Shark Island

narrated by Boris Pfeiffer

with illustrations by Kim Schmidt

Translated by Georgina Hodge

KOSMOS

Island Guardians

“A real pirate’s island? And we’re supposed to guard it?” Bob Andrews opened his eyes wide in amazement. “You gotta be kidding me, Peter? Do you really mean it?”

Peter Shaw nodded. The three ??? were right in front of Aunt Mathilda’s kitchen door on the veranda. They had just devoured one of her famous cherry pies down to the very last crumb, when Peter got a call from his father.

“Yeah! Well it’s not a real pirate’s island, of course. But the movie that my dad’s working on right now is definitely a real pirate movie.”

Justus Jonas, the leader of the three ???, jumped up excitedly. Peter’s father had often shown the ??? fantastic things because he was a special effects supervisor in movies. But guarding a pirate’s island – well they’d never done anything like that before!

“Friends,” Justus whooped excitedly, “maybe we’ll even get our own roles in the movie? Peter, for example, would make an amazing skeleton. He’s getting skinnier by the minute!” Justus, whose own figure was closer to being described as stocky, pulled his stomach in as far as he could, sucked his cheeks in and stood on his tiptoes, dangling his arms by his side and screwing up one eye. “Hello!” he rasped in a hollow voice. “I’m Peter Shaw, the one-eyed guardian of Shark Island. Nobody gets past me, dead or alive!”

“Haha,” Peter grinned, “don’t waste your time, Justus, you’ll never be as in shape and well-toned as I am!”

Bob giggled. “Shark Island?” Justus then asked. “As in Shark Island! Did I hear you right?”

“My dad didn’t mention any name to me,” Peter mumbled. “Justus, why did you say Shark Island?”

Justus Jonas, who loved acting, suddenly changed right back into being a chubby, fun-loving, 10-year-old boy. He shrugged his shoulders. “Because of everything you just said about the island – quite small, easy to find your way around and not too far from the coast – it can only be Pim Paul’s Shark Island and he’s one of the most famous pirates in California.”

“There you go again, Justus. How do you know all this stuff?” Peter sank down onto the top step of the veranda and raised his arms up quizzically.

Then Justus’ eyes started to sparkle. “How do I know that? Peter, what a question!

I read about it of course. Even if I have to admit that I don’t know the island personally. I only know that the pirate supposedly went missing on a small island near our coastline. By the way, his ship Aurora disappeared with him. Wait a minute!”

The leader of the three ??? walked over to one of the covered sales tables that were fixed to the fence by the entrance of the junkyard and rummaged vigorously through a pile of old dolls and pieces of a plastic toy garage.

The junkyard belonged to his uncle Titus. Justus had been living there with him and his aunt since his parents died in an accident. And over the years, the Titus Jonas Second Hand Warehouse in the small Californian coastal town of Rocky Beach, had become Justus’ true, real and much-loved home.

“Ah, here it is!” he shouted. From a pile of old magazines, he triumphantly pulled out one issue.

“Don’t tell me you know what’s in all these magazines by heart?” Bob asked baffled.

“Of course not. There’s no need to, because once I’ve read something, I always know where to find it again,” Justus replied rather snootily. “That’s the advantage of having a photographic memory like I do. Just in case you hadn’t already noticed. I only have to look at something once and it’s right there in my head for whenever I need it in the future!”

“And what does it say in the article?” Peter interrupted, slightly irritated by Justus’s never-ending lectures about his little grey cells, or his really special and highly exceptional strength of spirit, which, among other things, totally got on Peter’s nerves.

“Like I just said,” Justus repeated undeterred, handing Peter the magazine while seemingly regurgitating everything that was in it by heart.

“Among other islands, Shark Island is considered to be one of the possible last hiding places of Pim Paul, a pirate who went missing at the beginning of the 18^th century, and who supposedly hid Queen Calafia’s legendary treasure there.”

Peter roared with laughter. “Queen Calafia? Justus, this time you’ve got it totally wrong. Didn’t you hear what I just said? If not, then you should go and get yourself some photographic ears as well! The island is not big enough to have a hiding place or anything like that there. Just the opposite – it’s tiny! And we’re only staying there for one night together with my dad to take care of the equipment.

Actually, the film crew has to briefly return to Hollywood for an unexpected re-shoot in the studio. And they really don’t feel like dragging all the stuff with them for such a short time. That’s why my dad said he would stay on the island, but only if he is allowed to invite us over. And the studio agreed,” Peter grinned.

“But who is this Queen Calafia?” Bob wanted to know.

Justus shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t really know that either. I think she was a legendary figure that many pirates searched for, because she apparently ruled a land which had lakes made of pure gold.”

Peter shook his head. “That definitely wasn’t Shark Island! And besides that, if there really was anything there, the film crew would have trampled on it long ago. Sure you know that everything they touch, they ruin!”

Bob chipped in. “Yeah, you hear that all the time. Never rent your house to filmmakers, unless you really wanna have your home trashed.” He grinned at Justus. “But this pirate, this Pim Paul guy, he’s of no interest to us either, is he? There are thousands of treasure hunters looking for alleged treasures. It’s much more important that we spend a great weekend with Peter’s dad. Swimming, diving – and I’m certain Mr Shaw will tell us a few, exciting movie stories again, too! He might even show us a few of his tricks!

“Hey, I didn’t say that I was against it or anything,” Justus objected. “I just remembered what I read about.”

Peter grinned. “Yeah, in a trashy, 50 year old magazine!” He snapped the magazine in his hand shut and stood up again. “That’s just a load of junk anyway. Come on guys. What are we gonna tell my dad? Are we going, yes or no?”

The three ??? looked at one another.

The next instant, a triple ‘yeah’ resounded throughout the junkyard. It was so loud, that Aunt Mathilda stuck her head out the kitchen door. “Have you eaten the cherry pie already?” she called out. “Was that a cry for more?”

Justus smiled at his aunt. “Absolutely, Aunt Mathilda! Better make it a pie to go. Because if you let me, we’re gonna spend the next two days with Peter’s dad on a lonely island.”

Shark Island

By the time the three ??? reached Shark Island, the film crew had already left the small island. Peter’s dad drove the boys from the coast up to the island in a little motorboat. It was just a short trip and so he circled the island once to welcome them.

“Wow! It really is tiny,” Justus marvelled. It was actually possible to drive around the whole island in less than five minutes. The island looked just like a fat pear. On one side, the waves of the Pacific crashed against a rocky coastline, that was totally overgrown with shells. The middle of the island was dotted with several smaller rocks. To the right was the pirates’ village, built by the film crew.

“Are we going ashore there where the shells are?” Bob asked.

Peter’s dad shook his head. “The beach on that side of the island is quite dangerous,” he explained.

“Some of the shells are very sharp and the rocks are perilously slippery. One of the crewmen got a nasty cut there a few days back. We’re going ashore on the opposite side, the narrow part of the pear so to speak.”

Justus grinned. “I also thought about how you could describe the island. Pear-shaped is not bad, but don’t you think it looks just like a skull? The rocks in the middle are like a nose – even though a skull doesn’t really have a nose, does it?”

“Then why don’t you just call it a head, rather than a skull,” Peter suggested. “That’s a much better way of describing it.”

“Sure thing,” Justus giggled. “Though you have to admit that a skull fits much better into a pirate story.”

Peter’s dad drove on. They left the shell-covered cliffs behind them and arrived at a small grove of palm trees and grasses.

“Can you see what I mean with the shape of a head now?” Peter shouted.