‘It doesn’t matter what I would do if I were you, Bill, because I’m not. So all that matters is what feels right for you to do.’
‘But I’m not sure any more.’
Scobie kept his eyes on Bill like he was X-raying him.
‘Do your parents know yet? Have you told them?’
‘Mum does. I told her but I think she knew already.’ Then a miserable expression took over Bill’s face. ‘My father doesn’t know. Mum said she’d tell him for me. But I have to do it.’
As Scobie nodded, the bell for the end of lunch started ringing.
Bill took his speech back from Razz. ‘I guess I’ll just have to think about it some more,’ he said and wandered out of the room.
Razz shook his head. ‘We can’t let him do it, Scobes. We just can’t.’
‘If it’s what he decides,’ Scobie said, ‘we have to.’
30.
THE GRIMMEST OF HIS GRIM DAYS
The Hamlet orals were scheduled for the following Monday. So were all the sports photos for the magazine. Razz was involved in quite a few and he had to report straight to the gymnasium before school. He wasn’t in Homeroom when Bill told us about his decision.
‘I’m not doing it,’ he said.
I didn’t know if I felt relieved or disappointed for him. I don’t think Bill knew how he really felt either.
‘How come?’ I asked. ‘It wasn’t just what Razz said, was it?’
‘No. The piranhas didn’t scare me off,’ Bill said with a half-hearted smile. ‘It was more what you asked me, James. You know, about whether my parents knew yet. Like I said, I haven’t told my father and I don’t think I should go blurting it out to everyone else until I do that. Don’t know when I’m going to tell him, but.’
‘You’ll find the right time,’ Scobie said.
‘Not that easy. He’s hardly at home. He’s always overseas somewhere building stuff. He’s got about six months away in Egypt coming up. And we don’t talk much even when he’s home. We don’t do anything much.’
‘He’ll be all right with it, won’t he?’
Bill’s face made me wish I’d never asked that question.
‘No,’ he said.
Once again it was Scobie, as always, who had the words to put things right.
‘Well, Bill, for what it’s worth, I think you made the correct decision, waiting till after you’ve spoken to your father. That’s what I would have done if I were you. And Bill,’ Scobie said, ‘I would be proud to be you.’
It wasn’t exactly a smile that came to Bill’s face, but at that point in time I think it was the most we could have hoped for.
Everything happened pretty quickly after that. Our English lesson followed Homeroom and Bill was the first of us scheduled to speak. After a great acting performance as Polonius, he was just about to commence the analysis part of his presentation when Razz appeared at the door. Mr Slattery waved at him to come in quickly and take one of the vacant seats at the back. I was in the second front row beside Scobie and I caught a flash of Razz’s tense face as he went past.
Bill started his analysis. I turned round a couple of times and tried to catch Razz’s eye to let him know not to worry about what Bill was going to say. But Razz was concentrating too hard on the presentation. Then Mr Slattery came over and tapped me on the shoulder and told me to pay attention, so I gave up. I figured Razz would find out for himself soon enough anyway. But what I thought would happen and what actually did happen were so far apart they might as well have existed in different dimensions.
Everything was going smoothly enough until Bill arrived at the last part of his talk – the relevance of Polonius’s speech to today’s society. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder at Razz. He was shifting around like his seat was on fire. I shook my head at him. Mr Slattery scowled at me. I faced the front. Oh well, it’d all be over in a minute. (Quick, someone text Nostradamus and tell him his job is still safe.)
I turned my attention back to Bill. From the practice sessions I knew he was nearing the end.
‘… For example, many gay men and women today are still unable to be true to who they really are because of the prejudice and discrimination that unfortunately still exist in society today. I can …’
The screech of a chair being pushed back more or less drowned out the remainder of Bill’s last sentence which I just made out as, ‘… only describe this situation as unjust and intolerable.’
Overlaid on the soundtrack of the screech was Razz clapping wildly and calling out, ‘Bravo, Billy! Couldn’t agree more. Hear! Hear! Down with discrimination! We have suffered enough already!’
The whole class swung round. Danny Wallace woke up for the first time in the lesson. Mr Slattery struck a dramatic pose.
