Spud - Learning to Fly (19 page)

LONG WEEKEND!!!

My father is up to something. Firstly he called me out into the garden and then led me deep into the shrubbery. After making sure nobody was observing us, Dad asked me if I would take a drive with him. Since I couldn’t think of a single other thing to do instead, I immediately agreed. Dad whispered for me to meet him at the garage in five minutes.

‘What’s going on?’ shouted Mom suddenly from her bedroom window.

‘We’re just taking a drive,’ said Dad in a high-pitched voice from the front lawn.

‘Well, don’t do anything stupid!’ shouted Mom, before slamming the window shut.

Dad and I raced through Durban city in the newly cleaned station wagon. My father kept pointing out dilapidated buildings and saying that they used to be hotels or nightclubs in his youth. He reckons the entire inner city is going to the dogs and soon it’s going to look like downtown Nairobi.

Eventually, we found Gale Street and Dad drove very slowly in the left lane for about a kilometre before pulling onto the pavement outside Requiem Funeral Services. I asked Dad if we were buying a coffin for Wombat. He laughed loudly and said I had his sense of humour. The light was fading and the Durban sky was dull grey, reflecting our faces in the tinted windows of the funeral parlour. Dad beckoned me to the door and kicked it open like he didn’t want to touch the handle. Immediately a loud bell rang and we entered the funeral parlour to find workmen drilling and hammering and generally pulling the place to pieces. Frank was over in the corner, wearing psychedelic welding glasses and furiously sawing at a block of wood.

Dad thumped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Boy, I want to officially welcome you to the next big thing to hit the city of Durban.’ He then spread his arms wide and said, ‘Welcome to Frank’s Bar and Grill, Snooker and Darts.’

I didn’t know what to say because the place was a mess and a funeral parlour and Dad was waiting for me to speak.

‘Wow!’ I said, trying my best to look amazed.

Turns out Dad is a junior partner in the business with Frank obviously being the man in charge and the major shareholder. My father reckons that they have also secured a big foreign backer to help bankroll the project. He says the place is going to hum seven nights a week and turn him into a millionaire. There seemed no doubt in his mind that a former funeral parlour on the dodgy end of Gale Street was the way forward to certain richness. Suddenly my father’s finger was in my face and he was looking threatening. ‘You tell your mother and I’ll wring your neck!’ he cried, before his face softened and he said, ‘Just our little secret.’ He cast a glance across to where Frank was hard at work and added, ‘You know how she is about old Franky.’

I did my best to look impressed, and raved on about the place on the road home. If I’m truthful, then I predict Frank’s Bar and Grill, Snooker and Darts is heading towards disaster.

Wombat has been moved permanently into a nursing home called Guinea’s Rest. It’s quite a smart place and Wombat has her own apartment, which she shares with a 24hr nursemaid called Regina. The decision was finally taken when Wombat accused another old lady of theft in the lift and attempted to slam her fingers in the door. Buster Cracknell phoned my mother and suggested that Wombat could no longer live without aid. Wombat’s flat goes on the market tomorrow. I hope somebody removes the fish from under the bed before showing it off to potential buyers.

This senility setback doesn’t seem to have dampened Wombat’s spirits, because she didn’t stop prattling from the moment we arrived at Guinea’s Rest until we were safely down the stairs and heading to the car. A good eighty per cent of Wombat’s drivel was rambling nonsense, although she did mention Churchill twice so she’s not completely loony. Mom and I pretended to listen to her gibbering conversations but Dad was overcome with loud sniggering and had to excuse himself when Wombat confused me with her sixty-two-year-old doctor.

Thought about calling Mermaid but decided against it. I mean, what’s the point?

Phoned Mermaid but hung up after three rings, sensing she wasn’t home.

CAST LIST FOR A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

‘Sin and Forgiveness.’

