My Dad the Fat Gnu

By Paul Loak

The De Beest family have a problem. So what do they do? Stick together.

Join Will his mother and granny, confronted with his father changing from human to Gnuman, as they run to Scotland to reunite with lost family members and hide from the worlds press. Where will this adventure take them and who will they befri

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Printing UK
• Release date: Aug 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781911113416

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dad You've Got a Tail

As I lay awake I was clock watching, day dreaming, waiting for the alarm to burst into tune. Suddenly a shrill, piercing noise, similar to that of baby warthogs fighting for their mother's milk, shook me from my contemplation.

What was that noise?

It was coming from my parents' bedroom.

Whatever could be happening?

Jumping from my bed I scurried into the hallway, colliding with Granny who was hurriedly leaving her room.

Sorry William, she said, as she pulled me back up onto my feet. I was just on my way to see what all the commotion is about.

So was I, Granny, I said, as we hastily made our way to the bedroom.

Pushing open the bedroom door I could see Dad standing side on to his full-length wardrobe mirror. Dressed in just pyjama bottoms he was pushing them down slightly so that they sat below his hips.

Mum was inspecting his back and the shrieking that had awoken me had been replaced by a gentle and confused laughter.

What's going on? asked Granny.

It's William, he seems to have grown this ma-hussive, hairy spot sort of thing, almost overnight, replied Mum, revealing to us this rather large, abstruse legion that had grown in the base of his back.

Dad had been struggling with his back now for around two weeks, since my 11th birthday party. The party had been held at home, a bungalow we inhabited in the grounds of the local safari park. Here, Dad was the park's vet with Mum being his part time assistant.

Dad had started the day with a real twinkle in his eyes, full of himself, he was like the cat who'd got the cream. He was ready to face the world... and forty children. To entertain them and to, hopefully, captivate and stimulate their minds.

Before the party had finished though, he disappeared off to bed complaining of a crippling pain and this small, innocuous pimple festering at the bottom of his back.

Along with repeating migraines, the annoying boil had been niggling him for the last 13 days.

But now, overnight, that carbuncle... had grown!

That's not a spot, I said, jokingly. DAD, YOU'VE GOT A TAIL! And not any tail, it looks like a gnu's tail, I exclaimed. A rather small gnu's tail, but it definitely looks like a gnu's tail.

Oh my god, Will is right, it is a tail, I'M TURNING INTO A GNU, wailed Dad with a stunned look on his face.

Don't be silly Dad, even I know humans can't turn into animals... Can they? I asked hesitantly.

The room went quiet. Mum, Dad and Granny looked like they were in shock, you could have heard a pin drop.

Finally Granny broke the eerie silence that was gripping the room. Listen Will, I need you to go and make us a pot of tea and sort out the breakfast. I don't think you'll be going to school today. We need to have a chat... then I promise, we will come and tell you everything that we know.

I was perplexed by what was happening, but chuffed with the thought of a day off school, even though tomorrow was the start of the school holidays.

Filling and switching the kettle on, I then put the cereals onto the kitchen table. Toast was next on the agenda, so I put four slices on the grill rack and put them in the top of the oven. Orange juice for me and I mustn't forget the marmalade and jam. Plates, bowls, cups and saucers, a glass for my juice, spoons, and knives for the preserves.

Ohh I nearly forgot the toast. It was dark brown when I eventually turned it over, never mind, Dad liked it well done. Four teabags in the teapot, one per person and an extra one for the pot, then fill up with boiling water. Milk and butter. There, that was the table set.

No I'd forgotten the toast again, this time smoke was coming from the grill; I'd burnt it.

I needed to resuscitate the charred bread. So, taking the big knife, I carefully scraped all the burnt residue from its surface before cutting it in halves, triangular halves, just like Granny did. Granny always told me this was the poshest and best way to serve toast.

Now, this may be the poshest way to serve toast, but in my book it's definitely not the best way. Through my modest years, Dad had accumulated a menagerie of ways to serve toast, which never ceased to amaze me.

