Read Spud - Learning to Fly Online
Authors: John van de Ruit
Spud - Learning to Fly (41 page)
I can already hear the unzipping of suitcases and the clanking of metal trunks being dragged through the cloisters. Friday can’t come soon enough for everyone.
The confirmation service ended a week of personal storms and it seems like God may finally have called a truce on hailing daily surprises on my head.
I would have to call last night a watershed in my life thus far. Not that I really ever felt the presence of God during the service, but somehow when I left the chapel, it felt like everything that went before, everything that I had done, or not done, was wiped clean. I felt forgiven.
No more regrets, no more looking back, and no more fear.
17:00 Boggo bribed Plump Graham and Rowdy to have a loud discussion about Rambo outside Viking’s office. Among other things they had to declare that Boggo was their favourite for prefect, Fatty was a paedophile and that Rambo and I hadn’t joined a society this term.
The backstabbing plan failed because Viking charged out of his office and shat all over the first years for disturbing his marking.
21:00 Simon has conducted his first thrashing. Spike and JR Ewing were beaten with a cricket bat after attempting to drown Stutterheim in the urinal. If Simon’s beatings are anything like his cover drives, the two delinquents won’t be sitting down anytime soon.
Fatty has broken yet another school record: 207 minutes on the phone to Penny. When he’d finished his call, his voice was hoarse and he was visibly exhausted from his marathon effort.
‘Forty-six hours to go,’ was all he could say with a skip and a devilish grin.
18:00 Meg Ryan’s Son sang the solo for Once in Royal David’s City to a packed congregation.
He has a beautiful voice and with his angelic face and big blue eyes, I can only thank God that he wasn’t around two years ago, or there’s no way I would have ever played Oliver!
This chapel is what I’ll miss most when I’m gone.
It was after dinner. Rambo, Fatty, Garlic and I were sauntering back to the house talking about anything but prefects. That’s when we heard it. It was Garlic who caught it first, but Rambo who stopped sauntering and raised his hands for silence. We turned our faces up towards the first year window from where the sweet music was playing. It was a song of great melancholy, but it was also a sign from God.
‘Is he singing the word nightswimming?’ asked Rambo.
‘It’s the new REM,’ said Fatty. ‘I heard Sidewinder has it.’
‘What’s REM?’ asked Garlic in alarm.
Rambo was already running. Up the stairs, through the second year dorm and then bursting into the slave dorm where the Fragile Five sat huddled in Sidewinder’s cubicle mesmerised by what they were hearing.
Rambo made a beeline for Sidewinder’s CD player and ejected the CD immediately. He lifted it out of the machine with a delicate hand and said, ‘Sidewinder, if you let me have this until breakfast tomorrow I’ll make sure nobody lays a finger on you ever again.’
‘Deal!’ said Sidewinder like he had won the jackpot.
‘Hey, sir!’ said Plump Graham excitedly. ‘There’s a song on there called Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight.’
But Rambo was off again, back to our dorm where REM’s Nightswimming blasted solidly for two hours.
There was nothing for it but to answer the call from above.
22:30 We stripped down to our jocks, sniggering and mocking. Garlic was leaping up and down endlessly repeating the word ‘nightswimming’. We scuttled out of the dormitory and hovered on the landing.
‘Should we tell Simon?’ asked an excited Boggo.
Rambo shook his head. ‘He’ll probably try and stop us,’ he said.
‘That’s bullshit,’ Fatty said. ‘He’s Crazy Eight and that means he’s coming along!’
Fatty barged into Simon’s room and emerged some moments later looking glum.
‘He’s not coming,’ he said, ‘but promised he’ll turn a blind eye.’
‘How gracious of him,’ said Rambo coldly.
We paused again at the top of the stairs.
‘Which way, gents?’ asked Rambo with a cheeky grin. ‘The old way or the new way?’
‘Let’s do it in style,’ replied Fatty. ‘I may have lost weight but I still don’t trust that flippin’ window.’
We laughed and followed Rambo down the stairs like we owned the place. The six of us strolled through the deserted house door and out into the quad. It felt wrong and right, like we were going back in time. Except the people around me now felt like men and my large shadow made me look just like them.
‘Let’s go,’ said Rambo and he took off through the archway and into the night.
‘Wait up!’ hollered Fatty, but we were racing, unable to slow down, our footsteps beating out a discordant rhythm on the lush grass passing beneath us. With a soundtrack in my head and no limits of space and distance I galloped forward relishing each pant, each exhalation of bad energy pouring out of me.
The water was cold but nobody cared. Boggo and Rambo hurled Garlic in and then dived on top of him. Vern stood waist deep thumping the surface of the water with both hands while Fatty repeatedly made gigantic bomb dives that echoed around the hills.
‘BUSTED!’ came the shout from behind us as Simon leapt off the bank and soared over our heads with his fist raised in triumph.
‘Simon!’ shouted Garlic in delight.
