Spud (34 page)

22:00   Vern still hasn’t returned. Boggo, Simon and Rambo have held a court case and have already found him guilty of theft, pervy behaviour, faggotism, being mad, being odd and abusing the cat. (Boggo reckons Vern is pulling Roger’s fur out.)

It’s official. Rain Man is still at school. Gecko was able to get some goss out of him before maths. Apparently, he’s staying with Dr Zoo for a while until things calm down. Luthuli warned the house that should anyone lay a finger on Vern, they will be mutilated and desecrated. (Not sure what that involves but it sounds nasty.)

Earthworm informed me that he has exactly twelve weeks until his final examinations start. He looked terribly rattled and had to breathe deeply into a plastic bag to avoid a panic attack. When he’d recovered, he pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and ordered me to sharpen his pencils. Upon closer inspection, I realised the drawer was filled with black and red HB pencils. Ninety minutes later I had sharpened all forty-eight of them. Earthworm studied each of them in turn before letting me go to supper. Have a feeling that Earthworm could also be on the way to a breakdown.

Spent a rainy day in bed and read the whole of The Old Man and the Sea. (By the end I confess to having watery eyes.) Mad Dog asked me what was wrong – I told him I have allergies.

Man, what a book! I couldn’t believe those sharks
noshed the old man’s marlin. Imagine trying to catch a fish for days and then getting home with a skeleton! The injustice of it is unacceptable. I shall have this out with The Guv tomorrow. How dare he give me such a brilliant but unsatisfying story!

Lay awake thinking of our fishing trip and how it would have felt to pull in a giant marlin.

I put my plan into action and gave Amanda the cold shoulder. It was tough but I thought it was successful. I refused to look at her and when she came to talk to me during lunch I told her I had work to do and left. I returned to the dormitory immediately and reported to Gecko on the morning’s events. He congratulated me on my nerves of steel and told me to stay strong during the afternoon session. (For a moment it sounded like one of The Guv’s team talks minus the Shakespeare and the swearing.) During the afternoon I turned up the heat. At one stage Amanda flashed me a smile that made my hand tremble. I instantly looked at my script and pretended to be engrossed.

The critical moment happened at the end of the rehearsal when I warmly embraced a number of girls and then walked off without saying anything to Amanda. Think I have mastered the art of ‘playing hard to get’. Gecko warned me about taking it too far, saying that I just had to
look
disinterested, not act like a complete asshole. I think I did splendidly. What will next Sunday bring? Phase two complete!

13:30   Had a great brainstorming lunch with The Guv. We had a huge debate on the Hemingway book without either of us budging an inch. To settle the argument, The
Guv played the movie of The Old Man and the Sea, which looked like it was filmed in 1880. Unfortunately, he fell asleep after ten minutes and after half an hour there was a wretched screeching sound and then a bang. The Guv flew from his rocking chair and thumped his old video machine on the head. Like the sharks in the book, the video machine had devoured the tape and strangled itself in the process. The Guv threw a tantrum and I took the gap, excused myself and headed back towards the school, still wondering how big the sharks would be and what the marlin skeleton would look like.

I came across Rain Man who was having a long and involved conversation with Roger outside the chapel. I tried to talk to him but he didn’t seem to recognise me and gave very little away. I noticed that Roger’s bald spot has spread to the right side of his head now and if I’m mistaken the pair share the same psycho-demented look in the eyes. Apart from one being a human and the other a cat, you could hardly tell them apart. Still nobody knows why he stole the underpants.

14:30   Second session with Dr Zoo. Today he explored the issue of me being an only child and how this has affected my development. At one stage I became so frustrated with his incessant whistling and dodgy questions that I demanded that he stop talking about my folks and help me with my relationship troubles. He smiled and told me that my little outburst was ‘telling’ and then made about a page of scribbled notes on his pad. At the end of the session I tried to skive out of returning but he told me that I was ‘bound to continue’ and marked me down for another session. Another couple more of these and I’ll be following Vern into the loony bin!

