Toad Heaven - Morris Gleitzman [0]
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For Tom and Jamie
G'DAY FROM THE AUTHOR
You might notice a few strange and exotic words in this book. Fear not! They won't hurt you, they're just Australian. To find out what they mean, choose one of the following options.
1. Put the book down, fly to Australia, ask a local, fly back, pick up the book, resume reading.
2. Have a squiz at the glossary on page 191.
Happy reading,
Morris Gleitzman
Limpy stuck his head out of the grass and peered up and down the highway. He felt his crook leg twitching and his warts tingling like they always did when he was excited.
And scared.
All clear. No headlights speeding out of the darkness. No trucks, cars, buses, or caravans thundering along the highway. No humans on wheels looking for cane toads to squash.
“Let's do it,” said Limpy.
“Do what?” said Goliath.
Limpy sighed. He told himself to stay calm. He told himself not to even think about whacking Goliath round the head with a lump of possum poo.
“Goliath,” pleaded Limpy, “try to concentrate.”
“I haven't had any dinner yet,” grumbled Goliath. “I'm so hungry I could eat a human's hairbrush.”
Limpy gripped his cousin's big arms.
“We've got a plan, remember?” said Limpy. “If it works, it'll improve the lives of cane toads everywhere.”
“What?” sneered a nearby bull ant. “Even the ones that are already flat?”
Limpy ignored the bull ant.
In the glow from the railway-crossing light, he saw that Goliath was frowning.
“This plan,” said Goliath. “I still don't get it.”
“Do exactly what I told you,” said Limpy, “and you will.”
Goliath nodded uncertainly.
“It'll never work,” sneered the bull ant. “You cane toads are losers.”
Limpy didn't eat the bull ant. What he and Goliath were about to do was too important to waste time having a snack.
“Good luck, Goliath,” said Limpy.
His cousin didn't reply. Limpy could see that a frown was still creasing Goliath's big warty face.
Poor thing, thought Limpy. Probably as tense as me. Or else he's got a stink beetle stuck in his throat.
Limpy turned to Uncle Nick, who was lying at the edge of the road.
“Good luck, Uncle Nick,” said Limpy.
Uncle Nick didn't reply either. Limpy would have been surprised if he had. Uncle Nick had always been a silent sort of bloke, even before he was squashed flat by a truck and baked hard by the Queensland sun.
“Sorry about this next bit,” added Limpy.
Limpy dipped a flat stick into the soft drink can he'd filled with sticky sap from the sticky sap tree. Gently he smeared sticky sap all over Uncle Nick. He knew Uncle Nick probably wouldn't be too happy about it if he was alive. From the expression on Uncle Nick's squashed face, he didn't look too happy about it now.
“I'll wash it off afterward,” promised Limpy.
Struggling with the weight, Limpy picked Uncle Nick up, careful not to touch his sticky side, and handed him to Goliath.
“You sure you know what to do?” panted Limpy.
Goliath's frown had got bigger, like the time he'd tried to swallow a giant stick insect and then realized it was the tailpipe off a bus.
For a moment Limpy was worried that Uncle Nick was too heavy for Goliath. But it couldn't be that. Goliath was twice as big as Limpy, and four times as strong.
Then Limpy realized why Goliath's forehead was so crumpled.
He was thinking.