But of course someone did.
I kept my eye on Miss Tarango while the adjudicator was talking. She was chewing on her thumbnail and gripping on to Brother Jerome’s arm. When the result was about to be read out, Miss closed her eyes and lowered her head. I saw her take a long, deep breath and hold it as the winning school was announced. I really wish someone could have taken a picture of Miss Tarango right at that moment. They could have stuck it in one of those visual dictionaries – right under the word ‘Joy’.
22.
DYING IN KEY
We were officially congratulated for our debating victory at a school assembly, but there wasn’t that much time to bathe in all the glory before our next big challenge loomed large. It was the Inter-house Athletics Carnival – the last of the Big Three. If we didn’t do well here, we could kiss Operation Tarango goodbye.
Scobie had the whole of Charlton House revved up for a massive effort. He wanted us all to be ‘point scavengers’ and he enlisted Bill, and Gerard Carlson-Steele, who were both Art and Design students, to create a new house T-shirt for the day. They came up with an all gold one that had on the front the outline of a hand with the index finger pointing skyward. Circling the hand were the words CHARLTON HOUSE – WINNING THE COLLEGE CUP – ONE POINT AT A TIME!
On the back was a silhouette of the cup itself with CHARLTON HOUSE SCAVENGERS at the top and WE FIGHT FOR EVERY POINT! below it. It was a big hit, and our Art and Design teacher, Ms Lagilla, agreed to print them for a cheap price as long as any profits went to her department.
Bill and Gerard also made a special shirt for Miss Tarango. It was the same design as the others but instead of CHARLTON HOUSE SCAVENGERS on the back, it had CHARLTON HOUSE PATRON, and both the drawings of the cup and the hand were decorated with red sequins. Miss Tarango loved it.
On the day of the Athletics Carnival every Charlton member was determined to at least get their ‘one point’ for the team total, and they couldn’t wait to hold up their index finger when they did. Scobie, of course, led by example, even though he failed to reach the qualifying marks in any of the field events and on his last attempt at the high jump actually went under the bar. Razz had quite a bit more success and ended the day as runner-up Age Champion. Even Ignatius, Bill and I managed to scavenge a handful of points between us. Overall we performed solidly in both the track and field events and once again trumped the other houses with overall participation levels.
But our biggest successes came in the final event of the day, the tug of war. This was mainly due to the formidable trio of Bill, Theodore Bungalari and Jimmy ‘The Main Event’ Mainwaring. Even though the new improved Bill was no longer automatic choice for tug of war anchor (that honour now went to Novak ‘Jabba’ Jablonski), his four years of tug of war experience were invaluable. And he was still strong. So were Theodore and the Main Event. Together, with Jabba rock-solid at the end of the rope, they led the Open team to a crushing victory as well as coaching and encouraging all the other age groups to the finals, where we lost only one. When it was all over, Bill and the Main Event engaged in some enthusiastic, celebratory chest-butting, much to the delight of everyone in the stands.
Charlton House came in second, which was a huge result for us. But the following day when Ignatius sat down to give us a brief Operation Tarango update report, for some reason he didn’t look overjoyed.
‘What’s up with you, P-man? Your subscription to PlayGeek magazine didn’t run out, did it?’
‘I’m worried about the athletics results.’
‘Why? We did great. Second! Woohoo! Charlton House rocks!’
‘Yes,’ Ignatius said, ‘but unfortunately Creswell came first and by a good margin. So while we’ve moved clear of Radley and Franklin on the overall points table, Creswell has increased their lead on us.’
‘But we’ve got time to make up the points, haven’t we?’
‘Theoretically, yes. But our margin for error is getting alarmingly close to zero.’
‘What have we got left this term?’ Scobie asked.
‘Well, there’s the six-a-side soccer competition.’
‘No worries, Scobes. Got it covered. Our Open team will blitz them and I’ve been working with a bunch of the Eights and Nines. Some of those little dudes are stars. Tens and Elevens should go OK. We’ll get points back on Creswell there. You’ve got the Razzman’s personal guarantee on it.’
