Spud - Learning to Fly (18 page)
Read Spud - Learning to Fly Online
Authors: John van de Ruit
In his obsessive quest to become a prefect, Boggo has signed on as the second team linesman. This, despite the fact that he knows absolutely nothing about rugby and has banned himself from all sport on account of his drastically low iron levels, which afflict him only during the winter and autumn. (Rugby and athletics?) Boggo’s iron levels have never been officially examined but he reckons they are hovering just above the danger zone.
14:30 Rambo played a brilliant game against St Giles for the seconds. He scored two tries and made a thundering tackle on the opposition wing directly in front of the delighted school benches. Stupidly, however, the wing pushed Rambo once he had peeled himself off the grass. Rambo grabbed him and dumped him headfirst into the ground. There was a loud roar from the school and then a long argument between the ref, Rambo, our linesman (Boggo), their captain, and the angry winger. The winger had to be restrained by his fellow players because he was pretending to want a piece of Rambo, who by now had his arm on the ref’s shoulder. Eventually, the ref penalised us and sent Rambo to the cooler for ten minutes.
The first team won easily, but all the talk was about Rambo and how he had turned the opposition wing into a tent pole. Depending on who you speak to, Rambo is about to be banned from playing rugby, expelled, or promoted to the first team!
The man himself seemed unconcerned about all the fuss and merely noted that his intense gym work over the holidays had seriously paid off. Meanwhile Boggo was outraged with the one-eyed ref who he swore was wearing a St Giles Old Boys’ tie after the game.
I got a little carried away with my punishment essay on why I wanted to be in The Dream. I ended up writing 4,168 words and then felt like an idiot.
Mind you, at least that wasn’t as dire as Boggo, who said he only wanted to be in the play so that he could act under ‘a director of unparalleled genius’ who was ‘easily the finest theatre director in the school’s history’. Boggo then spent the next three thousand words praising Viking and saying what a creative giant he was. He signed off by saying Viking was his favourite teacher ever, and that he felt privileged to know him.
Rambo called Boggo’s blatant brownnosing ‘sickening’ and said, ‘It’s the worst case I’ve seen since Spud tried to crawl up The Guv’s rear end in first year.’
‘Business lesson number two,’ announced Boggo. ‘Talk the talk before porking the pork!’
Rambo threw a shoe at him and Boggo ducked out the dormitory.
Garlic ran out of reasons for why he should be cast in the play after a mere two paragraphs. The rest of his essay rambled on about why Vern and Meg Ryan’s Son shouldn’t have made the second round.
8:00 The Glock came out firing on Rambo’s side during assembly. He said the whole incident had been blown out of proportion and that the St Giles winger had provoked the scuffle. He then congratulated Rambo on showing restraint (?) and having a fine all round game. He also praised Boggo for his vivid eyewitness portrayal of how the fracas played out. Boggo was thrilled with his mention despite the fact that the The Glock had called him Alan Einstein. Boggo says this is a private joke that he shares with the headmaster and that The Glock is merely doffing a cap to Boggo’s superior intellect. I would consider this unlikely because the only time Boggo ever speaks to The Glock is when he gets bust with porn, booze or cigarettes.
Still no sign of the cast list. Boggo tried to get the juice out of Viking after breakfast but our housemaster threw a file at him and then chased him right the way across the quad.
CONFIRMATION CLASS
There was a sign on the Rectory door instructing us to meet the chaplain in the chapel. Reverend Bishop began the class with a violent sneezing attack and excused himself, before hurrying out of the chapel holding a handkerchief over his nose.
‘What a freak,’ said Fatty and snapped open a large packet of Cheese Twirls.
Reverend Bishop looked more comfortable when he returned and said that he wanted to dedicate this lesson to silent and earnest prayer. He instructed us to clear our minds of all the things that occupy our daily lives and to speak openly to God. The chaplain believes that too much spiritual time is wasted by not talking openly and honestly with the man upstairs.
‘Lay your hopes and fears at his feet and trust that he will guide you.’
We all knelt on cushions in the choir stalls and fell into silence. Apart from Vern that is, who shouted, ‘Dear God!’ and then began rattling off a long list of his favourite meals. Reverend Bishop ordered Vern to pray in silence, which was a ridiculous order because he should know by now that Vern can’t think without speaking and may not think at all.
