Spud (12 page)

We batted first and, thanks to Simon’s first century, I was not called on to bat so I sat with the folks and chatted about ordinary things like the neighbours’ dogs and Dad’s ongoing battle to keep our pool from going green.

We declared on 225 for the loss of three wickets. Simon and The Guv decided that that was enough runs. We took to the field to some polite clapping from other parents and loud whoops and screams from mine. Dad even did a funny war dance around his deckchair to psyche us up. Once the laughter had died down, Mad Dog took the new ball and bowled faster and wilder than ever.

I was fielding at midwicket when across the field I saw a girl with beautiful long blonde hair skip through the school gates and onto the stands. My heart pounded – could it possibly be her? It was too far for me to see for sure. My concentration slipped and I dropped a simple catch, much to everyone’s disgust.

My bowling, however, was inspired. I would love to say that it was due to the extra practising with Earthworm during the week, but the truth was I was bowling for the Mermaid.

After taking my fifth wicket the blonde girl walked up to my parents and spoke to them. It had to be her! Surely they didn’t know any other blonde girls? I began to get nervous and excited. I ran through a possible conversation in my head. How should I act towards her? What would the others think of her? Of me? I no longer cared how many wickets I took – I just wanted her to
love me.

After bowling Lincoln out for 106, with my personal bowling tally being 6 wickets for 42 runs, The Guv called us into a huddle and told us we were now the mean machine and congratulated us on our ‘clinical’ victory. I raised my head out of the huddle and the Mermaid was gone. Instead of heading for the changeroom I sprinted towards the school gate, but there was no sign of her. I approached my parents who sprang out of their seats and hugged me. Dad was utterly sozzled and wept tears of joy. (He’s convinced I will play for South Africa one day.) There was no other way of asking the question so I just said it.

‘Who was the blonde girl who was speaking to you?’

My mother paused as if confused. I could read her thoughts, which were about the reason for me wanting to know, rather than the answer to my question. ‘Just some girl who wanted to borrow a lighter. Why?’ I didn’t answer. The girl was not the Mermaid and that’s all I needed to know. I said goodbye to my confused parents and headed back to the changeroom.

21:00   Still waiting on the bus for The Guv to finish his after-match drinks with the Lincoln teachers. Unbelievably, my parents were also invited to join the party. I’m terrified at how drunk they must be by now. Mad Dog managed to steal a bottle of cheap red wine from somewhere and passed it around the bus. The bottle came around and I knew that I had a decision to make. Drink from the bottle and risk expulsion, or pass it up and be a naff? The bottle came closer, with each boy choosing a path. Simon and Mad Dog had drunk, but George, Stubbs and Leslie refused. Then the bottle was in my hands. I thought of the Mermaid who wasn’t. I thought of the night swim, I thought of Rambo, I thought about what it must be like to be Vern with no dad and no friends. I drank deeply. The wine tasted like vinegar.
Mad Dog thumped me on the back and said, ‘Good one, Brains, your old man’s wine is hectic stuff!’

02:10   Arrived back at school at last and fell into bed. The dormitory was dead quiet (apart from Roger, who was purring louder than a sewing machine).

08:30   Awoke for morning chapel stinking of sweat and wine and still in my cricket kit. I showered and met the choir in the vestry to get into my ‘party clothes’. Fell asleep twice during chapel, once during the first reading and then during the Reverend’s sermon.

Returned to the dormitory to read Catch 22 (only 56 pages left). The dormitory atmosphere was icy. Nobody was talking to anybody else. Fatty was back (with a bandaged nose) and the only sound was of Simon cleaning his cricket boots.

I spent some time with Earthworm in his room sharing cricket stories. He took four wickets yesterday in the first team’s crushing win. We each described our wickets and declared yesterday the day of the spinner! He allowed me to make myself a cup of tea and read his SA Cricketer magazine.

Free bounds. I took my book out to the pine trees and set about finishing Heller’s masterpiece. Boggo grovelled through the fence and disappeared into the bushes holding his new porno mag. (Just another Sunday really…)

Suddenly I was cold and the sun was gone. Lights twinkled from the school. I must have fallen asleep. I had long since missed roll-call and galloped back to the house in a blind panic. (In one weekend I’ve been caught on a night swim, drunk alcohol on the school bus and missed roll-call!) I nearly crashed into Earthworm on my way into the house. Before he could speak, I
poured out my story. He smiled and ruffled my hair. ‘No problem, Spuddy. I ticked you off anyway’ With that he disappeared into the prefects’ room. I breathed a great sigh of relief and headed for the showers.

