Spud - Learning to Fly (4 page)
Read Spud - Learning to Fly Online
Authors: John van de Ruit
The rising siren is sheer horror. Mrs Bishop shat on me for falling asleep during Maths dawn patrol and said I was letting my parents, the school and myself down. I felt terrible and did my best to look lively but couldn’t stop myself from daydreaming about falling asleep in my own bed at home.
11:30 There was a buzz of excitement in our English classroom as we waited for The Guv to make his entrance. Eventually, there was a lot of shouting and banging outside the door. The Guv came bursting in as if he expected to see an empty classroom and stopped dead in his tracks before looking heavenward and asking, ‘And this is the best they could come up with?’ He slammed down a large pile of books on his huge oak desk, flung his leather briefcase into the empty fireplace, and collapsed into his chair exhausted. He then cleaned his spectacles with a white handkerchief before replacing them on his head and glaring at us again. ‘Good God,’ he said, ‘it’s worse than I thought.’
His eyes fell upon Garlic in the front row. Garlic’s face reddened, his eyes swelled and he broke into a great goofy smile. The Guv studied the new man in silence before lighting his pipe. He blew out a huge puff of smoke and continued to examine Garlic like he was an unusual species. Eventually, Garlic could take it no longer and blurted out, ‘I’m Garth Garlic, sir. I come from Malawi. You ever been to Malawi, sir?’
The Guv replied in a deep and droning voice, ‘Young man, I wouldn’t go to Malawi if the rest of the world were ablaze! And I would prefer, Mr Garlic, if you would refer to your hallowed bastion of heathen horror as Nyasaland within the strict confines of my classroom.’
‘But, sir,’ stammered Garlic, ‘Malawi is a beautiful place – and it changed from Nyasaland nearly thirty years ago …’
The Guv thumped his fist down on his wooden desk and cried, ‘Nyasaland may be thirty, but I’m a hundred and eight and this classroom is my empire!’
The Guv sighed deeply, pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped his brow. He then analysed his handkerchief for some time before saying, ‘Who could have predicted that so much mischief could come from such an insignificant little snotrag …’ He looked at us with eyes burning with excitement and intensity. ‘Gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘reach into your bags and unsheath your Othellos.’ Once we had taken out our books he peered at us again as if we were about to embark on some mysterious and dangerous journey and said, ‘Now, gentlemen, reach into yourselves and unsheath your minds …’
I returned to the dormitory after lunch to find a massive golf putting competition under way. Simon and Rambo were taking on Fatty and Boggo in an ill-spirited match and, judging by all the sneering and goading, Fatty and Boggo had fallen woefully behind. This wasn’t that surprising since Boggo has no hand-eye coordination whatsoever and Fatty was having some trouble squeezing in between the lockers and was often forced to putt left handed with the back of his putter. Garth Garlic was jumping up and down with excitement and chanting the score at regular intervals, which only further enraged Boggo.
Boggo and Fatty eventually called the match off because according to them, ‘People were cheating.’ They didn’t say which people or how they were meant to be cheating. Everyone then left to practise hitting golf shots on the field.
I asked Simon what the sudden golf craze was all about. He glared at me like I was an idiot and said, ‘Because the father and son golf day is only six weeks away and this year it’s at Victoria Country Club. You’d better start grooving your swing, Spud.’
This is a huge worry. It seems like this golf day is quite a major event – in fact every senior is expected to play and play well. I’ve never played golf before and neither has Dad, although he did use a three wood to kill a boomslang a few years back. (It turned out the boomslang had already been killed by the gardener, but Dad obviously didn’t know this at the time.)
20:30 Narrowly avoided Garlic talking about Lake Malawi again. This time the victims were a couple of frightened first years whom he had unwittingly cornered at the far end of the common room. When I realised what was happening, I pretended to be looking for somebody and immediately raced out of the room, tapping urgently away at my watch. Garlic seemed to be swinging his arms backwards and forwards like he was trout fishing or perhaps whipping a servant. The first years watched him in silence with eyes of fear and uncertainty.
All the first years look identical. They stand out because they are small and foreign in familiar surroundings. I’ve seen three of them crying already. (Although it could have been the same guy crying three times.) Either way it’s a bumpy ride for the newbies. I pity whichever one of those poor sods ends up slaving for Pike. If I were him, I’d slit my throat immediately.
