Spud (29 page)

I couldn’t sleep with my sore throat and the thought of Eve and Rambo actually having sex together.

My condition has seriously deteriorated. I woke some time in the afternoon to find myself in a bed in the sanatorium. Sister Collins said that I had fainted during maths and had been carried in by some worried classmates. She shouted at me for not coming sooner and then gave me a savage injection in my bum and kissed my forehead.

I woke in the night and found myself staring into the worried face of Viking. I tried to speak but couldn’t – Viking panicked and woke up Sister Collins who lambasted my director for waking her up and said, ‘Of course he can’t speak, you fool, he’s got chronic bronchitis!’ Viking turned pale, left me a chocolate and scuttled out of the sanatorium.

Sometime during the course of the morning Bert came into the sanatorium with a dodgy complaint. He didn’t seem to see me in the bed and I pretended to be sleeping. After much humming and hawing and clearing of his throat he admitted to Sister Collins that he had a problem with his willy. She ordered his pants off and then gasped when she saw that his giant penis was covered in what looked like a bright green slime. Once she’d recovered her composure she set about inspecting his infected member with a pair of yellow dishwashing gloves and what looked like a huge pair of braai tongs. Eventually, she gave him some cream and told him to stop playing with himself so much. Bert nodded and then loped out into the sunlight.

I woke in the afternoon to find Gecko in the bed next to me. Gecko, who seems to have taken up permanent residence in the san, announced rather proudly that he’d contracted a rare form of bilharzia (although he
didn’t seem to know what this disease entailed or where he’d got it from). We spent the afternoon chatting, or rather Gecko chatted and I nodded. I have never seen him so relaxed and happy. Obviously, the sanatorium agrees with him.

The world according to Gecko:

Born in London.
His father is an entomologist (studies bugs and rare
noonoos).
His mother was a ballet dancer but now does nothing.
Reckons that he was bitten by a foul bug (being studied
by his dad) at an early age and that has led to a long
string of diseases.
Has had forty-two diagnosed diseases/illnesses/afflictions
and at least six unknown to medical science.
His parents spend most of their time in England because
they think South Africa is dangerous.
Gecko senior is also an old boy of the school, a tradition
which spans five generations.
His dad is waiting for his rich old mother-in-law to die.
Then he plans to retire and run a bed and breakfast in
a place called the Cotswolds.

Gecko surprised me by being completely open and quite intelligent. He reckons he hates everyone in our dormitory except for Vern and me. Although he did say that I often try and act like a ‘heavy’ and then he doesn’t like me. I felt guilty as I remembered all the times I’ve joined the group in ruthlessly ripping off Gecko and laughing at his projectile vomiting. Gecko also seemed dead certain that Macarthur and Crispo had been murdered and that The Glock was the murderer.

‘I tell you, Spud, this place is like an insane asylum! There are maniacs in this place – even our headmaster’s a maniac! Don’t you feel it too? It’s like there’s always
someone out to get you, or laugh at you or make you feel like an idiot or a coward or something…’

Gecko is right – if you are on the wrong side of the fence, this place is hell. From the way he spoke Gecko assumed that I was on the right side of the fence while I’ve always felt like I was on the wrong side with Gecko and Vern. Maybe I just sit on the fence and am neither in nor out?

Suddenly my heart sank. I scrabbled through my bag and was massively relieved to find my diary was still with me. I had just had the terrible image of it being passed around the house again while I was lying helpless in the san. I slipped it under my pillow and waited for my heart to stop thumping.

Gecko shook his head at the injustice of it all and looked sadly out of the window. He then turned to me suddenly and said, ‘Spud, you know when you sing, it’s like… it’s like… I dunno, this may sound weird, but it’s like I know there might be a God out there.’ He then obviously felt embarrassed and rolled over and lay still.

There, amongst the white beds and sheets, pills, syringes, potties and dull cream curtains, the most unlikely person in the world had said the most… unbelievable thing to me. The dead weight in my gut was back – I felt warm tears in my eyes and had to grit my teeth and fight them back. I felt terrible shame and guilt. I remembered all the times I’d jeered and snickered and mocked Gecko in front of the others, all because it made me feel stronger and part of the pack. But Gecko had real courage. To tell somebody that they’re special takes courage. I reckon this vomiting, pale-faced Gecko has more guts than the rest of the Crazy Eight put together.

SOWETO DAY

Had calls from the folks and the Mermaid. Sadly, the Mermaid and I ran out of conversation and had a terribly long pause which was followed by us both talking at once. I just didn’t have enough energy to carry on with the conversation so I told her my throat was sore, hung up and felt guilty.

Kojak stopped in for a visit after lunch and brought me his Walkman and a tape of the Oliver music so that I could keep myself up to date. He said the rehearsals are driving him mad and then managed to snake some free high blood pressure pills out of Sister Collins before leaving. I could hear him shouting at a boy outside for walking around with his shirt out.

Luthuli visited me at break and told me that today is the anniversary of the Soweto uprising where the police shot and killed many innocent and unarmed marchers in 1976. I felt proud that my head of house shared that with me and made a big heading of it in my diary.

Sister Collins stuck a list called the Sanatorium Commandments on the front door. She said she’s sick of repeating herself day after day.

Sanatorium Commandments

My health has definitely taken a turn for the better. Sister Collins reckons I could be out by tomorrow night. The chants from the warcry practice have made me anxious to return to the real world. I’m dying to get back to rehearsals – and to see what the rest of the Crazy Eight have been up to. Also, exams are only ten days away – I had better start learning to avoid any embarrassment over my scholarship (in truth I’m not sure how I got it in the first place; there are a couple of other boys in my class who make me look like a complete brain donor).

