Selby Sorcerer (10 page)

‘Did you hear that someone has invented an extra-long aeroplane?’ asked Gary Gaggs, the Trifles’ old friend and famous comedian.

‘An extra-long aeroplane?’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Did they really?’

‘Yes. It’s so long that while the back part is still taking off from Sydney the front part has already landed in Melbourne.’

‘Oh, Gary,’ Mrs Trifle laughed. ‘That’s terrible — and silly.’

‘But it made you laugh, so I’ll use it in my show. How about this one? A kid gets to school at eleven o’clock and his teacher says, “You
should have been here at nine” And the kid says, “Why? What happened?"’

‘That one’s even worse,’ Mrs Trifle said, laughing out loud.

She was sitting at the dining room table opening envelopes while Selby lay on the carpet biting his tongue to keep from laughing at Gary’s jokes.

‘If Gary gets any funnier I’ll have to go outside,’ he thought.

‘What’s your new comedy show going to be called?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

‘I’ve called it
But Seriously, Folks’
Gary said. ‘And guess what? It’s already sold out. Everyone in Bogusville is coming to see it. What are those?’

‘Poems,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘They’re for
Rhyme Time
— the annual poetry reading.’

Gary picked one up and read it out loud.

‘I don’t know if that’s supposed to be funny but it is,’ Gary laughed. ‘I could almost use it in my act.’

‘Now, now, Gary, it may not be great poetry but I’m sure it came from the heart. That’s what really matters,’ Mrs Trifle said, picking up another envelope. ‘Goodness, this one was lucky to get here. It doesn’t even have a stamp on it. It’s called
It Happened at Bogusville Creek’

‘Can I read it?’ Gary asked.

‘Hey, that’s my poem!’ Selby thought. ‘Oh, I hope he doesn’t make fun of it.’

Gary started reading it to himself.

‘This one’s a bit different,’ Gary said. ‘Let me read it to you.’

‘It’s very touching,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It really shows the power of poetry.’

‘It certainly does,’ Gary agreed. ‘And it says that it’s based on a true story. It doesn’t say who wrote it though. It just says, “Anonymous".’

‘A very shy person, no doubt,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘People who write poetry are often shy, sensitive and even secretive — the three Ss.’

‘Yes, well I
am
kind of shy,’ Selby thought. ‘And sensitive. And I certainly am secretive.’

‘Some of them are a bit
silly
too,’ Gary said. ‘So what happens to these poems?’

‘Some get read out on the radio. Then on Saturday night we have our big
Rhyme Time
reading when they all get read.’

‘But that’s the night of my comedy show,’ Gary said. ‘Couldn’t you have it on some other night?’

‘No, it’s always on the first Saturday in May. But don’t worry, we’re lucky if a dozen people show up.’

‘They liked my poem!’ Selby thought, a little later when he was alone. ‘And it was the easiest one I ever wrote. Oh, I can’t wait to hear it on the radio.’

The next morning when Mrs Trifle was out at work and Dr Trifle was in the workroom, Selby secretly turned on the radio just in time to hear
It Happened at Bogusville Creek
read out.

‘That was sooooo great hearing someone else read it!’ he thought. ‘And I think he was touched by it. He got all sniffly.’

The first thing Mrs Trifle did when she got home from work that day was to turn on the radio.

‘Quick! Listen to this!’ she said. ‘They’re about to read
It Happened at Bogusville Creek
again.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Dr Trifle said.

‘The poem I told you about.’

‘Yes, by the way, more poems arrived in the mail today.’

‘People have been ringing the station all day asking to hear it again,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘Shoosh.’

Selby and the Trifles listened as Selby’s poem was read again.

‘Gosh,’ Dr Trifle said, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. ‘That’s a very touching poem.’

‘We understand it’s based on a true story,’ the reader said. ‘We don’t know who wrote it but if you’re listening, Mr or Ms Anonymous, please ring us and tell us what finally happened to poor little (
sniff)
Baby Roo and his mother.
Those gentle hearts
a-breaking. Wonderful.’

‘I love it!’ Selby thought. ‘I must be a great poem writer. Hmmm. I wonder if I should ring the station when the Trifles are at the movies tonight?’

But the Trifles didn’t go out. Instead they went to bed early. And Selby crept into the study and turned on the computer.

‘Instead of ringing, I’ll just finish off the poem and send it to them,’ he thought. ‘Let’s see now …’

Selby read and re-read his poem.

‘That’s what really happened — but it’s boring,’ he thought, as he hit the DELETE button. ‘I’ve got to make it more exciting. I said it was
based
on a true story. It doesn’t have to be
completely
true.’

Selby worked and worked into the night, his claws clicking furiously on the keyboard. Finally he finished the poem.

‘Now to slip it in with today’s poems,’ he thought.

The next morning Mrs Trifle dashed off to the radio station and delivered the new poems on her way to work. And once again Selby found himself listening as they were read out.

‘And wasn’t that wonderful?’ the reader sighed after reading
It Happened at Bogusville Creek Part Two.
‘From the moment the handsome stranger plunged into the raging creek to swim across and rescue Baby Roo it really got to me. My producer tells me that listeners are phoning in asking for us to read both parts of the poem together. We’ll do that in about an hour.’

Once again that night Selby worked into the
wee hours. The words to the third part of his now famous poem poured from his brain, down through his paws and onto the keyboard.

‘This is sooooo much fun,’ he thought. ‘I just love being a poet.’

