible thing …’

  Mr Barker was lost in his thoughts for a moment before snapping back to life. ‘Mr Leseur, you must promise to do something for me under pain of death.’

  I agreed. It was no big deal. I just naturally assumed that everything you did for Mr Barker was under pain of death.

  ‘You must keep me informed about the reunion. I want to know the minute tickets become available. Do you understand?’

  ‘No problem, sir.’

  Razza and I just stood there for a while as Mr Barker twirled the cassette case in his hands, every now and then either nodding or shaking his head.

  ‘Um … can we … go now, sir?’

  ‘Oh … right … yes … Yes, Mr Zorzotto … Yes, you both may go.’

  Then Mr Barker seemed to climb back into his old skin before our eyes. ‘But be warned, I shall be checking your notebooks thoroughly tomorrow, so make sure everything is up to date. And in future if you waste your time chatting during my lessons when you should be working, you can expect a lunchtime detention. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ we said together.

  ‘And of course I will have to confiscate this. You may pick it up at the front office at the end of the week, Mr Leseur. Good morning, gentlemen.’

  We left Mr Barker huddled over his desk still gazing at the old cassette.

  Outside, Razza looked at me in amazement. ‘Are you on drugs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Me either. So unless we’re both having exactly the same dream, it means that what happened in there really did happen.’

  I knew what Razza was getting at. It was like I said. You just couldn’t trust people any more to behave the way they were supposed to. The list was growing. I could add Mr Barker to Barry Bagsley, my father, and Scobie. It was as if I had entered another dimension and was living in the Twilight Zone.