by Janeen Brian
I hoped he was right, but I doubted it.
Mam was smiling the moment I walked into the kitchen.
“Ah, how was it today, me handsome? I bet Miss Goldsworthy got a surprise to see you back.”
I flinched. How much of today should I tell Mam?
“I didn’t see her, Mam.”
“Oh?”
What could I say? If I told Mam everything that’d happened, she’d worry. Her dreams of me getting educated and getting a good job would be shattered again.
“No, Miss Goldsworthy’s away. I had another teacher.”
“Oh?” she said again. “What about your work then? Were you able to catch up?”
There were still faint pink marks across my knuckles. Enough to make a curious mother more curious. I put both hands in my pockets.
“Most of it,” I said.
She smiled. “Too soon for red ticks, I s’pects.”
I gave her the smile she was expecting and walked into my room. I needed to lie on my bed for a while.
More than anything, I wanted Mam and Da to believe that I was happy at school. Despite everything, Da could’ve been the kind of father to push me back into the mines. But he hadn’t. And he and Mam had worked hard to give me a chance. If Da was the kind of father who, if you got a belting at school, would say you must’ve deserved it, then I didn’t want to find out. So that was that. What happened at school from now on was school’s business. I wouldn’t say anything and they wouldn’t know.
Chapter 23
The following day, Mr Skinner announced that we would have a class monitor.
“The jobs will include cleaning the blackboard, sweeping the floor, handing out books, ringing the bell and refilling inkwells. And, of course, attending to Jack Pollock.”
I blinked at the sound of my own name. Baffled, I wondered if I was to be the first monitor. But no, it was Elizabeth. The attention I needed was the tying up of my hand.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Elizabeth whispered. “Tell me if it’s too tight.”
Again, I felt my heart thump and my cheeks grow warm.
Ten English comprehension questions had to be answered. I took the pen and stared at the lines in my exercise book, the one Dorrie had written in. I tried lowering the pen gently, pretending that the hand knew what to do. The answers were in my head. Please let them flow neatly and carefully onto the page, I pleaded.
What happened was that my hand began to shake. Just a small trembling. But enough to make writing, even with a practised hand, impossible. I glanced at the door. How badly I wanted to run away. But even if I tried, I couldn’t. I was strapped to the desk.
I did my best, blotting the inky mess and praying that Mr Skinner wouldn’t call for the books until home time.
“Monitor, collect books.”
I drew my shoulders around me like a shell.
When Mr Skinner looked at my book, he barked, “I will not accept such poor work, Pollock. Not from Ryan and not from you. I doubt that you even tried, so you will repeat it.” He rose from his desk and approached me.
That was the day the canings really began.
My work was ripped out. I repeated it, and was caned and caned again.
“I am trying to help you, Pollock,” said the schoolmaster, pink-cheeked with the effort. “I am trying to help you do the best you can. In time, you will be grateful. Remember your right hand is the hand of God.”
I looked at my right hand. It was cut, swollen and marked with red crisscross lines. What Mr Skinner said didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.
Next day, I dragged my feet towards school. Halfway there, a willie wagtail hopped from one bush to the track and onto another bush. Mrs Ellery had told me that some Aboriginal people thought the bird brought bad news. But I thought his song was bright and chirpy.
“Please, no more bad news,” I said to the bird before it fluttered its fanlike tail and flew off.
I held onto the joy of his song as I greeted Samuel and Henry, holding up my marble bag.
The day began as usual. Samuel was the class monitor. I knew how he’d be feeling.
“It’s all right,” I whispered, as he tied the cord.
“No, it’s not, Jack,” he whispered back. “You’ve been caned more than Willie Ryan. It’s not fair.”
Willie heard and grinned. “Clicky left-hander,” he mouthed. “Clicky left-hander.”
My skin prickled again.
“Attention!” Mr Skinner pointed to the blackboard. “Senior children, write these twenty spelling words, five times each. In your best hand.”
It was difficult to rule a margin.
