The Knife That Killed Me

by Anthony McGowan

  And that did it.

  Suddenly all the tension in the room—the pent-up fear and adrenaline—evaporated, and the three of us began to laugh, and the laughter took us literally onto the floor, rolling and choking and coughing and spluttering.

  When we’d stopped, Shane relit the joint and he and Stevie smoked it down. I had a couple more drags, and managed not to cough. Not much, but enough, I guess.

  “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, in a quiet moment. “When he looked at you, I thought he was gonna kill you. That kid is a freak of nature.”

  And that set us off laughing again, and we didn’t really stop for an hour, and then I said it was time for me to get home.

  “Me too,” said Stevie, and we left together. As I was leaving, Shane put his hand on my arm.

  “What we talked about … you said you’d get rid of it?”

  “I will. I don’t want it.”

  “OK.”

  At the front door I realized I’d forgotten my bag. I went back down to the basement. I opened the heavy door quietly. The settee faced away from the door, and I had a mind to give Shane a shock, yelling out—you know how you do.

  There was something funny about the way Shane was sitting. He was smoking the other cigarette from the tin. Not a joint, just as a cigarette. His arm was stretched out, white in the gloom.

  He took the cigarette out of his mouth.

  I could see the end glowing.

  And then he put the cigarette to his arm, the underside of his arm, and stroked it down from his elbow to the blue veins of his wrist. It was a gentle movement, tender, as if he was playing with a child or a cat or a girl. And then he lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and drew on it, and then quickly stubbed it down into his arm, not gentle now, not gentle at all. His body went tense for a moment, and then softened, and he fell back onto the settee and let the cigarette roll down onto the carpet.

  I backed out of the door and ran up the stairs. Stevie was gone, and I went out into the cold night, running, and then I put my hand on a low brick wall, and first retched, and then spewed and spewed and spewed.

  On the way home I thought about chucking the knife in the beck. I took it out of its sheath. Looked at the blade glinting in the streetlights. Felt its lovely weight, its balance, its calmness. I thought about Shane hurting himself. I’ll put it away somewhere safe, I thought.

  Perhaps this battlefield is like a chess game. I don’t mean that there is a strategy here. There is no strategy. There is only horror and confusion. I mean that in between the moves, all is utterly static. Walk away and the game would remain as it is for eternity. Or at least until the board and the pieces crumble to dust.

  EIGHTEEN

  The next morning everyone was buzzing about it, how there was going to be a fight, how we were going to get our revenge. The Templars had trespassed on our territory, written stuff on our wall, showed us no respect. I didn’t hear any talk about the dog’s head, about how Roth had begun this. In fact I didn’t hear any sense at all. Some kids said that the fight was going to be up there. Some said down here. Everyone knew it was going to be dirty. The talk was that Roth was going to cut Goddo. There were even different versions of this, depending on who you spoke to. Some said he was going to cut him open. Cut him so he wouldn’t be alive anymore. Some just said cut, like it was a lesson. I don’t know if any of this went back all the way to Roth, or if it was something people guessed was going to happen, based on Roth’s reputation.

  At morning break I went and stood with the freaks. By now it was natural. It was what I did. Stevie was telling them about the wall and about the kid and about Shane, using my words. I didn’t mind. I was pleased, in fact. They were good words. Kirk was loud in his praises of Shane’s courage, and that was only right. Then he turned to me.

  “And you were there?”

  He sounded bright, friendly.

  That should have been a warning.

  “Yeah,” I said modestly, thinking that being there was a good thing, that I had the special status of a firsthand witness, a primary source.

  “That was lucky, for Shane.”

  I still wasn’t really thinking, and I said, “Yeah,” again, missing the first quick, sharp sting of sarcasm.

  “Having you there to back him up.”

  Then I began to get it.

  “Having you on his side.”

  Now I was staring Kirk in the eye.

  “And you did what, exactly? Just so we can get it straight.”

  “Hang on—” said Billy, the fat one.

