Shamanka Read Online Free PDF

stiff.” She rolls the bird over in the dust, its eyes glazed, feet in the air.
    â€œYeah, it’s stiff,” says her friend. “You can’t bring it back to life, unless you’re Jesus.”
    â€œOr a magician,” says Smallest Girl.
    Sam scoops the dead bird into her hands. It weighs almost nothing.
    â€œUgh, dead birds have fleas. My nan told me,” says the friend of Smallest. Sam smiles.
    â€œI can make it come back to life.”
    â€œYou’re lying,” say the girls in unison. “Liar, liar.”
    They dance around her in a ring. Other children stop what they’re doing and wander over; they want to know what Sam Khaan is lying about. She reckons she can bring that dead bird back to life? Yeah, right! Like to see her try. Go on, Khaan, prove it!
    â€œAll right, I will.” She puts the bird in her lunchbox.
    â€œUgh! She’s gonna eat it!” interrupts Smallest.
    Sam ignores her and tells everyone present to meet her under the birch tree after lunch. “I will make this dead sparrow fly.”
    No one believes her but they all want to see her fail, so Smallest Girl, all her friends and all their friends spread the word: the weirdo in the funny uniform is going to perform a miracle. She’ll probably just chuck the dead bird over the fence and say it flew, pretend it came alive. Yeah, that’s what she’ll do. Not like she’s Jesus, is it? No.
    By lunchtime, the whole of the lower school has heard about it. They are all meandering down to the birch tree at the bottom of the field, trying not to arouse suspicion among the staff on playground duty. “No, we’re not up to nuffing, miss!” “We’re not going anywhere, sir.” “Down to the birch tree? No, sir!”
    Sam is waiting for them; she knows the resurrection chant off by heart. If it doesn’t work, she has Plan B up her sleeve. She arranges the dead sparrow on a pad of grass inside her lunchbox in preparation.
    The first group of kids arrives. Smallest Girl and friends sit at her feet like disciples. Some boys arrive. They don’t want to sit down but Smallest Girl whines at them, “Sit down, will ya? Else I can’t see!”
    â€œYeah, sit down!” yells the crowd.
    They gather and gather. Sam didn’t think there’d be quite so many.
    â€œGet on with it,” says Trevor Randle from Year 9. “Or I’ll kick your lying butt.”
    â€œWatch!” commands Sam. She removes the lid from her lunchbox and throws it into the air – it vanishes. Already their eyes and their brains are confused; they were expecting one thing, but something else happened. Now they don’t know what to expect, and Sam has their full attention.
    Everyone stops messing around. What has she done with the lid? It can’t have just disappeared – or can it? They are so busy worrying about the lid, they can’t catch up with what she’s doing next. They’re always a few seconds behind and that’s all the time she needs. She shows them the contents of the box.
    â€œSee the poor sparrow! It is dead. It is cold and stiff. I would like a volunteer to touch it to prove that it is not merely asleep. Any fool can wake the sleeping, but
I
can wake the dead.” No one in the audience moves. Sam fixes her eyes on Trevor Randle. “You believe it’s dead then?”
    â€œNo, but I ain’t touching it. It might have fleas.”
    Smallest Girl pushes herself up.
    â€œOh,
I’ll
do it. I want fleas. You get a day off school.” She strokes the bird’s head with her finger and shudders slightly. “It’s dead all right, poor fing.”
    Sam nods. “It
is
dead … but not for much longer.”
    She cups the broken corpse in her hands, lowers her voice and begins to chant in Motu. She thought they might heckle, but they don’t; they’re
still
looking for the lunchbox lid. Now she’s