Lancelot - The one-armed Kangaroo Page 5

  The kangaroos had returned to their resting place after a long, painstaking search for food. They collapsed onto the hot soil, exhausted and starving. The yield was not great. Hardly worth mentioning. Rosebush’s uncle had taken the mob to the other side of the hill, hoping to find grass in spots shaded by eucalyptus trees. All they could find was a small bunch of lean grass between rocks, withstanding the heat. It provided just one stem for each kangaroo. Truly not enough to fill a hungry stomach.

  Rosebush was trying to get some sleep. But the lamenting and the overwhelming rumbling of empty stomachs kept her awake. Nevertheless she forced herself to shut her eyes. She could not bear to look at the starving kangaroos any longer. Many were in a pitiable state. The features in their faces were subsiding and their bodies thin, exposing the rib bones thrusting through the dusty coat.

  “It can’t go on like this anymore“, one kangaroo wailed. “I’m not sure if I will be able to walk again tomorrow. There is no energy left in my legs.”

  Rosebush wanted to shut her ears when a flurry suddenly ripped through the mob, alarming every single kangaroo. One after the other stood up and hopped to the edge of the resting place. Once there, some pricked their ears and some threw their paws over their heads. Soon the flurry turned into a tumult. What was going on? What did the kangaroos see? Rosebush asked herself, squeezing through the mob. And there he was! Lancelot! Standing in front of the mob. He was proud, his chin high up. Nevertheless, Rosebush could see a tiny bit of fear in his eyes.

  “It’s the young man with only one arm,” one kangaroo said.

  “Where is his funny hat?” another one asked.

  “What do you want?”

  “There is no grass left for you.”

  “Buzz off!”

  “Unbelievable.”

  “Crikey!”

  “Hold it!” the uncle shouted. “One at a time! I cannot hear my own words. What is going on?”

  The mob took a step back, letting the uncle come forward. Lancelot wished he could run away. But he promised to himself to be brave and pinched himself, making him aware of his promise. The uncle growled at him, his voice deep and harsh. Lancelot was awestruck. He felt his blood curdle in his veins.

  “How dare you come here.” The uncle raised his arm, turning his paws into giant fists. “I‘ve warned you, you little nothing. Now, there is no way out for you anymore. You’ll have to wrestle with me.” He took a step forward, threatening Lancelot with his fists when Rosebush hopped between them.

  “No, dear uncle, no,” she said, pleading. “You mustn’t fight with him. It’s not fair. He is not as strong as you are.”

  The uncle faltered, so did the mob, looking at Rosebush in disbelief. They were not sure what she was talking about. Eventually one kangaroo said:

  “She’s right. It’s not fair to challenge someone who is weaker than you.”

  “He only has one arm anyway. How is he supposed to wrestle with you?” another kangaroo intervened.

  “He is not worthy your almighty strength.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t wrestle with him.”

  “I wouldn’t either.”

  “No way!” shouted another one and everybody shouted and yelled at the same time.

  “Definitely not me.”

  “Never in my whole life.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Crikey!”

  “Hold it!” the uncle commanded. “One at a time!” He took a good look at Lancelot. His glare firm and dark. He inspected him from tip to toe, then again, from toe to tip. Clearing his throat he said: “He is indeed a child. I don’t wrestle with children.”

  “Bravo!” the mob cheered. “Bravo!” Clapping their hands.

  “Quiet!” the uncle commanded. He bent over Lancelot, whispering in his ear: “You little rascal. I will let you go now, before I embarrass myself again in front of my mob. But remember this: next time, when you are by yourself, I will have no mercy on you. Do you understand? Now, hit the road. Beat it!”

  Lancelot would not listen. The uncle’s words did not impress him. He simply ignored him. He turned, leaving the uncle bewildered, and faced the mob.

  “You have helped me when I needed help. You gave me grass so I would not starve. Now it’s my turn to help you.”

  The kangaroos burst out laughing.

  “How? With only one arm?”

  “I know about a paddock full with grass,” Lancelot said.

  “Bigmouth!” The kangaroos booed. “We know that paddock too well. Do you really believe we all want to get shot?”

