Wyoming. I felt like I was living in a dream or something. Everything was moving so fast.
The preacher was a small weedy man drinking beer from a green bottle on the stump of a sandalwood tree around the back of his pokey white church. I told him what was what. After a long pause he looked at me and said, “Okay, I’ll do it, young Ashmol. Now you’d better give me some hard facts about these little imaginary friends, so I can make me a speech.”
I thought about it long and hard. Eventually I said: “Well, vicar, they was quiet and they always went around together. And they liked chewing lollies, and Violet Crumbles and Cherry Ripes.”
The preacher noted these things down on his pad. He repeated the words “Violet Crumbles” and “Cherry Ripes.”
“And they used to go and bathe at the Bore Baths with Kellyanne.”
And then I reeled off a sort of list of all the things I had learnt about Pobby and Dingan:
Pobby was a boy and the oldest by a year.
Dingan was the pretty one. Real pretty. And smart as a fox.
They didn’t leave no footprints because they
walked in the same place as Kellyanne.
And Pobby and Dingan weren’t scared of
the big kids in Lightning Ridge.
And Dingan read books over your shoulder.
And Pobby liked going out to dance in the
lightning storms.
And Dingan could run real quick and play
rigaragaroo.
And they liked Kellyanne better than anyone
else.
And Pobby had a kind of limp, and when Kellyanne was late for anything she always said Pobby slowed her up and she was late because she had to wait for him.
And Pobby could walk through walls.
The preacher made some more jottings and I saw him running out of page.
And Dingan had an opal in her belly-button.
And Kellyanne always sat in between Pobby and Dingan on the bus to Walgett.
And Dingan was a pacifist, because every time I stamped on her or punched her and said, “If Dingan is real why doesn’t she hit back?” Kellyanne would say, “Cos Dingan is a pacifist, stupid.”
And they was generous, because Kellyanne was always thanking them for being nice to her.
And they talked English or whistled to make themselves understood.
And you had to be a certain kind of person to hear them.
The preacher had stopped writing and was staring into space. “Thanks, Ashmol,” he said. “That’s plenty of information. Now, take care of your sister, and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Will Pobby and Dingan go to heaven or hell, vicar?” I asked before I went. I was sort of testing him out to see if he’d take Kellyanne’s friends seriously.
The preacher thought long and hard about this and said: “What do
you
think?”
“Heaven,” I said firmly, “so long as there’s Violet Crumbles there.”
“I think you’re right,” said the preacher and took another swig out of his green bottle. As I rode off on my Chopper he shouted: “I shall be praying for your father, Ashmol Williamson!”
“Do what you want, vicar!” I called back. “Just come up with the goods.”
I zoomed off down the road thinking about heaven. It was like the ballroom of an opal mine. Full of people with lamps on their heads. And everyone was singing Elvis Presley songs and gouging, and swinging picks.
14
Before I got home I stopped off at Humph’s Moozeum, which is a place full of amazing junk. The Moozeum is just down from the half-built castle which the bloke Domingo who I told you about was building single-handed out there in the middle of nowhere. That’s Lightning Ridge for you. People go all weird on you all the time, because it’s so hot, and they start building castles and shit.
The man who owns the Moozeum is called Humph and he has spent his whole life collecting weird things. Well, I liked to stop by and talk to him sometimes, and when I was sad it was a good place to go to cheer yourself up and get your mind on something else. There is a whole load of outhouses and old buses and cars and bits of mining machinery, and bush fridges, and
The preacher was a small weedy man drinking beer from a green bottle on the stump of a sandalwood tree around the back of his pokey white church. I told him what was what. After a long pause he looked at me and said, “Okay, I’ll do it, young Ashmol. Now you’d better give me some hard facts about these little imaginary friends, so I can make me a speech.”
I thought about it long and hard. Eventually I said: “Well, vicar, they was quiet and they always went around together. And they liked chewing lollies, and Violet Crumbles and Cherry Ripes.”
The preacher noted these things down on his pad. He repeated the words “Violet Crumbles” and “Cherry Ripes.”
“And they used to go and bathe at the Bore Baths with Kellyanne.”
And then I reeled off a sort of list of all the things I had learnt about Pobby and Dingan:
Pobby was a boy and the oldest by a year.
Dingan was the pretty one. Real pretty. And smart as a fox.
They didn’t leave no footprints because they
walked in the same place as Kellyanne.
And Pobby and Dingan weren’t scared of
the big kids in Lightning Ridge.
And Dingan read books over your shoulder.
And Pobby liked going out to dance in the
lightning storms.
And Dingan could run real quick and play
rigaragaroo.
And they liked Kellyanne better than anyone
else.
And Pobby had a kind of limp, and when Kellyanne was late for anything she always said Pobby slowed her up and she was late because she had to wait for him.
And Pobby could walk through walls.
The preacher made some more jottings and I saw him running out of page.
And Dingan had an opal in her belly-button.
And Kellyanne always sat in between Pobby and Dingan on the bus to Walgett.
And Dingan was a pacifist, because every time I stamped on her or punched her and said, “If Dingan is real why doesn’t she hit back?” Kellyanne would say, “Cos Dingan is a pacifist, stupid.”
And they was generous, because Kellyanne was always thanking them for being nice to her.
And they talked English or whistled to make themselves understood.
And you had to be a certain kind of person to hear them.
The preacher had stopped writing and was staring into space. “Thanks, Ashmol,” he said. “That’s plenty of information. Now, take care of your sister, and I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Will Pobby and Dingan go to heaven or hell, vicar?” I asked before I went. I was sort of testing him out to see if he’d take Kellyanne’s friends seriously.
The preacher thought long and hard about this and said: “What do
you
think?”
“Heaven,” I said firmly, “so long as there’s Violet Crumbles there.”
“I think you’re right,” said the preacher and took another swig out of his green bottle. As I rode off on my Chopper he shouted: “I shall be praying for your father, Ashmol Williamson!”
“Do what you want, vicar!” I called back. “Just come up with the goods.”
I zoomed off down the road thinking about heaven. It was like the ballroom of an opal mine. Full of people with lamps on their heads. And everyone was singing Elvis Presley songs and gouging, and swinging picks.
14
Before I got home I stopped off at Humph’s Moozeum, which is a place full of amazing junk. The Moozeum is just down from the half-built castle which the bloke Domingo who I told you about was building single-handed out there in the middle of nowhere. That’s Lightning Ridge for you. People go all weird on you all the time, because it’s so hot, and they start building castles and shit.
The man who owns the Moozeum is called Humph and he has spent his whole life collecting weird things. Well, I liked to stop by and talk to him sometimes, and when I was sad it was a good place to go to cheer yourself up and get your mind on something else. There is a whole load of outhouses and old buses and cars and bits of mining machinery, and bush fridges, and
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