by David Gilman
“Whichever way you look at it,” Rocky said quietly, which I thought was very considerate of him, “Beanie found the monkey, and the monkey likes him.”
I could see the others were beginning to like the idea of having Malcolm around and that Mark might well have to agree to the democratic process again.
“He’s doing things with his hands. What’s that?” Rocky asked.
“I don’t know. Sometimes he sits and does that,” I told them.
“It’s like sign language,” Pete-the-Feet said.
“Like Native Americans?” Skimp asked.
“No, it’s like that deaf kid, Tracy whatserface,” Mark told them.
“Maybe he’s deaf then,” said Rocky.
“Don’t be stupid, he heard us coming. It’s monkey-see monkey-do. He’s seen it somewhere, that’s all,” said Mark.
Skimp giggled. “He blew a bubble!”
Malcolm picked the chewing gum off his face and put it back into his mouth, but I think he also thought it was a lot of fun because he screeched and rubbed his hand across his head and did a back flip. Everyone laughed except Mark. But I think he could see which way the vote was going.
“Come on, Mark, we could look after him,” Pete-the-Feet said.
“Yeah, there’s bags of grub around. We could bring it in every day just like Beanie’s been doing,” Rocky said. “He deserves a chance and Beanie’s been really gutsy. I say we form a special bodyguard unit to look after Malcolm.”
They all looked at Mark. Malcolm chattered. I put my arm around him and scratched his head for him.
Mark shook his head in defeat. “Malcolm’s a stupid name for a monkey.”
“That’s true,” agreed Skimp.
“Skimp’s not exactly great,” I said.
“Also true,” Skimp said.
“Malcolm is a nice name,” I told them, “and it came to me out of nowhere. Just in a flash. That’s called inspiration.”
“That’s called being off your head,” Mark said. But then he gave in. “All right. I hereby declare that we are now the official bodyguard for Malcolm. We hereby promise to protect and feed him. We do solemnly swear.”
“We do solemnly swear,” we all said together.
And Malcolm blew another bubble.
While Mark and the others explored the rest of the house, being careful not to fall through any of the rotten floorboards, I could see that Malcolm needed sleep. He yawned and stretched and kept cuddling up to me.
I held his hand and walked upstairs and then to his bedroom. I showed him the T-shirt I had brought him but he didn’t know what to do with it. So I took off my coat and my jersey and my own T-shirt. It was pretty cold but I thought that if it was true what Mark said about monkey-see and monkey-do then he would understand how to dress himself if I showed him.
He watched and pulled the T-shirt over his head. He couldn’t find the armholes so I helped him and in next to no time he was ready for bed. I never thought I would have parted with my Steven Gerrard shirt but Malcolm needed it more than me.
He pulled his thumbs and hands down across his chest. I wasn’t sure whether it was to smooth the shirt down or that he was making another one of those signs.
But I knew it was time to find out.
Once Malcolm was asleep we crept out the house, being very careful that there was no one around to see us. I was still nervous about the police and the RSPCA. We were still talking about it when two men pulled up in an old battered BMW. They looked really rough. One of them had a face like a potato, all lumpy with a couple of warts on it. The other had long, greasy hair, which was combed over a bald patch. They were both much older than my dad. We’ve always been told not to talk to strangers, but we didn’t have much choice, because they stopped and wound down the window.
“Oi! You lads. Have you been down the Black Gate?” said Potato Face.
If you shove your hands in your pockets and look really disinterested most grown-ups ignore you anyway. Rocky pulled his hood up and Pete-the-Feet let the hair fall across his face.
“Nah. Why would we?” Mark said.
“I saw you hanging about down there. That’s a dangerous site, that is. Whole thing could collapse at any minute,” Comb Head said.
“We weren’t doing anything,” I said, because I was only nine years, eleven months and eleven days old, and grown-ups think I’m just an innocent child and tend to believe me.
“Listen, son, I’m not the law, I just want to know what you were doing in there.”
“It’s none of your business,” Mark said.
“We’re just kids,” Skimp said.
Potato Face looked really mean but then he gave a sort of smile, which wasn’t really a smile. I just think it’s the way his face twisted when he wanted to try and appear nice. “Me, I don’t care, about nothing. All I’m asking is, if you were in there, did you see anything unusual?”
“You can’t get inside,” Rocky said, “it’s all boarded up. Besides, like you said, it’s just too dangerous.”
“What are you looking for?” I asked them.
He gave a sneer, and tapped the side of his nose. “Don’t get too nosey, kid, it can be bad for your health.”
He had no idea how often I went to hospital. That’s called irony.
Tracy Lewis looked a bit weird. She wore ankle boots and black tights and a crinkly sort of skirt and she had bangles and beads and a purple cardigan that sort of matched the colour of her hair, except that also had other bits of colour in it and looked as though she’d cut it with the kitchen scissors. She wore glasses held together with bits of Sellotape.
I knew where she lived but I didn’t want to just knock on the door and start asking questions. You can’t tell with parents these days – they can be quite aggressive if they think you’re trying to sell them something.