When it came to soccer, the Razzman’s personal guarantee was a blue-chip investment.
‘Right,’ Ignatius said, placing a tick on the sheet of paper in front of him. ‘Then there’s Mr Guthrie’s Food for the Homeless appeal. Points given for the house that donates the most cans of food.’
‘Tick it off, Ignatius,’ Scobie said. ‘Charlton House doesn’t need a points’ incentive to win that.’
‘Well, the only other major item is Arts Week.’
Not surprisingly, Arts Week was St Daniel’s annual celebration of all things arty – music, drama, painting, sculpting, design, you name it. It was held in the last week of term and included displays, performances, competitions and special guests, finishing with an Open Day on the Saturday.
‘What points are up for grabs, P-buddy?’
‘There’s some little things like a painting competition and a junior public speaking competition, but the big one’s the Battle of the Bands. Quite a few points for the taking and the way things stand now, that’s almost a must win for us.’
‘Well, we won last year,’ I said, ‘and we’ve got the same guys, so they should be better. What do they call themselves again?’
Ignatius shuffled through a few sheets.
‘Ah, Dusty Roads.’
Beside me Razz shuddered.
‘Is there a problem, Orazio?’
‘Well they’re good musos, Your Scobeness, but what a waste. That country and western crap they play, man, that’s not music. That’s just someone dying in key. Anything else in Arts Week, Prindabel?’
‘Not really. Here’s the draft of the program Mr Barker gave me.’
Razz took the booklet from Ignatius and began flicking through it. Then he froze.
‘Aww, man!’
‘Something else troubling you, Orazio?’
The booklet came spinning across the table to Scobie.
‘We’re stuffed, Scobes, that’s all. Check out the name of the judge for the Battle of the Bands.’
Scobie held up the program and pushed his glasses back up the short bridge of his nose.
‘Let’s see. Guest judge – Eddie Schneider,’ he read out. ‘Says he’s a past pupil.’
‘See! What’d I tell you?’ Razz said. ‘We’re stuffed.’
Ignatius did the honours of asking the question for the rest of us.
‘Who’s Eddie Schneider?’
‘Who’s Eddie Schneider? What, seriously?’ Razz said, looking around in disbelief. ‘You guys don’t know who Eddie Schneider is? Crazy Eddie Schneider. Lead singer and guitarist for the Filthy Pigs. What rock have you guys been under? Ishmael, as a son of a Dugong you should be ashamed.’
‘The name sounds familiar. But so what? Eddie Schneider is the judge. What’s the problem?’
‘The problem, Ishmael, is that the Filthy Pigs were a heavy metal band, man. They were majorly wild. They had this thing at the end of their shows where they would attack each other with their gear because apparently they didn’t get on. Most people reckoned it was an act, but one time Eddie got smashed over the head with a Fender Stratocaster and spent a week in a coma. When he woke up he couldn’t remember the lyrics to any of their songs. They broke up pretty soon after that.’
‘A touching story, Orazio, but all this concerns us, why?’
‘Well, you tell me, Scobes. Does Crazy Eddie Schneider sound like the kind of guy who’ll dig country and western to you? I mean, do you really think he’ll get off on all that “I love to stroke your hair, ’cause my dog’s got the mange” stuff?’
Maybe Razz had a point.
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‘We have to do something, Scobes. You heard what the P-man said. We need to win the Battle of the Bands to give ourselves any hope of catching Creswell. We have to come up with something.’
We did. Or rather Razz did. And even by his impressive standards, it was pretty bizarre.
23.
A TSUNAMI BRAINWAVE
A couple of days later in Homeroom, Razz informed us enthusiastically that he had ‘kicked our Battle of the Bands problem’s butt’ and that all would be revealed to us at lunchtime. When the time came we gathered at our usual table in the Senior area. All that was missing was the man himself.
‘What do you think it will be this time?’ Ignatius asked. ‘Kept back after the lesson because of (a) his uniform being, damaged, worn incorrectly or missing completely (b) not handing in or completing his class work, homework and/or an assignment (c) falling asleep, talking too much, or generally displaying some sort of inappropriate behaviour in class or (d) all of the above.’
