Spud (40 page)

The chaos ended quickly and order was restored. Ten minutes later there was a steady stream of boys heading for the sanatorium, most of them clutching their heads or fingers. The sun shone brilliantly on the splendid carpet of white hailstones and all at once the school looked perfectly peaceful again. Gavin, the prefect under the stairs, took a couple of photographs. As he passed me he said, ‘Bet you a thousand bucks this pic hits the cover of next year’s school magazine!’ He winked at me and disappeared into his freaky little room.

A huge commotion after supper was a sure indication that it was somebody’s birthday. A group of boys had pinned a struggling third year on the carpet while Fatty lowered his gigantic trousers and let loose a revolting fifteen second fart on his head. The boy screamed throughout the ordeal and then broke loose and charged towards the bogs with his hand over his mouth. With any luck Pike will be scarred for life!

Break-up day!

Since there were no classes scheduled I took a morning stroll around the school, beginning with a stop-off at the san to see Gecko. He looked in fine fettle and said his uncle’s chauffeur was due shortly. I continued my walkabout and was excited to see that spring had at last broken through. Small green leaves were covering the trees and green shoots were popping out of the dry brown grass. Everything seemed alive and happy. Even the birds were chirping like they knew it was the holidays.

09:00   Assembly. The Glock gave special mention to the cast and crew of Oliver and asked Viking to take a bow.
The school applauded warmly. Luthuli was awarded honours for service to the school and Linton Austin was given honours for academic achievement. Earthworm wasn’t present to accept his academic colours so Julian wafted onto the stage and collected the tie and badge on his behalf.

As I boarded the old rusty bus for home I noticed Linton Austin getting into his parents’ silver Rolls Royce. Hardly a great advert for a Marxist economist!

As the bus wound its way through the brown hills (with the odd patch of green), I felt the most overwhelming sense of relief. This term has been a whirlwind of excitement and emotions. I can’t wait to get back home and see the usual happy faces, but most of all I want to see that girl with the blue blue eyes and blonde locks – the girl who used to swim in my pool.

10:30   Dad returned home with a beautiful Labrador pup. He said it’s mine. I had a dog when I was small but it got run over when it was a puppy. Apparently, I cried so much that Dad vowed never to buy me one again. The true reason for the dog is that Dad wants to prove to the neighbourhood that he isn’t a dog hater – but also wants a watchdog to bite black people trying to break into the house. (Not sure how the poor dog is supposed to tell the difference between thieves and the shebeen clientele.) Dad reckons that Labradors are clever and can therefore tell the difference.

The new dog sniffed around the garden a bit and then caught sight of my mother lying spreadeagled on her tanning bed and galloped up to her like a greyhound. Mom didn’t see the fluffy black missile until it was already in mid-air and by then her terrible scream was utterly useless. The dog landed on her with a thud. Bright red scratch marks appeared as if by
magic. Mom screamed again and thrashed wildly at the now confused animal with her industrial mega-sized fly swatter which Dad made out of stainless steel and kudu hide. The poor dog was terrified. It yelped and galloped off down the driveway and disappeared.

11:30   Still searching the neighbourhood for my new dog. Mom is too distraught to help search and has retired to her bedroom with an ice pack and a bottle of wine. Our greatest problem is that the dog has no name. There was no time for a christening before it ran away. Dad says that he called it Blacky once or twic during the car journey home. We wander around the streets shouting ‘Blacky!’ at every tree, bush, garden and water drain.

12:30   The Mermaid arrives and joins the search. She looks as beautiful as ever. Tears sprang to her eyes when I told her about Blacky and she immediately started whistling and calling in a high, sweet voice. I couldn’t help but notice how much her breasts have grown over the last few months. I think she caught me staring at them so I stuck my head down a water drain until my face was no longer beetroot red.

16:10   Blacky has been found happily rummaging through some garbage bags a few kilometres from our house. Dad picked him up and carried him all the way home. Blacky licked his face and barked happily like he thought it was all a game.