‘Mr Zorzotto, resume your seat immediately!’
Bill looked horrified. ‘Razz, it’s all right. I …’
But Razz was on a mission not to let Bill speak and he was determined to succeed. He climbed on to his chair shouting, ‘We will not be held down! We’ve been repressed too long! We must all stand up and end inequality now!’
Mr Slattery’s face now matched the colour of his hair. I’m pretty sure you could have roasted marshmallows on it.
‘Mr Zorzotto, this is your final warning. If you do not get off that chair and resume your seat, the consequences for you will be dire!’
But Razz was totally committed to the cause and there was no turning back. He stepped on to the desk and began chanting, ‘What do we want? Equality! When do we want it? Now!’
Some of the class started to join in, clapping and shouting out in response to Razz’s calls. Hold the marshmallows. Mr Slattery’s face was going into meltdown. And then, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, what do you know? It did! Razz threw his arms out and started singing. It was a song everyone from Ms Heckenvaal’s history class knew only too well.
‘I AM WOMAN,’ Razz bellowed out, and even though he numbered only one, there was no way he was ever going to be ignored.
Why he thought this was an appropriate song to burst into at that particular moment I will never know. At least he had the brains to steer clear of Danny Wallace’s version.
While Mr Slattery shouted to be heard, Razz kept belting out verse after verse of the feminists’ anthem. Ms Heckenvaal would have been so proud. He was just informing us, at the top of his lungs, something about him being an embryo and having a long way to go, when Mr Barker appeared at our classroom door and stood there like the Grim Reaper. Every sound, every word, every note, every shuffle, every murmur, died. Our Homeroom was a morgue. We all stared zombielike at our Deputy Principal’s face.
Even on the grimmest of his grim days, the Grim Reaper had never managed to appear quite that grim.
31.
HMMMMMM
Mr Barker didn’t shout when he told Razz to get down off the desk and go to his office. In fact his voice didn’t rise much over a whisper. But it was still the scariest thing I’d ever heard.
Of course I’d seen Mr Barker angry plenty of times before. We all had. He was Deputy Principal. ‘Angry’ was what he did. And Mr Barker was a true professional. Sometimes I’m sure he made himself seem angrier than he really was, just for effect. I guess Hamlet would say that sometimes Mr Barker’s face and voice were just the ‘trappings and the suits’ of anger. But that’s not the way it was the day he stood in the doorway with Razz fiercely locked in his sights. That day, everything about him said, ‘I KNOW NOT “SEEMS!” ‘
After he was trudged from Homeroom like a prisoner for an appointment with a high-voltage recliner, Razz wasn’t sighted at all for the rest of the day. I was half-expecting the police to arrive any minute and charge Mr Barker with some unspeakable rage crime. Eventually Razz showed up after school while I was waiting at the bus stop.
‘Razz, what happened? What did Barker say? What did you get?’
Razz rattled off his punishment with little emotion. ‘A written apology for Mr Slattery
, one for Bill and one for the class, ten days of afternoon detentions, working outside Barker’s office every English lesson until the orals are over and if I stuff up again just once, no Semi-formal.’
‘Geez, that’s a bit much. Mr Barker must have been pretty mad.’
‘Possibly. Apparently I’m “immature and self-centred” and I “lack respect for my school, my teachers, my fellow students and myself”. I also have “no idea of appropriate behaviour”, I “treat life as a joke” and seeing how I obviously went out of my way to make a “complete mockery” of Bill and his talk, I’m “totally insensitive to anyone else’s feelings and views” as well.’
‘What? That’s rubbish. Didn’t you explain why you did it?’
‘I’m trying to stop people finding out about Bill. Why would I go and shoot my mouth off to Barker? I just said I did it for a bit of fun. What’s it matter, anyway? Barker already thinks I’m a drop kick. He’s been on the phone to my mum most of the day and now she’s got an appointment to see him after school tomorrow while I’m doing my first detention.’
‘Your mum is meeting with Mr Barker?’
‘Yeah, what about it?’
‘Nothing,’ I said as casually as I could.