I found it difficult to drown out the voices in my head. But slowly they grew faint and then faded away completely. Eventually, all I could hear were the rock pigeons cooing in the eves and the distant sound of the old Massey Ferguson cutting the grass on Trafalgar. By now, not even the creaks from the old wooden pews could distract me.
I reached a place where everything felt perfectly still and peaceful. And then I began speaking to Him – or to nobody if He wasn’t listening. The voice in my head was stronger than mine and it calmly told God about everything that was worrying me. It didn’t even feel embarrassed asking God to pull a few strings and get me into the school play.
The siren rang for dinner. An entire hour had passed with me on my knees and yet I hadn’t felt so much as a twinge in my body. I stood up and walked confidently down the aisle and then outside into the stillness of the early evening. I can’t say why, but I knew then, in that moment, that I had made the play.
Now that’s faith.
Things are hotting up. I have to finish the final 120 pages of
Rumours of Rain
by Monday. Despite The Guv’s snootiness about Brink, I think it’s an excellent novel, set on the eve of the 1976 Soweto riots. I’m also not surprised to hear that André Brink isn’t exactly well loved by the Afrikaans community. I rate Brink a better writer than Charles Dickens, although I wouldn’t dare tell The Guv, who has spent the entire term sulking because he was only allowed to teach Othello for six weeks and no Dickens at all.
I also have to research the formations of marshes and ox-bow lakes before next Thursday’s Geography field trip to Lidgetton.
Tomorrow is Kings College and the school is cranking up for a major battle. Word on the street is that Kings have their weakest side in years and are ripe for a savaging. It’s at times like these that I miss the feeling of throwing on the old rugby jersey and getting psyched up on adrenaline and Tiger Balm.
Kings College have been absolutely thumped by our first team! The score 26-10!!! Not only that, but Rambo scored a try when he came on as a replacement for Vaughan Michaels who was carried off on a stretcher. It felt odd watching Rambo being hoisted aloft by the school and celebrated as a rugby genius. Think I’m going to seriously rethink the whole gym thing.
There was great comedy to be had at the eighth team match on one of the outer fields earlier in the day. Under the ‘coaching’ of Mr Lilly and with a dodgy side including both Vern and Garlic, it was no surprise that a crowd of just under a hundred boys had gathered to watch.
Unfortunately, Vern only had a single cretin attack when he attempted to score a try in the corner and dived head first into the corner flag. A nasty red stripe appeared across his pale forehead and he spent the rest of the game furiously rubbing his face and muttering angrily to himself.
Garlic, playing hooker, was even funnier. Every time a scrum collapsed he would stagger up from the bottom of a pile of bodies with large amounts of grass and the odd twig stuck to his hair. He didn’t seem to notice and by the second half he was running around with a small compost heap on his head. Late in the game he arose from the bottom of a ruck with a long piece of bandage attached and the crowd went berserk.
It seems that Mr Lilly still hasn’t improved in his defensive tactics. His new brainwave is for the entire team to chase the largest opposition player on the field. Unfortunately, the downside of this tactic is that if he passes the ball to anybody else there’s nobody left to tackle him.
Final result: Kings 94 – Us 0
Boggo returned from the stationery shop with another armload of stationery and looking flushed with success. He reckons he’s definitely on the verge of scoring Mrs Bosch. He said she was all over him like a rash and even asked if he had a girlfriend! Not only that, she’s promised Boggo thirty-five per cent off his next purchase. He proudly lined up his new Atlas series on his locker and then showed us a pen that used invisible ink that could only be read under UV lighting. Unfortunately, there was no UV lighting to be found in the house.
‘Perfect for writing down girls’ phone numbers in nightclubs,’ said Boggo optimistically as he carefully placed his new pen in his pencil case and zipped it shut.
‘Business lesson number three,’ he declared. ‘When it comes to scoring chicks, think laterally.’
After a loud groan from the rest of us, Fatty showed off an old pair of binoculars that he’s borrowed from Mr Bosch so that he can watch the wryneck nest from a safe distance. ‘The chicks hatched sometime over the weekend and they’re lank protective about people near their nest,’ he said, as he polished away at the lenses with the corner of Vern’s handkerchief.
