Spud (23 page)

Our last lesson of the day was religious instruction with the Reverend Bishop, who seemed to be on some sort of a high after the funeral service. We soon got into a heavy discussion about death. Boggo asked the chaplain if Crispo had gone to heaven. The Reverend got all emotional and said he was sure the old man was dancing with the angels as we spoke. Rambo said that he was sure Crispo had gone to hell because he had tried to fry Boggo’s balls in history. Fatty then cleared his throat and asked, ‘What about ghosts?’ The Reverend smiled and said, The only ghost I believe in is the Holy Ghost.’

‘What about Mango?’ asked Rambo. He went on to explain about Macarthur hanging himself in the chapel. Reverend Bishop reckoned the whole thing was an old wives’ tale and that it wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. Quick as a flash Fatty said, ‘It’s not written on paper – the evidence was destroyed!’ Then Mad Dog joined in and said, ‘Macarthur was murdered, and Crispo was the only person who knew the truth. And now Crispo’s been murdered!’

It was difficult to know if Mad Dog was joking. The chaplain laughed out loud until Rambo stopped him by saying, ‘Have you seen some of the teachers in this place – they’d knife their granny for a Super Moo!’ The siren rang and Reverend Bishop did a bad job of hiding his relief.

14:30   Rugby practice. Lilly gathered our team under the trees for a serious team talk. He told us not to be embarrassed by the fact that we were the only team to
lose on Saturday. He then told me that my singing was beautiful and burst into tears. We stared at our howling rugby coach until he blew his nose loudly and sent us on a short warm-up jog. Once again Lilly postponed our promised tackling practice until Thursday and concentrated on other things like running around and passing the ball.

After lights out Mad Dog unsuccessfully tried to convince us that Crispo had been murdered because he was about to reveal the secret of Macarthur’s death. Fatty called Mad Dog and Gecko conspiracy theorists and said that he only dealt in hardcore facts!

Gecko still hasn’t recovered from Inhlazane and has been given a pair of crutches by the sanatorium. Simon’s ankle is better and much to Rambo’s relief he looks certain to play on Saturday.

Finished The Lord of the Rings. I feel utterly depressed – the journey of Frodo has become a part of my life, but now it’s all over and I have to return the book to The Guv and move on. Wrote a long letter to the Mermaid but still felt homesick so I called home and had a chat to Dad. He told me that he and Frank had been banned from Neighbourhood Watch and warned against starting a renegade group of street guardians. He says the cops are watching him, so he’s keeping a low profile.

Mom reckoned that Dad threw his change into the fountain in the shopping centre for good luck and then realised that he had no money to pay for parking so he grovelled around in the water until he had recovered his two rand. (I’m so relieved that I wasn’t there. Just hearing the story was embarrassing enough.)

Big news is that Saturday is the junior social (first and second years) in the Great Hall. Busloads of St Catherine’s girls are brought up and one of the matric
boys is chosen to be the DJ. The dormitory was
abuzz
as Boggo gave us all a great lecture on sex and how to rape and pillage schoolgirls. He has offered up some great rewards for scoring. They are as follows.

The only catch is that these acts have to be witnessed by two other people. To enter the competition we all have to give Boggo five rand. To avoid looking like a wimp I paid up my money and announced that I would shag a chick on Saturday. (Everyone laughed and said that if the Spud managed to shag anyone they’d each give me a million.) At least if I don’t score anyone, I can say it’s because I already have a girlfriend.

Our new history teacher, Mr Lennox, is wickedly clever and spent the lesson talking to us about the ANC and the origins of apartheid (which isn’t in the syllabus). Looks like we are destined to never learn our history syllabus. Mr Lennox, with ginger hair and bushy eyebrows, looks a bit daft, but seems as sharp as a button and is truly passionate about his history. He was openly vicious about apartheid and compared it to Nazi Germany. (I hope my dad never gets to meet Lennox; they’ll surely end up in a fistfight.) He told us he was starting a new society at school, which will meet every second Sunday night after chapel at his house. It will be called African Affairs and will look at politics in South Africa. After
class I put my name down and he told me our first meeting would take place this Sunday night. With all the excitement of the play I’d forgotten about my plan to make plans to fight the system. Nevertheless I am about to take my first giant leap towards being a real freedom fighter!