  “I’m not talking about the neighbour’s paddock. I’m talking about my own. It belongs to me. It’s my very own paddock.”

  Oh dear! That was a big fat lie. However a necessary one. Therefore, it was rather a white lie, shutting up the mob.

  “You have your very own paddock?” the uncle asked, surprised and amazed.

  “It’s not far from here,” Lancelot said, gesturing to the valley below. “It’s where Bill and Emmy live. My parents. They don’t mind if you graze in my paddock. They love kangaroos. My paddock is huge. The grass is very juicy and sweet. It tastes better than anything else you have ever had in your mouth. There is so much, nobody needs to starve ever again.”

  “Don’t tell us fibs,” the uncle said. His voice angry, threatening.

  “I’m telling the truth. I shall be struck by lightning and my only arm shall burn to ashes if I have lied to you.” He lifted his arm, exposing it to the wide-open sky.

  “Oh”, the kangaroos said in chorus, followed by a silence. Nobody dared to breathe. Even the crickets stopped chirping. The flies, having buzzed around the whole time, held tight onto their wings. Lancelot felt uneasy. He was tempted to take down his arm and hide it behind his back, like a coward. The kangaroos looked up into the sky, frightful, fearing it could discharge powerful lightning at any minute. Lancelot felt the urge to pinch himself again, making himself aware of his courage. However, it was not possible. He only had one arm, stretched out into the cloudless, deep blue sky. Time seemed like an eternity until Rosebush said:

  “I believe him.”

  “Me too,” a kangaroo agreed.

  “I’m starving,” lamented another one.

  “I need food,’” demanded a third.

  “Me too.”

  “Let’s go to the paddock.”

  “It’s our last chance.”

  “We don’t want to die of hunger.”

  “Hold it!” the uncle shouted. “One at a time! It’s still my job to decide where and what we eat.” He walked up and down in front of the mob, his steps heavy. In between, he glanced at Lancelot, suspicious. His paw curled into a fist by his chin he seemed to think hard. Eventually he said, “Considering the famine threatening to kill us all, I herewith, as the chief, command that we move to the paddock of this young man.”

  Cries of joy swept through the mob. Despite their bodies being weakened by starvation, the kangaroos hopped and jumped as if they were Ping-Pong balls skipping over a shiny hard timber floor. Hugged each other, relieved and glad that the famine seemed to have ended. Rosebush gave Lancelot a hug, nearly squashing him, and said:

  “I always knew that you are someone special.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Boo! Bah!

  Lancelot walked ahead. Rosebush on his side, holding his paw. Followed by the uncle and the mob. There was no hopping or jumping. Everybody walked carefully along the steep and rocky path, making sure not to leave the slower kangaroos behind. To make sure the Joeys would not fall out of their pouches the mothers had a firm grip on them, with one paw. The other paw felt for rocks to make sure they were not to bang against them. Some kangaroos sang a sentimental song about green meadows and glassy rivers. Others had stuck their heads together, whispering and murmuring:

  “What a pity he doesn’t belong to us.”

  “Look, how he is holding the little girl’s paw.”

  “They would be a nice couple.”

  “If he only had both arms.”

  “One arm or two. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I am only saying that—“

  “My grandmother only had one ear. It didn’t make her any worse or better than you.”

  “It’s alright. Calm down. I didn’t really mean it.”

  “Crikey!”

  “Lancelot,” Rosebush whispered, so her uncle would not hear what she was saying, “Did you really tell the truth? You have never mentioned your paddock when we were together.”

  “It doesn’t only belong to me,” Lancelot admitted. “I share it with the horses. Promise me you will not go near them. They are easily scared and they will kick you. It hurts heaps.”

  He was proud of himself. Besides his effort to rescue the kangaroos from starving, he had achieved exactly what he had in mind for his future. Rosebush’s uncle denied his wish to be part of the mob. Fair enough. However, there was nothing stopping the mob becoming part of his life, on the farm. On top of that, Lancelot did not have to miss Emmy, Bill and Meryl Sheep. Both worlds unified in one place. His place. Meryl Sheep will continue to give him advice; Bill and Emmy will feed him apples, pears and apricots; Rosebush’s uncle will teach him many tricks and, best of all, Rosebush will be by his side forever. Lancelot could not think of a more wonderful resolution.

