Declan shrugged his shoulders.
Ana introduced him to her friends. Declan nodded at them both briefly and went to buy a sandwich. When he got back, the trio had grown into a group, all girls, gathered around Ana’s end of the table. As he hovered at the edge he heard, “ . . . really good-looking, but . . . “
“But what, Leah?” Ana’s voice.
“Well, he’s awfully serious.”
“So what’s so bad about serious?” Ana again. “It’s better than some of these clowns who never stop grinning and smirking.”
“And he acts kinda . . . stuck up, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think, Leah. He’s just . . . shy. It will take a while for him to get used to things here.”
They saw him and started talking about one of the teachers.
A few of the boys made fun of his accent, but Declan ignored them, and soon, after a week or so, they let him alone. All except a hulk of a boy named Lyle Dybinski who was in grade eleven. Dybinski had small, mean-looking eyes and thick rubbery lips. He was a bully, using his weight and height and his tough, aggressive appearance to get his way with everyone. He glared threateningly at students and teachers alike. He was so big and mouthy that even some of the teachers tried to stay out of his way. “What language is that, eh?” he would ask his two followers, Al Barber and Leo Quiller, whenever they overheard Declan talking to someone. “Irish, I guess,” one of them would say. “Sounds to me like pig grunts,” Dybinski would say with a sneer. Or he would ask, “What did the Irish kid say, guys?” and Al or Leo would dutifully come up with some appropriate insult like, “Sounded to me like he was puking, eh?” They would all laugh. Barber and Quiller were small in comparison to their leader, Dybinski, and followed him everywhere like a pair of tiny, parasitic fishes under the belly of a killer shark.
Declan controlled his anger and tried to hide his growing distress and frustration.
At other times Dybinski kept his friends amused by yelling rude remarks like, “Well if it isn’t the IRA kid. Look out for bombs in your lockers, eh?”
On the Thursday of the second week, Declan’s lab partner in Science, a dark, silent boy with the strange name of Joe Iron Eagle, glowered at him and said, “You’re no help. I might as well do the work alone for all the good you are.”
“Huh?” said Declan. Iron Eagle had black hair and glittering eyes, and a nose like an eagle, hooked and mean-looking. Maybe that was why eagle was in his name. He looked tough.
“You watch me do all the work,” said Iron Eagle quietly, “then you let me write it up. Sometimes you don’t even watch: you read your book.”
Declan shrugged. “So complain to the teacher, why don’t you?”
Joe looked at him levelly for a few seconds. Then he turned back to his work.
The next day, Iron Eagle said, “Dybinski is getting to you, right?”
Declan said nothing. He couldn’t tell if his lab partner was about to ridicule him; besides, he had no intention of discussing his problems with this mean-looking, potentially dangerous character, who had said practically zero to Declan in the week or so they had been together.
Iron Eagle asked no more questions. He was silent.
In the third week, Declan said to Iron Eagle, “Give me that. I’ll write it up for you.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“I won’t.” Declan took the pen and notebook and started writing.
“Ignore him,” said Iron Eagle.
“Hmmnn?”
“Dybinski. Don’t let him see he’s getting to you. He’ll soon quit.”
The next day, Dybinski and his two friends followed Declan to the cafeteria, talking in loud voices so Declan and everyone else could hear. “It’s the Irish kid,” said Dybinski in mock surprise. “I thought by now the little runt would’ve quit school, his language problem being what it is.”
“Not necessarily,” said his friend, Quiller. “We’ve got a very good ESL class for foreigners.”
Barber joined in with, “That’s right. Irish will be speaking English before the summer, wait and see!”
They laughed loudly and jostled each other.
In Science that afternoon, Joe said, “Stay cool. They’ll soon give up if you ignore them.”
But they didn’t stop.
By the end of the fourth week, Declan decided he’d had enough of Dybinski’s so-called humor, so he waited until he saw him walking along the empty hallway on his way to the washroom during a class period, and slipped out of his own class to follow him. He caught up to him at the water fountain.
