So Gross! (3 page)

Bertha dive-bombed into his ear and turned around. Only her feelers stuck out.

I could almost feel it crawling in my own ear. It tickled something awful. I had to give it a good scratch, just to make sure.

‘Now, Bertha,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t be shy. Come out and say hello to Eddie.’

Tom’s face was dead serious. You wouldn’t read about it but out she came.

‘Now I’m going to get Bertha to walk across my head and over to the other side.’

With two fingers he tapped beside his ear. Tap, tap. Rest. Tap, tap. Rest. Then he did the same on the other side.

Blow me away if Bertha doesn’t begin her midday stroll, coming out of his ear, walking up over the soft skin of his temples before disappearing in the undergrowth of hair.

I’ve got to say it. ‘Unbelievable.’

I’m glued to Tom’s hairline, watching for any little movement. Every now and then I think I can see some of the hairs part, before collapsing back into place.

My own head is itching like hell.

Tom’s eyes have glazed over. You could see him willing her to make it to the other side.

I’ve got to admit I clapped when Bertha crawled out and perched on Tom’s other ear.

This was a real goer.

Kids would pay to see something like that.

Even I’d pay to see Bertha do it again.

‘How’d you do it?’ I asked.

‘Secret. But I promise you, she’ll do it every time.’ Tom winked. ‘You supply the crowd and I’ll give you ten per cent of the profits.’

‘Twenty per cent,’ I quibbled. I can’t help it. It’s in my blood.

‘Ten,’ said Tom. ‘She’s my cockroach and it’s my head.’

‘Done.’

At lunchtime that day I convinced four boys to meet behind the toilets and bring their money with them. We decided to charge them one dollar each.

‘That’s too much,’ said Alexander Poll. ‘I’m not paying.’

‘Suit yourself,’ I said. ‘But I promise you, you’ve never seen anything like this.’

He caved in and paid his money.

Just to show what a good sport he was, Tom did the trick three times in a row.

Alexander Poll looked impressed, although I’m not sure if it was with Bertha, for finding her way home, or with Tom, for never flinching. ‘You gonna do it tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘Cause I’ll be there.’

I looked at Tom.

He nodded.

‘Sure. Bring your friends.’

The next day eight kids turned up. They handed over their money. Sure enough, Bertha strutted her stuff.

Tom made $7.20 for his efforts.

I, on the other hand, only made eighty cents. It wasn’t enough. ‘If you’ve got any other tricks we could charge more,’ I said.

Tom thought for a moment then smiled shyly.
‘Sure. Leave it with me. Give me the weekend to practise and I’ll have something for you.’

I met Tom before school on the Monday morning.

‘Did you teach Bertha a new trick?’ I asked. ‘Uh-uh,’ said Tom. ‘She wasn’t in the best of moods.’

I wondered how you could tell a cockroach was in a bad mood but knew better than to ask. Tom pulled out his Vegemite jar again. There was Bertha all right, but now she had a friend. ‘This here is Willy,’ he said, pointing to one of those German cockroaches. ‘Has he got the trick for you.’

‘Show me.’

‘Uh-uh,’ said Tom again. ‘He gets too tired. Once a day is enough. I’m telling you, he’s good. They’re paying two bucks each or I’m outta here.’

I spread the news about Willy and by lunchtime seventeen kids had turned up.

Things were looking good in the finance department.

We couldn’t all fit behind the toilet block so we decided to duck into our classroom. It’s called The Portable. Ages ago the school got it as a temporary building. Before Tom an’ I started there. It had been put down the bottom of the school grounds so it would be easy to get at if it ever got moved again. But that’s never happened. It now has this verandah that Mr Rogers built and a flower garden across the front.

The kids filed in and sat on top of the desks while Tom stood in front. After everyone had parted with their two bucks he began. He took out the Vegemite jar and held it up for everyone to see.

The glass seemed to magnify Bertha. She looked truly magnificent.

Bertha strutted her stuff and I have to say, even though I’ve seen it more than a dozen times I was still impressed. I even thought I could see her smile.

