The Trouble with Polly Brown (46 page)

“Ooh, let us see,” all the children cried as they anxiously gathered closer still to watch.

“Here, I'll show you all how to do it.”

Each child, with the exception of Polly, took it in turn to disclose the confidential contents of their personal school report, and then with Tommy's helpful assistance, plus the magic stroke of a pen, they all dramatically improved their otherwise abysmally depressing grades. With all heads bowed, they concentrated hard on the task at hand, which was to use this time profitably by making those very important alterations to their grades.

Polly, however, chose this moment to quietly tiptoe out of the waiting room. She knew they would despise her further for not joining in, but she felt that in the light of all her present troubles, she could not face any further crisis, which might surely make things a whole heap worse than they already were.

Eventually, the much-dreaded Sunday lunchtime arrived. Polly sat alone to eat a pitifully small plate more suited to an inactive elderly person then an ever-growing, energetic child. Her plate bore just one thin slice of luncheon meat, one boiled potato cut into two, and three or four pieces of tinned carrots mixed with a tablespoon of peas. This was followed by a dessert of three slices of canned peaches with a dollop of canned sweetened cream. This meal had, as usual, only begun to touch on her hunger, but she had long learned to put up with the constant stomach pangs. She knew that there would be nothing else until suppertime, and this meal would also be equally sparse.

With the tables finally cleared of all dirty plates, it was time for Uncle Boritz to bring out his big black book, a book that quite understandably Polly truly detested. In a matter of minutes, all offenders were standing in the middle of the room, heads down, as they waited on Uncle Boritz's unmerciful wrath. However, as today was report day, it seemed he decided to leave all insults and grueling punishments until all the reports had been systematically read out and then openly discussed.

One by one he read each report out loud. Some of the reports did not seem so bad, while others, well, Uncle Boritz could only shake his head and make loud tutting noises.

However, on this occasion, when it came to Tommy Pulleyblank's report he had nothing but high praise.

“Well done, Tommy. Overall, this report is much better than expected, and your grades have so greatly improved that I must say I am most impressed.”

The same could be said for all those who had remained in the train waiting room substantially altering the grades of their supposedly confidential school reports.

Finally, it was Polly's turn. As she was already on ROPE, she was amongst those unlucky ones already standing in the center of the room staring at the floor. The room went into a deathly hush as Uncle Boritz paused to adjust his thick glasses before tearing open the envelope to pull out the contents.

Uncle Boritz chose to mutter silently as he quickly skipped over her report. He then snorted loudly and began shaking his head like a puppet. Polly imagined he was thoroughly enjoying watching the children suffer in the center of the room.

“I feel stiff scared,” a nervous Polly whispered to the child standing next to her.

“It's scared stiff, you stupid burk!” the other companion-in-misery petulantly retorted.

“Oh, sorry,” Polly sighed.

“As per usual, your report appears to be far worse than all the others put together. What do you have to say about this?” he asked with the full pomposity of a high court judge, as over his thick glasses he glumly stared her directly in the eye, his true intention being to provoke some sort of reaction from her.

Polly said nothing, but she began to squirm all the same. Simply put, how could she say anything? He had not told her or anybody else in the room exactly what her report contained, good or bad!

“Hmm. All Ds and Fs. This, madam, is typical when it comes to you, but it is still totally unacceptable,” he bristled.

“Now listen up, everybody, for according to the deputy head, not only is Polly extremely idle, often failing to bring any ingredients to her cookery lessons, but she has some choice comments to make. Ah, now let me see…”

In truth, it should have ended there, as the teacher had been in a hurry and had chosen not to add any further comments, but Uncle Boritz saw this as a golden opportunity to put his own spin on things.

“Yes, your teacher goes on to say, and I quote, ‘What this girl considers witty, I consider insolence. I also believe there to be more intellectual vigor in a leftover bowl of soggy rice pudding.'”

All the children began to laugh hysterically at the thought of Polly being compared to a bowl of mushy rice pudding.

Boritz was so pleased at the children's hysterical response that it crossed his mind to continue on adding a few rather clever comments of his own wherever possible. After all, no one else would ever see the report, and besides, it was rather fun.

“Right, let's continue on. Mr. Warlord, your history teacher, says that much of this term has been taken up with a very comprehensive project on the Holocaust. He goes on to say that your overwhelming compulsion to be very argumentative and opinionated in group discussions is really quite extraordinary.”

It was time again for Boritz to give additional spice to the history teacher's comments.

“Your teacher continues by adding, ‘She lives to cause chaos in these discussions, while all other pupils meekly seek to divide historical fact from fiction.'”

“Well, I can't help myself, for some of the pupils really believe that the Holocaust never happened, and that's a downright lie. The terrible things that happened to those precious people must never be forgotten or removed from our history books; otherwise, it will surely happen again,” Polly angrily piped up.

An angry Uncle Boritz paused to take off his thick glasses and give them a quick wipe over.

“There you go again, Miss Argumentative Know-It-All, giving your views when no one has asked for them or is particularly interested in them, for that matter. This, young madam, is why you get yourself in so—”

Suddenly he stopped addressing Polly, for he had good reason to look over in Mildred's direction with a show of great concern. If he wasn't mistaken, he felt sure he could hear the first rumbles of an emotional relapse about to take place, and so he began to shake his head slowly.