We were contemplating those possibilities when Razz came jogging across the playground to join us.
‘Sorry, dudes. Got held up after Science. Wanted to check a couple of things with Mr Caskell about my draft multi-strand assignment.’
We stared at him. I guess it was going to take us a while to get used to the new and improved Razz. Even though he was getting a lot of help and support from teachers and Sally and everyone around the table, what was really making the difference to his grades was Razz himself.
He looked back at us and brushed his hand over his mouth.
‘What?’ he said. ‘Is there something on my face?’
‘Just the usual stuff,’ Scobie said. ‘So what’s this big idea you said you had about the Battle of the Bands?’
Razz slid on to the seat.
‘Not just an idea, O Cruel Wielder of Unlimited Power, but the mother of all brainwaves – an awesome tsunami brainwave, man.’
I was kind of glad that the new improved Razz was basically a lot like the old Razz.
‘Pray tell,’ Scobie said.
‘Well, first up I went to see those Rusty Toads dudes or whatever they call themselves.’
‘Dusty Roads,’ Ignatius corrected.
Razz did his usual shudder at the mention of their name. ‘Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I told them all about Crazy Eddie Schneider being the judge and how if they wanted to win they had to rev up their performance a bit. You know, go a bit psycho, maybe bite the head off a bat or something. And guess what they said to me? They said they couldn’t do that because it would “destroy their musical integrity”.’
Razz screwed his face up in disbelief.
‘Musical integrity? What musical integrity? They got a piano accordion in their band. A piano accordion! That’s not a musical instrument. That’s an instrument of torture, man. You can make a better sound if you squeeze a pig and stick your fingers in its nose.’
‘Such a beautiful image,’ Scobie said. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘Now, Scobes – and this is where my tsunami brainwave starts to kicks in – what we have to do is get a second band to represent Charlton.’
‘A second band?’ Bill said. ‘Have we got one?’
‘Absolutely we have, Bilbo,’ Razz said, looking around crazily. ‘We’ve got us.’
‘Us?’ we all chimed in like backing singers.
‘Yep.’
‘Razz,’ I said, trying to spell it out as gently as possible for him, ‘besides the very real problem that the Battle of the Bands is what … um, twelve days away … do you see the fact that none of us here is actually in a band as being, perhaps, a slight flaw in your tsunami brainwave?’
Razz shook his head sadly at me. ‘Man, Ishmael, you always gotta go digging for negatives, don’t you, dude?’
‘Actually, Razz, I didn’t have to dig at all. They were right there on the surface and I sort of ploughed straight into them.’
‘I think Ishmael might have a valid point, Orazio.’
‘You too, Scobes? Look, obviously we haven’t got a band now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t put one together, right? It’s heavy metal, punk rock stuff. How hard can it be? Twelve days will be heaps of time. You don’t want to over-rehearse these things, otherwise you lose that rough edge.’
I was still light years from being convinced.
‘OK, let’s just say for the minute that’s even vaguely possible. Who’s in this band?’
‘Well, I haven’t had time to figure out all the finer details yet, but I’ll be on drums …’
There was no problem with that. When Razz filled in at the Dugongs concert, Uncle Ray said that he was a natural and one of the best young drummers he’d ever seen. Of course Uncle Ray also said Razz was a ‘monumental pain in the arse’, but I don’t think that automatically counts against his musical ability.
‘… and Ishmael, you’ll be on guitar.’
‘Me?’
‘Sure. You’re the son of Ronnie “the Red” Leseur aka a Dugong legend, aren’t you? Rock and roll is in your blood, man. And don’t try to weasel out of it because I know you play. I’ve seen a quitar in your room.’
That was true. I’d actually learnt for a couple of years in primary school but it never really interested me until after Dad got the Dugongs back together. Then for the first time I found myself picking up my old guitar and trying a few songs just because I felt like it.
‘So how many chords do you know, dude?’ Razz asked.
‘Not sure. Twenty or thirty. Maybe more.’