‘Garlic!’ shouted Simon in mock alarm.
Then we laughed and dunked and dunked some more.
We swam until after midnight and then they were sprinting again. I couldn’t keep up. I had let out everything that was inside me and could do nothing but walk slowly back to the house. I will always remember how tranquil it felt to be walking alone through the school in the middle of the night, and for possibly the first time in my life, I feared nothing.
This is officially the last night that I will ever sleep in a dormitory again.
I stayed out on the ledge until late thinking about the stars and the universe and if God really did create it all. And then for the final time, I stepped down onto my bed and slid my diary under the mattress. I slept like a log.
D-DAY
8:00 Viking called it a ‘final house meeting’ but everybody knew what was about to happen. I took my place between Fatty and Garlic and waited for Viking to stop waffling about discipline and cut to the car chase.
I admit I was suddenly afflicted with a bad case of pins and needles on my face and neck. My hands were trembling so I held them tightly together like I was praying.
‘The time has come,’ said Viking, ‘to announce the prefects for 1993.’
He looked around the room sternly and seemed to be greatly enjoying dragging out the suspense.
‘These gentlemen will lead the house with distinction,’ he continued, ‘and they have all demonstrated the qualities that will make them fine prefects and leaders of men.’
There was utter silence; even the first years seemed to be rapt by the coming announcement.
‘Before the new,’ boomed Viking, ‘we begin with the old. Greg Whitton will be returning for post matric and shall once again continue as a prefect.’
There was a pathetic ripple of applause and it was probably just as well that Eggwhite wasn’t there to witness it.
Viking waited until there was complete silence before saying, ‘The three new prefects for 1993 are … Robert Black, John Milton and Sidney Smitherson-Scott. Congratulations.’
I shook Viking’s hand and he handed over my tie. The house cheered and whistled. I shook hands with Rambo who appeared as cool as ice, and Fatty, who seemed utterly shocked and bewildered by the announcement.
‘Follow me, gents,’ said Rambo, after Viking had concluded the meeting. Fatty and I followed him into the prefects’ room. Simon was already waiting for us, languishing in an armchair and looking highly pleased with himself.
‘Slave!’ roared Rambo, as we all collapsed into the comfortable armchairs. Within seconds there was the sound of scampering feet and then a timid knock on the door.
‘Come!’ ordered Simon in a threatening voice. Rowdy and Stutterheim poked their uncertain faces around the door and Simon spread out his hands like he was about to perform a miracle and said, ‘Tea and egg mayonnaise for the prefects, please.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Rowdy and the pair hurried off to the kitchen.
Fatty grinned at me and said, ‘I think I could really get used to this.’
Then he placed his feet up on the table and laughed like a madman.
10:45 I caught up with The Guv after assembly.
‘Ah, Milton,’ he said with a great smile. ‘You’re not the only one who’s been promoted, old boy!’
I asked if he had by any chance unseated The Glock. He roared with laughter and beat his walking stick repeatedly into the ground. ‘Not yet!’ he cried. ‘But I am coaching the first cricket team next year!’
I couldn’t help the huge grin enveloping my face, especially when he said that unlike certain unmentionable others he was an evangelical believer in the power of the spinner.
‘Well done, old boy,’ he said ruffling my hair. Then he winked at me and whispered, ‘The rest is easy.’
And off he strode, like he always does – never giving a shit.
11:00 ‘We’ve come to help carry your trunk, sir,’ said Rowdy and the nodding Plump Graham as they suddenly appeared in my cubicle.
It took me a moment to realise that they weren’t taking the piss, and then I said, ‘Er … thanks,’ all the while feeling a bit surreal and uncomfortable in front of the others. Vern looked deeply hurt that he was no longer needed to carry my trunk and sulked on his bed while stroking Roger in a vigorous fashion.
After shaking hands with Vern, Garlic, Rambo, Fatty and Simon, I sauntered out of the house, past the devastated boy slumped on the house bench who ignored me when I said goodbye, and strode across the quad and through the great archway.
‘Congratulations on being a prefect, sir,’ said Plump Graham.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘We were worried Mr Greenstein was going to be chosen,’ said Rowdy.
Poor Boggo, he probably hates me right now, but one day he’ll realise that he fell foul of the dreaded Universal Law of Desire.
I stood around for some time waiting for my dad to arrive. Plump Graham and Rowdy seemed perfectly happy to wait with me and chatted to each other about what awaited them in the holidays. I then hung my head and laughed at my own stupidity. All this time I had been waiting for a green Renault station wagon that would never arrive.
And then I saw him, parked directly in front of me, killing himself with laughter, and banging his hand repeatedly on the steering wheel.
My father.
‘Do you want us to pack your trunk into your dad’s car?’ asked Plump Graham.
‘No, thank you, boys,’ I replied with someone else’s voice. ‘I think from here on in, I’ll manage just fine.’