  “No, really, I’m intrigued,” said Kirk, over him. “So, Paul, while Shane was rescuing this little kid, you were … what, exactly?”

  “It wasn’t like that … it was—”

  Then I saw Maddy. She was watching me. She looked pretty today. She still hadn’t got the freak thing right, but she’d hit on a nice look, for her. Her hair was tied back. And her neck … I don’t know. Something about her neck. I want to say it was like a swan, but that isn’t right. I only want to say it because that’s what you say about a neck when you think it might be beautiful. You say swanlike. But a human with a neck like a swan would be a monster. I think what I liked about Maddy’s neck was that the curve of it seemed made to have a cheek rest into it. And my mind was already there, resting into her neck, my skin on her skin.

  “You didn’t help him?”

  Maddy. A sting.

  “Yes … no … there were kids everywhere … I couldn’t …”

  “Without Paul they’d have kicked the shit out of me.”

  Shane. Not there and then there. And his words bit, because he didn’t usually swear.

  Kirk turned to him, his face uncertain, his eyes shifting, troubled, but reluctant to let this one go.

  “That’s not what Stevie said. Stevie said he just stood there, like a dummy.”

  I felt the freak crowd draw in its breath.

  “I never said dummy.”

  “That’s what you meant,” said Kirk, a little more sure of himself now. “That’s what it amounted to.”

  “Stevie,” said Shane, “who told you about it? About what happened?”

  Stevie looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. “Paul. I just repeated what he told me.”

  “And when have you ever heard him boast about anything?” Shane began by looking at Stevie, but then shifted his gaze to Kirk, and then to the gang in general.

  “He never talks about himself,” said Billy, grinning. “He’s a modest guy.”

  “I’m telling you all now, without Paul watching my back, I’d have been in trouble.”

  Maddy gave me a little smile. I could have kissed Shane. Or Maddy. Or both. It was like a dream. I was getting praised at the same time for being brave and for being modest.

  Kirk didn’t want to leave things there, with him looking stupid and me looking good, so he changed the subject.

  “You all know there’s going to be a big fight, don’t you?”

  Yeah, we knew.

  “Have you heard the latest?”

  “Do tell,” said Stevie, deadpan.

  “It’s tomorrow. They’re coming down here to the gypsy field.”

  “You sound like you’re looking forward to it,” said Shane.

  “What if I am? All it means is that two sets of meatheads are going to beat each other to a pulp. What’s not to like?”

  “What if someone gets hurt?” I asked.

  “Like I said, if they’re all idiots, who cares?”

  “What if someone gets badly hurt? What if someone gets put in hospital?”

  Kirk laughed. I think some of the others laughed with him. I could see that I was coming across as a bit straitlaced. I should have learned by now that in an argument at school it’s always the one who is most serious who loses.

  “Read my lips,” said Kirk. “I don’t care. Their psychos or our psychos, doesn’t matter.”

  “What if someone gets killed?”


  “Hospital or morgue, I couldn’t give a toss. One less nutter.”

  Just before break was over the group split up, each person set on some individual project. I found that I was standing alone with Maddy.

  It was what I wanted.

  What I dreaded.

  The truth is that I’d never really spoken to a girl before. I mean, apart from hair-pulling and name-calling when I was little. My mind went blank. No, not blank. It was full of stuff, words and ideas whizzing round. But I couldn’t get my hands on any of them, so the effect was the same.

  Silence.

  Maddy saved me.

  “Dirk’s a kick,” she said. Then there was a little pause while it sank in.

  Then we laughed. Loud with the release. Too loud, perhaps.

  “Kirk’s a dick, I meant.”

  “Yeah,” I said, still smiling. “Why do you lot put up with him?”

  “We’re not like that. They don’t exclude anyone.”

  It was funny how she went from “we” to “they.” Decoding it was easy. Look at you and me, she was saying. If there was any excluding going on, don’t you think we’d be at the top of the list?

  “Shane’s amazing, though, isn’t he,” I said, following some weird connection of my own.

