Fledgling: Jason Steed

by Mark A. Cooper

  “Dad, Dad, I need your help.”

  Ray ran into the bathroom to find his son, naked on a wet floor, his leg covered in blood, unable to get up. He carried him to his room and bandaged his leg and cleaned him up.

  “Are you all right now?” Ray asked as he sat him on his knee and hugged him. Jason looked into his father’s eyes, tears coming uncontrollably.

  “I promise…I really do promise, Dad. I will never lie to you again. I am sorry. I was scared and didn’t know what to do. I did not want to hurt the MPs. I just wanted to get away.”

  Jason wept as he spoke, choking on the words. Ray wiped Jason’s eyes and kissed his forehead and rocked him back and forth.

  “Just be honest to me, son. We only have each other. I have to trust you—that’s all I ask. If you do something wrong, anything, we will deal with it as a family. No one is perfect. Just be honest with me.”

  Jason had had no idea how much his father truly cared for him. Ray’s own parents had never expressed themselves much, and it was hard for him to do the same. He continued to rock Jason back and forth. Deep down, although he’d never tell Jason, he was proud that his son had gotten the better of the MPs. He looked down at the shining, large silver trophy Jason had placed on the floor.

  “I see you got a trophy. How far did you get in the competition?” Ray asked.

  No reply came. Because he had now felt safe and comforted, Jason had fallen asleep.

  Chapter Six

  It took several weeks for Jason to accept that he had left Hong Kong—his real home—forever. He spent most of those first few days sulking around the house and demanding to call Wong Tong so that he could at least say good-bye long distance. His father told him to keep quiet. Their move back to the UK was Jason’s own doing.

  Ray soon employed a woman named Mrs. Betton as a nanny and housekeeper. She was middle-aged and overweight and very bubbly. She let Jason have anything he wanted so long as he behaved, and she was also a great cook. Yet, despite how pleasant she was, Jason refused to get close to her. He had gotten close to Miss Watson and Mai Lee, and each time, he had gotten hurt when circumstances changed.

  Jason made Ray’s old room his own. He put his trophy up and bought some new Bruce Lee posters. He wanted a poster of Hong Kong to remind him of his old home, but he could never find one in the shops in London.

  Ray enrolled Jason at St. Joseph’s, the same all boys private school he had attended as a youth, just a short bus ride from the house. Jason, who could speak Chinese, English, and Japanese, now took French and Russian. He hated group sports. The idea of twenty or so boys running around a freezing cold, muddy field to kick a ball was not his idea of fun. He persuaded his adviser to allow him to take German instead. In return, he would join a local karate school and use this as his athletic credit.

  With his father’s help, he quickly found a tae kwon do dojo. As a ten-year-old, he had to join the fifteen-and-under group. When he got there, he discovered that the highest belt was blue and the average age was nine. The students did not believe Jason was a third Dan black belt until they saw his moves. He was surprised at himself: He was not happy with the discipline at the dojo. There were good facilities—showers, locker rooms, and even some weights to train with—but the atmosphere was too casual. Wong Tong would not have approved.

  While in the locker room after the first day’s session, a curly-headed man in his forties looked at Jason’s black belt with three grades on it.

  “Hey, kid, you shouldn’t be wearing that belt. You have to earn that. Our instructor, Steven Coburn, has a third Dan black belt that took him years to earn. Take it off.”

  “It’s my belt, sir,” replied Jason, pulling his shoes and socks on.

  “Like hell it is. Take it off or I’ll take it off you,” he shouted. Others looked up.

  “It’s my belt, sir.”

  The man walked up to Jason and held out his hand. Jason turned away and took his coat out of his locker. The man clicked his fingers and held out his hand under Jason’s face.

  “Tom, leave it,” said a stern male voice. Jason turned. “I’m Steve Coburn, the senior instructor.” Coburn was just over six feet. He had short brown hair and a bushy moustache. His dark eyes were so close to each other that it made him look cross-eyed. “Do you have anything to say, son? Whose belt is it?”