Stupid as it was, I imagined the little bird sitting on my shoulder, trying to help.
A short while later, as I struggled to write with a sore, shaky hand, there was a knock at the door.
Samuel opened it and in walked Elsie.
Smiling, she walked up to Mr Skinner.
“Good morning, sir,” she said politely. “I’m Elsie Polkinghorne. I’m from Burra but my mam spoke to you the other day about me starting school. Sorry I’m late. I went to another cottage but–”
“Yes, yes. Let’s not waste any more time. There’s a spare seat beside Pollock. Pollock, raise your hand.”
Flushed with embarrassment, I lowered my pen and lifted my arm.
“Oh.” Elsie smiled.
“Who’s got a girlfriend?” whispered Willie Ryan.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I snapped.
“She knows you,” he simpered.
Elsie took a step towards the desk, but Mr Skinner stopped her.
“What’s in that tin?”
“Coloured pencils, sir. My da gave them to me.”
“Open the tin. Is there a purple pencil?”
“Yes.”
“Take it out.”
I frowned at such an odd request, but Elsie did as she was told. Then she stood, open-mouthed, as Mr Skinner snapped the pencil in half and threw the bits in the wire wastepaper basket.
“But my father–” she began, obviously upset.
“Purple is the devil’s colour. It will not be used in this room.”
I lowered my head, feeling a knot in my stomach.
Then Elsie spoke. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, “but I like purple. I can’t understand why it’s the devil’s colour if there are purple flowers, like violets, and butterflies with purple wings and purple colours in rainbows.”
I was astonished at what she’d said. I wanted to clap. I couldn’t, of course, but I cheered on the inside.
“Sit down, Elsie Polkinghorne,” said Mr Skinner, his voice rising. “And when I want your opinion on something, I’ll ask for it.”
As she sat down and arranged her things, I flicked a glance in her direction.
“Hello, again,” she whispered.
I grunted a greeting.
Then she caught sight of the cord. And my hand.
“Don’t say anything,” I warned. “Just write down the words on the board.”
From time to time, I noticed her looking at me as I tried to do my work. She saw Mr Skinner check it. And she saw what happened next. She even shifted a little so the tip of the cane didn’t reach her. Then she picked up the pages that the schoolmaster had ripped out and flung to the floor.
My shame deepened with each minute.
Moonta Mines was crisscrossed with tracks. Although Elsie and I could’ve walked home together, I couldn’t bear the thought. Instead, I raced towards the post office before it shut.
“I’m sorry, dear. Still nothing for you. I’m sure it will come soon.”
I thanked the lady and strode out, pretending I didn’t mind. But there was an ache inside. Without an address, Gilbert was like a ghost. Someone who’d vanished from sight.
But on that hateful day, I decided I’d find Gilbert somehow, wherever he was.
Chapter 24
The following day was so hot that bees, parched by thirst, buzzed around the tap of the s
chool water tank.
One kid had to shoo them away while another kid got a drink. School hadn’t even started when there was a scream. I rushed to the tank to find Minnie, red-faced, holding her mouth and jumping up and down. She’d put her mouth right over the tap and a thirsty bee inside it had stung her.
Elizabeth said she’d take Minnie home, even though I offered. Part of me wanted to help but another part wanted to miss out on school.
With a brief greeting, Elsie and I sat down at our desk and then Henry tied the cord. I longed for lessons, any lesson, that didn’t involve writing. No matter how much I hoped or tried, my writing wasn’t improving.
Arithmetic, with the ruling of lines and writing of numbers, was just as bad. I was repeating a set of sums when Henry rang the bell for recess. My throat was parched, and I wanted to use the dunny.
“Very well. Untie him,” the schoolmaster told Henry. “But you’ll stay in and finish any work at lunchtime, Pollock.”
Miserably, I walked outside, rubbing my wrist and shaking my hands.
A voice came from behind. “Have I done something to annoy you, Jack?” It was Elsie.
“No,” I stuttered.
“That’s all right then.”
I moved off, heading for the small row of tin shed dunnies. But Elsie spoke again. This time, she came up and faced me.