  The kangaroos approached the spot where the path would take them along the forest, and, on the other side of the path, along the nasty neighbour’s paddock. The singing and murmuring ceased in an instant. Nobody dared to say it: to walk along this strip was very, very dangerous.

  “Keep calm,” the uncle said, summoning the kangaroos to walk on. Obeying, but struck by fear, they now crawled over the rocks.

  Lancelot let go of Rosebush, needing his arm to su
pport himself. Rosebush stopped walking. She waited until the last kangaroo had passed by, before she sneaked up to the fence that protected the nasty neighbour’s paddock from intruders. She pushed her paw through the tight mesh, trying to pick some grass. A shot fell, slicing through the tense silence. The bullet whizzed over Rosebush’s head, very close. It hit a rock and ricocheted into the kangaroos, which froze, ridden with fear. Panic broke out. Chased by another round of shots the kangaroos scattered in all directions, screaming. They tumbled over rocks and pushed each other out of their way, trying to find cover in the forest where they could hide from the dangerous bullets behind trees and boulders.

  “Rosebush,” screamed Lancelot, “Where are you?”

  More shots followed. One after the other bullet whizzed through the forest, between the trees, buzzing and humming like a swarm of angry wasps.

  “Is anybody hurt?” the uncle asked, lying on the ground. His arms over his head, protecting himself from the bullets.

  “I’m still alive,” one kangaroo shouted from behind a tree.

  “Me too,” shouted another one.

  “Nothing happened to me,” said a third one, until everybody else, all at once, shouted at the uncle, voicing their wellbeing. But one voice was missing.

  “Rosebush!” yelled Lancelot, looking from behind a boulder. He could see her, on the other side of the path in front of the fence, crouching.

  “Lancelot. I am scared,” she called out.

  Without hesitation, Lancelot leapt through the rain of buzzing bullets and plunged himself next to Rosebush onto the ground. Her body was shaking. Lancelot put his arm around her, pushing her deep into the grass. A new round of shots hit the ground, showering their faces with chunks of soil.

  “It’s the nasty neighbour. He will shoot us all,” Rosebush wept.

  The shooting stopped. Lancelot lifted his head and saw through the grass the nasty neighbour standing in the middle of the paddock, loading his gun.

  “Quick. To the other side,” Lancelot whispered and pulled Rosebush behind a trunk. Shortly after, another round of shots pierced the air, hitting exactly the spot where Lancelot and Rosebush had just been hiding.

  “He doesn’t know that we are behind the trunk,” Lancelot said. “Don’t be afraid. I have a plan. I will distract him. As soon as the air is clear, you have to run, with your uncle and the mob. As fast as you can. My paddock is very close, right after the first crossroads. There you will be safe. Don’t wait for me. I’ll see you in the paddock.”

  He crawled through the fence and disappeared between the tall grasses. Rosebush lost sight of him but knew, judging by the rocking stems of grass, that he was heading for the nasty neighbour. The nasty neighbour was not aware of Lancelot’s moves. He was busy loading his gun. Lancelot tiptoed around him in a wide circle until he stopped right behind his back. He lifted his head, his eyes above the tall grass. Rosebush’s heart throbbed and nearly stopped beating when Lancelot waved at her, with a big grin on his face. He jumped up, flung his arm around and roared into the nasty neighbour’s ear:

  “Boo!”

  The nasty neighbour froze, his shotgun falling to the ground. Lancelot plunged back into the tall grasses. He dashed around the nasty neighbour and popped up in front of him, straight up to his face. This time he poked his tongue at him:

  “Bah!”

  The nasty neighbour struggled to catch some air. It took a while for him to recover from the big scare Lancelot gave him. Time enough for Lancelot to run deeper into the paddock. Then again, he jumped up and roared:

  “Boo!”

  “You watch, you little rascal. I will get the better of you,” the nasty neighbour said, picking up his gun and firing a shot at Lancelot. But Lancelot, again, had already disappeared in the tall grasses. The bullet went astray. To the nasty neighbour’s surprise, Lancelot popped up in a completely different, unexpected spot, and again, roared:

  “Bah!”