Declan said, “No more of your crude jokes, Dybinski, okay? You’ve had your fun, but now’s time for it to stop.”
Dybinski grinned and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Crude jokes? Me? Who d’ya think you’re talking to, Irish?”
“My name is not Irish, it’s Declan. Lay off me, that’s all.”
“And if I don’t?” Dybinski puffed out his chest and drew himself up so that he was a full head and shoulders taller than Declan.
Declan looked up at him. “I’m asking you politely with nobody else around, to leave me alone.”
Dybinski’s thick lips curled in a sneer. “You cowardly little turd!”
Declan clenched his fists so tight they almost squeaked. “Don’t push me, I’m warning you.”
“Cheeky Irish trash! Nobody threatens Lyle Dybinski, nobody, eh! I could tear you in two and rip your balls off.”
Declan said nothing more, but turned on his heel and returned to class.
At the end of the day, Ana was waiting for him outside the school. So was Dybinski, Barber and Quiller by his side.
“It’s the IRA kid!” yelled Dybinski so everyone could hear. “Look out for a car bomb! Check under your hood before you drive off, eh!”
Declan walked over to him and jerked his head. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.” He turned toward the football field.
Dybinski and his two friends fell in behind him and followed, still jeering. Behind them a small crowd was gathering.
Then everything happened at once.
Declan made a sudden turn and lunged at Dybinski, taking the big senior completely by surprise.
Barber and Quiller fell back in astonishment.
Declan grabbed Dybinski’s chest, his hands bunched in the bigger boy’s sweater, and lunged forward with lowered head like a charging ram, pulling Dybinski’s face down onto the top of his own head, butting him quickly and viciously. It was all over in under three seconds.
Dybinski let out a scream of pain as his nose broke and the blood gushed down his mouth and chin; at the same time he fell backwards to the ground as Declan released the grip on his chest.
Declan stepped back, and when he saw that Dybinski was not about to get up, scowled at his two followers. “That was a Belfast kiss. Anyone else like one?”
Nobody else did. Barber and Quiller looked at each other and shrugged as though Dybinski was no concern of theirs.
“That was dirty fighting!” screamed Dybinski from the ground, holding his head back, trying to stop the flow of blood.
“All fighting is dirty!” yelled Declan furiously as he walked away. “Didn’t you know that?”
He looked around for Ana, but she must have gone home.
She did not speak to him until the next day.
Chapter Thirteen
The next day, Declan was called to the principal’s office and asked to account for his violent behavior. “I will not tolerate fighting at this school,” said Mr. Taylor. “There is no excuse for the injury you’ve done to Dybinski. You broke the boy’s nose and he had to go to the hospital in Sechelt.”
“He had it coming,” said Declan.
“Fighting is no way to solve a problem,” said Mr. Taylor.
Declan said nothing.
“Is it now?” said Mr. Taylor tilting his head, waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” said Declan angrily. “It is. Sometimes that’s
all there is left.”
Mr. Taylor gave him five detentions to be served picking up litter around the school. “If there’s any further fighting, Declan, I will have to suspend you.”
“So suspend me!” Declan sneered, slamming the door as he left.
He was suspended for five days.
“I’ve had a call from the school,” Kate said to Declan that evening after dinner. They were all sitting in the living room. Her voice was flat and hard. “It was the principal, Mr. Taylor. You’ve been suspended for a week. You’ve sent a boy to hospital. And they say you’re doing no classwork.” She turned her eyes to the ceiling. “I said a prayer to the Holy Virgin that the boy will be all right.”
“It was only a broken nose,” said Ana.
Kate sucked in her breath. “Only a broken nose!”
“Now, Juno,” said Matthew, “there’s no need . . . “
“You needn’t Juno me, Matthew Doyle,” said Kate angrily, jumping up from the wing chair and throwing a sweater around her shoulders. She sat down again, her face flushed with anger.
