Free Kindergarten by Peter Rushforth

minuscule Johann.”
    “You got me all excited then. I thought Santa was coming back for a second visit.”
    “Have you done it again?”
    Jo pulled a wry face, and nodded, indicating the wet sheets he was removing from the bed.
    “Santa Claus had better wear wellies if he does call again.” He began to sing, “I’m dreaming of a damp Christmas.” At irregular intervals, he had started to wet his bed, and there was a settled routine to be gone through when it happened.
    “You get rid of the sheets, Jo. I’ll remake the bed for you.”
    “Perhaps I should have been trained with one of those musical potties. The ones that play a tune when you’ve produced something.”
    “I always thought they were a rather sinister idea.”
    “Brave New Po.”
    “And I should think a lot would depend on the tune they chose.”
    “What if they chose the national anthem?”
    “It could have disastrous consequences in later life. Just imagine, every time you heard that tune you’d…”
    “…burst with patriotic fervour.”
    “It could ruin a promising career in the diplomatic corps.”
    “It could ruin several dozen pairs of socks.”
    “And the dangers of a short circuit…”
    “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”
    The replies came rapidly, automatically. Jo could go on to automatic pilot, and carry on a conversation for a long time, with his mind completely absorbed elsewhere.
    He had already washed himself and put on a dry pair of underpants. He slept in a T-shirt and underpants, the pants being easier to clean if he wet himself. He had a wide range of T-shirts with illustrations and slogans. The one he was wearing at the moment had “This Space to Let” printed on its front. He stood across the bed from Corrie as they bundled together the sheets and the waterproof cover. He always held himself very upright, like a small child being reprimanded, just as Corrie did.
    “I thought you were putting up some Christmas decorations in here.”
    “I decided it was not in the nature of boys to do that kind of thing.”
    Jo walked out and went towards the bathroom as Corrie took the spare sheets from the shelf in the cupboard, left ready by Lilli. There was the sound of a tap being turned on.
    Jo came back in as Corrie was smoothing out the bottom sheet on the mattress, and stood looking at him for a moment. Corrie smoothed and smoothed the bottom sheet until it was absolutely free of wrinkles. Jo replaced the pillow on the bed, and took the other side of the top sheet.
    “Can you think of any uses for a blanket?” Corrie asked as they began to tuck one into the sides of the bed.
    Mr. Passenger had asked Jo’s class once to spend an English lesson in writing down as many different uses as they could think of for a barrel, a paper-clip, a brick, and a blanket. Jo had thought of 117 uses before time had run out. Corrie had seen his list later.
A barrel can be used to float over the Niagara Falls. You have to be inside it, though. N.B.
(1)
You can get famous this way. N.B.
(2)
You can also get killed. A barrel can be used for making go-karts and things like that. Boy scouts do this. Greggers is a boy scout, but I don’t think he makes go-karts out of things. You had better ask him. Better still, I’ll ask him, and the next time I do a piece of work for you I’ll put at the top whether he does or not. You can laugh at a barrel. You can have a discussion group, and talk about barrels. You can ignore a barrel. You can roll your trousers up and climb inside a barrel, then roll down a hill, shouting “Cheese!” or something like that
. (
It needn’t be “Cheese.” You can shout whatever you feel like shouting.
) The suggestion that Corrie had liked best was that a brick could be a Bible for an atheist.
    Working together, in silence, they finished making the bed.
    “Look at this,” Jo said, turning round and pulling down the waistband of his underpants as he climbed back into bed. “Age 7” was printed on the label in