Thought Crimes (2 page)

5IC so caught Karen's imagination that she spoke of nothing else while Paul rubbed massage oil into her shoulders, back and buttocks. Her boyfriend had only just begun to trace the outline of her sex with his thumbs when Karen recalled some students Sophie had mentioned. What had she meant when she said that those two would be IC before the year was out? But this question soon vanished as the young teacher opened to accommodate a skilled masseur whose interests were extra-curricular.

Weeks flew by. Karen expended phenomenal amounts of energy in the classroom, and the weight peeled off her. She committed her students' names to memory, and commended behaviours and contributions she wished to encourage.

The kids were remarkably enthusiastic, and Karen thrilled to the challenge of getting the best out of her art classes, 5IC in particular.

When Mossy Behrens, whose drawings displayed astonishing sensitivity and detail, was absent for three successive classes, the art teacher grew concerned. Nellie Wang told her that Mossy was in hospital having another two ribs removed. He expected to be back at school within a fortnight.

However ill or disadvantaged, you couldn't keep these kids away from school.

Later, a fellow art teacher, Gavin McGibbon, found Karen admiring one of Mossy's lithographs in the staffroom. The illustration featured two boys playing with a bull terrier.

‘I reckon that'd be Mossy and his brother Sam,' Gavin said. ‘I taught Sammy a few years back. Broody kid. Barely said boo. Mum was OK, but their old man was a useless shit. Dealt smack through the pokie clubs. Sammy ended up cutting his wrists in the bathtub. Back then, I would've put money on Mossy going the same way. Depressive kid. Even in Form One.'

‘What happened to him?' Karen asked.

‘They started the Integration Program here,' Gavin said, missing her point. ‘Best thing that could have happened to Mossy. Saved his life.'

Karen's special favourite was Caroline McQuillan. Losing a tongue hadn't stopped Rowdy from being a joker. She skipped through the classroom, singing in her own strange fashion, a cross between Björk and a lovestruck magpie.

Rowdy was an extraordinarily pretty girl, keenly sought-after by senior boys, but shy in the face of their advances. As an artist, collage was her thing. She took after Kurt Schwitters. Even her weird rhythmic mutterings seemed like homage to Schwitters' sound poems.

That said, Rowdy's parents, Jack and Paris, were the most defeated human beings Karen had met. Praise of their daughter's talent or personality left them unmoved.

When the teacher commended a brilliant piece of collage, the mother turned her back and said something inaudible. Karen made the mistake of asking her to repeat the remark.

‘I said I'd rather she was dead than stuck here with this lot.'

Mossy Behrens returned to class sickly thin, with lost strength forcing him to exchange his manual wheelchair for an automatic steed. Still, he declared that he'd never felt better. The operations had been a complete success. By the end of the year, he'd have no need for a wheelchair of any kind.

‘I brought this for you,' Mossy said, giving Karen an immaculate pen and ink drawing of herself perched on a desk in front of the class.

Kissing the proud artist, the teacher let the tears race down her cheeks.

‘Hey, I nearly forgot, there was a story about that school of yours on the wire services.'

Paul and Karen were dressing for a dinner to celebrate his mother's fiftieth birthday. Ordinarily, Paul said little about Karen's work, except to complain when it drained her sexual energies.

‘Some bloke from Switzerland claiming that what Prospect does violates the treaty safeguarding children's rights.'

Karen felt certain that Paul had read the piece arse-about, missing the point that Swiss educators probably wanted to use Prospect as a model.

Paul conceded that he'd only skimmed the report, and the unusual conjunction – his partner's suburban school and a major international organisation – only struck him later. They'd be sure to hear more if there was any substance to what the Swiss were suggesting.

Just before Easter, Sally Young, the brightest girl in 3A, was expelled. A small quantity of marijuana was found in her locker, and Sally's parents were called to the school. Having spoken to Karen on several occasions, the mother enlisted the art teacher's support.

Karen told her that she'd talk to Dr Best, but couldn't promise to have any influence in the matter. In her experience, the principal never reversed decisions.

Just lately, the scar on Dr Best's forehead had turned a frightening shade of crimson, and Karen wasn't alone in thinking that the wound might be infected. Yet The Empress was formidable as ever. Any meeting with a young staff member was more like an audience than a chat.

‘You're right. Sally Young is a good girl, and one of our most brilliant students. But she knew the rules. This school has zero tolerance of drugs.'

Karen tried to argue that it was a small amount of grass. There was no suggestion that Sally had invited anyone to smoke with her. A reprimand might be more appropriate.

‘Zero means zero. Drugs were a scourge here, and we had to take radical measures to show kids that life has more to offer than narcotic oblivion … We've freed up their imaginative expression. Prospect tolerates more behaviours than most schools, but not drug-taking. Drugs insult the human imagination.'

If Karen ever wanted to make a case for drugged-up artistry, this wasn't the time. Dr Best reminded her how the school had eliminated bullying, smoking and alcoholic excess. Acts of violence were now extremely rare. Eating disorders and mental health problems had declined markedly. Accepting this, Karen saw that no case could be made for retaining Sally. The girl knew the rules, and had failed to appreciate just what this school was about.

Though Mossy's quip to Eva was intended innocently enough, when the teacher overheard, she thought the boy should be set straight. He'd said that chicks were more trouble than they're worth.

‘I was only talking about women and me, Miss, not the value of women in general.'

Karen knew enough about adolescent complexities to recognise that not all remarks should be taken seriously, but she adored Mossy and didn't want to see him becoming a resentful man who blamed women for his frustrations.

‘I'd be very surprised if you don't find time for girls when you're well again.'

As the class roared with laughter, Karen began to wonder if she'd missed some obvious sign that Mossy was gay.

‘If Mossy was interested in chasing girls, he wouldn't have had his ribs knocked out,' Pol observed.

When Karen queried this, Rowdy McQuillan mumbled something that she couldn't understand. Finally, Nellie Wang took pity on her art teacher.

‘It's about auto-fellatio, Miss.'

‘I beg your pardon.'

‘Mossy had his bottom ribs knocked out so that he'll never have to worry about girls. He can suck himself off whenever he wants.'

Instantly dizzy, Karen found a desk to lean on.