14:30   Practised tackling for the first time today. I managed to half-tackle Geoff Lawson (he’s about my size) but got out of the way if anybody big ran at me. I think just about everybody followed my example and our overweight captain Gareth Hogg (nicknamed Pig) managed to score thirteen tries in half an hour. Being the smallest, I managed none. (Further proof that, barring a miracle, I shall never play for the Springboks.) Saturday’s match is against Arlington High who we demolished at cricket last term. At this stage they’re not certain of making up an under 14D team – so if we do play we are almost certain to win.

Rambo returned to the dorm well after lights out. He said he’d been practising his scene for the drama class with Eve. Boggo asked him if he would ever shag Eve. Rambo snorted and said he was crazy.

Had a rehearsal with The Glock today. Viking worked on the scene where Bill Sykes (the psychopath played by Glock) kidnaps Oliver from Nancy (Eve). Thankfully, it says in the script that Oliver is terrified – which isn’t hard to do with The Glock shouting in my ear and dragging me along by the collar. Viking told me that I was superb in the scene and then criticised The Glock and told him to get rough and tough! He got up close to the headmaster and whispered, ‘Pretend this boy is the one who tampered with your car.’ A wicked glint shone in The Glock’s eyes and his face became dark and
menacing. We ran through the scene again and this time he was savage with me, pulling my hair and pushing me into the wall. I felt myself wanting to cry and instinctively bit my lip, but then I thought I would let myself go and I started sobbing. After the scene, I rubbed my eyes and smiled -just to show that I was only acting. Viking leapt onto the stage and pressed his face close to mine, ‘By God, Milton, if you can do that in September we won’t have a dry eye in the house.’ He then turned to The Glock and said, ‘Boss man, that was superb. But, look out – I think we may have unearthed another Brando!’ With that, the gruff director dismissed us.

I tried to walk ahead of the headmaster but he called me back and walked with me towards the main quad. ‘Milton, I just wanted to congratulate you on your singing at Johnny Crispo’s funeral. You have quite a voice, young man, and I thought you handled the moment very well. You know that he told me a couple days before he died that he spent an evening with you and that you reminded him so much of himself when he was your age. Rich praise indeed from a former head boy’ I wasn’t sure what to say – I felt proud, happy, awkward and embarrassed (and probably a few other emotions as well). Before I could say anything The Glock gave me a pat on the back and strode off to his office.

Suddenly there was a nasty slurping noise from the common room and framed in the window were the ugly faces of Pike and Devries. I ignored them and walked into the house. Unfortunately, they grabbed me and started dragging me towards the bogs. ‘Little brown noser, why don’t you just lick his crack next time!’ snarled Pike, who had pinned my arms behind my back. I struggled frantically and managed to kick Devries’ broken left arm. He wailed in pain but then recovered enough to launch his knee into my thigh. A surge of pain shot through my leg and then it went numb. Devries held my legs together and they carried me towards the stinking
toilet stalls.

‘If Spud goes anywhere near that toilet I’ll beat you two so hard your pictures at home will be crying!’ Pike and Devries stopped dead in their tracks. ‘In fact, I’ll beat you, and then I’ll hand you over to Sparerib for more.’ I recognised my prefect’s voice. Pike hissed and dropped me roughly to the floor. Devries followed and the two menaces loped out of the bathroom muttering to each other. I scrambled to my feet and began thanking the trusty Earthworm. He straightened me up and sent me off to make him a cup of strong tea. I thanked him again and ran off to make him the best cuppa ever made.

The inspiring intensity of warcry practice was broken by a first year called Ferguson from Woodall house who screamed at the wrong time. However, what made his error even more disastrous was the fact that his voice broke spectacularly at the same time which made him sound like a cross between a wailing woman and a constipated donkey. Even Luthuli found the incident amusing and I noticed a quick flash of his gleaming white teeth. Although our chanting and shouting was loud, with the weak Arlington team visiting us tomorrow, there was more laughter and far less passion than last week.

After practice, Pike caught up with me on the way to the house and said, ‘I’ll get you, Spud – a bogwash is nothing compared to what’s coming your way’ He spat on my jersey, cackled like a hyena and then slunk off to join his mates. If ever there was one person who I would wish a sudden death…

Boggo (now with R35 cash in his pocket) offered some further incentives for tomorrow night’s social evening.

