Free The Invisible Wall by Harry Bernstein Page B

trying to catch up with Arthur Forshaw because she’s in love with him.”
    Lily halted and whirled on her furiously. “You keep your big mouth shut,” she said.
    â€œShe is,” said Rose, ignoring her and continuing to address Joe and Saul. “She’s always talking about him.”
    Lily lifted a hand to smack her, then changed her mind and walked on, but noticeably lessening her speed. Arthur, with his long stride, was soon far ahead of us. He disappeared from sight altogether when we reached the Devil’s Steps, climbing up them, and then, I suppose, on to Wellington Road and up that street about a mile to the grammar school.
    We walked on, past Mersey Square, and up the hill where the cab stand was. Here you had to be careful. I was instructed to walk close to the wall, as far away from the cabbies as possible. Although they seemed oblivious to your presence, and sat high on their perches looking innocently ahead and swinging their whips idly to and fro, they would sometimes manage to catch you with a little flick of the whip on the tip of your ear, and it would sting for hours afterward.
    We went past them without any mishap that morning, and passed the soot-blackened statue of St. Peter set in the middle of the busy roadway called St. Petersgate. A short distance ahead was St. Peter’s Church and the vicarage, and next to it the school, a low, redbrick building. The boy’s play yard was in front, and it swarmed with children and echoed with their screams and the shouts of their voices.
    Both Joe and Saul paled as we approached the gate that led into the yard, and held back a little. I would soon understand why. In the meantime, Lily led me into the school to be registered by the headmaster. His office was simply a high desk in a corner of the standard seven classroom. He sat there now, long and thin, with an enormous pair of red ears that I discovered later he could wiggle freely back and forth. He was busy writing in a ledger book, but he paused to look down at me as we came up to the desk.
    â€œSo this is another one of the Woodenlegs,” he said.
    For some reason he always called our family the Woodenlegs. We never knew why, but it seemed to be used affectionately. “Yes, sir,” said Lily.
    â€œAnd he’s the last one of the lot?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThe best or the worst?”
    â€œI don’t know, sir. I suppose you’ll soon find that out for yourself.” She was smiling. She was not afraid of him. In fact, she was his favorite, and she liked him too, and had often spoken of him at home.
    â€œI suppose I will.” He was smiling a bit himself. Yes, he liked her, and had made her his ink monitor, the highest honor anyone could achieve at the school. He was also tutoring her for the scholarship exam. But his attention was concentrated on me at the moment. A severe look came over his long, thin face as he looked down at me. A frown appeared on his forehead. “You just behave yourself, and you’ll be all right,” he said. “Because if you don’t, you know what’ll happen, don’t you?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWhat?”
    I stared stupidly up at him. I didn’t know the answer.
    â€œThis,” he said, and he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a stick. It was a thick one. “Hold out your hand,” he said.
    I hesitated. I’d heard of canings. Tears began to come to my eyes.
    â€œGo on, ’arry,” said Lily. “Don’t be afraid.”
    I hesitated a little longer, then fearfully half-raised it with my palm upward. The stick swished in the air, and I could almost feel it as it came down, expertly missing the tips of my fingers by a fraction of an inch.
    â€œI missed you that time,” said the headmaster. “But I won’t the next. So you just behave.”
    Lily was smiling. She hadn’t been deceived by the act, one he practiced on all new pupils. She gave