The Thumb in the Box by Ken Roberts

Author:Ken Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Groundwood Books Ltd
Published: 2011-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

5

A FIRE TRUCK RIDE

BIG CHARLIE AND CURTIS VANDER-MEULEN sat talking and laughing and tossing sunflower seed shells out the window of the fire truck. Every few minutes, Big Charlie got out and peered over the side, checking the water level.

When the barge was almost surrounded by wet sand and pebbles, Big Charlie leaned back into the truck and said something to Mr. Vandermeulen. Mr. Vandermeulen opened the passenger door, hopped out and looked over the side. Big Charlie helped him onto the back of the truck, facing the line of fishing boats. Big Charlie handed the Member of Parliament his megaphone.

“Here’s your fire truck,” said our Member of Parliament.

We cheered.

“And now,” said Mr. Vandermeulen, “I hand the keys to your mayor and my new friend, Charlie Semanov.”

Mr. Vandermeulen reached into his pocket. Big Charlie climbed onto the truck and Mr. Vandermeulen handed him the keys. Big Charlie took the keys and put them into his pocket.

“It’s ours?” asked Big Charlie, leaning toward the megaphone.

“Yes,” said the Member of Parliament. “It’s all yours.”

“To keep?”

“To keep,” said Mr. Vandermeulen, grinning and nodding.

“And we can do what we want with it?” asked Big Charlie.

Annie and I looked at each other and smiled, even though she didn’t want a fire truck at all.

“Within reason,” said the MP, laughing. “You’ve read the contract. You can’t sell it.”

I looked at Annie.

“We won’t sell it, will we, Annie?” I said.

“No, we won’t,” said Annie. “We won’t sell it. No need to sell it.”

A raven settled on the fire truck’s hood, like an ornament. Big Charlie took the keys out of his pocket and waved them at the gathered boats. Big Charlie hopped inside the cab and turned on the engine, reaching up to push a button so the fire truck’s siren would scream. The raven squawked, flapped its wings and flew up into the sky, circling and watching. Behind the gym, Muriel roared.

“What was that?” asked Curtis Vandermeulen, glancing up at the mountains.

“It was a lion,” said Big Charlie casually.

“A mountain lion?”

“No. One of those African lions with the hairy necklace, like in the movies.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. There’s a real lion here.”

Big Charlie didn’t bother to tell Mr. Vandermeulen that the lion was tame and sitting in a cage. He didn’t tell him that our lion was female and didn’t have a mane. It was more fun to watch the Member of Parliament frown and search the mountains.

Little Charlie and the tugboat operator turned the huge handles at each side of the front of the barge. A metal ramp was slowly lowered toward the wet, rocky surface of New Auckland’s low tide beach. The ramp came to a rest fifty meters from the dry sand.

On shore, men and women rolled logs down the beach toward the bottom of the barge’s ramp. They pushed the logs into place, creating a rough road.

Big Charlie put the fire truck’s engine in gear. Without thinking, I jumped over the side of Annie’s boat into the waist-high water, and I ran toward the barge.

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