He was what Mum called a Master Bread Sculptor. Give him a knife and a piece of bread, and who knows what would come out of the grill rack. I've been served nearly every animal that has roamed this earth, from horses and giraffes to whales and tigers, though admittedly, most of them were very similar in shape. He would also carve boats and planes, cars and trains, with his favourite being a love heart for Mum on special days. Mum says that he came up with the idea when I was very young. At meal times I would refuse to eat, so a bread aeroplane was carved, toasted and jammed before taking off, flying around the room and landing gratefully in my mouth.

I sat down and waited for my parents, they seemed to be taking forever. I was getting worried that the tea would go cold.

As they solemnly entered the kitchen, you could have picked up a knife and sliced through the atmosphere.

Dad spoke out. This looks great, Son.

You've even cut the toast the posh way, said Granny.

You're a good lad, declared Mum. Look, there's something we need to tell you, a family secret that we believed to be nonsense. It's your father's secret, a secret that may affect our lives forever!

I was intrigued: a family secret, Dad's secret, what could it be? And why was Dad so upset when I said he had a tail?

I mean, it was only a ma-hussive hairy spot... Wasn't it?

I do love a good secret, I'd shared many with my school friends, but this one must be GINORMOUS. It was obviously an important secret, as I seemed to be the only one in the room not to know it.

Well, don't just stand around, sit down and tell me this mysterious family secret, I said. I'm starving.

Whilst the adults sat down, I poured myself a substantial bowl of Flaky Pops, to which I added the best part of half a pint of milk. Delving my spoon into the bowl, I waited patiently for the secret to be revealed.

Granny poured the tea, took her saucer from beneath her cup and splashed a little of the hot tea onto the shallow dish.

Slurping furiously at the liquid, a wry smile appeared on her face. Nice cup of tea that, my boy, she said, winking and throwing an acknowledging look my way.

Right, now, if you're ready to hear the family secret, here goes. Me and your grandfather, we wanted children so much it hurt. When we first married we talked of having a football team. I loved kids that much I would have had the subs bench as well. But, it was not to be. Grandad had caught mumps in his teenage years, it was a terrible disease in those days, and after years of trying we were told by the doctors he would probably never father a child.

But he did father a child, I butted in through a mouthful of Flaky Pops. Dad.

Are you going to butt in constantly, or are you going to let me get on with my story?

I nodded a sorry look to Granny. I had just shovelled another large spoonful of Pops into my mouth, and with my parents glaring at me I decided to shut up and listen.

"Within days of the medical news from the doctors, your grandfather was offered the vet's job at the Basai Bayong game reserve, in Africa. It was a godsend... We took the job and decided to put the thought of a family behind us, and channel all our energy into looking after the animals we would be in charge of.

"We hadn't been there long when one day a terrible storm was forecast. Grandad, being your grandad, wanted to make sure that all the animals would be safe, and decided to check out the perimeter fencing on the game reserve.

That day was the best day of our lives."

Why, what happened? I asked eagerly.

Well, your grandad went out on his own in fabulous sunshine and returned in the worst storm ever with a baby, that baby being your father.

I don't understand! I said. How could Grandad come back with Dad? You should have had the baby, not him. (I was confused. I was still learning about the human reproduction process, but the little I had been taught at school led me to believe that the female of the species was the one to give birth.)

Listen and learn, said Mum, as she cuddled me towards her.

Your grandad came back with your dad because... he found him, said Granny, who was now relating the story again.

The storm was brewing to the west and the first drops of rain had begun to fall as your grandad pulled up at Rooks mountain. Here, he came across two gnus sheltering under a tree. He had pulled over to observe them when he heard crying. The gnus were standing over a baby, just wrapped in a blanket, sheltering it from the rain... That baby was your father, expressed Granny with tears in her eyes.

We were allowed to care for your father whilst the authorities organised a nationwide search for his parents. After nearly two years of hitting brick walls and chasing leads to dead ends, we were finally allowed to adopt him.