  Maddy’s face lit up. “Yeah. And you were there. There when he saved that kid. I’m glad it was you. I don’t think any of the others would have been brave enough to back him up. Not Kirk, anyway. Stevie would have tried, but, you know …”

  “Yeah, he looks like he’d break in two if you blew on him.”

  Maddy giggled.

  I went for it, surfing on the energy wave.

  “So, well, do you want to maybe hang out sometime?”

  “We hang out all the time.”

  Her face, her tone, were hard to read. Friendly, half smiling. But was she saying no, or was she teasing, asking for more? If she hadn’t said the nice things about me, about being brave, I’d have given up. But I was brave: I’d been the one to stand by Shane in his hour of need.

  “No, I mean, would you like to go to see a film or something? You know, you and me. Together.”

  God, but that was lame.

  Then I noticed that Maddy’s eyes had drifted beyond me. I looked round. Shane was waiting near the school entrance.

  “Oh heck,” she said. “Look, Shane’s waiting. We’re going to be late for chemistry.”

  “Tonight?” I said quickly, clutching at air, hoping, doubting.

  “Tonight? Yes, OK, fine.”

  She said yes. She definitely said yes. Wings. Flying.

  “Let’s meet at the multiplex. At eight. We can see anything—anything you like.”

  “Anything, yes.”

  Maddy was itching to get to the lesson. That was OK. She was a geek.

  And then, her face filling with a smile, she ran toward him—Shane, I mean, and chemistry.

  NINETEEN

  I was walking into the building when a hand grabbed the arm of my blazer, pinching my flesh. I let out a quick scream, which was stupid. One of the first things you learn is to hide your pain, because pain is what they love, and it works like a blood trail in the water. But it was the surprise, not really the pain, and how can you guard against being surprised? Anyway, it was answered by the hyena laughs of Miller and Bates. Roth loomed behind them, his black eyes glittering in the shadows.

  Bates, who’d grabbed me, pushed me toward his master, at the same time wrenching and twisting at the soft underflesh of my arm.

  “Paul, Paul,” said Roth, his voice soft and deep, pretending hurt, “you’ve been avoiding me.” He stepped forward, opening his arms like a priest. “I thought we were mates. I thought we were going to spend some time together. I thought we’d be down the park, throwing a Frisbee to each other, swapping jokes, having a laugh.”

  And I almost did laugh at the thought of Roth with a Frisbee. It was like imagining Genghis Khan with a yo-yo.

  “He’s got his new friends now,” said Miller, giggling. “He’s all over them freaks. He must fancy one of them.”

  “Which one, do you reckon?” said Bates, joining in. “The lanky one? Or wassisname, the chief bummer?”

  “Shut up.”

  That made them all laugh, even Roth, who usually saved it for leap years.

  “Ooooooo,” said Miller, “look at her. I think we got it.”

  “Nah, look, let’s not get nasty,” Roth said, putting his arm around me in that way of his, heavy and threatening. “This is a time we all have to stick together. You know why, don’t you.”

  “The fight.”

  “The fight,” he says. “The fight. You make it sound like two Year Seven bitches having a bit of a scratch behind the bike sheds. This isn’t a fight, this is war. It’s us against them. And do you know who they are, eh?”

  I nodded, meaning the Temple Moor kids, the evil kids who didn’t go to our school, kids who lived just up the road.

  “Barbarians. That’s it. You’re a clever kid, aren’t you, eh, yeah? You’ve listened in history. You know about the Spartans, don’t you?” Roth’s eyes weren’t on me now, but were focused somewhere else, thousands of years ago, many many miles away. “You know about how they stood together, shield to shield, while the Persians splashed against them like waves on a rock?”

  That was the thing about Roth. He could say things like that, things you’d never think were in him. Maybe if things had been different for him, if he’d been brought up somewhere else, with a different mum and dad, he’d have achieved something, done something amazing.

  “That’s us. Spartans. The Templars are the barbarians. The way white men beat barbarians is by sticking together, keeping that shield wall tight. You get me?”