  Jason sighed heavily, turned, looked at Coburn and then looked at the man whom Coburn had called Tom. “To earn a second or third Dan black belt, you need to look beyond what you first see with your eyes at first glance. Never assume anything. That is why you are stuck at a single Dan black belt. I have told you twice that it’s my belt. Do you need me to tell you a third time or in another language maybe?”

  The men were quiet. It was Coburn who spoke first. “You’re new here. Let’s start over. How do you like our dojo?”

  “With all respect, sir, it’s not for me. I didn’t learn anything tonight. I won’t come again,” Jason replied, zipping up his coat.

  “If you can move like you talk, I may make an exception and allow you to join the adult class. Would you like to try out?” Coburn asked.

  Tom shook his head and walked off.

  Without replying, Jason took off his coat, shoes, and socks and then followed the men into the dojo.

  “Is this non-contact?” Jason asked. He wanted to be sure. He had heard that in Europe some dojos practiced actual contact and many pupils would go home with broken noses and black eyes.

  “Always non-contact here,” Coburn replied. Jason took off his headband and shook his hair over his eyes and then jumped into fighting position.

  As they sparred for the next twenty minutes, a group gathered and watched in awe. They had never seen Coburn struggle to score points before. Here was this little blond kid with a funny accent and amazing speed and grace. Jason was easily the faster of the two, but Coburn was tall and had better reach. No one kept score of points, but it was an even match.

  When they finished, both Coburn and Jason were covered with sweat. Jason was allowed to join the adult class. Coburn even offered to let him serve as an instructor whenever he would be out sick or had to be out of town for some reason. Wong Tong would have been proud.

  ***

  At school, Jason couldn’t seem to make friends. Many called him teacher’s pet, as he enjoyed learning to speak different languages. He had to wear a gray uniform, white shirt, maroon tie, and school cap with a matching blazer jacket, all of which he hated and all of which he had to wear every day.

  At the beginning of his second week, Jason went into the toilets during lunchtime. He heard a boy asking to be let go, so he rounded the corner to find three tenth graders holding a fourth grader down. They were trying to push his head down the toilet. Jason recognized the boy from his math class: His name was Scott Turner. He was brilliant at science, but he was teased like Jason was.

  At first, Jason thought he should keep out of it, but the boy asked for help.

  “Get away, blondie, or you’ll be next,” Wayne Parker, the gang leader, spat. He was a red-haired, plump boy with a face covered in freckles.

  “Let him go, guys,” Jason pleaded.

  “Shut up.” Parker stomped over to shove him. Jason caught Parker’s arm, stuck his foot out, and threw him across the room. It was just a simple judo throw, but his head smashed against a sink.

  “You are bloody dead, blondie,” said a tall, skinny member of Parker’s gang. He approached Jason and kicked at him. Jason caught his foot as it neared his face and twisted and pulled. It sent him down on the floor, landing on his back. He got up and ran at Jason, who replied with a perfectly aimed kick to the stomach. The boy fell to the floor, temporarily unable to breathe. “Let him go,” Jason told the third gang member. He wasn’t even winded. The older boy looked unsure at first. After another glance at his two friends on the floor writhing in pain, he decided to let Scott get up.

  Scott straightened his tie as he passed Jason.

  “Thanks.
We better get out of here.” The two boys left, leaving Wayne Parker and his fellow thugs to think about what they’d done. No doubt they wouldn’t forget what had happened to them anytime soon, which was both good and bad.

  ***

  Scott and Jason had lunch together.

  “You’re the new boy, John Steed, aren’t you?” Scott asked with a mouthful of cabbage.

  “Jason Steed.”

  “Scott Turner. You know, they will want to get you back for that, and we could be in deep trouble for the damage to the sink.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. He tripped,” Jason said, smiling at his new friend. He had just lifted his fork when a voice called over the announcement system.

  “Scott Turner and Jason Steed, report to the headmaster’s office immediately.”

  “Damn,” Scott sighed nervously.

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with. What’s the worst they can do? Give us the cane? Five hundred lines? Detention?”