Boggo told Fatty that he was also going to use the binoculars for bird watching, but that the only hole he’s going to be checking out belongs to Mrs Bosch. He then enacted a graphic scene where he repeatedly smacked her imaginary buttocks and shouted, ‘You like that, don’t you, Mrs B!’
Rumours were circulating the dining hall at breakfast that Viking had auditioned the girls at Wrexham College and was considering casting girls in male roles.
‘You see!’ shouted Garlic with a spoon of yoghurt in his mouth. ‘How can chicks play our parts and we can’t play theirs?’
‘Chicks are welcome to play with my part,’ replied Boggo and smacked his lips together. ‘Something you amateurs wouldn’t know about.’ Rambo sniggered at Boggo and called him a desperate virgin. Boggo didn’t take kindly to this and retorted, ‘Well, Friday is the long weekend.’
‘So what?’ replied Rambo without showing much interest.
Boggo looked around suspiciously and whispered, ‘You know what I’m talking about. You said your big plan would be done by the long weekend.’
‘So what’s that got to do with you being a virgin?’ asked Rambo as he stacked his empty plates together.
‘When are we going nightswimming?’ asked Garlic suddenly after an awkward silence.
‘Nightswimming is for juniors, Garlic,’ said Rambo, standing up to leave. ‘We aren’t fourteen any more.’ With that he sauntered off.
On the way back to the house, Viking called me into his office. My entire body became a pulsing heartbeat. Surely this was the moment when he broke the news that I’d been cast as his leading man! But he was only asking me to help him organise the photostatted scripts into the correct order while he continued writing his reports. He didn’t even look up until the bell rang for the beginning of prep.
‘Carry on, Milton,’ he said, and returned to his marking. I finished stacking the neatly stapled scripts in Viking’s cupboard and excused myself. I thought about asking but figured it could reveal excessive desperation and ruin my chances.
19:00 The main quad was silent and the cloisters were empty. I began striding towards the house door, but something caught my eye and I slowed down. It must have been a movement but I also thought I heard a dull sound. There was a dark figure sitting on the ledge of the fountain watching me. It was gloomy in the quad but I knew immediately who it was.
‘Come here, Milton!’ hissed Pike. He stood up and his face caught the light, revealing an expression of anger and suspicion. I turned and ran into the house. He didn’t follow. I don’t know why but my moment with Pike occupied my thoughts for the rest of the evening. Not even Shakespeare could make me feel happy.
GEOGRAPHY FIELD TRIP
The field trip was fairly interesting, although there is a limit to the excitement you can fire up over an ox-bow lake you’ve seen many times before. The only real bright spot was when Fatty sank deep into the mud in the middle of the marsh. He completely freaked out because he thought that he was being swallowed by quicksand. It was quite a sight to see Fatty screaming and slowly disappearing into the marsh, holding Mr Bosch’s old binoculars in one hand and a packet of peanuts and raisins in the other. What made it even more hilarious was that nobody else sank into the marsh except Fatty. Boggo tried to pull his mate out with one hand but ended up sinking down to his thighs before calling off the rescue attempt and offering to take care of Fatty’s funeral arrangements.
We eventually pulled a mortified Fatty out of the marsh with the help of the bus’s towing rope and then Mr Bosch made him wash the mud off his clothes in the freezing Lion’s River. Poor Fatty looked like a drowned rhino, and was forced to sit on the floor of the bus so that he didn’t ruin the seats.
16:55 Return from field trip.
17:00 People are whispering and rumours are flying around that something is going down. According to Runt, Whiteside was called into Viking’s office over half an hour ago and hasn’t been seen since.
17:20 Whiteside emerges from Viking’s office looking pale. He refuses to talk to anyone. Viking storms off in the direction of the headmaster’s office looking furious.
17:21 Boggo and Fatty move to the house bench and attempt not to look obvious.
17:30 Find Rambo in the common room and ask him if he knows anything. He shrugs his shoulders and says, ‘Beats me.’ He continues watching The Bold and The Beautiful.
17:32 Boggo and Fatty are driven off the house bench by an angry Viking, who threatens to thrash them for lingering about near his office.
17:40 Norman Whiteside marches into the common room and switches the television off to a loud chorus of groans. He informs us that an emergency house meeting has been called for 18:00.