‘And now for a new trick,’ announced Tom. ‘For this we need absolute silence.’

Samantha Saunders giggled, nervous-like. One look from Tom and she soon shut up.

This boy meant business.

‘This is Willy,’ he said, holding the little golden fellow between his finger and thumb. ‘Willy is going to walk where no cockroach has walked before.’

You could see Willy’s feelers rubbing together with glee.

Tom walked along the front of the desks, giving everyone a chance to see Willy thrashing his legs about.

I don’t know how to describe the next bit.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t believe it.

Tom got Willy and carefully shoved him up his nose.

Yes, you read that right. Up his nose.

Willy took off, back legs kicking. I waited for Tom to sneeze or something, but he’d gone into that trance-like state of his. We all waited. And waited. My nose started to itch.

‘It’s dead,’ yelled out Alexander Poll. He hadn’t missed a show. He was addicted to this stuff. Tom barely, just barely, shook his head. We waited some more.

I noticed my heart thumping and hoped Tom didn’t have cockroach on the brain.

The seconds ticked past. They felt like minutes, or even hours.

Just when everyone was about to get up and leave, Tom gulped, like he was about to dry retch, and opened his mouth.

Out crawled Willy, a bit soggy looking, moving a lot slower, but definitely Willy. Waving his feelers at the crowd.

Samantha Saunders ran out and threw up in the flowerbed.

Everyone else cheered.

Willy the Magnificent.

I saw dollar signs in my head. This boy had talent. He was destined to go far.

Or so I thought at the time.

But destiny does funny things …

We did this show another couple of times. By now I was on the bludge. Kids were coming without any effort from me.

Bertha learnt to detour along Tom’s eyebrow, down his nose, stopping to take a bow at the tip, before scuttling home to base. What an act.

And Willy?

Willy got quicker at finding his way. I was thinking of timing him and taking bets, but my idea never got off the ground.

Thanks to Mrs Sher.

Remember I told you how she felt about worms? Doesn’t come within cooee to how she feels about cockroaches.

It was a Friday and I reckon everyone was feeling a bit whacked, end of the week and all. Especially Tom.

By now he was giving two performances, back to back. With no let up.

It was the last performance of the week that did him in.

He’d just got to the bit where Willy dives up his hooter when Mrs Sher walked in. ‘What’s going on?’

Tom tried to bung on the innocent by shrugging his shoulders. I could tell he’d lost concentration. His eyes were crossed and he’d developed a bit of a lean.

‘N-n-nothing,’ I tried to say, being his trusty assistant.

Mrs Sher’s eyes narrowed as she glanced around the room, giving a pretty good impersonation of a ferret. ‘I repeat. What’s going on?’

I gather at this point in the performance that speech, for Tom, was pretty impossible. He shook his head.

But Mrs Sher was on to something and wasn’t going to budge. ‘Tom Oach. I demand to know this instant what all these children are doing in my classroom.’

Tom had gone quite red. He stood with his lips pursed and his head bowed. Still saying nothing.

‘Speak up,’ said Mrs Sher, taking a step closer. She must have decided he was choking. She walloped him on the back.

She should never have done that.

Tom’s mouth popped open.

Willy lay there exhausted, one single feeler giving the occasional wave.

Mrs Sher shrieked like a demented duck. She whacked Tom on his back again but instead of making him spit Willy out, it did the opposite.

Tom coughed. Then spluttered.

Then swallowed.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him lose control.

Mrs Sher was chucking a mental while Tom stood there mortified.

He an’ Willy had been through a lot together and to have it end like this …

‘Aaaghh!’

Mrs Sher was flailing about so much she accidentally knocked over the Vegemite jar with Bertha in it.

Bertha did what any self-respecting cockroach would do.

She did a runner.

Right up Mrs Sher’s leg.

‘Aaaghh! Eeeeee!’

Mrs Sher started flapping at her legs, lifting her skirt up so we could see the top of her stockings overflowing with soft, white bulgy flesh. She was slapping at her clothes and stamping her feet, like she was doing a highland fling.