21:30   Rambo called the dormitory to a meeting in his cubicle. He apologised to Fatty and Mad Dog and said that we should all make peace with each other. We shook hands like the members of the United Nations and with that life was breathed back into the dormitory. Simon told the others about us drinking on the bus and we were warmly congratulated for our complete disregard for the school rules.

Typically Boggo brought us all back to the stark reality of our thrashing. Rambo said he saw Sparerib playing squash and our housemaster winked at him and said he was warming his arm up for tomorrow.

Gecko whimpered and sat on Roger the cat, who’d also joined the dormitory meeting. Roger hissed, Gecko screamed and we all laughed and jeered.

Pike and Devries arrived to gloat over the night swim and attempted to scare us with old stories about brutal floggings. Devries tried to join in but with his jaw wired up he sounded like a retard. We laughed and squawked until they gave up. Pike pulled down his pants and mooned us, and then ran out squealing like a pig.

08:00   Still haven’t been thrashed. The terror is killing me. I reckon the worst thing about execution must be the waiting!

No history lesson as Crispo was absent. This gave me the chance to finish the final 18 pages of Catch 22. Disappointed to find the ending was rather abrupt. I had to check that I hadn’t lost a page of the book. Have to ask The Guv about this one. (No doubt he’ll have
some cunning explanation.)

13:45   The Guv’s wife left us a delicious lasagne in the oven. He opened up a bottle of red wine and gave me my usual half a glass. He said I looked sad and distracted. I told him about the night swim and the fight that followed. My English teacher flashed a smile and said, ‘One day, young fella, you will have a great story to tell.’

The Guv reckoned that there could be no classic ending to Catch 22. ‘It’s too episodic, too crazed, too screwed up to end normally’ I still feel that the last line of the book is a little weird.

After finishing lunch with The Guv I took a stroll around the fields. Everywhere boys were playing cricket, kicking rugby balls or hitting golf balls, while others were suntanning or just sitting and staring into space. I gazed up at the huge billowing thunderclouds rising up over the Drakensberg. Everything was clean and calm and perfect, like the picture on the cover of the school brochure that I was sent just before Christmas.

I thought about home and tried to work out in which direction it was. (Which only made me feel homesick, disorientated, and a little dizzy.)

Dinner: Still no sign of Sparerib and our thrashing. Maybe we’ve been let off?

No such luck! Sparerib called us all out of prep (except for Fatty and Vern). I felt my right leg shaking as we followed him to his office. He sat behind his desk and looked at us with a mixture of anger and humour. (Of course it could also have just been the fact that he has a wonky eye.)

‘Right,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Our intrepid night swimmers.’ He studied us all in turn. My whole body was shaking now. I felt light-headed. Next to me Gecko swayed. Mad Dog gripped him with his left hand.

‘I have decided to release Vern Blackadder from
punishment due to his frail state,’ continued Sparerib. ‘Are there any objections?’ We all shook our heads and just for that brief moment I wished that I were Vern Blackadder in the warm comfort of the classroom and not Spud Milton standing in front of the executioner. I then remembered that Vern has no dad and his cheese is slipping off his cracker (so basically it was fifty-fifty). Sparerib opened a cupboard and took out three canes. After some consideration he chose the thinnest cane and returned the other canes to the cupboard.

‘Gentlemen,’ said Sparerib with a forced sigh, ‘I don’t take night swimming lightly. It may be a game or an adventure to you, but we staff see it as a dangerous pastime. Whilst at school you are under my care and so to prevent further episodes of this nature, I will be making an example out of you lot.’

The siren wailed for the end of prep. I could hear boys shouting and running. Nearby somebody stumbled and hit the ground with a thud. A chorus of laughter followed. And then… a knock at the door. Sparerib shouted, ‘What?’ After a brief pause the door creaked open and there stood Vern Blackadder staring at us, his face white with terror. Sparerib’s tone softened. Ah, Vern, you aren’t called. You’ve been granted a period of grace.’