With Blacky snoring in his basket and the Mermaid and I wrapped up under my duvet, I began to relive all the stories of the last few months (although I was careful to miss a couple out completely). Mermaid and I talked late into the night. I had forgotten how perfect she is and how easy she is to talk to when she’s not depressed. Despite my happiness I couldn’t help feeling that creeping
wave of terrible guilt every time I mentioned the play. I pushed it to the back of my mind and made her laugh instead. Perhaps it’s my imagination but life seems so normal and simple and happy at home – nothing ever changes and my room is always exactly how I left it.

11:00   Visited Wombat at the Stillwaters Convalescent Home for the Aged. She’s been living there since the stroke. She looked wickedly scary – the left side of her face has sagged since the stroke, exposing her set of yellow false teeth. She still wears her eye patch (she reckons that she falls over without it) and now looks like Captain Hook’s granny. She’s also developed really bad breath, a result of her diet of tinned sardines and boiled eggs.

Wombat was just as chatty as ever but because of the stroke nobody could understand a word she was saying. Mom tried to act as a translator but even she seemed to be guessing half the time. (No doubt Wombat was accusing her nurse of some sort scandalous pillage.) After about half an hour we had to leave because Wombat was becoming overwrought at not being understood. She tried to write something down but her hands shook so much that she ended up missing the paper and scribbling on the sheet. The doctor has assured Mom that Wombat’s speech and writing will improve over time.

The Stillwaters Home has its own hospital, doctors, nurses and chemist. It’s an ideal place for Gecko’s retirement! I shall show him the printed pamphlet – no doubt he’ll be impressed.

Had my first bowling practice at the Crusaders club
cricket nets since touring Cape Town in July. Dad offered to bat against me but refused to wear any pads, saying that only a sissy needs pads when facing a spinner. After three balls, Dad collapsed to the ground clasping his left shin. Blacky seized the opportunity, grabbed my cricket ball in his mouth and tore off into the bushes. It took ages to find him and when we did the cricket ball was gone and his nose was covered in sand. Eventually, we found the spot where he had buried his treasure. The ball had been marinaded in drool and was now too slippery to bowl with. So after just three deliveries my first bowling practice was abandoned. Dad has vowed never to return to Crusaders after our rugby practice (where he tore his hamstring) and now getting cracked in the shins by one of my topspinners. He reckons the place is jinxed and that he may have murdered somebody here in a former life. Next time I practise I think I’ll leave Dad and the dog at home.

Dreamed about Amanda again last night. I was just beginning to think that I’d cured myself but… there she was again, trying to force her hamburger on me. I’m trying not to think about any girls at the moment – it only leads to confusion, heartache and madness. Instead I’ll concentrate on bowling cricket balls, reading books and playing with Blacky (who, like the rest of the family, also seems a little touched by madness).

Mom and Dad spent the afternoon poring over atlases and travel guides on Malta while Blacky gnawed on somebody’s sandal in the corner. Dad is determined that Malta’s the place to be since South Africa is about to explode into flames and all the white people chopped into tiny pieces and thrown into the sea. I’ve tried to tell them about my African Affairs meetings but before I can say anything Dad shouts ‘Commie brainwashing!’
I’ve also tried to tell them about Luthuli and how good a leader he is (if he is the type of leader South Africa will have in the future – we could become one of the world’s leading nations). Unfortunately, they refuse to listen to me and are adamant that the blacks are out to kill us.

17:00   The Mermaid and I took a stroll around the block with Blacky (who continually tried to strangle himself with his leash). She reckons Malta is a terrible place (full of Mafia people who jabber away in a bizarre foreign accent). When I got home I told my parents what the Mermaid had said and they seemed shocked that nobody spoke English on the island.

Malta has been cancelled. Dad is now looking at Madagascar.

Gecko called and invited me to a party tomorrow night with Christine and her friends. Gladstone, his chauffeur, will pick me up at 18:00. So much for not thinking about girls!

Gladstone arrived perfectly on time and opened the car door for me. Dad charged out to have another look at the Mercedes limousine. To my horror, he whipped out his old automatic camera and started taking pictures of the vehicle. He then asked me to take a picture of him standing with Gladstone. Once the photos had been taken, I slunk into the back of the car. Gladstone offered me a drink and I helped myself to an orange juice from the mini bar. Blacky chased the limo all the way down the street, barking wildly before giving up and trotting into somebody’s yard to rifle through their garbage. I felt like a movie star as we cruised through the suburbs. Everywhere heads turned to watch us. Unfortunately, the windows were tinted so nobody could see the great Spud Milton hanging cool in the back of his limo!