Razz ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Anyway, I don’t care about that stuff. It was worth it to stop Bilbo shooting himself in the foot.’
‘Ah, Razz … there’s something I think I should tell you.’
Razz turned a pair of weary eyes my way.
‘If you’re going to tell me that you pashed Sally again, I’ll really have to kill you this time. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Right, thanks for the warning. I’ll just keep that to myself then and tell you this other thing instead. Razz, Bill decided not to say anything. Not until he could work up the nerve to tell his father. We found out in Homeroom when you were getting your sports shots done.’
Razz’s chin slumped to his chest and he groaned. Talk about your ‘suspiration of forced breath’ and your ‘dejected havior of the visage’.
The following morning when Bill found out about the detentions he said he was going straight to Mr Barker, but Razz wouldn’t let him. He reckoned it was all ‘just water under the carpet’. As it turned out, detentions weren’t the Razzman’s only worry.
‘So now your mother and Mr Barker have an appointment together? Hmmmmmm.’
Razz’s eyes narrowed.
‘What do you mean, “Hmmmmmm”, Prindabel?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Didn’t sound like a nothing “Hmmmmmm” to me. People don’t “Hmmmmmm” for no reason.’
‘They don’t?’ Ignatius said. ‘Hmmmmmm.’
Razz looked around suspiciously at the rest of us. Everyone except Scobie tried to avoid eye contact.
‘What is it with you guys? What’s the matter? Come on, Scobes, tell me.’
‘Well, Orazio, perhaps Ignatius is alluding to the fact that your mother and Mr Barker did seem to get on quite well at the Dugongs’ concert last year.’
A second passed before Razz’s face crumbled like it had been hit by a massive earth tremor.
‘What? You guys don’t think … that my mum … and Mr Barker …’ Razz’s half-finished question hung in the air. ‘That’s crazy talk!’
‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Scobie said reassuringly, ‘although you did mention that your mother and Mr Barker had already spoken all day on the phone. So one might be inclined to wonder why a face-to-face meeting would be deemed … necessary.’
Razz looked at us like we were all members of some bizarre sect that worshipped tapeworms.
‘You’re all mad, you know that? You’ve been reading way too much Hamlet. You’ve all gone psycho like him. There’s nothing happening between my mother and Barker. Not now,
not ever. They’re just having a meeting about me, that’s all.’
‘Are you going to be there?’ Ignatius asked.
‘Well … no … but …’
That was as far as Razz got. I think some disturbing images had overwhelmed him. Ignatius added a couple more.
‘Orazio Barker. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? You might even be able to do future detentions at home with the family. Very convenient.’
Razz performed a commendable impression of Mr Barker’s grimmest of grim, Grim Reaper looks and directed it with laser-like intensity at Prindabel.
Over the next few days the remaining Hamlet orals were completed without further incident. The closest we came to anything vaguely exciting was when Danny Wallace included a brief ventriloquist routine involving Yorick’s skull in his, and when Melvin Yip, with some expert assistance from Xiang Chu, staged the Hamlet and Laertes sword fight scene in a way that was more samurai than Shakespeare. Scobie christened it ‘Crouching Hamlet, Hidden Poison’.
The rest of the performances were more traditional. Scobie delivered a powerful and moving portrayal of a more than usually height-challenged Hamlet. Ignatius showed everyone that as a dead guy he could be remarkably convincing. And I ended up being happy with my Claudius. Yes, you heard right. Me, happy with an oral presentation. That’s something I never thought I’d say. Three years of debating was finally paying off.
The last presentation was Razz’s. It had to be held over until his official return to English class. And he surprised everyone. He didn’t joke around or muck up a line in his speech and he looked pretty impressive dressed all in black including a leather jacket. Even Mr Slattery said he was ‘pleasantly surprised’ by the ‘depth and understanding’ of Razz’s analysis, particularly the concept of ‘appearance’ versus ‘reality’.