  I nodded. There wasn’t much else I could do. But I also looked quickly at Miller, a black kid, not a white man. And I thought I saw something there, something beneath that cowed, craven look of his.

  Roth caught my glance, but he couldn’t have seen Miller’s expression.

  “You don’t worry about him,” he said, and I wasn’t sure who he was speaking to. Maybe it was himself. “Miller’s all right. Miller’s one of us. We’ve civilized you, eh, yeah?”

  And Miller didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he grunted, which I suppose meant yes.

  And then Roth focused on me again.

  “You’ve still got it, yeah?”

  Of course I knew what he meant.

  “Yes.”

  “Got it here?”

  I shook my head. It was in my secret hiding place.

  “Sensible. I knew you had brains. Some thick kid would have carried it around like a mobile. Not you. Feels good, though, doesn’t it? Having it, touching it.”

  I thought about the knife, felt it invisible in my hand.

  “It feels … good, yes.”

  Bates made a hissing noise. A sigh, I think.

  “Tomorrow. You’ll bring it tomorrow?”

  I wanted to say no; to say that I didn’t want anything to do with the stupid fight. The best I could manage was to say nothing.

  “Reckon he’s chicken,” said Bates.

  “Nah, not my mate Paul. He’s a good lad.”

  Roth squeezed me again with his big arm.

  “And when he hears what they were saying, well, then he’ll be up for it, won’t you, eh?”

  I didn’t get it for a second.

  “Who do you mean? What did they say?”

  “It’s all right, we know there’s nothing in it. We know they’re a bunch of lying savages, monkeys, apes, don’t we, eh?”

  “What did they say?”

  “Forget it.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They said you liked it when they made you kiss the dog. They said it was the kind of thing you liked. They said stuff like that.”

  And then he told me some other things. The kind of things that had been written on the wall, about him.

  “Now, the point is,” he said, his voice low
and reasonable, like we were talking about what was on the telly tonight, “that kind of thing gets around. When it gets around, it becomes true. As good as true, I mean. I’m saying that no one can tell the difference between the lie and the truth. And when you can’t tell the difference between a lie and the truth, then, you know what, there isn’t a difference. Because the truth is only what people think it is. So what you need to do is put any thoughts like that out of people’s heads. You get stuck in tomorrow, and what are people gonna say then? Not that you’re the dog snogger. No, they’re gonna say you’re a hero. They’ll remember you for a long time.”

  I felt sick. I didn’t believe that lies and the truth were the same—the same underneath, I mean. But Roth was right in that the truth sometimes can’t protect you against the lie; that the lie is sometimes stronger than the truth.

  But feeling sick isn’t the same as wanting to fight.

  “I don’t care what people say about me.”

  Roth’s face changed slowly. He’d been working it up to now, making the muscles move into the human shapes that other faces had. But now it was slack and empty, and I knew that I was in terrible trouble.

  “He doesn’t care what people say about him,” he said, his voice like the voice of a dead man, a spirit, calling from beyond the tomb.

  And then action.

  I was against the wall, my face crushed in his hands.

  “But what about his dad, eh? Yeah, his dad.” I could feel his breath on my face, but it had no odor, nothing, nothing at all. “I’ve heard how he was always going on about what a tough guy he was at school. Oh yeah. How he was the hero at the big fight up at Temple Moor all them years ago. Well, you know what? I heard different. I heard that he shat himself. I heard he was a coward. You a coward too, eh, Varderman? Another good story to put around, that one, eh? Your dad, shitting himself.”

  And I fought against the hand on my face and the weight of Roth pushing me against the wall, fought as hard as I could, but I was like some soft creature writhing under the tracks of a tank. And Roth laughed.

  “That’s a bit more like it,” he said. “A bit of fight in you, eh? That’s good, really good. Doesn’t matter so much if your dad was chickenshit. You can put that right. You can be the one with guts in your family. That’s it, eh, yeah?”