I tried to get some conversation going with Gladstone but he wasn’t very responsive so I read the evening newspaper instead. After about fifteen minutes we arrived at some impressive looking electric gates. We cruised up the paved driveway towards an ivy-coated mansion. I skipped out the door before Gladstone could help me and walked into a kitchen that was nearly as big as our whole house. A number of African servants were busy cleaning and preparing snacks and drinks.

‘Spuddy – at last! I thought you’d never arrive!’ Gecko, dressed in a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and straw hat, led me into an even more ridiculous living room. It had everything from couches, sofas and rocking chairs to the finest electronic equipment imaginable. Before I had a chance to take it all in, I was shaking hands with boys and hugging girls – some of them from the play and others I’d never met before. Suddenly I was swamped by Christine who was wearing the shortest miniskirt possible.

‘Johnny darling, welcome to my house. And guess what – my parents are away for the weekend!’ She spun me around and snapped her fingers. An African servant appeared. ‘Get Johnny a beer, Simpiwe!’ Before I could argue, Simpiwe was gone. Soon I was collapsing into a couch with an ice cold beer in one hand and a handful of strange nuts in the other. This would be my first whole Castle Lager.

It all seemed like a bit of a dream, or a scene from a movie. Christine’s older brother, who was meant to be in control, had disappeared with some surfing buddies, leaving his sister in charge. Christine already looked drunk. She gave Gecko a kiss on his cheek before charging out the room with some of her friends. Gecko blushed and gushed and sank down into the couch.

‘My girlfriend sure knows how to party.’ I could see that the words ‘my girlfriend’ made him feel proud.

Then the group of girls swarmed back into the lounge
and dragged Gecko off to the Jacuzzi. He squealed with laughter and disappeared amidst bikinis, sarongs and much giggling. I took a manly sip of beer, tried to swallow, and sank even deeper into the couch. Hands crept over my shoulders and massaged my neck. It was Christine.

‘How you doing, Johnny? Come see my room.’

Before I could say anything, she was leading me along a never-ending carpeted passage. (I reckon you could have quite a game of indoor cricket in that passageway.) She led me up a staircase and into a massive room with a stunning view of the ocean.

‘What you think?’

‘Wow,’ I said rather lamely.

‘You’ve got to feel my bed, it’s the softest ever…’ she purred while closing the door. Like a fish, I took the bait and flopped onto her bed. Then she was on top of me – her tongue already squirming around my mouth.

I’m sure I tried to resist or say something. I remember her breathing heavily, like one of those murderers in horror movies. She was pulling my shirt off, licking my chest, biting my nipples. Her hands were holding me down. I felt myself kissing her.

I thought of my friend Gecko and my strength returned. I managed to push her off me.

‘What about Gecko?’ I gasped. ‘He’s my friend… he’s your boyfriend!’

‘I love you,’ she said, without answering the question. ‘I only ever want you… I don’t care if you want me or not… let me make you happy. I’ve done this before.’

She started trying to unzip my jeans. I was terrified. I grabbed my shirt, leapt off the bed and sprinted off back down the passage. I wish I could say that I did it for Gecko, but in truth all that went through my mind at that moment was what she would say when she saw my spudness!

I found Gecko in the Jacuzzi drinking champagne
and orange juice with some girls and a Maltese poodle, which was also enjoying the warm bubbles. I shook his hand and excused myself, saying that I wasn’t feeling well. Everyone groaned and called me a loser.

Gladstone drove me home. As I was getting out of the car he said, ‘You’re a good boy, Master Spuddy. You take care of him.’

‘I promise,’ I said and, burning with guilt, I stumbled up the driveway with the foul taste of beer in my throat.

Feeling wickedly guilty about yesterday. I wonder if I should tell Gecko that his girlfriend is actually a psychopathic slut. I looked up the word slut in the thesaurus. It gave me the options of wanton, lascivious and nymphomaniac. Convinced that Christine is a nymphomaniac. Must I tell my friend? Will he believe me? Does he really want to know?