Boggo told us that any other items would be evaluated before he made an offer, although he made it clear that he wasn’t interested in jackets, blouses, socks, hair-bands or tampons.

10:00   On arrival it was discovered that the Arlington team only had thirteen men. (Their prop failed to turn up and the right wing was expelled yesterday for trying to steal a teacher’s car.) There was a long discussion between their coach and Mr Lilly about whether the match should go ahead. Eventually, it was decided that the game would kick off but would be stopped when it became embarrassing for the visitors.

11:00   Pig led us onto the field to the sound of loud cheering from my folks, Mr Lilly, and our linesman. (The under 14D match, surprisingly, is not that well supported.) The Arlington team were obviously terrified and realised they were on a hiding to nothing. From the kick-off Pig caught the ball and charged right through the opposition and scored under the posts.

I placed the ball on a mound of sand and steadied myself for the conversion attempt. All was still. Before me stood the posts. This was my moment. I couldn’t miss. I took my run up, my technique very much based on years of watching Naas Botha on the telly. I approached the ball like a pro and kicked it solidly. Unfortunately, it came out low and struck the crossbar and then rebounded savagely at me, striking me straight in the face. The medics and Mr Lilly sprinted onto the field with the first aid kit and wiped the blood from my nose. Once I was repaired, I ran back to my team who
were doubled over with laughter.

My place-kicking debacle must have given the opposition some heart because before we knew it, they had scored four tries and were leading 20-4. We struck back just before half-time when my pal Geoff Lawson scrambled over in the corner. This time my kick was from the touchline and virtually impossible (although I was in no danger from the posts this time). After completing my Naas Botha routine, I gave the ball a mighty thump and when I looked up I saw it flying high and true. The flags were raised and I trotted back to my mark having salvaged some pride. My father did his famous rain/war dance and Mr Lilly ran onto the field and tried to hug me while I was running back to my mark.

Unfortunately, that was our last highlight, and dear diary, I am ashamed to admit that we were humiliated by the thirteen-man Arlington team. The final score 46-12! Not even Mr Lilly’s team talk under the tree could cheer us up. Worse was to come as for the second week in succession the under 14Ds were the only team to lose. The first team won by a whopping 72-3.

I had hoped my moment of kicking madness would not make its way back to the dormitory. However, it didn’t take long before a crowd of mocking faces surrounded me at dinner with ironic cheers and mostly jeers. My nickname seems to have changed from Spud to Boomerang.

20:00   Mad Dog was banned from attending the social after barking loudly as the St Catherine’s girls stepped off the bus.

The 180 junior boys (first and second years) all stood to the left side of the hall where the snacks were laid out. Fatty, who obviously had no plans of scoring, began loading mini sausage rolls and tuna sandwiches into a kitbag. We all spoke in loud and confident voices,
mostly discussing the first team rugby match, whilst subtly eyeing out the girls who were milling around the cooldrinks table at the opposite side of the hall.

The music started and the lights faded. A giant mirror ball reflected little patterns on the dance floor but if the truth were told our social had less atmosphere than Crispo’s funeral.

It was Rambo and Simon who eventually broke the ice, when they sauntered over to a crowd of girls and struck up a conversation. Soon Boggo joined them. Simon looked wickedly smooth and casual in his faded jeans and dark shirt and all the girls were watching him, grinning like idiots in the hope that he would return their interest. One of the girls in the group was stunningly beautiful. She looked identical to Julia Roberts (although much younger and prettier and with golden red hair). She seemed to be the only girl not batting her eyelids and giggling at Boggo’s raw jokes. Suddenly I realised that she was staring at me. I blushed and looked away and then quickly looked back to find her still staring at me. The funny thing was that she was just staring, like she was looking at a statue or a house (and a pretty crappy house at that!). I felt that dreaded thumping heart feeling again. The moment was interrupted by Geoff Lawson who came across to find out if I had recovered from my accident on the field. Geoff, like the rest of us, looked uneasy and frequently his chatter would fizzle out as his eyes followed a girl moving across the hall. He nudged me in the ribs and said, ‘That redhead’s a killer. I’d give an arm and a leg to…’ The rest faded away with the music.