Opposite Sides (7 page)

That evening, Hans was in
charge of ‘patrol duty’ along the western perimeter of the fence.
With Miss Janine Turner, it seemed. No-one had planned it that way;
it just seemed to happen.

She is so
much like a younger version of her aunt
,
he thought,
even to the
glasses
. He thought she was a bit of an
ugly duckling, straight like a wooden doll and nothing about her
appearance recommended her but then many young teenage girls seemed
to be that way: to the boys, at least. In reality, Jan Turner was
not unattractive. She was just a girl and as Hans had no liking for
her aunt, so he did not care for the younger version,
either.

One day, when he had been
walking from the Brymers to school, he had come face to face with
young Miss Turner on the footpath. As usual she had been hidden
behind her great stack of books and as Hans had come along side
her, the books had tumbled out of her arms and had been strewn all
across the pavement. At first Hans had hesitated and he would have
picked them up but the girl had made some comment which he had not
fully understood but then she had laughed at him. That had roused
his anger and he had shouted at her.

“
That was
deliberate!”

“
No, it
wasn’t!” Her words snapped at him like a mouse trap. “Aren’t you
going to pick them up for me?” she asked, shaking her head so that
her plaits swished aound her head like a broom sweeping the
scattered books in to a pile. The sneering remark had left him
cold. “Or, maybe, you’re no gentleman like our English
lads!”

Hans hesitated but then
reluctantly knelt down and helped her retrieve the scattered books.
He was more annoyed when Janine Turner walked away and did not even
bother to thank him.

Since that encounter, he
now made a conscious effort to keep out of her way. On one occasion
when she came across him talking with a small group of girls,
Janine stuck her tongue out at him when he looked at her. Maybe, it
was because she was so much younger or perhaps she did it because
she was the matron’s niece and that gave her the power to behave
that way.

Horrible
silly girl
, he had thought and his
distaste for her grew stronger. And now he
felt that she always seemed to be watching him. He felt her
eyes follow him especially when they passed each other somewhere,
in or around those areas in the school grounds that were common to
both boys and girls. He had assumed she couldn’t tolerate him
because he was different, but he never really thought very much
about it. If possible, he avoided contact with her.

This evening, the sunset
seemed to linger longer and the blue sky faded to a warm softness
of rainbow-colour as the sun refused to leave the day behind. Hans
had the feeling that he had been at the school for an eternity and
that everything was at one with such a glorious evening. He and
Janine Turner had crossed paths a few times since the fountain
incidence. In his eyes she was merely a silly girl, to be kept at
arm’s length; nothing like Robert or the other boys that were
becoming his friends. The safest thing was to do one’s own thing
and ignore the presence of the matron’s niece.

It seemed to be the same
on this evening, each taking their tour of duty seriously but doing
so, alone, although several times Hans had the feeling that Janine
Turner was not too far away. However, each time he turned around,
there was no-one to be seen.

It was almost time to go
home. The dusk was just beginning to settle and the colours had
begun to merge and become that undefined greyness that signals the
end of the day. Suddenly, down beside the outer wall where a number
of bricks had fallen away and just among some of the larger shrubs,
Hans heard a faint noise. It sounded as if someone was had broken a
branch in the bushes. He strained his ears. There was a faint
cough. Hans stood still, hardly daring to breathe lest his very
breathing would betray his position. He leant his head forwards and
peered into the semi-darkness.

Something moved.
Something rustled the leaves of a shrub that grew hard up against
the wall. Someone appeared to be crawling along the inside of the
wall. Was this the intruder?

Hans’ breath stuck
halfway down his throat and, after the sudden shock, the thought of
an exhilarating chase excited his mind. Here was his opportunity to
prove himself. He would show his loyalty to the school. He imagined
the glory he would feel, the honour he would carry when he would be
praised by everyone: all those students who had tormented him, the
masters, especially Mr Moore the Moose-head . . . and above all,
Miss Turner, the matron who reigned supreme, like Queen Victoria,
over everything to do within the school walls. He smiled with
satisfaction and began to put his plan into action.

His mind focussed keenly
on the task at hand. He would be ready to strike just as the thief
was making his way back out of the grounds, at least that was his
plan at the moment.

Hans looked around for
something to use as a weapon. Ah, just the thing! His eyes fell on
a loose stone which had worked itself partly free from the wall and
had remained hinged by one edge, overhanging the vertical drop of
the wall. What luck! If he could climb up on to that wall and
wriggle the stone free, he could use it to stop the school’s vandal
going about his wicked work.

He ran past he point
where the intruder seemed to be and found a place where he could
use the rough protruding stone surface for hand and foot holds.
With some effort he reached the top. He remembered to take his
bearings, carefully estimating the distance and direction of the
intruder.

Hans crept, cat-like,
along the top until he reached the position of the loose stone.
Carefully, he began to rock the stone, gradually prizing it loose
with his fingertips. Almost free! Now wait until the intruder moved
closer. Just an extra push to the right!

The rock crashed to the
ground, snapping the twisted branches of several shrubs renting the
air around him with cracks and snaps like a machine-gun. No scream,
just a muffled murmur. Had he stopped the intruder? Hans bit
nervously on his little finger and listened. But now the only sound
he could detect was a dull rubbing noise made by the decreasing
movement of broken vegetation. What had happened? He couldn’t see
anything. It was now too dark.

A tingle shivered
downwards, slowly creeping from the back of his neck and finishing
in the tip of his toes. He sweated. He froze. He broke into a sweat
again, perspiration wetting his brow as if he’d just plunged his
head into water. The duration of the silence scared him.

