Into the River (9 page)

The big lunch room was thronging with small groups like his, family seeing off their boys. Most of the sons seemed to be his age: older boys evidently didn’t participate in this.

After a while there was the ting-ting-ting of a teaspoon rapped against a cup. It was Mr Simmonds, the housemaster. He spoke for a long time but didn’t seem to say much. Most of it was about how lucky the boys were and what rosy futures lay ahead of them if they were willing to ‘put in a first rate effort’. This first rate effort
seemed to be a catch-cry … he said it several times. Te Arepa looked around the room. Many of the other boys were now growing tearful. They knew what was going to happen next, and were dreading it. He tried not to look at them. It made it so much worse. He had to clench his whole body, which fought to surrender to sobs. At last Ra turned to him.

“Well, Te Arepa, they seem to be giving us the old heave-ho. I’m not going to give you any advice now. Your head must be full of it. This is the first term at your new school, the one where everyone will form an opinion about you. Make sure it’s a good one … I know it will be.”

He leaned forward and quickly kissed him on the cheek. It was something he hardly ever did. Uncle Jimmy shook his hand. And then they left.

Te Arepa watched Ra’s white head for as long as he could see him walking off to the car park. More than anything in the world now he wanted to run after him. To beg to be taken home. To say he had made the wrong choice. That it was too big, too hard for him. That he wasn’t ready.

For the first time he felt completely alone.

Many of the other boys went with their parents to the car park. He watched from a remove. They stood close to the departing cars, then watched them shrink into the distance. Te Arepa went to his dorm and sat on his hard, metal-sprung bed. There was a cabinet next to it. It was small but his clothes filled barely half of it. He waited for the occupants of the other beds to show their faces.

It wasn’t long before two of the others turned up. One was a tall, thin boy with long brown hair he kept flicking out of his face. The red-headed boy, who had been crying, climbed onto his bed and rolled over so he faced the low wall that separated each of the sleeping areas. The other stood with his father awkwardly as if each was waiting for the other to say something.

“Well, Stephen, here we go again. You’ll be okay here?”

The boy looked at Te Arepa and then into the body of the dorm.

“I’ll survive.”

“I’m hoping you’ll do more than just survive.”

“You know what I mean.”

He began to unpack his clothes from his bag. Te Arepa noted that he had a number of thick novels which he shoved into his locker. His shoes were black slip-ons with stitching up the side. A bit different from his own snub-nosed earth-movers from the Warehouse. There was something careful and deliberate about all the boy’s movements, not shove this, bang that, like most kids.

His father kept looking around restlessly and at last looked at his watch and said, “Oh well, Stephen, probably time I bid you a fond farewell. Study hard, endure the rest. For my part, I can guarantee we’ll be here a bit longer than the other places. You should
be able to put down roots. Make a few connections.”

Stephen looked at him with the suggestion of a grin. “Now, when have I heard that before?”

“I’m repeating myself, am I? Senility is closing in on me. Want to come out to the car and wave me off?”

Stephen shook his head.

“Well, I guess it’s goodbye then.” He reached his hand forward to be shaken. Stephen touched it briefly, in a token sort of way, and then sat on the bed looking at Te Arepa. The man said “Bye, Son!” and the boy replied “Bye, Father!” without turning his head. That was it; his father walked off quickly as though he had left the car running in the driveway.

“Had to let him go,” said Stephen to Te Arepa. “He was driving me mad. Whenever I go to a new school it’s the same routine, the same words. It’s like being stuck in the same episode of a sit com.”

Te Arepa grinned. “You’ve done this a few times before?”

“Oh yes. My father’s in the diplomatic corps so I’ve been shoved into international schools as he’s kersproinged his way around the world. Now he’s the one stuck … in Wellington. For a few years, anyway. He didn’t want me at any of the local boarding schools. It was his alma mater all the way.”

“What’s an alma mater?”

“His old school. Have a look at the scholarship board tomorrow: you’ll see Stackford in the dux’s column. He probably hopes that this is the beginning of a family tradition. You know,” he put on a deep, fruity voice, “Barwell’s for my lad, be the making of him. Pass me another pink gin, will you?” He gave a bitter little laugh. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Te Arepa.”

“Te Arepa, eh? Well, you’re the first one of those I’ve met.” He extended his hand to be shaken. “This place part of your family tradition?” He had an ironic tone.

“My grandfather reckons some of the dead guys are ours. I’m
here on a scholarship. I don’t know Auckland. I’ve hardly been outside the Coast.”

“What coast?”

“The East Coast, man.”

“Oh!”