When he finished he slipped the poem in with that day’s poems.

The next evening, after Selby had heard his poem read out four times, Mrs Trifle came home in a terrible state.

‘Half of the council workers didn’t come to work today,’ she said. ‘Apparently they were at home listening to this
Bogusville Creek
poem on the radio — over and over again.’

‘Were they really?’ Dr Trifle, who’d only heard it twice, asked.

‘Yes, and all around Bogusville things have gone crazy. Farmers are stopping their tractors and builders are walking off their jobs. And I heard that Lili, the hairdresser, walked out right in the middle of a haircut and went home. The Poshfield bus had its radio on and the driver was so touched by the poem that he had to stop the bus. Everyone had to get out and walk.’

‘I’ve never heard of anything like this,’ Dr Trifle said.

‘Neither have I,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘It’s like a song that suddenly shoots to number one and has everyone humming it.’

‘I’ve got the whole town eating out of the palm of my paw!’ Selby thought. ‘I’d better write another bit.’

Later that night Selby and the Trifles watched a panel of poetry lovers discussing Selby’s poem on TV.

‘As I understand this poem,’ said Phil Philpott, the owner of The Spicy Onion Restaurant, and part-time poet, ‘the stranger survives the swim across the swollen creek and grabs Baby Roo. But then he plunges into the creek again to get the joey back to his mother. Was that wise?’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Melanie Mildew, gardener and part-time actress. ‘But I wonder if the poem is really about a mother and baby kangaroo separated by a creek?’

‘What else could it be about?’

‘About the harshness of the land. The creek is
life itself — one minute peaceful, the next minute a raging torrent that could sweep you away. Do we give up at the first sign of hardship or do we plunge in and struggle against the current?’

‘I agree,’ said Camilla Bonzer, librarian at Bogusville Primary School and former president of the Bogusville Dino diSwarve Fan Club.
‘We must look inside ourselves and reach out. The real question is: Who can we reach out to?’

‘That was interesting,’ Mrs Trifle said when the program ended. ‘But I just want to know what happened to Baby Roo.’

‘And I’m going to tell them,’ Selby thought. ‘Well, maybe I won’t finish it off just yet.’

Once again Selby typed late into the night. And once again the poetry flowed from his paws like sap from a hot tree.

The next morning he didn’t have to sneak off to the radio to hear his poem because Dr Trifle had stopped work on his invention and had the radio turned on.

‘And now for the news,’ the announcer said. ‘At the top of the news is the story that is being followed on networks around the world. It’s about the poem that stopped a town. That town is our own town of Bogusville and after the news we will be bringing you the latest episode of
It Happened at Bogusville Creek.
Other items in the news today are: the cyclone that flattened one of our cities last night; Parliament House collapses in an earthquake; and a huge tidal wave is about to hit Perth. Now back to the poem.’

Selby listened to the latest part of his poem.

‘I love being a writer,’ Selby sighed. ‘It’s
sooooooo
good.’

Throughout the day listeners called the radio station to talk about the poem.

‘The bit I liked best,’ a woman said, ‘was when the handsome stranger fought off the crocodile. But I wonder what it meant when it said that he’d hit the crocodile with his
paw?’

‘Ooops, did I say paw?’ Selby thought.

‘I think he just said that to make it rhyme with jaw,’ the announcer said. ‘The part that had
me biting my fingernails was when the handsome stranger climbs the cliff with Baby Roo clinging to his back and the eagles attacked.’

‘Tomorrow is
Rhyme Time’
Selby thought that night as he sat at the computer again. ‘I’ve got to finish the poem tonight. But how will I end it? Maybe I should just leave the whole thing hanging again?’

That night Selby worked as hard as he’d ever worked on anything. The next morning he awoke to the sound of Mrs Trifle’s voice.

‘The mysterious poet slipped the latest episode of
It Happened at Bogusville Creek
under our door,’ she said.

‘Oh, that poem,’ Dr Trifle sighed. ‘Yesterday a barn burnt down. The firefighters got there in time but they were listening to the poem on the radio and wouldn’t get out of the truck to fight the fire.’

‘A similar thing happened to the police,’ Mrs Trifle said. ‘There were burglars in a house but the police sat outside in their police car listening to the poem on the radio.’

‘So the criminals got away?’ Dr Trifle asked.

‘No, they were listening too. When the poem finished they gave themselves up. And,’ she added, ‘I just heard that the students at Bogusville High are getting sadness counselling.’

‘Gulp,’ Selby thought. ‘I guess there is such a thing as the power of poetry.’

That evening everyone gathered at Bogusville Town Hall for
Rhyme Time.

Dr and Mrs Trifle sat in the front row with Selby at their feet as Melanie Mildew prepared to read the poems. As the lights dimmed, Gary Gaggs squeezed into a seat next to Mrs Trifle.

‘Gary!’ Mrs Trifle exclaimed. ‘Isn’t your show about to start?’

‘Nobody came,’ Gary whispered. ‘Everyone’s here.’

‘That’s terrible,’ Mrs Trifle said.

‘It’s okay,’ Gary whispered. ‘I want to hear the end of the poem too.’

‘What happened to your head?’ Mrs Trifle asked.

‘I got half a haircut,’ Gary said. ‘I’ll explain later.’

‘This is awful,’ Selby thought. ‘Gary had to
cancel his show — because of me. I wanted to write a poem that touched people but I think it touched them too much. This town may never be the same again.’