So Dad is not really your son, I said. Wow, does that mean you're not really my granny then?

Now listen, Son, butted in Dad, I don't care about who my birth mother is, your granny is my mother, and your grandad was my father. I couldn't have wished for two more loving parents. My love for you comes from the love instilled in me, by them. I'm the man I am today because of the way they brought me up, and I couldn't have wished for a better upbringing.

I didn't mean to upset or offend anybody, I replied. I love Granny, and you know how much I miss Grandad.

I know you love me, and you know how much your grandad and I loved all of you, said Granny, moving out of her seat to give me one of her Kissuddles (a big wet sloppy snog on the cheek, whilst cuddling you so tight you think you might just pass out).

Can we get on with this secret now? said Dad.

You mean there's more? I said eagerly, still wondering when the large lump on Dad's back was going to appear in the family history lesson I was receiving.

Well, now you know that your father was not our birth child, I guess you're wondering who his family are? I told you that we looked for his parents for nearly two years and found nothing. Well, on your Dad's second birthday your grandad confessed a secret to me, which he had held since the day he found him.

Wow, a secret within a secret, I quipped.

Shush, said Mum.

That secret being that as Grandad went to pick up your father, the male gnu bowed his head to him and began to speak. The gnu said, 'Take care of this child, he is Gnuman, we know we can trust you, but one day he must return.'

Yerrrr, right of course he did, I said, laughing. I often go down to the park and have a chat with the wildebeest.

Listen, Son, butted in Dad, I didn't know anything about this until your grandfather passed away; he told me on his deathbed. Now, as mad as it sounds, you remember me telling you I clipped a wildebeest with the jeep on my way to Grandad's on that horrible day.

Yes I remember, I replied, you said it was only slightly hurt, and after gaining back its senses it ran off.

That's right, Son, said Dad, but what I didn't tell you was, before it ran off, the gnu spoke to me.

Right... That's two of you talking to animals. We should change the family name to Doolittle! I replied, smirking like a Cheshire Cat. What did he say then?

No listen, he really did speak to me, he said, 'You are the chosen one! The one who will make us famous across the world! You are Gnuman!'

What was Dad telling me?

Was I being made fun of?

I was finding all this a little hard to believe and take in.

My mind was akin to a firework extravaganza, with secrets going off, like rockets in the night. I mean, grandparents who weren't really grandparents, but actually were. Talking wildebeest, a spot that could be a tail... and now the news that dad was a Gnuman... whatever that was!

So what is a Gnuman? I asked.

We don't know, Son, said Dad. This whole going-on could be something or nothing. That's why we don't want you to tell anybody anything about it. I'm going to call in sick and your mother is going to cover my shifts, and when the park is closed we will go into the veterinary clinic and do some tests.

Chapter 2

Human to Gnuman

The next few days Dad laid low, Mum got on with Dad’s work in the park, and Granny took on the family's catering needs. At night they would sneak back into the park, to the clinic, with Mum doing a series of tests on Dad.

During this time his normally strawberry blond hair was starting to grow darker and the headaches were coming fast and furious. Dad was changing. Into what, we weren't sure, but we were going to find out.

By the end of the first week of the holidays Dad's hair resembled that of a Mohican Indian with a black strip growing prominently down the middle of his head and the sides having turned a slightly greyer colour. His once hairless torso was sprouting like a newly sown lawn giving him body hair you could plait.

The back pains had receded but a tail, now almost six inches long, was hanging from the small of his back. At the same time his small and petite nose had broadened and elongated, dare I say exploded, right across his face. His newly contorted head and Roman-like nose forced his mouth forward and broad, turning it almost muzzle-like. The headaches had become continuous, and two little horns had forced their way through his skull and out of his forehead.

He had the appetite of a horse, or should I say gnu, as he seemed to eat all day. With this his stomach was getting larger and his clothes were struggling to fit.