Reverend Bishop panicked when Garlic and Boggo entered the vestry having a Bible fight. The chaplain’s desperate calls for the pair to settle down were completely drowned out by loud cheering and Boggo’s nasty goading of Garlic. After chasing each other around the vestry for a while, Boggo eventually Bible-thumped the back of Garlic’s head, sending him sprawling into a cupboard door. Garlic leapt to his feet and charged Boggo, nailing him in the ribs with a resounding blow that sent a hollow echo around the vestry. Boggo collapsed into his chair clutching his ribs and complained that the fight was rigged against him on account of Garlic having the far more lethal King James Version Bible. On closer inspection, Boggo was right. His rather thin and harmless looking Holy Bible didn’t match up to Garlic’s heavy artillery at all.

But the wily Boggo then reached into his bag and withdrew a gigantic
Atlas of the World
that stopped the advancing Garlic dead in his tracks. The chaplain seized on the momentary stand-off and forcefully ushered Garlic to his desk with his own leather bound Anglican Prayer Book.

That’s when the chaplain panicked and asked Vern to open the class with a prayer. It was clear that Reverend Bishop regretted it the moment he’d said it, because a shadow of uncertainty crept across his eyes and he repeatedly licked his lips while shifting uneasily from one leg to another.

Vern buried his head in his bag. Then he raised his head, closed his eyes and snorted loudly to clear his throat. What followed was some loud muttering in gibberish Shakespeare.

By now a ripple of sniggers was beginning to drift around the vestry and the chaplain’s eyes darted about as if searching for help. Vern then said, ‘For what we’re about to receive dear lord make us truly grateful.’ He then shouted, ‘Amen!’ and buried his head in his bag once more.

‘Does this mean you’re serving a late lunch, vicar?’ asked Fatty hopefully from directly behind me.

The chaplain eventually regained control of his face and informed Fatty that he wasn’t serving lunch since it was already 16:30. He then asked Fatty not to refer to him as ‘vicar’ because it was an outmoded Church of England tradition.

‘Whatever you say, boss,’ said Fatty and popped a Zoo biscuit into his mouth.

Then Vern lit a match and let it burn down to his fingers. After the flame had disappeared, he dropped it, still smoking, into his top shirt pocket and then opened his Bible to a random page before pretending to read.

‘Sin,’ said the chaplain in a loud voice, ‘is the one single thing that’s common to all of us. Yes, boys, we are all sinners.’

Garlic looked deeply offended. He raised his hand and called out plaintively, ‘But what have I done wrong?’ The chaplain smiled warmly and explained to Garlic that he hadn’t done anything wrong but he was sure that somewhere in his past he would have sinned against God.

‘When?’ demanded Garlic with a rapidly reddening face.

A look of panic returned to the chaplain’s eyes and a toothless smile spread across his lips. ‘We all sin, Garth. We sin because we’re human,’ he said, and spread his hands gently to indicate all of us.

Then Fatty argued that the chaplain had no right to accuse Garlic of sins if he couldn’t come up with proof.

The chaplain grew frustrated with the debate and exclaimed, ‘We all sin because we’re human, Sidney. Therefore, I can conclude that Garth has committed a sin against God at some stage in his life.’

Fatty wasn’t impressed with this explanation and said the chaplain’s logic was unsound because there was no proof that Garlic was actually a human in the first place.

Even Garlic roared at that one. The chaplain tried his best to argue back but his strident voice was drowned out by all the cackling laughter. Then Boggo raised his hands for silence and pretended to read out a quote directly from his Holy Bible. ‘Let he who is without guilt, cast the first stone!’ He then accused the chaplain of casting the first stone at Garlic.

‘Is this a personal vendetta between you and Garlic, Father?’ asked Rambo innocently while rocking back on his chair.

The chaplain looked terribly guilty and immediately apologised to Garlic for hurting his feelings. Garlic seemed hugely relieved and said, ‘Thank God. I thought I was in trouble again.’ Garlic then apologised to the chaplain for blaspheming in the vestry. The chaplain accepted his apology and then apologised to the rest of the class in case we were hurt by anything he said during the class.

Rambo smiled gently and said, ‘We forgive you, Father.’

The chaplain let us go early without even reaching the part about forgiveness, which is what I thought Christianity is meant to be all about.

I then followed those without sin into the common room to watch the final twenty-five minutes of The Bold and The Beautiful.