In a strange coincidence, that was the same concept that Scobie and I had a long discussion with Mr Barker about in his office the day after Bill’s speech. You know, how a person can ‘appear’ one thing but ‘really’ be nothing like that. And in another strange coincidence, on that very day Mr Barker decided to let Razz spend all his detentions helping the Junior Dormitory Supervisor Mr Murphy run after-school activities for the Year Eight and Nine boarders.
Apart from a few afternoons spent with the boarders at Mr Slattery’s ballroom dancing classes, Razz mainly got to organise and play sport. For once it was a win-win situation that actually worked. Mr Murphy said Razz was a ‘godsend’ and Razz liked helping with the junior boarders so much he kept doing it even after his detentions were over.
The other thing Mr Barker did was to schedule another meeting with Mrs Zorzotto to discuss Razz’s ‘progress’.
Hmmmmmm.
32.
ADVANCED SELF-PITY WALLOWING 401
After the excitement of Razz’s ‘coming out’, the year ground its way to the finish line. Soon a tsunami of final exams and assignments loomed large on the horizon and we all scrambled to reach the high ground of knowledge so that the waters of ignorance wouldn’t drown us in a bottomless sea of failure. (Did I mention about our short English unit on Figurative Language?) When Senior exam week finally ran its course, only the dreaded Semi-formal remained.
Razz really did try to work his ‘magic’ and help me find a partner. He dragged me along to a couple of parties and dances with him and Sally, but I didn’t end up meeting anyone. It wasn’t Razz’s fault. I’m pretty useless in those make-a-quick-impression situations. They’re fine if you’re a Brad type like Jess’s boyfriend. Girls just take one look and say, ‘Great, I’ll have one of those!’ But if you’re like me, it’s more, ‘Hmmmmmm, haven’t you got anything else?’ I need time to grow on people. A bit like mould.
But that was the problem. As far as finding a partner went, my time had completely run out. The last day finally arrived for anyone who needed to put their name down on the I’m-so-crap-with-girls-they-basically-have-to-force-someone-to-be-my-partner list that Miss Tarango put up on the Year Eleven noticeboard. So I wrote mine down. I thought about
adding loser. Then I remembered what Mr Slattery said about avoiding redundant words when yo
u write.
A week or so later I found out that my chosen partner’s name was Raychell Taylor and she went to Claremont College. That’s all I knew about her. Of course I spent the next week and a half wondering what a Raychell Taylor would look like and what she’d be like. If you believed my mum, it didn’t matter anyway. Apparently my only job was to make sure that whoever my partner was, she ‘enjoyed herself’ and didn’t feel ‘left out or neglected’ on the night. Mum only told me that about a hundred times so I guess she thought it was pretty important.
The Year Eleven Semi-formal took place in the Old Hall. On the night all we loser-list people had to meet Miss Tarango in the foyer so we could be introduced to our partners. We looked about as relaxed as a herd of cattle milling around outside an abattoir. I think for most of us that would have been the more appealing option.
Then I saw Raychell Taylor. I’d been given a reprieve from the slaughterhouse. She looked great – except for the ‘Hmmmmmm, haven’t you got anything else?’ expression that flashed across her face when we were first introduced. At least she was kind enough to try to hide it. But I knew it was still lurking there somewhere behind Raychell’s big smile and I was fairly certain that the night wouldn’t be anywhere near long enough for me to make it go away.
I’m not saying that the Semi was a disaster or anything. It wasn’t. Raychell had a great personality and had no trouble fitting in with everyone – even if her eyes did seem to drift away to the other tables and to her mobile more than I hoped. And we had a fun group. Apart from me and Raychell there was Razz and Sally (who finally got to wear a new dress and be heart-achingly beautiful for the right person); Ignatius and Maude (who was really nice and made everyone laugh, except when she said things that sounded exactly like Prindabel – then she was scary); Scobie and Prue (who wore lace-up boots and a dress she’d cut down from one that used to belong to our grandmother and yet still managed to look more like a supermodel than my little sister); a good friend of Sally’s called Alyce (who was super-nice) and Gerard Carlson-Steele (who as well as still being Year Eleven’s undisputed champion of perfect uniform wearing, was a good guy). I just wished that Bill could have been there with us.
Ishmael and the Hoops of Steel Page 13