Razz looked a bit horrified.
‘Geez, man, you might be overqualified. Doesn’t matter, we can beat that out of you. But anyway, that’s drums and rhythm guitar covered. Now, Iggy baby, you do some stuff with the college orchestra, right? What do you play again, man?’
‘Mainly triangle.’
‘All riiiight! Wickeeeed!’ Razz growled, giving Ignatius the devil’s horns symbol with both hands. Then he sighed. ‘But unfortunately, Prindabuddy, even though the triangle is technically metal, it’s not quite heavy enough metal for what I had in mind. Got anything else for me?’
‘Five years of classical piano.’
‘Awesome, dude! I’ll put you down for electric organ. We’ll borrow one of those portable ones from the Music department.’
Ignatius didn’t have time to object.
‘What about you, Bill? You play anything?’
Bill shook his head.
‘Scobes?’
James followed Bill’s lead.
‘No worries. We got drums and rhythm and Iggy Pop here can add some bass and lead on the organ. Plus there’s our secret weapon.’
‘We’ve got a secret weapon?’
‘We certainly have, Ishmael my main man. According to the rules everyone in the band has to come from the one house but you’re allowed one outside person as long as they’re still at school somewhere.’
‘So have you got a friend of yours lined up?’
‘Nope. I’ve got a sister of yours lined up.’
‘Prue?’
‘Yep, little Prudles. She plays a few things, doesn’t she?’
‘Violin, saxophone and piano.’
‘Well, we got piano covered, but sax and violin are cool. She any good?’
‘She’s a near-genius. Of course she’s good.’
‘There you go. She’s versatile and talented. Plus she has two other things going for her that our band desperately needs. One – she’s a chick. Two – she’s a hot chick. And personally, I don’t think there’s anything hotter than a hot chick playing sax or violin. And I’d be willing to bet my life that Crazy Eddie will totally agree with me.’
‘So you want to exploit my sister just to get some cheap points.’
‘Exactly. OK, we’ve got the players all organised. All we need is a lead singer. Now, the ability to actually sing would be handy, but not essential. What we basically want is someone who can leap around screaming like a maniac out the front. That rules me, I
shmael, P-buddy and Prudles out because we’ll be playing instruments. So what about you, Billy? You’re in the college choir. Maybe you could twirl a few hoops while you sing. It’d be really cool if you could set them on fire.’
‘I think I’m more ABBA than heavy metal, punk rock.’
Razz frowned and pointed a finger at Bill.
‘Kingsley, what’d I say about never mentioning that name in my presence? OK, but I’m putting you down for backup singer and roadie. That leaves you, Scobes. You could do it, man. You’ve got the confidence. You’ve got the charisma. People love you. Please, I’m begging you, tell me you can sing.’
Scobie smiled encouragingly. ‘Not a note,’ he said.
‘What? You’re kidding.’
‘Afraid not.’
‘Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself, man. You don’t have to be that great. Just loud and in tune every now and then. Sing something. Sing the college song. Go on.’
Scobie shrugged his little sloping shoulders and sang.
‘Into battle proudly we go
Facing every fear and foe
All men of St Daniel’s know
We will fight for justice.’
Razz held up a hand.
‘Stop, man, you’re killing the grass! I think someone might be strangling a cow in your throat.’
Sadly, on this occasion Razz wasn’t exaggerating.
‘But fortunately, Scobes, what you have there is definitely the voice of a band manager. Apart from catering for our every whim, you may have to spend a lot of time with Prudles, because she’s the only chick in the band and she might get lonely. How does that sound to you?’
‘When can I start?’ Scobie said.
‘That’s my boy! And we’ll also get you up on stage to mime some backing vocals with Bill. The crowd will love it. Still down one lead singer but,’ Razz said, scanning the tables spread around the Senior area. Suddenly he was on his feet.
‘Bunga! Hey Bunga! Got a minute?’
Theodore Bungalari wandered over to us.
‘Here he is,’ Razz said, ‘the man himself. Every chick’s dream guy. The Smokin’ Gorokan!’