Authors: Wendy Orr
Nim's Island (5 page)
And every few minutes she looked up to watch for sails and wait for email time.
From: [email protected]
Date: Sunday 4 April, 18:26
Dear Alex Rover
I have never been so excited in my WHOLE LIFE! (At least not since Fred learned to climb on my shoulders when I whistled.)
Are you really the Hero and have you been to our island? Because your map is exactly like our map and your Hero’s island is exactly where our island is. Is that how you knew what Keyhole Cove looked like, and Turtle Beach?
Are you going to come back?
From Nim
From: [email protected]
Date: Sunday 4 April, 13:29
Dear Nim
This is as crazy-wonderful as—well, I can’t think of anything as crazy-wonderful as an author making up an island and then emailing someone who lives there!
I’ll tell you how it happened.
I made up a story about a brave Hero and beautiful Lady Hero who sail around the world doing Good
Things for Science. To make the story exciting, I made up some Bad Guys who stole the boat, kidnapped Lady Hero and threw Hero overboard. But because the story needs a happy ending, I made up an island for him to land on, where he could build a raft and sail after the Bad Guys to rescue Lady Hero.
So I looked on a map, and I made a dot where there was an ocean current to help drift him to the island, where the weather was warm enough for coconuts to grow, and where it seemed like a good place for a volcano to have grown into an island, long ago.
Will you be my Island Eyes, and tell me what you see? Because I haven’t been there, Nim, and I’m not Hero enough to ever go.
All the best, Alex
F
ROM THE TOP
of Fire Mountain you could feel like a frigate-bird, floating strong on the winds and seeing everywhere you wanted to see.
You could see the island’s shores and beaches, and the grasslands and the cliffs and the rocks and the forest.
You could see far, far over the sea, every way that it rolled to the ends of the earth.
Early next morning, Nim whistled for Fred and hugged Selkie goodbye. ‘I’ll be careful,’ she promised.
Then she checked that her spyglass was around her neck, to look for Jack; dropped a notebook and pencil in her pocket, to write things down for Alex; and packed two bananas, a piece of coconut, a pancake bread and her bamboo cup into her backpack for a picnic along the way.
And she set off to climb Fire Mountain.
She stopped at the pool to fill her cup and shoved its bamboo lid back on tight, then she climbed on up, past the top of the waterfall, following the creek through tangling vines and fly-munching flowers. The air steamed and sweat dribbled. ‘Get down and walk, Fred!’ said Nim.
But Fred liked being carried, and he sprayed a cool saltwater sneeze across her neck.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But we’ll stop for a rest.’
The creek was shallow and warm, but they flopped in, and it trickled over their hot bodies. Nim lay on her back and peeled a banana; Fred stared at the coconut.
‘Later,’ said Nim.
Fred tried to sulk but was too hot to bother.
They climbed higher and the ground was gravelly and black; the plants were grey spikes and the creek disappeared.
Then there were no plants at all; just bubbling steam and the rotten-egg smell of the Hissing Stones, but a hundred times stronger.
‘Pee-uh!’ Nim coughed, and Fred sneezed a pathetic spray.
Long, long ago, the top of Fire Mountain had been a round green peak. Then, one rumbling, earthshaking day, it had poured out its heart of boiling, rolling, melting lava, and the round green peak had been blown away.
Now the top of the mountain was a sharp grey point, with a great smoky crater yawning below.
Nim wanted to look down into the crater, but the cloud of steam was too thick to see through and too choking to breathe. And the longer she stood on the rocks, the hotter they got, so she had to hop on one foot and then on the other, and then she had to run out of the smoke and away from the heat to the very top of the mountain.
She sat down and Fred climbed off her shoulders and they both took a deep breath.
‘Picnic?’ asked Nim, and they shared the coconut and the water. Then Nim ate her bread and her other banana, and looked all around.
No matter which way or how far her spyglass stared, the ocean was empty. There were no white sails, or anything else that could be Jack’s boat. Nothing but a frigate-bird, winging steadily out to the western sea. Maybe he’ll bring me another message, thought Nim.
But first she was going to be Alex’s Island Eyes.
Far below her was the top of Frigate-bird Cliffs, then Turtle Beach’s pale-gold sand, the grasslands and Shell Beach, the hut, on to Sea Lion Point and Keyhole Cove, and finally the grim black lava-rock that stretched all the way back to the far edge of Frigate-bird Cliffs. The island was built in layers, Nim thought: beach and rock; grassland and rainforest and, last of all, the rocky Fire Mountain cone.
She picked up her notebook and pencil—but before she could start to write, the ground began to tremble.
Then the earth roared and the mountain bellowed and an explosion of red covered the sky. A fountain of lava, red and bubbling, shot up from the middle of the crater. Red and gold stars, hot and boiling, sprayed over the mountain top.
It was like the wildest storm, when wind and rain crash and great surf waves thunder, except that the wind, the rain and the waves were all made of fire.
Fred was a streak of grey flying over grey rocks, and Nim’s legs followed him, as she ran for her life down the side of the hot gravel cone.
But the gravel was deep and crumbly, and Nim’s foot twisted—and she rolled and skidded and tumbled down the mountain. She picked herself up and went on running; met Fred by the creek where they’d had their first rest, and they splashed on through and ran some more. Nim’s breath came in jagged chunks; she was so hot she thought flames might spurt out of her head like her own miniature volcano.