He called out but there
was no answer. Now his senses keened and he strained his ears to
listen for any sign of the intruder. The smell of night closed
around him. Nothing moved. Maybe he had been mistaken and the noise
had only been made by some animal or other . . . a slinking fox or
a wandering hedgehog perhaps? If it had been an intruder, it would
seem that the intruder must have left the area.

Hans dropped down from
the wall with the agility of a cat. He listened for a moment but
heard nothing. He began to whistle, a little folk tune he had not
heard for many years as he walked home.

The following
morning at assembly, the boys could sense that something grave and
important hung in the air. The morning hymn, ‘
Be
still, my soul
,’ was played a little slower than usual and the boys seemed
to be singing a little lower than they usually did. As the last
murmurings of that last ‘Amen’ faded away, the headmaster grasped
the sides of the eagled lectern and conducted a hushed silence. He
glared down at the students, surveying the interior of the school
hall from its high wooden ceiling down to its highly polished
boarded floor. A lecture entitled ‘Stupidity’ followed. Behind him,
sat Miss Turner, ‘the Dragon,’ breathing fuming clouds of invisible
fire as the edges of her nostrils twitched with anger and
impatience. She did not leave, as usual, with the headmaster.
Instead, her voice echoed, shrilly shaking throughout the subdued
hall.

“
. . . and
all the boys on patrol duty last night will to report IMMEDIATELY
to my office! You will begin leaving right now! Caps on and you
will wait outside until I call you! Go!”

Hans felt his stomach
fold over itself. Did she know about the episode concerning the
loose stone? Had her niece spied on him and reported his failed
attempt in stopping the vandal, to her aunt? It was the event of
last night that she meant, wasn’t it?

The senior boys waited,
caps on and jackets correctly buttoned. They stood in silence,
huddled close to the dark oak walls as if looking for protection.
Every few minutes the office door opened and one by one they filed
in, then out. Hans observed each one, frowns of puzzlement on each
face. Soon, there was only Hans and another. He watched the doorway
swallow up his companion, like a hungry monster. As soon as that
victim was spat out, the huge oak-rimmed doorway with the one word
‘Matron’ was ready to swallow him whole.

“
Next!”

That piercing voice of
hers shook him back into reality. He entered. He removed his cap
and rolled it up in his hand. She was not alone. The headmaster was
there in his black gown, standing guard like some huge vulture,
intently watching every boy until his eyes had bored right into the
depths of their inner bodies.

“
Stand there
and don’t move!” The curt order came from the
headmaster.

Hans stood, hands behind
his back, screwing his cap into the tightest roll he could. Miss
Turner shuffled forward and perched like a vulture on the edge of
her chair. Mr Bowes-Heath remained standing beside the back
wall.

It was Miss Turner who
spoke to him.

“
Were you on
duty last night?”

He hesitated, frozen with
fear as the headmaster’s eyes bored deep into him. It was not what
he had expected.

“
Were you?”
she asked again.

She looked over the top
of her glasses, her eyes boring holes through his blazer and
pullover until he was sure she could see right into his
soul.

“
Yes, Miss.”
The words were mumbled and barely audible.

“
I should
like you to know that . . .” The voice lowered, paused, and began
again. “Did you remove a large stone from the wall and crash it
down on the ground?”

A hundred tiny spines
pricked the back of his neck.

“
Did you, or
didn’t you?”

That piercing stare of
hers. It drilled through his skin and burnt the flesh below. His
clammy hands wettened his cap making it damp as if he had been
caught in a shower of rain. He could feel the muscles of this
thighs twitch as he willed himself to be sucked down into the
floor. But miracles never happen to those wicked of soul. The
honourable and manly thing to do would be to admit.

But it didn’t happen that
way. A whisper squeezed out from between his dry lips.

“
Maybe. I
don’t know.”

“
Well, If you
did . . . which I don’t doubt, as boys can take it into their heads
to be so stupid at times. Only an idiot would aim at a target he
had not identified. What do you think would happen if a shooting
party did not keep to rules and identify the pheasants before they
fired their shots or a batter swing the bat around before the
bowler threw the ball?”

“
Someone
could be hurt, Miss Turner.”

“
And did you
not think of the consequences of your action? Most likely, not. If
you were the idiot responsible, you will have to be
punished.”

“
Sorry, Miss
Turner.”

“
Do you
remember what the school motto is, Mr Resmel? Or do we have to
remind you?”

The headmaster had moved
and now stood just behind Hans ready to catch any mistakes and call
him out.

Hans was ready to be
batted out. He squeezed his fingers tighter around his cap and
began to twist it as if wringing the life out of it. His hands
began to shake. He could feel Mr Bowes-Heath’s eyes bore right
through him from his back to his front so that he thought he might
end up like one of those hole-peppered block of cheeses he had once
seen in a market in Holland.

“
Honour is
our Guide,” he mumbled

“
And do you
know what that means for you, young man?” said the voice behind
him

“
No,
sir.”

“
Well, you
have shown us that you do know what it is to do your duty. We are
pleased that this time you have done so willingly. We commend your
loyalty. That is what we like to see in a boy. But did you act in
an honourable way, Mister Resmel? Remember honour and duty must go
hand in hand but that it is most important that morality must guide
your actions.”

“
Yes, sir.
I’ll try to remember that.”

“
We want you
more than ‘try.’ You must be prepared to live by the sentiments of
our motto.” The headmaster straightened himself and grew with the
vigour of a shoot pushing itself through the turf. “You must have a
sense of respect in what you do. Respect for yourself and others.
Be prepared to take the responsibility. Did you act in an
honourable way, young man?”