The Last Road Trip by Gareth Crocker

Author:Gareth Crocker [Crocker, Gareth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143531579
Publisher: Penguin Random House South Africa
Published: 2013-04-07T22:00:00+00:00

Immediately deciding that it was worthy of further investigation, he began to swim for the island. He was just getting into his stroke when he got the feeling he was no longer alone in the dam. Treading water, he turned around. And, sure enough, his instincts were right – he wasn’t alone. Ignoring his somewhat explicit instruction to remain on the bank, Pilot was now swimming out after him, his black head bobbing exuberantly from side to side.

‘Pilot! What’re you doing?’ he called back.

The Labrador barked at him, seemingly proud of his insubordination.

Concerned that the dog might soon run out of steam, Jack turned back and swam out to meet him. But as he closed the gap, it was obvious that Pilot was no stranger to water.

‘I’m guessing Albert had a pool,’ Jack called out. ‘A big one.’

Pilot licked his chops and pulled up alongside Jack.

‘Think you can make it to the island?’

Pilot snapped his teeth at the water and then began to drink, mid-swim.

‘I’ll take that as a yes. All right, let’s go,’ Jack said, kicking forward.

Within a few minutes they were trudging through the thick and sticky silt that surrounded the island. Apart from a light smattering of veld grass, the place was empty save for the extraordinary wooden man looming over them.

As they moved towards it, Jack realised it was even taller than he had initially thought. The top of the figure was at least seven or even eight metres off the ground, and it was built entirely of wooden gum poles, lashed together with rope. The legs were each four gum poles thick, eight for the torso, while the arms – drooping down like old tree branches – were single poles bolted together. The fingers were made of bamboo shafts. The neck was a sawn-off gum pole, on top of which sat an old beer keg. Although the paint had faded, Jack could just about make out the markings of a pair of eyes and a smiling mouth. On the whole, it looked as if it had been thrown together in double-quick time. Yet, and despite its odd appearance, Jack could now sense a certain warmth about it. Whoever had painted its face had done so to convey an expression of benevolence. Of kindness, even.

But why, Jack wondered, had someone gone to the great trouble of building something as peculiar as this? On an island? Halfway from the middle of nowhere?

He was suddenly desperate to know the story behind the unlikely monument and would, he decided, interrogate Henry about it the minute he got back to town. He was surprised that the hotel owner hadn’t mentioned it to him in the first place.

Walking under and between the stick man’s legs, Jack searched the area for clues – a small plaque perhaps – that would shine a light on the mystery. But there was nothing around him but mud, grass and wet Labrador.

While Jack rubbed his fingers against the flaking wood, he thought about the town. The quaint hotel with its quirky name.

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