The Dead School (20 page)

But he needn’t have worried his head. It went terrific. There was no doubt about it – he had the best kids in the school. And Webb! Not only did he give him one piece of news –
but three pieces!

He really had to say – ‘Stephen, come out here and read your news. Come on now – there’s a good lad.’

So out came Stephen and stood there in his short trousers and his grey cub scout socks. He really was an excellent reader too, enunciating each word perfectly. He paused between each sentence
and commanded everybody’s attention.

This is what he read:

When he had finished, Malachy said he would have to give him two stars not only because he gave us three bits of news but because they were
hard
bits of news. There
weren’t many kids in the class who could spell alphabetti never mind spaghetti. Actually there were three altogether because he checked – Brendan Dunne, Tom Curran and Patrick Jones. So
well done Stephen he said again.

Malachy didn’t know where the morning went. Before he knew it he was in the middle of nature study. Look at this little fellow, he said. He’s called a drone. Look at all these
legs!

Then the bell went.

Phew, he said, and wiped the sweat off his forehead, what a great little bunch you are – you really have worked hard this morning haven’t you?

He was delighted as he walked off down the corridor. Not that there was anything surprising about that. After all, everything was sorted out, wasn’t it? All sorted out at last! All he had
to do now was go into Grafton Street after school and get the record. He went into the staff room. There was a sectioned green frog poster wilting on the wall. Mr Keenan was practising his tin
whistle. He was only learning and was finding it quite hard. He hit it off his knee.

‘Damn bloody thing! I have it and then it’s gone again,’ he said.

‘It’s not the easiest of instruments,’ Mr Boylan said. ‘What is the song? Do you know – I’m nearly sure I recognize it.’

‘Row Row Row Your Boat,’ sang Mr Keenan.

Then Mr Boylan drummed on the table with his fingers and Mr Keenan hummed along with him as he bit into his sandwich. Mr Boylan sang: ‘Row row row your boat gently down the stream merrily
merrily merrily merrily life is but a dream!’

‘I think I’ll get you to teach it to me when you’ve it mastered,’ he said. ‘My lot could do with a bit of music. Crowd of bloody hoboes!’

‘I don’t think it’d be much good me trying to knock it into mine,’ said Mr Keenan.

‘I daresay that rascal Belton wouldn’t thank you for Mozart, Mr Keenan,’ laughed Mr Boylan.

Mr Keenan raised his eyes to heaven.

‘God give me strength,’ he said.

Then Mr Macklin who taught first class came in and dumped a load of change on the table.

‘So help me God I’ll be carted out of this place,’ he said.

‘You’ve been doing a bit of collecting there, Mr Macklin,’ said Mr Keenan with his eyes twinkling.

‘You might as well be talking to the wall as talking to some of them and that’s not a word of a lie. I want the money for the savings club in by next Friday at the latest I says
– but do you think they’d listen? Oh, no! That’s Finnerty’s and Howard’s right there – stroll in as cool as you like – I forgot! I forgot now I ask
you!’

‘Wasting your breath,’ sighed Mr Keenan. His tea geysered out of his Thermos and he rubbed his hands along his thighs as he said ‘Well, did you see it last night?’

‘Fecked if I could,’ said Mr Boylan. ‘Herself had to go to the mother’s and you know what it’s like when that starts. It was nearly half-past eleven by the time we
got out. I was fit to be tied.’

‘You missed it now – you missed it,’ teased Mr Keenan. Then he grinned and put on an American accent as he said, ‘Who loves ya baby?’

‘Well man dear now it was terrific,’ he said. ‘The Mafia were running this casino you see and Kojak makes on he knows nothing about it. So one night him and Crocker go in
dressed up as Mafia men themselves and there’s Kojak with the lollipop – will you get out, Brennan! For the love and honour of St Joseph can I not even have my dinner in peace without
some brat bothering me? Is that what it’s come to now!’

‘Sir, my ball’s gone up on the roof.’

‘Did you hear what I said, Brennan! Are you deaf as well as stupid! I said get out.
Get out
!’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Brennan, and left the room with his head down.

‘He has my heart scalded that fellow,’ said Mr Keenan. ‘Him and that bloody ball – if I got it for him once I got it for him ten times this week.’ He wiped some
crumbs off his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and snapped: ‘Well, it can stay there. That’s where it can stay! For I’m not getting it!’