Boggo reckons he’s got first dibs on nicknaming the first years. He’s already compiled an extensive list of possible names which include: Doggystyle, Gonad and Gastro.
Thank God I’m a senior.
8am Assembly
The first assembly of the year was delayed until today because The Glock has only just returned from a disastrous skiing holiday to Austria. Apparently, the ski lift on which he and his wife were riding capsized, sending our headmaster and his wife crashing thirty feet into the snow. The Glock escaped with a broken wrist because he landed on top of his wife who cushioned the blow. Unfortunately, the force of the falling Glock broke his wife’s back and the poor woman is in traction for three months in a hospital in Vienna.
I must admit The Glock looked a little pathetic standing up at the podium trying to look intimidating with his broken arm and bruised face. I noticed the first years didn’t seem to be that scared of him. The Glock didn’t threaten us with violent punishment nor ramble on about discipline. He just said a quick prayer, mumbled a meek welcome and walked out.
Outside in the sunlight, Fatty said this was definitely The Glock’s bad karma coming back to bite him for the underhanded way he expelled Mad Dog and nearly expelled Rambo last year. Everyone shared a low-key high five and we went our separate ways.
Pike is back. I saw him at lunch. He sat at the prefects’ table and seems to have developed an extremely fake ultra-casual walk that he’s no doubt been practising in the holidays. The good news is that he’s not staying in the house. He’s living in one of the post matric residences, although I’m sure that won’t stop him from snooping around and tormenting people smaller than himself.
Woke up feeling nervous and excited about my chances for the cricket season. Today the school is announcing trial teams from the firsts all the way down to the sixth team (let’s hope it doesn’t come to that). Obviously, I’m at a disadvantage because I’m only in third year and I’m now competing with matrics and post matrics for places along with all the guys from my year as well. The good news is that the first team spinner from last year (Bongo Wilkens) decided he wasn’t going to make Natal Schools after all and has gone to UCT instead. Good man. According to Simon, trials lists are usually an indicator of where you’ll end up. I’m praying to make seconds although Simon informs me that I’ll only make thirds. Rambo says he’ll definitely make seconds and obviously Simon will play firsts. We wait until eleven o’clock. Tick-Tock.
8:00 Dad phoned to wish me luck for the trials announcement. He’s convinced I’m about to make my debut for the firsts, possibly as Captain. Unfortunately, he’s seriously misguided and semi-insane.
11:00 A jostling crowd had already gathered at the cricket notice board by the time I arrived. I could hear cheering and jeering in equal measure as each boy fought his way to the front of the mob and searched hopefully for his name. I began with the first and second team trial list, which was a grave mistake, because I immediately noticed that my name wasn’t there and grew instantly depressed, despite not expecting it to be there in the first place. I pushed my way across to the third and fourth team trial list and then I was overcome by that terrible sinking feeling when I saw my name down at bottom of the page under the column:
EXTRAS
I staggered away from the noisy crowd and returned to the empty dormitory where I lay on my bed for ten minutes to digest the news and stop shaking. My first reaction was that there was some kind of conspiracy against me, led by Sparerib, who is now the second team coach. Is it impossible that somebody could go from U15A to a reserve for the fourth team in one short holiday? Obviously, it is. Worse news is that Rambo was listed in the third team and there’s now a possibility that I may well end up playing with Garlic for the fifths!
16:30 When I returned from a private bowling session in the cricket nets, Meany Dlamini swore at me and said my dad had called seven times in two hours and screwed up his afternoon nap.
‘He wants to know what cricket team you’re in,’ he yelled, before slamming his bedroom door in my face.
I decided to call Dad and put him out of his misery, despite the fact that he’s certain to do something extreme when he hears that South Africa’s ‘next great legspinner’ is turning out for the fifths! Thankfully, Dad must have thought that I was joking because when I broke the news, he howled with laughter, called me a cheeky little bugger, and slammed the phone down. Who knows – perhaps sense will prevail at tomorrow’s trial match and I’ll be promoted to the thirds.
Simon, Rambo and Boggo spent the entire evening offering me coaching hints and sage pieces of cricket wisdom. This despite the fact that Boggo has never played cricket in his life. Vern thought my humiliation was utterly hilarious although I don’t know what the cretin was guffawing about because he’s the final EXTRA for the sixth team and what’s more, there is no seventh team. That officially makes Rain Man the worst cricketer in the school.