Feeling depressed. My relationships are a mess. My
acting is crap, my cubicle mate has gone completely crackers and I’m seeing a weirdo psychiatrist who’s delving into my inner workings. My hair is as long as a girl’s and seldom do five minutes pass by without some sort of lewd comment from a teacher or senior boy. Thanks to my girlish look, Julian always seems to follow me into the showers and washes his genitals while talking to me. Problem is that he doesn’t seem to wash anything else.

I wonder what suicide must be like.

I had a dream that the Mermaid and I jumped off a cliff. She died when she hit the ground, but I just gently floated downwards. When I landed Amanda was waiting for me. She opened her bag, pulled out her lunch box and offered me a bite of her hamburger! I must be slipping into madness.

By some cruel twist of fate we’ve been allocated Wednesday first lesson for physical education – otherwise known as physical torture! Our master is the crazed Mr Lambert (nickname Mongrel, which actually means a mixed breed dog, but best describes an animal with no brains, no fear and no mercy). Mongrel fought for Ian Smith in the Zimbabwean bush war in 1980 and still harbours a hatred for black people, all of whom he thinks are terrorists. Poor Blade Nkosi, a friendly, but overweight classmate, received some wicked abuse from Mongrel who accused him of being a thief, lazy, dumb and fat and made him drop for twenty press-ups. Mongrel took one look at my hair and told me I was a moffle (much to the delight of the class). I was ordered to run on the spot until further notice – further notice being the end of the class. Mongrel seemed hugely impressed with Rambo and Mad Dog and told us to try and imitate them in everything that they do. Mad Dog immediately scratched
his balls and so did the rest of the class. Mongrel flew into a rage and ordered Mad Dog to swim ten lengths of the swimming pool. At sunrise in midwinter this is as close to a death sentence as you can get. Mad Dog swam incredibly quickly and then pulled himself out of the water (having turned an impressive bright blue) and limped into the showers looking very sorry for himself and his manhood, which, he said, had become ingrown.

23:00   We skulked out of the dormitory window (Fatty risked the stairs), took the usual path through the chapel and met at The Glock’s lemon tree. This time we weren’t heading towards the dam and instead circled around his house and sprinted across three cricket fields, finally coming to rest behind the maintenance shed beside the cricket oval. In case you’re wondering, this was meant to be part of our preparation for Saturday’s seance.

Then Fatty ran through the plan for Saturday in a hushed whisper. (The reason we couldn’t plan in the dormitory was because Fatty said it was too close to the ‘epicentre’ of the seance and Mango might hear us plotting.) Boggo lit a cigarette that smelt really weird and passed it around the group. Gecko kicked off with a coughing fit and I had to breathe heavily to avoid doing likewise. After a while everything became a bit weird and dreamy. Boggo lit another cigarette. I could feel myself taking another drag, but could feel nothing but… floating. Then I realised my dream was coming true – I could float. Where was Amanda and her hamburger? Hamburger! God I felt hungry…

Suddenly Rambo threw himself on top of me. Everywhere was panic and harsh whispering. Torchlight was coming closer, scanning across the field. My snare drum was thumping. I felt faint, dizzy – it was all too
dreamlike. The light came closer and closer, dancing this way and that. I found myself hypnotised by the jagging light. In fact it wasn’t a torch. It was a giant firefly coming to carry me away. Coming to carry me home. Rambo’s hand clamped my mouth shut. Had I really just been singing Swing Low Sweet Chariot?

Then we were running, legs were everywhere. I could hear snuffling right behind me. The guards had released their dogs. Any moment now a beast would drag me to the ground and sink its teeth into my throat. I was crying and running, trying to scream but making no sound. I couldn’t turn to look. But if I didn’t I would never know what killed me. At least if I looked into the dog’s eyes and he could see me weeping, he might stop, cock his head to one side and maybe whimper in sympathy. Die like a man, Milton, a voice was shouting – was it me? I steeled myself and then turned around. There was no dog, only a gecko – my friend Gecko, his eyes blazing red and tears streaming down his face.

There we stood, clasping onto each other, holding each other. Sobbing, sobbing.

Awoke feeling refreshed and happy. Until I looked down and realised that I’d slept all night in my running shoes. Glimpses of last night filtered back, like a nightmarish dream that returns piece by piece. I shot a glance at Gecko just before roll-call; he looked away. Last night was no dream. The memories kept coming back: the torchlight, the stinking cigarettes, and the dogs that weren’t.