Spent the evening in conversation with my new big mate Gecko, who also loves my Wombat stories. Perhaps I should write a book called The Weird and Wonderful Adventures of the Wily Wombat. A tragicomedy beginning with chapter one – The Mystery of the Disappearing Yoghurt. I could feel the dark fog in my head lifting and the feeling of inspiration and happiness take over. It must have been the same for Gecko because he said he was feeling better already.

Sister Collins came to read us a story at about 21:00. She started reading from the Hardy Boys. I felt embarrassed – surely it had to be bad form for a scholarship winner to be seen listening to the Hardy Boys! I asked Sister Collins if she could read something a little more advanced. ‘Nonesense!’ she barked. ‘Everybody loves the Hardy Boys – even my late husband got it when he was sick!’

And she was right. It was fantastic. Like two little brothers and their mom, Gecko and I lay in bed while
Sister Collins read us stories in her deep, husky voice. When she had finished the chapter she closed the book, tucked us in, gave us each a kiss on the forehead and switched off the bedside lamp.

No wonder Gecko loves it here.

Woke to find a small note on the table next to my bed. It was double folded and written on blood red paper. Once my eyes were focusing I opened the letter, which read:

To my darling Spuddy

Get better, baby. I miss you.

Love
Your Million Dollar Bet
AMANDA

After I nearly fell out of bed, I held the note in my trembling hands and read it over and over and over and over…

After a quick shower, I read it another couple of hundred times, read it to Gecko four times and then spent the rest of the morning daydreaming about Amanda. Think this could be trouble!

Mr Lilly came bouncing in to the san to tell me that the under 14Ds (formerly the under 14Es) had lost again. He sat down on Gecko’s bed with a happy sigh. Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed that the bed was occupied and sat on Gecko’s head. Gecko screamed, coughed and vomited, narrowly missing the startled rugby coach. Sister Collins chased Mr Lilly out of the ward by savagely brandishing a giant thermometer at him.

17:25   I have been released and declared partially healthy. Sister Collins has ordered me not to put any
strain on my voice for at least three days. Wrapped in jerseys and a scarf, I took my first tentative steps out of the sanatorium and onto the crunchy brown grass. Mr van Vuuren, our Afrikaans teacher, strode past. ‘Good evening, sir,’ I croaked with all the good cheer of Father Christmas. The bulky master with his huge bulbous nose glared at me and growled menacingly, ‘Get a blerrie haircut.’

As I strode into the house I was bowled over by about twelve boys all shouting and pushing. Back on my feet I realised that it was in fact the Crazy Eight (actually the Crazy Five but with some accomplices) who were carrying Simon out towards the fish pond. Our cricket captain landed with a splash and disappeared, before launching himself back out of the pond with gallons of water cascading out of his school uniform. He trudged back towards the house. ‘Happy Birthday’ I said as he passed me.

‘Stuff off!’ came the reply.

Damn, it’s good to be back!

Amanda gave me a big hug when I arrived at rehearsals. (She did also hug Dodge, Geoff and a few others.) Viking didn’t allow me to sing, but still wanted me to rehearse so that I could familiarise myself with some of the changes. Winter, who has been filling in for me while I was sick, looked miserable as he sat in the auditorium watching the real Oliver tread the boards. What can I say… you can’t swim with the sharks if you piss like a guppy!

During lunch I tried to strike up a conversation with Amanda about Waiting for the Barbarians. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out as well as I’d hoped. She said she gave the book up after twenty pages and called JM Coetzee a morbid cynic without the faintest shred of subtlety
in his writing. I agreed (I have, after all, only managed eleven pages in three weeks) and assured her that he was one of the worst novelists alive (despite his Booker Prize which must have been a fluke).

There was great sadness as we said goodbye to the girls for the last time this term. Due to exams and the coming holidays, there’ll be no more rehearsals. Before setting off, Viking put the fear of the theatre gods into us by saying that the next time the full cast rehearses it will be exactly six weeks until curtain up!

11:00   The under 14A cricket touring squad has been posted on the noticeboard outside the dining hall. The team is exactly the same as before, with Rambo added as the twelfth touring member. Fatty has also been included as the team scorer (our scorer used to be The Guv’s wife). This means five of the Crazy Eight will launch an attack on the Mother City! We have our first practice tomorrow afternoon and set off for Cape Town next Saturday, returning the following Sunday.

While I was in the sanatorium, gossip about Rambo and Eve had spread like wildfire. Apparently, Rambo was so angry that he hung Boggo out of the dormitory window by his feet until he confessed to starting the rumour. (He later denied his confession and blamed Vern, who disappeared for two nights and pulled out most of the hair on the left side of his head.) Rambo is now being called Adam and Eve’s private parts are officially known as the Garden of Eden.

According to Rambo, Gavin, the prefect under the stairs, has trebled the cockroach population in his room. He made Rambo remove the cockroaches from the dustbin and place them in a large cardboard box. Rambo is willing to pay someone to swop prefects with him. I told him I wouldn’t trade Earthworm in for a thousand bucks.

Religious instruction was cancelled because the Reverend said he wasn’t feeling well. (Looks like the holy man could be lying because Simon saw him jogging with his dog in the afternoon.)

The build up to the huge encounter with the great Kings College has already started. There is an awesome feeling of excitement around the school at the clash between the only two unbeaten sides in the province. The press are calling it ‘The clash of the Titans!’ Once again the under 14Es (formerly the under 14Ds) heavily defeated the under 14Ds (formerly the under 14Es) in a practice match. Lilly strutted around like a rooster and pumped his fists like a wrestler. He and Mrs Bishop are barely on speaking terms anymore and Mr Lilly’s convinced that Mrs Bishop is trying to decipher our tactics by spying on our practices. (I wasn’t aware we had any tactics.)