21:30 Lights out. Rambo called us to a huddle at his bed and spoke in a very quiet whisper. I can’t remember Rambo ever whispering at a Crazy Eight meeting before.
‘I’ve got some news from the inside,’ he whispered as we all drew in close.
‘Ja, from the inside of your mother,’ snarled Boggo in a malicious whisper.
Rambo clonked Boggo on his knee with the rim of his squash racquet and told him to shut up. Boggo collapsed onto the floor pretending to be seriously injured. He then got up and said his knee ligaments may have snapped. Rambo said Boggo should butch up and continued speaking in his conspiratorial whisper. ‘Look, we don’t have much time. Word on the inside is that the prefects are after us. I mean
really
after us!’
‘It’s Pike!’ hissed Simon angrily.
‘Who’s Pike?’ asked Garlic with a look of rising dread.
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Rambo.
‘So what are we gonna do?’ asked Fatty, looking inspired.
‘We’re gonna be stealthy,’ replied Rambo. ‘Pike’s on duty tonight so he’s obviously gonna try something. I want everyone in their beds and total silence. Whatever you do, don’t let him goad you.’
The minutes painfully ticked by and I kept thinking about the cricket and Mermaid and felt like a complete failure. By 10:05 there was no sign of Pike. Fatty and Boggo became restless and I could hear whispering and the rustle of Fatty’s hand moving about his tuck box. Suddenly there were dark shadows at the foot of the dormitory door which then swung violently open as Pike burst in with Eggwhite trailing behind. Pike burped loudly and shouted, ‘Busted, you goat lickers!’
His triumphant shout was met with absolute silence, apart from the faint rustle of a chip packet from underneath Fatty’s duvet.
Then Pike said to Eggwhite, ‘I bet you the idiots have gone nightswimming! Quick – turn on the lights.’ Eggwhite stumbled over the bin while looking for the light switch. Towards the other end of the dormitory there was a stifled snigger. And then harsh light flooded the room.
Pike seemed utterly shocked that we were all sleeping. He woke us up by kicking our lockers and demanded to know what we were all up to. Rambo got out of bed, stepped forward and said, ‘We’re trying to sleep, Pike.’
‘
You’re
Pike!’ blurted Garlic for whom the penny had just dropped.
‘That’s a first,’ snorted Pike, baiting for an argument. ‘It’s Friday night – I thought Rambo and his bum chums always did naughty things on Friday night?’
‘Not any more,’ said Simon, glaring at Pike like he was Satan himself.
‘Ohhhhhh,’ cooed Pike, ‘let me guess. Your mommies and daddies all sat you down and told you to behave yourselves. My, what good little mommy’s boys you are.’
Rambo didn’t say anything but the whites of his knuckles were showing on the handle of his squash racquet.
‘I bet you never thought I’d be a prefect,’ said Pike with a self-satisfied look on his face.
‘To tell you the truth, Pike,’ replied Boggo, ‘we never thought you’d pass matric.’
Pike let out a raucous fake laugh and then spat a greeny at Boggo.
Despite Boggo’s snapped knee ligaments, he nimbly managed to duck down behind his locker and the missile landed safely on the curtain instead.
Pike snorted dismissively, and with a terrible grin said, ‘I’m gonna pick you sorry bastards off, one by one, until there’s no one left! And even better, it’s legal because I’m a prefect.’
‘You’re a
prefect
?’ cried Garlic in astonishment.
‘Who the fuck are you, pink face?’ demanded Pike.
‘I’m Garlic,’ replied Garlic.
‘Yeah, well I’m sweet basil so lick my arse,’ snarled Pike.
‘You’re nothing!’ shouted Simon, unable to keep himself under control any longer.
Pike sneered and said, ‘Well, if I’m nothing then I’m not here and if I’m not here, then that means you miserable fanny farts are talking after lights out. I’ll see you all in Viking’s office at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.’
Eggwhite tried to persuade Pike that he was being a little unreasonable but Pike shouted, ‘Shut up, dick-weed!’ and marched out of the dormitory. Eggwhite dithered for a moment before following Pike and gently closing the door behind him.
There was a long silence before Rambo spoke again in his low psychopathic voice. ‘I told you to say nothing, but it looks like we’re going to have to learn the hard way.’
He didn’t say any more and the dormitory fell into a cold silence.
Bring on tomorrow.