  The nasty neighbour fired his gun again. Yet again, the bullet went astray because Lancelot had once more disappeared, just in time. So it went, on and on, and on. Once here, another time there, deeper and deeper into the paddock, Lancelot jumped above the tall grass, roared Boo and Bah, and the nasty neighbour shot at him but the bullet went astray.

  Rosebush realized that Lancelot was luring the nasty neighbour to the far end of the paddock. Far away from the kangaroos, hiding and fretting in the forest. She pinched herself, wanting to get rid of her fear. It was important to show some courage, as Lancelot did. He risked his life for her and for the mob. Rosebush hopped back onto the path and shouted to the kangaroos:

  “Follow me. We must not waste any more time. Quick.”

  The kangaroos dashed back onto the path, reckless. Nothing else mattered more than getting to Lancelot’s paddock, as fast as possible. They ran faster than they ever had in their wildest dreams. Forgetting the rocks beneath their feet, cutting deep into their coat. The slowest had become the fastest. They encouraged each other, yelled and shouted:

  “Faster! Faster! Faster!”

  The rumbling and rustling grew louder, sounding like a stampede. Elephants, bulls and rhinos racing through the jungle, as one big herd. Magpies and Cockatoos darted out of the trees, shrieking. Opossums held tight to their branches, bewildered. Wombats, rabbits and mice rushed into their holes, panicking. The mob finally approached the crossroads leading to the farmhouse, next to Meryl Sheep’s paddock. Meryl Sheep’s chin dropped as she watched the kangaroos passing by, leaving her behind in a cloud of dust. Emmy and Bill came out of the kitchen, unable to grasp what was happening in their garden. Thirty kangaroos squeezed themselves onto the tiny lawn, hopping in a circle, at a loss.

  “Is this the fabulous paddock your little friend promised us?” the uncle asked.

  “I hope not,” Rosebush said, breathless, and nearly tripped over the garden hose. “Lancelot said there were horses in the paddock.”

  “Horses?” the uncle repeated, shocked. “I never liked horses.”

  “It’s them. The kangaroos we saw in the forest,” Bill said, plunging into the midst of the mob. Why he did this, he did not know. However, it frightened the kangaroos. Scattering, they now bumped into each other.

  “Oops,” one said.

  “Ouch,” the other.

  “What does he want from us?” everybody else asked, trying to get away from Bill.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Emmy said. “Stop it right now. You are scaring them. Can’t you hear the shooting coming from Mount Pear? The kangaroos are trying to run away from it. We must help them. I will open the gate to the horse paddock. Show them the way.”

  Bill had no idea what he was doing. He was as panicky as the kangaroos hopping and running in circles, and kept on throwing his arms over his head. But Rosebush noticed Emmy running down to the horse paddock, and shouted to the mob:

  “Follow me!”

  As soon as Emmy had opened the gate, the kangaroos stormed into the paddock. Bill ran behind. Emmy did not see him coming and closed the gate. Bill could not stop on time. He bumped into the heavy steel bar and flew across, falling on his bum right between the kangaroos.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, startled, and scratched his head.

  The kangaroos could not believe their eyes when they found themselves in the midst of juicy grass.

  “I think, I’m crazy,” one kangaroo said.

  “This is paradise,” another said.

  “Am I dreaming, or what?” one asked.

  “I have never seen anything like it.”

  Nobody dared to touch the grass. Aghast, they stared at the abundance of grass. They looked at each other in awe. A Joey leaned over the edge of its pouch, stretched its little arms and picked some grass, shoving it into its mouth without hesitation.

  “Yum,” it said. “It tastes yummy.”

  The kangaroos looked at each other one last time, and with a hunger as big as a giant haystack, they plunged into the grass. Picked, plucked, munched and chomped. A herd of pigs could not have done it more noisily.

  “Delicious,” they raved, with their mouth full.

  “Heaven!”

  “Look, how much there is.”

  “As far as you can see.”

  “We are safe. We never have to starve again.”