17:41-17:59 Whiteside rings a loud hand bell at the foot of the stairs and repeatedly announces the house meeting.
18:00 Viking strides into the common room looking dangerous.
‘Right!’ Viking roared. The entire house fell into silence. I felt terrified despite not having done anything wrong and poor Vern was almost green with fear.
‘Now I’m not going to beat about the bush here,’ said the housemaster, ‘because by now you are all aware that something is going on in the house.’ We all did our best to look surprised.
‘This afternoon I conducted a search and discovered cigarettes, alcohol and an illicit magazine in the residence of Leonard Pike. He has been de-prefected, beaten by the headmaster, and suspended for two weeks. He has been banned from entering the house for the remainder of the year, and that decision is final.’
Somebody gasped, and a low rumble of whispering began. I couldn’t quite register what Viking was saying.
‘I hope this is the final incident of this nature. And let it be noted that nobody, not even prefects, are exempt from the rules of the school and my house.’
It’s really happened, although I can’t quite believe it yet.
‘I have decided against a prefect replacement this year and expect you all to reflect on this over the long weekend,’ concluded Viking.
Then he was gone and a great cheering roar erupted in the common room. Boys were hugging and shaking hands and laughter was everywhere at once. Fatty picked me up and nearly crushed me to death with a wild embrace. I then turned and searched for Rambo but he wasn’t among the crowd of cheering boys.
At dinner, a mere ten minutes later, Boggo already knew the whole story. Meany Dlamini smelt smoke on Plump Graham (Pike’s unfortunate slave) and ran him in to Viking. Our housemaster then led Plump Graham down to Pike’s residence and broke into his room using a spare key. Plump Graham showed Viking where Pike kept his illegal contraband. Viking hit the roof, called in The Glock, interrogated Spike and the rest is history.
Nobody noticed Rambo until he sat down at the table with a plateful of beef stroganoff. He winked at us and said, ‘Happy days, boys.’ He then sat down and got stuck into his food.
We ate for a while in complete silence until Boggo couldn’t take it any longer and hurled down his knife in frustration.
‘Okay, so enough with the undercover agent shit. What did you do to Pike?’
Rambo looked up innocently and said, ‘Me? Nothing.’
‘Well, either there’s something going on that we don’t know about, or you’re the second Nostradamus,’ said Fatty, attempting to stare Rambo down.
‘How did you know Pike would be gone by the long weekend?’ blurted Garlic, frowning.
‘Guess I got lucky,’ shrugged Rambo and looked serenely at the ceiling.
‘Bloody lucky,’ agreed Boggo as he closely examined a strip of beef.
‘A toast!’ cried Rambo suddenly, raising his glass of milk. ‘To luck.’
We raised our glasses.
Before lights out, I noticed Rambo sitting alone on the house bench staring out at the fountain. After some internal debate, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to join him and strike up a friendly conversation. Unfortunately, as I sat down he stood up. Like an idiot, I immediately stood up too. I felt embarrassed and foolish for trying to treat him like a mate, and no doubt he was about to make me feel like an idiot.
‘I’m off to a rugby team talk at Century,’ he said. ‘You feel like a stroll?’ Rambo and I walked along the cloister past Viking’s office and then the chapel, before stepping out into the rose garden.
‘You’re not going to tell us, are you?’ I said eventually.
‘Nope,’ he replied.
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because there’s nothing to tell,’ said Rambo.
‘Well, anyway,’ I said, ‘well done.’
‘Thanks,’ he said and smiled at me like we had just shared a secret.
‘I’d better get back. Viking’s on the prowl.’
‘Cool,’ he said and began walking away.
Then he stopped and shouted over his shoulder, ‘Oh, I’ve got some good and bad news for you, by the way. Which do you want first?’
‘Good news,’ I replied.
Rambo raised an eyebrow as if my choice was significant and said, ‘We both made the play. Viking told me this morning.’
I was so stunned that I forgot to ask for the bad news. Rambo became a large shadow moving quickly through the roses and onto the cobbled driveway. Then he was gone. I looked up at the stars whirring above my head. The edge of the chapel loomed above me like a ship’s sail leading me forward into the unknown. I should never have doubted.
Then I threw my head back, opened my mouth and screamed.