“Jack, why does that man hit you? What’s wrong with your other hand? Why won’t he let you write with it?”
I turned away from her intense look, but not before noticing she had eyes of different colours. One was blue. The other green. Still that wasn’t enough reason to stand and talk to her about what went on inside the classroom.
“I dunno,” I lied. “I dunno about anything.” I strode towards the dunny.
“I don’t understand,” she persisted, running after me.
“Forget it, Elsie!” I retorted and dashed off.
When I came out, I looked around for the boys to play marbles, but banged straight into Willie Ryan.
“Oh,” he crowed, clutching his thick hands to his chest and rolling his eyes. “Clicky left-hander had a fight with his girlfriend.”
“Shut up, Ryan!” I squinted in the glare, searching again for Samuel and Henry. They must be around the front of the school. Perhaps they’d found some shade.
“Now who gets caned the most?” he smirked, bumping me deliberately with his shoulder.
I drew back my left fist and held it near his face.
“Ooh, I’m so scared,” he whined.
I let him have it. Right in his big, flabby guts.
He came back with a fist to my chest. I caved in with a loud grunt but then belted him again, punching with both fists, letting them fall wherever they could. It was like fighting a huge sack of wheat. I tried to dodge and duck, but his clouts sent me flying. Suddenly, I hit the dirt with a thud.
“Ha!” cried Willie Ryan, and jammed his boot on my stomach. His mouth was wide with triumph.
“Jack!” It was one of the boys. I couldn’t tell which one. But I took the chance while Willie was distracted to grab his boot and heave with as much strength as I could muster. Amazingly, he toppled and it didn’t take much after that to push him further off balance. He staggered and fell with a loud clunk against the dunny wall.
“Come on, Jack,” said Henry, grabbing my arm. “Don’t even look back.”
I was blinking; sweat stung my eyes. I saw Elsie standing near the pepper tree, just watching.
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Samuel a moment later.
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” agreed Henry. “If Skinner knows you’ve been fighting, how much chance will you have of him ever untying that cord?”
“And he’ll be at the government school next year,” said Samuel.
I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I won’t be going to the government school.”
“Where will you go then?” said Henry.
I grunted. “Maybe nowhere.”
I saw Elsie walking ahead of me after school. I slowed down, kicking clods of dirt or pebbles, just so I wouldn’t get too close. I even thought about dropping to my knees, pretending to lace a boot, or check out an ants’ nest if she turned around by chance. I was full up with school and I didn’t know what to do. I certainly didn’t want to talk about it with some new girl with one blue eye and one green.
Da was on the bench in the shade when I arrived in the yard.
“Jack, lad,” he said, looking up from his newspaper. “From Mr Phillips.” He shook the paper and grinned.
“Good, Da,” I replied, though right then I had no interest in reading a newspaper.
“So how was school?”
Da never asked about school. It was always Mam. Suddenly, I felt a huge warmth for my father who changed his mind, for my sake. I never heard what he said to Captain Trelawney and I hadn’t come across any of the picky boys again. I’d been lucky that Da had agreed to what I’d asked. But now it seemed my luck had run out.
“Well, lad? Swallowed your tongue? What does Miss Goldsworthy have to say about your coming back to school? Did she send a note for me?” Da chuckled, as if imagining her surprise.
Before me, the leaves of a bush with blue flowers drooped in the heat. My shoulders sagged also. Choosing my words, I said, “She’s not there any more, Da. Didn’t Mam tell you?”
“Not yet, lad. She’s been busy with Arthur, and Dorrie’s not well again. But go on, tell me what’s been happening. You do have a teacher, I hope. You haven’t been minching? Playing truant?” He grinned, making the ends of his moustache curl up.
That was exactly what I wanted to do.
“No, Da. There’s a new school further down the road.”
“What’s wrong with the old school? Miss Goldsworthy’s?”
I told him all about how Miss Goldsworthy had married and gone away for a trip and that if a lady teacher marries, by law she’s no longer allowed to teach.