Tom tried to rescue Bertha but I guess putting his hand up Mrs Sher’s skirt wasn’t the best of ideas. He just wasn’t thinking.

By now we were busting our guts.

Except for Mrs Sher.

And
Tom.

He was getting desperate about Bertha.

‘There she is,’ he cried and dived under the dress. By the look on Mrs Sher’s face, old Bertha had gone places even the most intrepid of cockroaches wouldn’t dare to go.

Tom came out, triumphantly waving Bertha in the air.

That was another mistake.

Mrs Sher knocked Bertha from his hand and with one swift move stamped her foot.

The sound of crushing shell filled the air.

Guts flew everywhere. The kids in the front row were splattered.

There was deadly silence, and then all hell broke loose.

Alexander Poll started hollering about the gunk in his hair.

Mrs Sher looked like she was going to pass out. But then she pulled herself together and made for the exit, her screams ringing in our ears.

And in the middle of it all sat Tom R. Oach, a strange look on his face.

‘You all right?’ I asked.

It took him a second to answer. Then he began to grin.

Maybe he was going mad!

‘Mrs Sher wears a girdle.’ He laughed. ‘Right up to here.’ His hand went to his armpit. ‘Funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’

And with that he threw back his head and laughed and laughed and laughed.

I told you he wasn’t someone who let things get to him.

Besides, destiny was calling …

A few days later Tom and me were picking up papers as part of our punishment, going over what happened that Friday and having a good chuckle at the same time.

‘What are you going to breed now?’ I asked.

‘Rats?’

It was meant as a joke. ‘How did you know?’ asked Tom. I shrugged, not sure what he meant. ‘They do great circus tricks,’ said Tom.
‘And
it’s my destiny.’

‘Destiny?’ I was puzzled. ‘Weren’t cockroaches your destiny? You know, Tom Rrrr-Oach.’

Tom laughed. ‘Not when your mum means to name you after this guy called Sir Roden Cutler, some Aussie guy from the olden days, but on your birth certificate your dad accidentally puts a T at the end.’ He had a grin from ear to ear.

I still hadn’t got it. ‘Roden? Is that what the R stands for?’

‘Not Roden. Rodent! Tom Rodent Oach. That’s me.’

‘Pass the slugs,’ said Macca MacTavish to his friend, Sam, as he pointed to a bowl of licorice strips.

‘Only if you hand over the cat’s pee,’ answered Sam, holding up an empty glass for some passionfruit fizzy drink.

The boys were helping Ben Wu to celebrate his eleventh birthday.

‘Dinner,’ called Ben’s mother as she traipsed across the backyard and handed two cardboard cartons through the tent flaps.

‘Err,’ said Harry Michaels, pulling a face that looked like a scrunched up boxing glove. ‘This pizza tastes like a bandaid.’

Toby Pitt grinned, took an enormous bite of pizza and rolled it around in his mouth.

‘Nah,’ he said, flicking some cabanossi in Ben’s direction. ‘This pizza tastes like … a bandaid with scabs on.’

The boys rolled around the floor hooting with laughter.

‘Well, my pizza,’ said Ben scooping up some tomato paste, ‘tastes like a bandaid with scabs on and…’ he lowered his voice, putting on a Transylvanian accent, ‘drrripping with bloood.’

‘Gross,’ said Sam with a chuckle and tested it for himself. The mozzarella cheese refused to let go of the base until finally it recoiled, leaving huge blobs on his chin. Not to be outdone he added, ‘This pizza tastes like a bandaid with scabs on, dripping with blood and … ’ he pulled out another glob of cheese, leaving some to hang out of the corner of his mouth, ‘oozing with pus.’

Harry and Toby made a quick trip to the toilet.

The peals of laughter could be heard in Mrs Wu’s sitting room. ‘It’s so nice to hear those boys enjoying themselves so much,’ she said to her husband. ‘Ben has such lovely friends.’