Mum's investigations started to conclude what we had all hoped they wouldn't: Dad was definitely turning into some form of gnu.

The park’s staff were now asking questions about him. When was he coming back to work?

How long was he going to be off for?

And, what was wrong with him?

With the changes taking place to Dad he was spending a lot of time in discomfort, so Mum in her wisdom administered the strongest painkillers she dare, causing him to sleep most of the time.

Mum was worried about what was happening to him and at the speed it was occurring. He was getting weaker and he didn't seem to know his own mind.

Then, when Dad was sleeping one day, Mum called a family meeting.

Look, she said, I don't know how far this transformation is going to go, but I am really worried, your father is getting weaker by the day and people are asking too many questions.

Why don’t we tell his boss, Mr Mathews? Chipped in Granny. With his help we could relieve some of the burden from our shoulders."

This seemed like a good idea at the time, but it would turn out to be an idea that would come back to haunt us!

Joseph Mathews had been running the park for three years, after it had been left to him in his late father's will.

Dad wasn't very keen on Joseph. A blemish on one's shoes, he would say. Can't abide the man.

But Dad had promised Joseph's father he would help run the park, and Dad was a man of his word, so a promise was a promise that he had to try and keep.

Since taking over, Joseph had run the park down to its bare bones, having squandered all the profits. He was a known gambler-cum-playboy, driving flash convertible cars and spending most of his time on holiday. He would have sold the park the minute he became owner, but for his father's will stating that if he was to sell, all the money would go to animal charities.

If Dad had been in his right mind, he would never have let us tell Mr Mathews, but we were desperate, we needed help!

So it was agreed, and Mum went to see him the next day.

Mr Mathews didn't believe a word Mum told him, calling her delusional and saying she was talking a load of old poppycock.

Mum, though, was a very good vet, and would keep photographic and video evidence of most of her cases.

On showing photos to Mr Mathews he couldn't and wouldn't believe it, he wanted to see Dad straight away.

It was the second week of my school holidays when Mr Mathews first saw Dad. He was sleeping, and now had the face and hair of a gnu, with two fully formed horns protruding to the sides before heading downwards from his forehead. He also had the long tail and a largely expanded stomach.

How many people know of this? said Mr Mathews.

Just us in this room, replied Mum.

Good, he said, "let's keep it that way. If you can keep covering his shifts I will tell everybody that he is OK and that I have had to send him away on a course. Everybody knows you can do the job, so hopefully they will stop asking questions. We should be okay for a month or so.

I want to be informed daily of any occurrences and keep up that surveillance work, we need to catch every moment of his transition, said Mr Mathews before leaving.

Unbeknownst to us at the time, Dad had actually finished transforming; this was as far as he was going.

He had the legs and feet of a human. From his waist upwards he was covered in a coarse grey stripy hair with a pot belly stomach. A tail about a foot long hung from the base of his back and his head had changed to that of a gnu. He had a mane of long black hair and two horns which curved outwards from his forehead. Most importantly though, he could still communicate with us, even though he brayed every now and again in his sleep.

Over the next few days Mum carried on with her tests and finally he started growing stronger.

Coming to the end of the third week of the holiday Dad was up and about. He wouldn't go out in the daylight, understandably, but as soon as it became dark he would go into our garden and take a stroll. He said as he was strolling he just felt the need to kick off. By this he meant his body told him to run, and boy could he run. I'm not saying he couldn't run before, because he always won the parents' 100 metre race at the school sports day. But that first night, when he started to run, he RAN!  He ran that fast he reminded me of a wildebeest being chased by a pack of lions. Mum calculated that he was running at nearly 40mph. In other words if he was to do the school's 100m race he would have finished it in around 6 or 7 seconds.

Mum called a meeting on the Saturday morning for the family and Mr Mathews. Here she informed us that her tests concluded that Dad's blood cells were a mixture of gnu and human. She reluctantly concluded that Dad was probably going to stay like this for the foreseeable future.

What was to be our next step though?