At which point, Da spluttered and sent a blackbird scuttling across the path and into the air. “I’ve heard nonsense before, but that’s ridiculous. Does a lady suddenly lose her brain for teaching once a ring goes on her finger?” He shook his head again. “Then what’s your new teacher’s name? Miss who?”
“It’s Mister actually. Mr Skinner.” The very mention of his name turned my stomach and I felt a small tremor in my hand. Or perhaps I imagined it.
But Da put his head to one side, nodding and obviously happy, as if I’d chosen well.
“Ah, maybe it be a good thing, Jack, to have a schoolmaster, now that you’re a growing young man.”
I swallowed and nodded.
“And do you like him? No regrets about going back to school?”
Da had already picked up his newspaper, so I answered him as I walked to the back door. “No, Da.”
In my mind, I was answering the first question, not the second. But Da seemed satisfied.
Chapter 25
Mam was singing. She had a fine voice. It always rose clear and strong in church, but that afternoon it sounded as if it was worn to a thread.
Mam was in Dorrie’s and my bedroom – soon to be Arthur and Dorrie’s, because in a few months the new baby would need the sleeping drawer.
She was singing to Dorrie, and patting my sister’s head with cool cloths, which she soaked every now and then in a bowl of water.
Dorrie lay curled like a caterpillar on her bed. Though her eyes were closed, she was still coughing, her face growing pinker. Her curls stuck damply around her face.
“What’s wrong with her?” I’d never seen my sister look so limp and sickly.
“It be the cold back again,” said Mam, patting my back as a greeting. “This time it hit her hard. And fast. She be like a flower one minute and then suddenly she crumpled. I’ve run out of the mixture. I gave her the last a minute ago and I don’t want to be without during the night. Would you go and get some more, please, me handsome? And take Arthur. He’d like the walk.
”
Of course, Mam. Then when I get home, I’ll milk Gertie and chop the wood. And try to keep my hands out of sight. My head was full of troubling things. My skin and skull felt so tight, I wouldn’t have been surprised if they burst apart. Bits of brain and bone and gizzards would fly off in all directions and that’d be me, finished.
“What you be waiting for, Jack? Look at your sister. Hurry now.”
I swallowed hard. “Do I have to take anything to Mrs Ellery?”
“No, I have no time to make anything extra. She’ll have to make do with Arthur today.”
She smiled at her own joke and somehow, so did I.
There was only one problem.
It wasn’t Arthur, who wriggled the whole way in my arms, screaming in his own language to get down. It was Elsie. She was sure to be at Mrs Ellery’s. We hadn’t spoken since the incident in the yard that afternoon. With luck, she’d be out.
She was in.
Luckily, she fell in love with Arthur. While she played with him, I went with Mrs Ellery into her small but thickly planted herb garden. Gertie would have slurped it up in one big gulp if she managed to get in.
“Mam told me to tell you Dorrie’s got red cheeks and a cough that sounds like bellows.”
Mrs Ellery collected a jar of pungent cream for Dorrie’s chest as well as something brown in a bottle and a bunch of smelly herbs to boil up. She put them in a basket and handed it to me. Elsie held out Arthur, but he had other ideas and started squirming and arching his back.
“Do you want me to carry Arthur home, Jack?” said Elsie.
“Umm,” I muttered, dreading being alone with her all that time. She had Mam’s way of asking questions. “I’ll manage, thanks.”
But Arthur gave such a sudden lurch that I almost dropped the basket trying to hang on to him.
“Let Elsie help you, Jack,” said Mrs Ellery.
I nodded reluctantly, keeping my eyes averted.
“There, that be better,” said Mrs Ellery, patting Arthur while he happily burbled at Elsie. “Elsie told me you’re back at school, Jack. Are you liking it?”
I froze.
How much did Mrs Ellery know? What had Elsie told her? If Mrs Ellery knew about the caning and the cord, then she might talk about it, and Mam and Da would find out. I shifted the basket to the other hand, stalling.