So I waited for her after school, watching all the deaf kids talking with their hands. It reminded me of pigeons taking off. Once she left her group of friends I followed her for a bit and then walked alongside so she could see me and didn’t get a fright by not hearing me come up behind her.
She was bigger than me; probably about the same size as Mark, but it was difficult to say how old she was, because the clothes made her look older.
“Hello!” I shouted.
She stopped and took a step back. Maybe I’d shouted too loudly. “Hwa? Who’re you?”
“I’m Beanie,” I shouted again.
“Stop shou’ing,” she said.
She had a bit of a funny voice, I mean, not funny ha ha, but not clear. But I could understand her. “Hwa you wan’?”
“I want to learn signing,” I said in my normal voice.
“Clear off,” she said and started walking away.
I ran next to her and got a few paces ahead. I realised she’d been looking at my lips when I spoke to her so I made sure she could see my face. “Please,” I said, “I’ve met someone who uses sign language and I want to understand them.”
She stopped. “Who?”
“A friend.”
“I know all the deaf kids.”
“He’s not from round here.”
She thought about that for a moment. “What kind of signs did he make?”
I showed her the one Malcolm did when I first met him. She looked uncertain. “That means he’s hungry.”
I had been right!
“And?” she asked.
I showed her the one where Malcolm pulled his hands down the front of the T-shirt with his thumbs near his chest.
She raised her eyebrows. “He’s tired,” she said. “So who is it tha’s hungry and tired?”
I thought I’d better tell her just a little bit more because I needed her cooperation. “His name’s Malcolm and he’s a new friend of mine.”
She looked at me as if to say, “Oh yeah?”
So I answered her. “Honest.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Beanie.”
She looked at me as if she was checking me
with lie-detector eyes. “That’s your nickname.”
I nodded. She might have been deaf but she wasn’t stupid.
“Have you got any money?” she asked.
“No. I spent it on nuts and raisins for my friend.”
She looked as though she didn’t believe me again.
“He’s a vegetarian,” I said.
“A deaf vegetarian. No wonder he’s tired and hungry. I can see why he needs help. Come on.”
We walked to the local shops where she bought each of us a can of Coke. We sat on a wall just as the sun popped out between the clouds. I took that to be a good sign. I wasn’t too sure what else to say. “When in doubt say nowt.” That’s what Dad always tells me. So, that’s what I did. Nothing. Maybe she was thinking or perhaps wasn’t too sure what she should say to me. So then the doubt left me and I thought I should show some interest. That always helps break the ice, when you ask questions about other people you’ve just met. It makes them feel as though you care about them.
“So why are you deaf?” I asked her.
For a minute she didn’t say anything and then she said, “I was born deaf.”
I thought about that for a moment and didn’t really like the thought. Not being able to hear your mum or dad or the telly or singing in class with Mrs Donovan or at the game with Dad… You’ll never walk alone… imagine not being able to sing for your favourite team. Or listen to music or go to a film or laugh with your mates.
“Hwa?” she said, probably seeing my brain working.
“Nothing.”
“You thin’ it’s terrible being deaf.”
I nodded.
“It’s all right. I only know being deaf. I have lots of friends. It makes no difference to me what anyone thinks.” She swigged her Coke and pointed at my head.
“You wear that all the time?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.”
“Are you psychic?”
I took off my beanie.
“Cool,” she said, and smiled. “You din’t shave it, did you?”
I shook my head.
“Uh huh,” she said and looked away as if she wasn’t interested but I knew she was.
“I have leukaemia,” I told her. “The treatment made my hair fall out.”
“Thought so. You’re skinny. You don’ look too good.”
“It’ll grow back and I’ll gain weight, then I’ll be like everyone else.”
“Are you going to die?”
“One day. But my grandad was nearly eighty when he died.”
“How old are you?”
“Nine years, eleven months and eleven days.”
And counting.
Tracy let me walk home with her and I told her as much as I could make up about Malcolm, except of course I didn’t tell her where he was or that he was a chimpanzee. All I needed was a book that showed what the signs meant. But I knew Tracy Lewis wasn’t going to give me any help without wanting something in return.
“Do you have a lot of friends?” she asked me.
“A few. Not many. I can’t play games, not yet anyway. But I’m in a gang. It’s my brother’s gang. His name is Mark, and there’s Rocky, Skimp and Pete-the-Feet.”
“Strange names,” she said.
“Strange people,” I told her.
“I’ve never been in a gang,” Tracy said.
“Well, you’re very individual looking, I mean the way you dress, and the colour of your hair, maybe that’s why.”
“It’s because I’m deaf,” she said, and then she nodded as if it was a big punctuation mark.
“‘No, it’s because you’re a girl.” I thought she should know the truth.
“‘I’ll teach you to sign,” she said and made gestures with her hands. That’s exactly what I needed to know how to do. Imagine being able to talk to Malcolm, having a conversation with a monkey, by using my hands. That’s called amazing.
“Great,” I said.
“But I want to be in your gang.”
My heart sank. That was the impossible dream. Like winning the World Cup. Like scoring the final penalty shoot-out. Like running a two-minute mile, or not ever dying.