“Polly Brown lives to cause chaos. She lives to cause chaos. There, there, dear Mildred. Just take a long, deep breath. We are almost halfway through this very disturbing report,” he stated as he sought to comfort her. Placing his glasses back on his nose, he then continued on.

Unbeknown to Polly, he dismissed many of the positive comments that some of the teachers had taken the time to write, as none of these concerned him the least. He was, after all, only interested in the comments that further blackened her already demonized character, and he had to admit he was thoroughly enjoying the response the other children were giving to this report. The raucous laughter caused many of the children to almost fall off their seats, so this factor alone encouraged him to seize the moment and really make up more humorous but insulting comments. He once more reminded himself that nobody present would ever consider challenging him or dare ask to review the report for themselves, for the reports were considered highly confidential and therefore intended for his eyes alone.

“Hmm. Other teachers report that you are surly and abrasive and very challenging when it comes to discussing anything you don't agree with, hmm, your math teacher, Mr. Snoggerhill in particular, for he complains that you are bone idle and that your grasp of long division can only be described as ‘somewhat flimsy.'”

“I hate math because I can't understand any of it, and he won't take the time to even try to help me,” she mumbled bitterly.

“Oh, deary, deary me! Of course, Polly. As usual, it's everybody else's fault. Today it's the turn of all your poor teachers to take the blame,” he said, scratching his head as he continued mischievously to make up his own very uncharitable teachers' comments.

“Hmm, as for geography, Miss Dolagmite has this to say concerning the year's sad performance: ‘This poor girl is profoundly socially inept, so much so that if I were called on to organize a school trip to the South Pole, I would indeed ensure that Polly join us, albeit one way!'”

Once more, all children present burst into hoots of laughter. Yes, with the exception of Polly and James, there was not one child listening in that day that didn't think this comment to be hysterically funny.

Boritz's lip began to curl with pleasure as he truly enjoyed playing the witty comedian, for he could see clearly that it made the children adore him even more. He even began to give great consideration to what he believed was yet another very good idea that might well one day come to fruition. “The South or North Pole. Hmm. What does it matter as long as it's a one-way ticket,” he mumbled under his breath.

Boritz then took a moment to stare the poor girl out.

“Tut tut. Your poor biology teacher, Mrs. McGillicuddy, has left her box empty for the simple reason that she has not been at the school for the two weeks leading up to Christmas, and therefore she was unavailable for comment. However, we have been informed by the school that she is still totally distressed by the torturous and most harrowing eyeballs incident!

“And as for music? Well, I draw a complete blank on this one,” he snorted, as he continued to make up more funny comments that would gain him top marks if this were ever to turn into a popularity contest. “Yes, as for Mr. Lapsongsushi, he complains that your singing is always so overly, boisterously loud and overbearing that he can hardly hear any of the other pupils, or their musical instruments for that matter. He also asks, ‘Are you tone deaf?'”

The children now began screeching with laughter at this latest stinging indictment.

“You must agree that all of this is very, very disconcerting,” he sniffed as he continued to shake his head to express his total disapproval. “Polly, stand to attention, you sniveling wretch! No, you're still slumping. I order you to stand up straight. Now do it!”

Polly instantly obeyed the command, but still Uncle Boritz wasn't the least bit satisfied.

Just then Boritz caught sight of Miss Scrimp. “Miss Scrimp, would you do me the great kindness of going to the cleaning cupboard to fetch a long-handled broom?”

Miss Scrimp nodded her agreement and immediately headed out of the door. She returned minutes later and walked directly over to where Polly still stood craning her neck in the air as though attempting to be extra obedient to his request. The broom handle was instantly forced down the back of Polly's dress in an attempt to make her stand up straighter.

All the children present once more began to laugh out loud.

“Thank you, Miss Scrimp. Right, that's much better, so let's carry on, shall we? Yes, it appears that even your grades are shamefully much lower than any of the other children's. This is all so hard to bear, don't you think?” he said with an air of pure disdain.

“Yes, Uncle Boritz,” Polly muttered as once more she began to squirm before bowing her head further in disgrace. A lone tear splashed directly onto her right shoe.

“Speak up, girl, when you're being spoken to. You really do take the biscuit when it comes to sheer, unadulterated insolence,” he snorted. “We only have the headmaster's comments left to read out, and judging by all we have heard so far, one can only imagine that his comments will be in keeping with the rest of this diabolical and most disappointing report,” he said as he cleared his throat and tried hard to keep a straight face, for he was enjoying himself far too much.

One might imagine that as a child Boritz found immense pleasure and satisfaction in slowly and maliciously pulling the legs and wings off terrified insects as well as other small, unprotected animals. So it was well within the bounds of reason that he had carried this keen and warped sense of twisted pleasure into his adult life, although instead of frail insects, he now had the souls and minds of defenseless, vulnerable young children who remained thoroughly ill equipped to bear such extreme psychological torture, children with severely fragile hearts that he could emotionally dissect at his will. Happily for him, the pleasure was surely as equal as it had been way back then when he was a young boy.