Declan was surprised at Ana speaking up for him: she had been cool to him ever since the fight.
“You were fighting?” said Matthew to Declan.
Ana spoke up again. “Everyone thinks the boy deserved it. He really did. He’s a big bully, three years older than Declan and a ton heavier. Everyone says he’s been giving Declan a bad time ever since he started school.” Ana flashed Declan a tilted, apologetic smile. “So it wasn’t Declan’s fault.”
Kate said quickly, “Bully or not, there was no need to break the boy’s nose!”
“Nobody feels sorry for him,” said Ana. “He had . . . “
Kate said, “Please go to your room, Ana, or go outside. Take Thomas with you. Matthew and I would like to speak to Declan alone for a minute.”
Ana pulled a face, but got up and went to fetch her jacket.
When Ana and Thomas had gone outside, Kate turned to Declan, and said sharply, “You made a deal that you’d go to school! You’ve been there barely five minutes, and already you’re to miss a week! What kind of a bargain is that?” She sat upright in her chair, arms folded, jaw clenched. To Declan, she looked more formidable than the school principal.
“I can’t help it if . . .“
“Don’t give me that ‘I can’t help it’ excuse! You were rude and disrespectful to Mr. Taylor. Isn’t that right?”
Declan was silent for a moment. He looked at Matthew, but saw no help there. He said to Kate, “He made me lose my temper.”
“Mr. Taylor made you lose nothing,” said Kate impatiently. “The fault was your own, Declan!”
The room was full of shadows. But Declan could see the anger and concern in Kate’s clear blue eyes, and it was if he were looking into his mother’s eyes, and he couldn’t understand why he felt like crying.
Kate waited until her anger subsided, then she spoke slowly and firmly. “You will go back to the school tomorrow, Declan, and you will go straight to Mr. Taylor’s office, and you will apologize to that man for your rudeness. Then you will ask him if you may be allowed to accept the punishment he first gave you, before you were so disrespectful.”
“It was to pick up trash around the outside of the school!” Declan was indignant. “I’m no trash collector! They would all see me and laugh!” He appealed to his uncle with open hands and staring eyes.
Matthew said nothing.
“You made a bargain,” said Kate. “If you must pick up trash so you can keep that bargain, then pick up trash you must.”
Declan appealed silently again to his uncle.
“Kate is right,” said Matthew.
Declan stood. “All right,” he said to Kate. “I’ll do it. But what if Mr. Taylor won’t change his mind? I’ll have to stay off the week.”
Kate’s face softened. “Mr. Taylor is a fair-minded man. If you control your temper, Declan, and you are open and honest with him, then I see no reason why he’d let you miss school.”
Thomas came clumping in from the outdoors, and threw himself into Declan’s chair
Matthew insisted on examining Declan’s head to make sure there was no serious injury from the fight. “Anyone would think you were a rutting stag,” he said.
Declan brushed the hair out of his eyes.
Matthew pressed. “Does that hurt?”
“No.”
Matthew looked at him, his sad face longer and sadder than usual, if that were possible. “The Bible says if someone strikes us we should turn the other cheek,” he said quietly. Kate, talking now with Thomas, was not listening. Matthew pressed again.
“Here?”
“Ouch! No. The Bible also says an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” whispered Declan. “If you let people walk all over you, then you’re a coward and a slave. It’s easy to see why you ran away from the Irish struggle for freedom.”
Matthew finished his examination. “Your head seems to be in one piece.”
Thomas wanted Matthew to examine his head also. He sat on Matthew’s lap. When Matthew declared him to be in one piece, he slid down and threw his arm affectionately around Declan’s shoulders, and smiled with happiness, and pulled him by the sleeve, wanting Declan to go with him.
“He wants to show you his things,” said Kate.
Declan followed Thomas upstairs to his room. It was the one with the Superman wallpaper. Thomas pulled an old suitcase from under his bed. He opened the case and started to take things out and hand them to Declan for inspection and approval. There was a green Sesame Street doll which took up most of the room in the box, several Superman and Batman comics, a handful of colored marbles and a plastic soldier in khaki uniform and helmet, thrusting forward with his rifle and bayonet. The helmet had a strap and could be taken off.