And just when they couldn’t run any further, they splashed into the waterfall’s cold water and
whooshed
gently down to the pool.
They sat in it for one refreshing moment, and then ran the rest of the way back to the hut.
Selkie was waiting anxiously on her rock. She barked when she saw them, sniffed Nim all over, and whuffled sadly when she found the cut on her knee.
It was a big, messy cut, with torn skin, deep gravel grooves and lots of blood. Nim must have done it when she tumbled down the mountain but was too scared to feel it.
It hurt now that she wasn’t so scared.
Nim stretched out on the rock and let Selkie fuss. She stared up, and Fire Mountain was still shooting scarlet stars, a glow of red on the grey cone, but the lava hadn’t followed them and they were safe at home.
But she hadn’t seen Jack’s sails, so he wouldn’t be home tonight, which meant there was one more thing she had to do. She took her fishing rod back to the rocks, and when she caught a fish she dropped it in a bucket.
Because sometimes Galileo came when he was called, and sometimes he didn’t, but he always came if he saw a fish.
D
e
ar Jack
Today I climbed Fire Mountain to see if you were coming but you weren’t.
I didn’t do any science measurements or write anything down because the volcano erupted when we were at the top. If you think Fred can move fast for coconut, you should see how fast he can run away from an exploding volcano!
I think I can see Galileo now so I’ll say goodbye.
Love (as much as Chica loves soccer),
Nim
A frigate-bird came closer, and it was Galileo, so Nim danced the fish in the air and called his name. Galileo
swooped low and stayed long enough for her to pull out the letter that was tucked into his band, and stick hers in instead.
‘Thank you!’ Nim called as the big bird soared up to his nest on the cliffs, and she unrolled Jack’s letter.
Dear Nim
Worked out best way of fixing rudder is to drill hole through tip (not easy underwater!), pass a rope through hole, and steer with rope.
Have drilled hole but had to jump out before I could get rope through it. Sharks around here must have tasted the chunk I lost from my forehead in the storm—thought it was jaw-snapping yum! and want to chomp the rest.
Soon as they forget about me I’ll get that rope through and be on my way home! But the storm blew me a long way, so it’ll take a couple of days.
Love (as much as sails love wind),
Jack
Nim read the letter, and then she read it again. And even though Jack had tried to make it funny, she felt more lonely and miserable than she ever had before. Even writing a long, long email to tell Alex Rover all about Fire Mountain didn’t make her feel better.
W
HILE
J
ACK WAS
waiting for the sharks to disappear and hoping that he could fix his rudder and worrying about Nim, he saw a ship.
Jack danced a jig and sang a song because he wanted to get home even more than he didn’t want to be rescued. His song didn’t rhyme and it didn’t have a tune, but it said:
‘I’ll be home soon!
I’ll see Nim tomorrow!
The plankton can wait
And everything will be all right!’
The ship came closer.
It was a cruise ship. A pink-and-purple cruise ship.
It was the Troppo Tourists.
Jack stopped dancing and stopped singing, his face was pale and his stomach was sick, but Nim had been alone too long and he knew what he had to do.
In the cabin he found the flags he’d never used: one with blue and white checks and the other striped; when he put them up together they said
SOS: Come and Rescue Me!
to any sailor who saw them.
Then he waited. The longer he waited, the more he didn’t want the Troppo Tourists to see the island; he didn’t want to talk to them and didn’t want them oh-ing and ah-ing and taking pictures of his home, but the longer he waited, the more he didn’t want Nim to be alone.
The sad flags fluttered from the mast, and he went on waiting.
But the Troppo Tourists sailed out of sight.
E
ARLY NEXT AFTERNOON
, when Nim was sitting in a palm tree to watch for Jack, the ship came to the island.
Just a speck in the distance, so Nim cheered and thought how she would run to the furthest point of Keyhole Cove, and blow her shell-whistle and shout:
‘J
ACK NEEDS HELP
! L
OOK FOR A BOAT WITH A BROKEN RUDDER
!’
Then, through the spyglass, she saw the colours and she knew that she could never ever call out to this ship. Because no matter how much she wanted Jack to be home now, what she wanted even more was for him to be happy, and he’d never be happy if the Troppo Tourists came to the island.
And even though they didn’t know it was Jack’s island, if they passed the blue waters of Keyhole Cove or the peaceful sands of Turtle Beach, they’d know it was the most beautiful island in the world. They’d come back with curious tourists, and fill up the island with holidays and noise.
‘Oh, no they won’t!’ said Nim.
She raced to the hut and turned on the laptop.
From: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday 6 April, 14:14
Dear Alex Rover
I hope it’s okay to write so early but could you please tell me right away what your Hero would do if the Bad Guys were coming to his island and he wanted them to go away and not notice it.
From Nim
From: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday 6 April, 9:17
Dear Nim
It’s okay to write any time (and it doesn’t even have to be about coconuts!)—unless your parents have another rule.
When my beautiful Lady Hero was escaping from Bad Guys in Sands at Sunset, she disguised herself in old clothes and grease, till she looked so ugly they didn’t notice her. But a whole island is trickier!
Somehow the Hero would have to make the rocks seem more dangerous, the reef more terrifying, the pale sands bleak and lonely—make the whole island seem like a creepy, scary place.