I caught up with Gecko just before English. Before I could say anything, he slapped me on the back and said, ‘It’s okay. Spud, I also don’t remember anything.’ We shook hands and went our separate ways. When all else fails, try the ostrich technique and bury your head
in the sand.

18:00   Vern arrived at dinner and sat down with the rest of us. He seemed to be much improved, didn’t dribble and even asked Simon to pass the tomato sauce. Perhaps Dr Zoo is at last proving his worth. I could tell that Rambo was itching to have a go at him but thought better of it after checking Luthuli’s hawklike stare from the top table.

Had my recurring dream about floating through the air and meeting Amanda with her hamburger. I’m sure it must mean something. Maybe I’ll tell Dr Zoo about it next week. This may finally force him to talk about my relationships.

Boggo has denied that his cigarettes were dodgy. All he told us was that they were homemade by his brother and contained a herbal remedy that could be a cure for cancer. Mad Dog reckons it could have been dagga, while Simon says it was probably wild bush tea. (Simon’s uncle smokes wild bush tea every evening – he’s an astrologer.) In truth very little has been said about Thursday night’s excursion. Maybe everybody else is also having a little trouble separating fiction from reality.

23:50   The Crazy Eight (minus Rain Man) prepared for the big moment. It isn’t every day of the week that you attempt to call up spirits of the dead in the house of God. Simon, who is now limping without his crutches, and Fatty took a stroll down the stairs while the rest of us took the familiar route onto the vestry roof and into the chapel.

23:56   We gathered near the ‘epicentre’ and gazed suspiciously up at the beam from which Macarthur had
dangled. Fatty plunged us into darkness and instantly the excitement level was cranked up to Mach 3. Unhurriedly, our spiritual guru lit his candles and incense and prepared the scene for the arrival of Macarthur. The great tower clock ticked over to midnight and sounded a gong. As planned, we all held hands in a circle. My palms were wet with sweat but so, it seems, were Boggo’s and Gecko’s. Instead of the usual hocus-pocus, Fatty spoke in a clear, deep voice.

‘Mr Macarthur,’ he said, as if he was addressing a master, ‘we are friends. We have been trying to figure out the circumstances of your death. We cannot succeed without your assistance.’ There was a pause before Fatty continued, ‘Why do you still walk these corridors? Why is your spirit restless? We are here to help. We ask you to give us a sign.’

Silence. Nothing stirred. Seconds passed… More silence.

‘Mr Macarthur,’ – this time there was the faintest hint of desperation in Fatty’s voice – ‘make contact with us. We are here to solve the riddle of your death.’ Boggo and Rambo tried to hide their sniggers and Gecko let out a giant guffaw before clamping his hand over his mouth. That set me off – my body convulsed with laughter and I swallowed half my scarf in the process of disguising my hysteria. Fatty glared at us with a look of complete hatred. We stared back at him. I could feel my bottom lip quivering. Suddenly mayhem broke out – Gecko screeched with laughter and fell over the back of the pew. The rest of us exploded into raucous cackling. Rambo clutched at his groin to avoid wetting himself. Simon was doubled over the chaplain’s chair, struggling for air. All the while Fatty glared at us, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

‘That’s it!’ he spat as he blew out his candles. ‘You know what? Next time I’ll do it alone – clearly you don’t have the maturity to handle a seance!’ He hurled his
candles into his battered khaki rucksack and stormed out of the chapel, stumbling over a pile of Ancient and Modern hymn books on the way out.

Once the great oak doors had slammed shut there was a brief moment of silence and then another round of hysteria. Nobody had to say it, but months of spooky meetings, Glassy Glassy and more ended in one of the greatest laughing moments in history.

Fatty refused to talk to any of us for the entire day. After chapel he steamed off with Geoff Lawson to his farm. Geoff has hardly even spoken to me since that day at his farm when I broke the news about his great-grandfather. Gecko thinks that he’s madly in love with Amanda and jealous because we sing a duet together. He and Fatty have formed a spiritual bond that seems to exclude all other friendships. Perhaps Lawson is the only person who still buys into the Macarthur mystery.