“An English soldier,” said Declan, “doing his dirty work.”
Thomas caught the tone of disapproval in Declan’s voice and looked disappointed.
“But it’s good to have,” said Declan, smiling. “You can always piss in his helmet.”
“Huh-uh?”
“In his hat.” Declan made a gesture.
Thomas laughed. “Pissss!” Trying out the new word. Then he took out of his suitcase a long white goose feather. He stroked Declan’s cheek gently with the feather. Declan took the feather and tickled Thomas under the chin. Thomas giggled.
When Thomas had shown Declan all his things, he closed the suitcase and pushed it back under his bed. Then Declan showed Thomas the gold ring on his finger and told him it had been his ma’s. “It’s the only thing I have that I can show you, Thomas,” he told him.
“I was proud of you today, Declan.” Tilted smile.
“You were?”
“Carrying that big plastic sack around and picking up everyone’s garbage, and not saying anything, and whenever anyone laughed or made fun, you took no notice. You looked . . . “ Ana thought for a second. “ . . . kind of dignified, I thought. You really did.”
They were walking home. The school bus had dropped them off at the general store.
The sun shone, but the air had a little of the feel of fall. Declan carried only one book, The Chrysalids, which he had picked up in his English classroom because it looked interesting. By contrast, Ana’s satchel was heavy with books.
“These books are heavy,” said Ana.
“Is that a hint?” Declan took her satchel and slung it over his shoulder. “Here, you can bloody-well carry mine.” He handed her his book.
Ana laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I was thinking about Thomas. Kate is annoyed at you for teaching him bad words.”
“There was only one, and it wasn’t so bad.”
“You’ll have to tell it in confession along with all your other sins,” Ana said lightly.
“I don’t go to confession. I’ve finished with all that.”
Ana said, “I go at least once a month; I like it.”
“I don�
��t believe most of the blather the priests tell us anyway,” said Declan. “All that codology about heaven and damnation, hellfire and eternal punishment. I believe it even less since . . . “ He stopped. “I don’t think there are any punishments or rewards, but if there are, then they’re here in this life, that’s what I believe.”
“I believe in heaven,” said Ana. “Whenever I think of my real parents, I always think of them as being in heaven.”
Declan said, “Real parents? What . . .“
But he didn’t have time to speak further. Thomas came quickly to meet them as he often did, running in his slow, heavy way. The bus from his special school got home a little earlier most days. He called out their names, happy to see them, and rushed at Declan and wrestled him. Declan enjoyed his tussles with Thomas who was surprisingly strong and courageous. They kept it up all the way to the house.
Later, Declan and Ana sat out on the porch in the sunshine.
Declan blurted out, “What did you mean about your real parents? I thought my uncle and aunt were your parents.”
“Huh?” Ana’s mouth fell open. “Matthew and Kate are not my parents—not my real ones, that is—I thought you knew that!”
Declan frowned. “How would I know if nobody told me?”
“They should have told you. Perhaps they thought you knew.”
“And you’re not my cousin?”
“Of course not!” Ana laughed.
“Then who in God’s name are you then?” Declan felt a little angry. Why hadn’t they said? Was it possible they’d told him the day he arrived? Maybe his uncle had mentioned it when they were driving to Otter Harbour; he remembered very little of that first day.
“I’m an orphan,” said Ana, “same as you. Matthew and Kate took me in when my father was killed in a logging accident six years ago. I don’t remember my mother; she died when I was a baby.”
“And Thomas is not your brother?”
“No.”
“But why Matthew and Kate?”
“My father and Matthew worked together logging.” She pointed. “Over on the other side of the mountain.” Ana shrugged. “I had nobody else. Matthew just came for me, that’s all I know.”
“What about the eejit?”
Torn Away Page 6