  As they approached the headmaster’s office, they could see an ambulance leaving the car park.

  “Uh-oh,” Scott said under his breath.

  They knocked at the door and waited. The door opened to Mr. Griffiths, the headmaster.

  “Come in, boys.” He grinned.

  Scott stole a peek at Jason, puzzled.

  “No need to look so worried, boys. Now tell me the truth of what happened, and you will be all right.”

  In a halting voice, Scott explained how Wayne Parker and his gang had been trying to put his head down the toilet and how Jason had helped him.

  “So, let me get this right. I don’t for a second think bullying is correct. However, we have a way of dealing with things here. All you had to do is report it, but you thought you would start a fight, causing damage to school property. Your father will have to pay for the damage to the sink. You also sent one boy to the hospital and another home in serious pain. And the lesson learned here today?” Mr. Griffiths asked.

  “If you get bullied, report it, sir,” Scott replied.

  Mr. Griffiths nodded and then looked at Jason. “You’re new here, Steed. Your father attended this school. He was a great footballer. And the lesson you have learned today is, Steed?” Mr. Griffiths asked.

  Jason paused. Scott was hoping he would give the same answer he gave.

  “I would do the same again, sir. I didn’t start the fight. Parker came at me. I just defended myself. The other boy tried to kick me in my face. He missed, and I kicked back. I can’t stand by and watch a classmate get treated like that, sir, but I am sorry for the damage I did to the sink.”

  Mr. Griffiths turned his back on the boys and went to his desk. Scott whispered, “Just tell him you will report it next time to a teacher, please.”

  When Mr. Griffiths turned back to the boys, he held a four-foot-long cane. Jason was furious. He had done the right thing, and now he would be punished. He walked forward to Mr. Griffiths and thrust out his hand. This stunned Mr. Griffiths. Never before had a boy offered himself to be caned.

  “What are you doing?” Mr. Griffiths asked quietly.

  “You mentioned my father, sir. My father did attend this school. He is now an officer with the Royal Navy. If you feel he has brought his only son up wrong, that his son should not help a friend out in need, then I need to be caned, for I feel what I did is correct and would do it again.” Mr. Griffiths was speechless as Jason continued, “However, sir, if it happened again, I would try to report to a teacher first.”

  Scott gave a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, and so you should be sorry. Okay, I accept your apology. You may both go.” As the boys were leaving, Mr. Griffiths said loudly, “Steed, I will be watching you.”

  Scott heaved a sigh of relief as they scurried down the hall. “That was close. Are you nuts? No one holds out their hand for the cane. Do you have a death wish?”

  “Maybe.” Jason shrugged. “That doesn’t scare you, does it?”

  “Nothing scares me but the food at this school,” Scott muttered.

  Jason burst out laughing. “Then, come to my house. My father’s nanny will feed you right.”

  “You’re on,” Scott said.

  From that day on, they were inseparable.

  ***

  It was an unusually warm day in November when Ray came home unannounced. He found Mrs. Betton sleeping in front of the TV. She woke as he entered the room.

  “Hello, sir. It’s nice to see you. We didn’t expect you. Jason will be pleased,” she said, trying to wake herself up.

  “Hello, Mrs. Betton. The house looks nice…thank you. Is Jason in his room?”

  “No, he and Scott are out in the gardener’s shed. They spend quite a bit of time in there. Crazy, if you ask me. They have this huge house to play in, and they spend time in that cold, damp place.”

  “Is Scott a friend?” Ray asked.

  “Of course, you have not met him. Yes, he spends every other weekend here, and Jason spends the other weekends at his home. I hope that’s okay. He is in Jason’s class at St. Joseph’s. I believe his father is a doctor. Seems like a nice family, although Scott does use a four-letter word too often for my liking. Let me get you a cup of tea.” Mrs. Betton lifted her heavy body from the couch. Ray went into his office and through his pile of unopened mail.

  “Here, sir, hot tea and fresh carrot cake I have just made,” Mrs. Betton said.