“You sound like you’ve been around.”

“It’s over-rated. Airports and taxis. The only thing that changes is the view out the window.”

Stephen got up and went over to the other boy, who was still lying on his bed with his back to them.

“Hey. What’s up?”

The other boy rolled slowly over and looked up.

“Just a bit tired, eh man.” His eyes were fiery red with tears.

“Okay.” He paused as if weighing this up. “I’m Stephen
Stack-ford,
and this is Te Arepa …” He turned to Te Arepa “What’s your other name?”

“Santos.”

“Santos? Mmm, Spanish?”

Te Arepa nodded.

“Spain’s good.” And then he added, “Dusty though.”

“My name’s … Wade.” He said it slowly, as if it was difficult to remember. “Wade Royle.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet a member of the royal family.” Stephen offered a hand to be shaken. Wade dug his arm out and shook Stephen’s hand, then shook Te Arepa’s.

“Where are you from, Wade?”

“Te Hoi. Or near Te Hoi, anyway.”

“Where’s that?”

“Over from Taupo. My family have a farm there.”

He seemed to cheer up at that point, and was able to tell the other two that he was the youngest in his family, and that his three older brothers had gone through this school, but that he didn’t want to; he wanted to go to the local school forty kilometres away.

All his friends were there. And how he had this dog, Rex, that
could jump fences, and a horse called Rags that could talk. And he used to have a pet wild pig called Pilgrim but he got eaten last Christmas. And that his mother said he didn’t have to come here but his father was determined. And that this was even worse than he expected. And that he felt like dying.

“Yeah?” said Stephen, “I’ve been to a few of these before. In a few different countries. This one seems okay but it’s too early to tell. It all depends.”

“On what?” asked Te Arepa.

“On the seniors, particularly the ones in our dorm. Forget the food, forget the housemaster. That’s stuff’s always the same, the real stuff happens after lights out.”

“Bullying and stuff?”

“Yeah, particularly the ‘and stuff’ part”.

A bell rang and everyone began to move downstairs. The three of them followed down to a sort of lounge-assembly room. It was big enough to hold all sixty boys from the dorm. There were a few old couches and easy chairs around the walls and a big TV
mounted
on a shelf up in the corner. Stephen sat on the floor next to a group of boys his own age, and Wade was pleased to have someone to follow. Te Arepa sat on an old easy chair near them, the last one left. The housemaster appeared and began to sort through a bundle of papers. The talking began to tail off, as everyone waited for the first address.

All of a sudden, Te Arepa copped a terrific slap on the head. He ears rang as though bells had been set off inside them, then his eyes watered, and he strained to see who had done it. There was a big fat-faced boy behind him with the thickest eyebrows he had ever seen on someone so young.

“What’s with that?” Te Arepa asked, voice quivering with rage.

“That’s a bump, man. Get off or you’ll get another.”

Te Arepa slid slowly onto the floor next to Wade and Stephen, his head still buzzing from the blow. The other boys cringed,
pleased it wasn’t them. Eyebrows sat down on the chair as if it were a royal throne, and leaned back with his arms folded. He grinned around the room to all who had been watching.

One of the other boys on the floor leaned over to Te Arepa and whispered, “We’re not allowed to sit on a chair if a senior wants one.” Another added, “It’s always risky. They never want one until you’re on it.”

“Watch him. He’s trouble,” said Stephen. “If he can do that in full view, then imagine what he can do after lights out.”

The words lingered on in his mind: “… imagine what he can do after lights out …” Te Arepa glanced back at Eyebrows. He was sprawled out and looking around, the ugly smirk still smeared across his face.

“Quiet!” The words were bellowed by a senior sitting next to Mr Simmonds. Everyone stopped talking immediately.

Mr Simmonds sat back with his legs crossed and a clipboard on his knee. He wore a pinstripe suit with a yellow carnation in the button hole, like people wore at weddings. The senior who had screamed ‘Quiet’ sat on the other side of the desk. He seemed too old to be at school. He was huge and had a little tuft of chest hair peeping out the top of his polo shirt.

When Simmonds spoke, he did so softly. The boys all had to strain to hear him, leaning forward as though they were
eavesdropping
on a private conversation. Two men talking. Sixty
eavesdroppers
.

“Thank you, Michael. How nice to see you again.”

“Nice to be here, sir. May I ask, why the button hole?”

“You certainly may, Michael. I wear this button hole on the first day of term each year to demonstrate how pleased I am to be here: in the best house in the best school. I wear it to remind the boys how lucky they all are to be here at Barwell’s. It’s a ritual, Michael, and I for one happen to believe that rituals are important.”