That put them all in such bad humour, there didn’t seem to be any point in talking about Kojak any more. After a bit, Mr Boylan said, ‘Well – what do you think of the latest
carry-on? A school bus driver. Shot by the side of the road in front of the kiddies.’ Before Mr Keenan could answer, the door crashed open and in came Mr Bell jangling his keys. He was
carrying a copy of
The Six Million Dollar Man Annual
. He gave it to Mr Keenan and told him to keep it in the staff room at least until Christmas. There was a bit of a quiver in his voice
when he said it but no one noticed. You never thought of someone as rock solid as Mr Bell having a quiver in their voice.

Malachy licked his fingers and said yes indeed this chilli is definitely coming on well. He let it bubble away in the saucepan. Marion loved chilli. Between that and the
record, she was going to get some surprise. He took ‘Chirpy Chirpy’ out of its sleeve and put it on the turntable. It was the first record she had ever bought. That was why she loved it
so much. He checked the chilli one more time and then he went into the sitting room to wait for her.

The baby next door was laughing and there was a smell of frying bacon. On the radio they reported a few more murders. A politician came on and said that the people of the country would have to
get it into their heads that they had been living beyond their means for the past five years. He said that an ESRI report had clearly indicated that the country was sliding deeper and deeper into
recession. An economist came on and said that we had nobody to blame but ourselves, what did we expect. Then another politician said that that wasn’t true at all and what the economy needed
was not more of these Keynesian dictators with their grey faces and sharp suits but more optimism, a reflation of the economy that’s what’s needed. The other politician said sorry,
Michael, but the boom times are over we are paying for the boom times now. I know that and you know that and the Irish people are mature enough to know that and do something about it. Then there
were the closing prices on the stock exchange.

All of a sudden Malachy felt exhausted. He didn’t want to think any more about school or Stephen Webb or anything. He closed his eyes so there would be nothing but there was something
– Stephen Webb standing there looking at him. He was bouncing a ball and saying, ‘Hello, teacher.’

He kept on bouncing it and bouncing it until Malachy said, ‘Stop it! Stop bouncing it!’

He said, ‘I’m not bouncing it, sir. It’s Pat Hourican.’

‘It is not, Webb. It’s you!’ Malachy cried.

‘No, sir, it was Pat,’ he said again, ‘wasn’t it, Kyle?’

Malachy hadn’t seen Kyle Collins at first but he was there all right. He hadn’t a ball though. He was just standing there with his hands behind his back. Smirking.

Malachy said, ‘Collins! Come over here!’

‘No, sir, I won’t! My mammy says you’re not allowed to tell me what to do.’

Webb smirked again and kept bouncing the ball really close to Malachy’s leg to annoy him.

‘My daddy says you’re no good of a teacher,’ he said.

‘Tee hee hee,’ went Collins.

‘Oh you’re so smart, Collins, you are just so smart, aren’t you?’

‘No, sir, he’s just Kyle,’ chuckled Webb.

‘You needn’t think you’re annoying me, Stephen,’ he said. ‘You can laugh all you like.’

Did he really think he could annoy him? Did he really think anything he had to say was going to bother him in the slightest? Malachy curled up in the armchair and laughed at the idea. It was
preposterous! The more he thought about it the more preposterous it seemed. Which was why he laughed into the boy’s face. That took him by surprise all right. He hadn’t been expecting
that. Now he didn’t know what to do. Malachy stared right into his eyes and said, ‘Well – what are you going to do, Webb? You’re not so sure now, are you! You’re not
quite so sure now – hmm? Hmm?’

Webb was stunned. He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t the foggiest idea. Then suddenly the phone rang.

It was Marion. She was in the Project Arts Centre. There was so much noise he could barely make out what she was saying. She was with the Electric Strangers and the crowd from the school. She
said the party was only starting and to come on. The band were recording in the studio around the corner. Their single had made it into the lower regions of the charts in England.
‘They’re over the moon,’ she said.

He said that he had a pot of chilli on. ‘Oh fuck the chilli,’ she said. Then all he could hear was, ‘Hello? Hello?’ The alarm was wailing again outside and he wished it
would stop he just wished it would please stop.

How long he’d been sitting in the armchair he did not know. He shivered.

‘Look, teacher! There’s only one bar of your fire working!’ said Stephen smiling. ‘At home we have three electric fires and they’re all working!’ ‘Oh,
really? Have you now,’ Malachy said. ‘Well aren’t you wonderful?’

‘No, sir, I’m just Stephen,’ he said. He sucked his little white cheeks in like a girl and rolled his eyes as Kyle’s shoulders heaved and he hid behind his hand.

