Free Stone Kingdoms by David Park Page B

something new, some newspaper article or story that might connect with his world and that of the other children. Driven by the unbearable zeal of the missionary and the naive enthusiasm of the newly apprenticed, I clutched the spurious belief that I could alter what I conceived then as the narrow limits of their existence. And not even the collective wall of apathy or their studied, practised cynicism could deter my frantic outpouring of energy. I just kept on trying, stubbornly seeking out the chinks in their indifference, offering myself again and again and nursing no hurt or resentment when rejected. Perhaps in the end they took pity on me. Perhaps it was easier to humour me. Just maybe, some of them let themselves like me a little.
    I think Daniel liked me. Gradually he relaxed his pose and allowed himself to participate, and through some of the things he said and did I realized he was smart. Not as smart about the world as he thought he was, but smart enough to be interested in books and curious about the things he didn’t know. He borrowed books, sometimes by asking, sometimes surreptitiously slipping them into his schoolbag like a shop-lifter. One wet lunchtime he strolled into my room as I sat marking at my desk.
    â€˜Working hard, Miss?’
    â€˜Just a few homeworks I want to return after lunch. You’ll not kill me, Daniel, with the amount of homework you produce for me.’
    â€˜That’s because I’m a kind person, Miss, and I don’t want to see you overworked.’
    â€˜The last piece you wrote was very good – you could do even better if you worked at it.’
    He shuffled his feet in embarrassment and looked at the rain streaming the windows. ‘Do you like being a teacher?’
    â€˜ Most days I like it. Some days I feel I’m making a bit of a mess of it.’
    He smiled and flexed a plastic ruler he had lifted from my desk. ‘What was it like living in Donegal? I stayed in a caravan in Bundoran once. It was the pits. Never stopped raining.’
    â€˜I didn’t like it much. I was glad when I left.’
    â€˜A bit like living in West Belfast, then. I’ll be glad when I leave too.’
    â€˜Where is it you want to go, Daniel?’
    â€˜America, maybe London, don’t really care. I’ve a brother in Boston, does painting and decorating, has his own business – might go there, work for him. I’ve a brother in the Kesh as well.’
    He twanged the ruler then lifted his head to watch my reaction.
    â€˜That must be hard for your family.’
    â€˜Not really. Me ma says he’s safer where he is and me da’s never had so many free drinks in his life.’
    â€˜What did your brother do?’
    â€˜That’s a question you’re not supposed to ask.’
    In the corridor there was the sound of laughter.
    â€˜I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. . . .’
    â€˜You’re from Donegal, Miss, you don’t know any better,’ he said, his smile breaking across his face. He dropped the ruler on the desk and turned to go. I watched him rest his hand on the door. Someone was bouncing a ball against a wall.
    â€˜They said he drove the get-away car after a hit on a policeman. They missed the peeler and killed an oul lad coming out of a bookie’s.’ He turned away again and I couldn’t see his face. I wanted to say something but I didn’t know what.
    â€˜Daniel,’ I called after him. ‘Do you miss him?’
    â€˜Miss him? Why would I miss him? Killing oul lads was about his limit. All it means is I don’t have to share a bedroom any more.’ And then he gave me one of his smiles but as I struggled to read it he was gone, his voice shouting loudly after someone in the corridor.
    His face is smiling now, teasing, challenging, but there is nowhere for me to hide. As I take the shell in both hands they stare at me with a collective curiosity and for perhaps the first time I feel