Only five people, or should I say four people and a GNUMAN, knew of Dad and his predicament.

Mr Mathews took on the mantle of bossman and decided that Dad should keep a low profile, until we could think of what to do.

Over the weekend, we concentrated on bonding as a family again, playing board games, eating Granny's cakes and Dad doing one of his disco nights.

Sunday night, Mum took a phone call from Mr Mathews, asking us all to meet him in his office at 7 in the morning.

Chapter 3

Something Fishy

On Monday morning we made our way over to the park's office. Dad sat in the back of the safari park jeep, concealing himself behind the blacked out rear windows. Driving through the park he was concerned how quiet it was, as there should have been cleaners and security staff around.

Maybe Mr Mathews has arranged for them to be in other parts of the park, like he said, so we can get to him without being seen, said Granny.

Mmmm, maybe, said Dad. I'm not sure about all this, I think something fishy is going on, but I don't quite know what!

We parked outside the office building and made our way to Mr Mathews' office. I knew nearly every inch of that park, but the boss's office was one of the few places that I had never been allowed in before today.

Mr Mathews was well known for not being child friendly. He was a good time Charlie (well that's what Dad called him). A philanderer who had never married and always quoted, 'Children should be seen and not heard'.

We walked through the deserted reception area and down the corridor to the boss's office, and Dad knocked on the door at exactly 7am.

ENTER.

Walking in I was struck by the sight of a large antique wooden desk sitting in the middle of the room. Mr Mathews, puffing on a cigar, was sat behind the desk with his own personal smog cloud hovering overhead.

Spinning round on his leather chair he greeted us before I noticed, behind him, the largest bookcase I had ever seen. It went from one wall to the other and from floor to ceiling, and it was full of books. All types of books: big books, small books, thick books, thin books, modern books and some really old looking books. I went straight to the cabinet and instantly noticed that all the publications were in alphabetical order by their titles.

I'd rather you didn't touch those books young man, said Mr Mathews sternly, as he drew deeply on his cigar before exhaling more of the choking smog into the air.

So touch I didn't, but look I did.

They went from left to right across the floor, starting with an aardvark book and finishing way up above me near to the ceiling with what I guessed would be a book on zebras. I didn't know for sure as the bookcase was so high you needed a ladder to reach the top. Animal books were my passion, I was fascinated by them. I loved to read, and in front of me was a library I could only have dreamed of.

So Joseph, said Dad, what's going on then, and why did we have to come here, what's wrong with meeting at our house?

Suddenly without warning, from the far end of the bookcase, a secret door lunged open and two men came bursting into the room. One was carrying a large camera, with which he was furiously taking pictures.

Noooo! shouted Dad. I don't want this, you've set us up.

He barged past the two men towards the door in the bookcase, virtually knocking them into next week. Both crashed against the bookcase before falling into a crumpled heap, where they were submerged in a torrent of literature.

Grandma started screaming at Mr Mathews, whilst Mum, grabbing my hand, dragged me out of the door. Will, Irene, c'mon, let's go! she shouted.

The two men groggily got to their feet, dazed and disorientated, then they proceeded to pursue us, with Mathews bellowing orders behind them. Don't let them get away.

We ran to the jeep with Mum jumping in the driver's seat. She started the engine, revving furiously, dropping the clutch and wheel spinning away.

Heading from the office, Mum drove down the road and towards the park entrance.

Where's Dad? I said. We can't leave him behind.

It's OK, Son, came his voice from the back of the jeep. I'm here safe and sound. And with that, Dad stuck his head up from under a large blanket in the rear of the jeep.

Unbeknownst to me, my parents had hatched a plan to get away quickly... just in case.

By now, Mathews and the two men, who turned out to be a reporter and photographer from The Snu newspaper, were in hot pursuit.

Quick, into the lion compound, said Dad. We can cut over the hill and get to the emergency gate. From there we can get onto the country lanes and away from here as soon as possible. As we approached the lion compound the automatic gates slid agonisingly slowly open.

"Put your