Then Malachy said, ‘Stephen, I have an idea. Why don’t we pretend this is you, hmm?’

Webb crinkled up his nose, looking puzzled. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, Stephen. Is that all right?’

He lowered his head, ‘Yes, sir,’ he said softly.

‘Very well, then,’ Malachy said and lifted up the foam cushion from the chair. He held it up, ‘So, let’s pretend this is your face then, shall we?’

He said yes and then Malachy sank his fist in it –
bumph!

‘What do you think of that, Stephen?’

He didn’t say anything.

Malachy looked at him. ‘How did you like that, Mr Webb. How did you like that, hmm?’

That soon shut him up. There wasn’t so much cheek out of him after that. Oh but it was funny! There were tears in his eyes it was so funny as in the kitchen the record played over and over
and the chilli boiled away to nothing.

He was over the moon when they met after school and headed off towards O’Connell Street. So where will we go she said. How about Good Time Charly’s he said. Sounds
good to me, she smiled.

All the way through the meal he couldn’t shut up. He knew that he was talking too much and boring her but he was afraid that if he sat there like a dummy thinking about school it would be
even worse. He asked her did she want any dessert and she said no. He said, ‘You can have Black Forest gateau, lemon mirange, apple pie with cream, apple pie without cream. You name it,
Marion, you can have it. Come on, Marion, what’s it going to be?’

Then she said, ‘I said I didn’t want any, Malachy!’

He wasn’t sure what to do when she said that. He just looked at her as if he’d been struck dumb.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we go and see the new Jack Nicholson movie? It’s on at the Adelphi. What do you say?’

He grinned from ear to ear.

‘Sure thing,’ he said.

She squeezed his hand. ‘Oh, Malachy,’ she said.

‘That old Joe Buck,’ he said.

‘Yeah – do you remember that?’ She smiled.

When he went up to pay he kept looking down at her. He just wanted to look at her and the way she had her hair combed back and the freckles around her eyes. The only reason he dropped the money
when he was handing it over the counter was because his hands were all sweaty. It wasn’t because he was looking down at her. It was just an accident that was all. An accident.

When they got outside Marion said, ‘Sometimes I just wish you wouldn’t do that, Malachy. I get so embarrassed.’

‘Do what?’ he asked and she said, ‘You know – you
know
!’

He said, ‘What, Marion? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Looking at me the way you were doing in there – what do you think I’m going to do? Do you think I’m going to get up and run off out of the restaurant or
something?’

His tongue went all sandy when she said that and he felt like a bollocks. Not that it helped things very much when he started blabbing on again instead of shutting his mouth and leaving it
alone. ‘Marion, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I won’t do it again, I didn’t realize I was doing it, Marion,’ and so on. Which was disastrous because it was just
the kind of thing you don’t want to say when you know you are creeping towards the edge of the grave.

But it didn’t bother Malachy. Oh, no! He knew they had been together far too long to let a little thing like that bother them. They sure had! Off they went up Abbey Street to the Adelphi
like the old days when they had gone to
Midnight Cowboy
and
The Graduate
in the very same cinema! Hey – where’s that Joe Buck! Excuse me – can you tell me the way to
the Statue of Liberty? Yeah – it’s up in Central Park taking a leak. If you hurry you might be in time to catch the supper show! Ha! Boy did Malachy laugh when he thought of that.

Right now Marion had her head stuck in a big box of popcorn. Next thing you know Roman Polanski comes tearing at Jack Nicholson with the knife. The hoods held Jack fast and the blade went right
up his nose. Roman said that he didn’t like snoopers. He did not like them at all. He poked the knife up a bit further. ‘Here Kitty Kitty,’ he said as he took a slice out of it
and sent blood skiting all over the place. So that was the end of his nose for Mr Jack Nicholson or should I say JJ Gittes private eye. After that, he spent the rest of a movie with a big plaster
stuck on it. He wasn’t too pleased about that. When Faye Dunaway said something smart to him, he got her up against the wall and said, ‘I like my nose, Mrs Mulwray. I like breathing
through it. You got that?’ She sure had. When you were dealing with Jack Nicholson you made sure you had. You didn’t fuck around with Jack. Other people maybe. But not Jack. On the way
out, Malachy was still saying it, his adenoids on overdrive, ‘I like my nose, Mrs Mulwray. I like breathing through it.’ ‘You do him really well,’ Marion said, ‘you
really do.’