He turned to the boys with a slightly surprised look on his face, as if he hadn’t noticed them before.

“My goodness, where did they come from, seem to have sprung up like mushrooms…”

Te Arepa looked at the other boys who all seemed to be grinning. This was some sort of game.

“Well, boys, how nice to see such a veritable garden of shiny, pink faces, all attentive, all ready to have knowledge poured into their waiting ears. I can see that this is going to be a very good year for Marsden and I trust it will be a good one for each and every one of you, too.”

There was a pause and then hurried applause from all the boys filled the gap.

“Well, that was, I think, an adequate preamble, so it’s time we all introduced ourselves in Marsden fashion. You’ve got two minutes to find out everything about the boy next to you and to give us a summary in no more than thirty seconds. I want no repetition, hesitation or street talk.”

With that there was an immediate clamour as boys paired off and began to question each other all over the room. It was as though someone had switched on a radio and turned it up to full blare.

Both Te Arepa and Wade turned to Stephen, as everyone around them seemed to be paired off. There was an awkwardness about who was going to be left out. Stephen suggested that they do it circular fashion; he would introduce Te Arepa, who would introduce Wade, who would introduce Stephen. All around them, boys were interrogating each other at the top of their voices. Even Mr Simmonds and Michael were lost in conversation. After a few moments there was another earsplitting “Quiet!” and everyone stopped mid-sentence.

“Being the eldest here — although looking at the facial hair on some of you gentlemen I am not so sure — I will start.”

Looks were exchanged amongst the seniors dotted around the common room.

“I would like to introduce you to Michael Reeves, Head of
House, Intermediate Athletics Champion last year, First XV member, chorister, and not forgetting Victor Ludorum in Barwell’s Latin quiz last year. I am certain you are going to extend to him the same respect and obedience that you would to me. He is in all things my substitute and I am sure he will do the job famously.”

Michael then stood up and detailed Mr Simmonds’s CV. It was rapid fire and included such things as the names of his children, the type of car he drove and the fact that he held the record for completing the Herald crossword, which was ninety-four seconds.

There was a polite chuckle amongst those on the floor. It was clear that anything these two said must be automatically greeted with approval and light laughter. Then the other boys began popping up all over the room, giving brief CVs of their partners. As the boys got younger, any attempt at humour or cleverness was greeted with a derisive honking: they were getting up themselves; they were way too new to be given any form of approval.

When it was Te Arepa’s turn, he began, “I’d like to introduce Wade Royle who comes off a farm down the line…”

There was a loud “No!” from Mr Simmonds.

“We avoid colloquialisms like “down the line” or “up north”. They are just short-hand, lazy thinking. Again, from the beginning.”

Te Arepa began again “I’d like to introduce Wade Royle, who comes from the land of Tuwharetoa, his moana is Taupo, his awa the Waikato and his maunga are Ruapehu, Tongariro, and
Ngaruahoe
…”

“Thank you! Point made! Next!”

The whole room honked as Te Arepa slowly sank to the floor. He felt his face heat up. He put his hands over his head and tried to disappear into his shirt. Next to him Stephen flawlessly recited the details Te Arepa had given him and finished with “Sic itur ad astra.”

Mr Simmonds beamed his approval. “Ah yes, thus shall you
go to the stars. Very gratifying. What can one say except, dum vita est, spes est. While there’s life there’s hope.”

With the introductions finished, Mr Simmonds reminded them that Marsden House was “a happy house, one big family really”, and that his door was “always open”. That there was a strong tradition of excellence here and he expected every boy, whatever his level of ability, to strive for personal achievement, to always be able to say “I did my best”. After this it was back to the dorms for teeth cleaning and reading before the progressive “lights out”.

The houses were constructed so that the juniors all slept in a big room, broken up by a head-high wall into a series of what Mr Simmonds called “carrels” but which were referred to as “pens” by all the boys. The older boys lived in rooms upstairs called the gods. The younger boys (piglets) weren’t allowed up into the gods unless they were on some errand. For a third former, being up in the gods at all meant that he was liable to be caught and beaten. Even if a junior was enlisted to do some job for a senior, there was still a strong likelihood of a thrashing unless the senior was there watching over him: ‘vouching’ as they called it. With no one to vouch for him a junior was dead meat. This wasn’t the case the other way round. Seniors could wander the piglet pens whenever they wanted.

There was a senior sitting on the unclaimed bed, waiting for them, when they got back to their sector. He was a big boy with glasses. He introduced himself as Adam Neeson and shook their hands, one after the other.