let him stop now, dear Jesus.
‘Okay, Karl.’
I stood upright and turned to face him, resisting the urge to rub myself.
‘You must stop being cheeky to the teachers, Karl.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘You know how I hate caning you boys, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Why then always force me to do it?’ He wore a sad and wounded expression, as though he were the one just beaten by me. I averted my eyes. Ashamed of myself. He gave me permission to leave. ‘Thank you, Sir.’ For some reason I thought of Bokkie, who always spoke about Mathison being such a smart and well-dressed man. And a sincere Christian. Born-Again, some said. Ideal for a school that, although private, professed to Christian National principles. No, Dom said Dr Webster said, mercifully he’s not a Born-Again, just a typical average white South African Christian bigot, no more so, no less. I had never heard the word bigot till then.
Miss Holloway was waiting. Through the auditorium I glided as if on air, looking straight ahead. I followed behind her, noting her long skinny legs kick out like stilts and the little round body stuck oddly on the top, like an avocado stone with matches inserted to keep it suspended in a botde of water. Tufts of sparse grey hair streaked out from her minuscule head. No I thought, not an avocado stone on matches, a bald vulture, no, no, like a marabou stork. The ugliest bird in the world. Sister to the vulture.
Back to the dining hall. The clamour of dishes from the kitchenslammed into the silence of the huge empty space. Voices from outside; down at the soccer field.
The plate of food was on the table as it had been left. Only now the plastic cup had been filled with water. The servants had started doing the dishes in the adjoining room. I hoped Beauty would not look in and see me. On the plate I noticed nothing save the hateful heap of Brussels sprouts. Only four! Dominic, thank you, thank you! Miss Holloway sat down across from me. I ate the fish, the salad and the mashed potatoes. After a while, she exhaled loudly and shook her head.
‘If you ate the Brussels with your other food, rather than avoid them till last, you’d be able to manage.’
I finished chewing. ‘Yes, Miss.’ By now the rest of the food had all but disappeared from the plate and what remained were the four Brussels sprouts. I took a deep breath followed by a mouthful of water. Still holding my breath I cut one of the little heads in half and stuck it into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed. I repeated the procedure: cut it in half, then, one mouth of water for every half Brussels sprout.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Karl? That’s very unhealthy. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times: stop using water to swallow your food.’ She extended her arm and pulled the cup away.
Two and a half Brussels sprouts still on the plate, pasting their smell up my nose and down my throat to collide with the food in my stomach. ‘I can’t eat them without water, Miss,’ I said, looking up at her.
‘Well, then we’ll just have to sit here until we can eat them without water, won’t we?’
They are in the quad, in the shade of the cyprus, and down on the field. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. She knows, she knows, I’m going to throw up.
Matron peered from the kitchen. The serving counter’s sliding hatches shut with a wooden bang. We were now sealed in. Miss Holloway nodded at the cutlery protruding from each of my hands,suspended over the side of the white plate. I stuck the fork into a whole sprout. This is your ugly green marabou eyeball. I’m cutting it in half. Bringing it to my mouth, I held my breath. The smell remained, lodged like window putty in the back of my nose while I chewed. I felt my stomach contract. I knew I could not finish the remaining sprout and a half. Little green and yellow planet in a white cloud; the half showing an endless array of folds leading to the exposed heart. I tried to trace the paths to the
‘Okay, Karl.’
I stood upright and turned to face him, resisting the urge to rub myself.
‘You must stop being cheeky to the teachers, Karl.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘You know how I hate caning you boys, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Why then always force me to do it?’ He wore a sad and wounded expression, as though he were the one just beaten by me. I averted my eyes. Ashamed of myself. He gave me permission to leave. ‘Thank you, Sir.’ For some reason I thought of Bokkie, who always spoke about Mathison being such a smart and well-dressed man. And a sincere Christian. Born-Again, some said. Ideal for a school that, although private, professed to Christian National principles. No, Dom said Dr Webster said, mercifully he’s not a Born-Again, just a typical average white South African Christian bigot, no more so, no less. I had never heard the word bigot till then.
Miss Holloway was waiting. Through the auditorium I glided as if on air, looking straight ahead. I followed behind her, noting her long skinny legs kick out like stilts and the little round body stuck oddly on the top, like an avocado stone with matches inserted to keep it suspended in a botde of water. Tufts of sparse grey hair streaked out from her minuscule head. No I thought, not an avocado stone on matches, a bald vulture, no, no, like a marabou stork. The ugliest bird in the world. Sister to the vulture.
Back to the dining hall. The clamour of dishes from the kitchenslammed into the silence of the huge empty space. Voices from outside; down at the soccer field.
The plate of food was on the table as it had been left. Only now the plastic cup had been filled with water. The servants had started doing the dishes in the adjoining room. I hoped Beauty would not look in and see me. On the plate I noticed nothing save the hateful heap of Brussels sprouts. Only four! Dominic, thank you, thank you! Miss Holloway sat down across from me. I ate the fish, the salad and the mashed potatoes. After a while, she exhaled loudly and shook her head.
‘If you ate the Brussels with your other food, rather than avoid them till last, you’d be able to manage.’
I finished chewing. ‘Yes, Miss.’ By now the rest of the food had all but disappeared from the plate and what remained were the four Brussels sprouts. I took a deep breath followed by a mouthful of water. Still holding my breath I cut one of the little heads in half and stuck it into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed. I repeated the procedure: cut it in half, then, one mouth of water for every half Brussels sprout.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Karl? That’s very unhealthy. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times: stop using water to swallow your food.’ She extended her arm and pulled the cup away.
Two and a half Brussels sprouts still on the plate, pasting their smell up my nose and down my throat to collide with the food in my stomach. ‘I can’t eat them without water, Miss,’ I said, looking up at her.
‘Well, then we’ll just have to sit here until we can eat them without water, won’t we?’
They are in the quad, in the shade of the cyprus, and down on the field. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch. She knows, she knows, I’m going to throw up.
Matron peered from the kitchen. The serving counter’s sliding hatches shut with a wooden bang. We were now sealed in. Miss Holloway nodded at the cutlery protruding from each of my hands,suspended over the side of the white plate. I stuck the fork into a whole sprout. This is your ugly green marabou eyeball. I’m cutting it in half. Bringing it to my mouth, I held my breath. The smell remained, lodged like window putty in the back of my nose while I chewed. I felt my stomach contract. I knew I could not finish the remaining sprout and a half. Little green and yellow planet in a white cloud; the half showing an endless array of folds leading to the exposed heart. I tried to trace the paths to the