Vern didn’t move. He just stood there staring at Sparerib. After what seemed like ages he lowered his gaze and said, ‘Sorry, sir, all for one.’ We stared dumbfounded at Vern as he continued to look at the floor. Rambo smiled and nodded to him with a look of great respect.

Very well. Four strokes each, one at a time. Let’s get this over with.’ As we shuffled out of the office Sparerib pulled out a chair and took off his jacket. Rambo (who had chosen to go first) stayed behind. The door closed. After about ten seconds the beating began. It sounded truly horrific. Each stroke seemed more savage than the
last. Rambo emerged from the office, walking casually, but couldn’t hide the pain in his face. Mad Dog followed and sauntered out, smiling. A crowd of boys, many from other houses, gathered around to watch the show. Next Boggo sped out, rubbing his arse. Much to the delight of the growing crowd he pulled down his pants and cooled his bum on the red brick cloister wall. By this stage, I was all set to run away, or wet myself. Then Gecko flew out the office, screaming, and vomited in the gutter.

I staggered into the office and could hear the noise of the crowd outside. ‘Hands on the chair, Milton, and grit your teeth,’ said Sparerib as if he was offering me a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. I gripped the chair and stared out of the window at the starry sky. Mad Dog’s words were screaming around my head. ‘Think of the best thing in your life and you’ll beat the pain.’

I could see the Mermaid. We were back in the swimming pool… WHACK! Her beautiful bright eyes, water droplets cascading down her face… WHACK! ‘Come in, Johnny, it’s warm! It’s lovely!’ WHACK! ‘Hold your breath, Johnny, hold my hand, Johnny!’ WHACK!

Then I was running. My backside was on fire. As I left the office I remember catching a glimpse of Vern’s horrified face. He was last. The crowd hooted and laughed. I kept running and running and running and then I was laughing and shouting. People I didn’t know were thumping me on the back and laughing. Rambo shook my hand and Mad Dog threw his arm around my shoulder. There was Simon and Boggo and Vern and Gecko, laughing, talking rubbish. Tonight we were once again brothers in arms.

06:20   Julian lined us up in the showers to examine our backsides. He and Bert took their time going from one bum to another making observations and now and
again prodding someone’s butt cheek with the back end of Bert’s toothbrush. Gecko’s entire backside is blue and Julian awarded him first prize. There was a flash of light and before we knew it, Julian had taken a photograph of our naked behinds. (No doubt this photograph will surface in some seedy magazine when I’m rich and famous.)

After the shower (and photo shoot) we marched off to roll-call where the entire house was looking at us like we were celebrities (except for Pike and Devries who were too busy trying to stab Roger the cat with a broken Coke bottle).

12:00   On the noticeboard:
OLIVER AUDITIONS.
Then there was a list of ten names today, including J Milton. The auditions are tomorrow at 15:00.

At dinner The Guv strolled past my table and said, A word, Milton.’ I followed him out of the dining hall and together we strolled out through the archway and down the path towards the fields. The sun was just setting and streaks of pink and orange shot across the pale blue cloudless sky. After walking in silence for some time The Guv lit his pipe and said, ‘I didn’t give you a book yesterday’ In all the commotion about the night swim I had completely forgotten. ‘I thought you looked rather distracted and ill at ease.’ I told him about the flogging and he chuckled to himself.

We turned on the path and began the slow amble around our cricket field. In the fading light it seemed different and kind of lonely. Johnno, you ought to be aware that this is without doubt the best damned book any man could ever write. As far as I’m concerned this book is the ultimate proof that God exists. And, trust me, these are strong words coming from a devout atheist!’ He opened his sling bag and pulled out the thickest book I’ve ever seen.

My heart sank. Surely The Guv wasn’t giving me the
Bible to read. (I’m not against the Bible, but I wouldn’t like to read it cover to cover.) The book was pale green in colour, and on the cover was a huge eagle flying over a snow-capped mountain. ‘Do take good care of it, Milton. It was my twenty-first birthday present from my parents.’ The Guv patted me on the back and strode off down the road in a cloud of pipe smoke. In the dim light of the early evening I ran my fingers gently through the pages. The book is called The Lord of the Rings.