  “How often do you make this?” Ray grinned.

  “Two or three times a week. I did have to hide it. Jason was eating it when he came home from school and then would not eat his dinner, but I have him trained now. No cake until after dinner,” she replied, laughing.

  “Thank you…it sounds like you are getting on well together?”

  “Yes, he’s a good boy. Never any trouble. Apart from—” She paused.

  “Apart from what, Mrs. Betton?”

  “I don’t like to tell tales, but I don’t like what Jason does with the tennis machine.”

  “What tennis machine?”

  “He went on and on about this tennis machine. It spits out balls. You said to buy anything he needed, so I did. I thought he would use it for tennis, but he doesn’t use it as intended. I think it’s dangerous, but you’re his father. You decide, sir.”

  Ray continued looking at his mail and said to himself, “Never any trouble? Then, what’s this?” He had a letter from St. Joseph’s school and a bill for the replacement of a new sink and plumbing. It came to sixty-five pounds. He looked out his study window and wondered what Jason and his friend were doing in the shed.

  Moments later, the front door slammed open. He heard two boys’ unbroken voices laughing out loud and footsteps running up the wooden stairway.

  “In here,” Ray’s called from the study.

  Jason walked back downstairs, tugging at his friend to follow.

  “Hello, Dad, I didn’t know you were coming home. This is Scott, my best friend,” Jason smiled, beckoning Scott, who walked up to the stern-looking man and shook his hand.

  “Hello, Mr. Steed.”

  “Hello, Scott. It’s nice to meet you,” Ray replied. “Can you boys sit down please?” he asked.

  They sat down on a large green leather couch together.

  “So, what is this bill for?”

  Scott and Jason looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

  “It’s from the school,” he added.

  “Oh, that’s for the sink. Sorry, Dad,” Jason replied.

  “Yeah, Jason cracked Wayne Parker’s head against it and sent him to hospital,” Scott said. “Served him right.”

  Ray looked at Jason and raised his eyebrows.

  “Dad, he was with two other boys, and they were bullying Scott. They came at me, and I defended myself. I did not start a fight.” Jason knew only too well that he was not allowed to use his martial arts outside of a dojo.

  “Okay. Is there anything else I should know?” Ray asked.

  “No, that was the only mis
hap,” Jason replied.

  “I understand you are staying at my house for the weekend, Scott?” Ray asked.

  “No, Dad, he is staying at our house.”

  Ray stared at Jason, suppressing a smile. His son was still just as strong-minded as ever.

  “Yes, you’re right. Sorry, Jason. You’re staying at our house, Scott. I was going to take Jason out for a meal tonight. You are, of course, invited.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Scott replied.

  “Boys, what is the attraction to the potting shed?” Ray asked.

  Both boys looked at each other and went slightly red and looked uncomfortable.

  “It’s our den, where we can hang out without adults,” Scott replied.

  Jason bowed his head.

  “What do you do when you’re hanging out?” Ray asked.

  “We try grown-up things,” Jason replied.

  Scott’s face went bright red. He looked at his friend in disbelief.

  Ray smiled at the boys. “I was being serious. What do you boys do there?”

  “We took some beer from the kitchen a few weeks ago and shared a beer. We bought some cigarettes too,” Jason said.

  “I don’t believe this. Come on. Tell me the truth,” Ray said with his voiced raised.

  “Dad, I made you a promise. I would not lie to you. I am telling the truth. But we both only got halfway down one cigarette each. It tastes awful. I don’t really like beer. I won’t smoke or drink again.”

  Ray looked shocked. He sat back in his chair. He locked his fingers together and looked deep into Jason’s blue eyes.

  “He’s right, sir,” Scott chimed in. “The cigarettes tasted like garbage. And your beer, yuck, I think the sell-by date has passed. That tastes like garbage too.”

  “Well, Scott, what would your father say if he knew while you were here you were drinking and smoking?” Ray asked.

  “I don’t know, sir. Please don’t tell him. He may stop us from seeing each other,” Scott replied.