“It’s not my gang,” I said, hoping she would just say, “Oh, okay, never mind, I’ll teach you anyway.”
But she didn’t. We got to her house, she opened the gate and closed it and said to me: “That’s the deal.”
And that’s all she said.
I am not allowed to call an Extraordinary Meeting of the Executive Council and there was no way that Mark was going to either. He was in the bath when I told him about Tracy, because that’s where he is when he comes back from football practice. So I thought that would be the time to explain everything. That way he was less likely to jump out the bath and chase me.
He had soap in his eyes and ears when I first told him what Tracy wanted. He splashed so much water to wash the soap away that it went all over the floor.
Mum has a fit if we make a mess in the bathroom like that, but I thought it wasn’t the right moment to remind him.
“No way! What is it with you? I don’t care what’s going on inside your head, but we’re not having a girl in the gang. It’s never gonna happen, Jez, get used to the idea and don’t mention it again. Now get out!”
I didn’t think he would be that opposed to the idea. I know there are a couple of girls at school who fancy him, but he plays it very cool and doesn’t let on. But I’ve noticed that when they’re around he definitely behaves differently.
“She’s twelve and she’s very clever. She can talk with her hands. It’s called signing. We need it so we can communicate with Malcolm.”
“I don’t care! Malcolm’s a monkey. Monkeys don’t talk. They don’t understand ! Understand? Now get out!”
So I did. I had to find a way around this problem. If I went and spoke to Skimp, Pete-the-Feet or Rocky, then that could cause serious complications for the gang. That would undermine the democratic process. It would be as if I was trying to take over. Which of course I can’t, because I’m not yet in double figures and even if I was, I wouldn’t because Mark is what they call a natural leader.
Sometimes if I get a nosebleed I get some sympathy from Mark, so I closed my eyes and thought hard, imagining the blood coming out my nose and going all over the hall carpet. But nothing happened. Which is just as well, because Mum and Dad always get upset when it does. So how could I get Mark to even think about calling a meeting, never mind considering letting her join?
When he came out the bathroom he walked right past me and slammed his bedroom door in my face before I’d even had a chance to say anything. I pressed my face close to the edge of the door and tapped gently on it. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. I can keep this up all night and I knew it would wear him down in the end until he’d be forced to open the door.
I’d only done about sixty taps when he yanked open the door. “Stop it! Clear off! I don’t want anything to do with you! The subject-matter is closed!”
He was really giving it some welly. Full-in-my-face yelling.
“What’s going on up there?” Dad shouts. “Mark! Jez!”
This is where kids who are sick can bend the rules. I whispered to Mark that if he didn’t call an EMEC I would tell Mum and Dad that he took me into the Black Gate which is a condemned building, highly dangerous, and could have caused me any number of injuries. And given that Mum and Dad are both scared of me even getting a scratch, because of the risk of infection, they would probably put him up for adoption.
I think there are times Mark would really like to clobber me. I know that this was one of them. His face screwed up into a really angry look, and he grabbed me. In that moment I realised I had pushed him beyond his limits. It must have been all that tapping on the door that had worn down his nerves. Then, something happened to his face, it was as if he had realised he was not going to get the very latest PlayStation for Christmas. He let go of me. And deliberately banged his head a
gainst the door two or three times.
Dad called up again: “Mark? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he said.
He went into his room and closed the door without even slamming it.
I knew I had won.
That’s called blackmail.
Everyone looked really miserable. Mark kicked his ball again and again against the school wall. Rocky was twisting fence wire around a piece of wood as if he wanted to strangle it. Skimp seemed to be having a conversation with himself. Every few seconds he’d nod, and then shake his head. He muttered, “I dunno” a couple of times. Pete-the-Feet was nowhere to be seen – he was inside his hair.
“She’s more than a girl, she’s a deaf girl,” Rocky said.
“And she talks funny. Her words don’t sound the same as everyone else’s,” said Pete-the-Feet.
“None of that makes any difference, honest. I talked to her. You just have to listen to what she says. And she dresses really weirdly, so she’s interesting,” I said encouragingly.
“How can you tell a deaf girl jokes?” Skimp argued.
“It’s got nothing to do with her being deaf,” Mark said. “This isn’t a girl’s gang. This is our gang. My gang.”
He gave the ball a kick that whacked against the wall and would definitely have been a match-winning penalty.
“But we swore an oath to protect Malcolm,” I said. This meeting was going nowhere and no one wanted Tracy Lewis anywhere near them. Except me.
“That’s got nothing to do with letting her join us,” Pete-the-Feet said, his hair moving from his breath, which at least proved he was alive in there.
“It has everything to do with protecting Malcolm. She can find out what he’s trying to say. He might hold really vital information. And imagine that, we would be the ones who discovered it because you let Tracy Lewis join in.” I said “you” rather than “we” because that kept me, the probation gang member, out of it. It made them feel more important.
“She could be an associate member,” Skimp suggested. “Or even a consultant.”
“A what?” Rocky said, giving the helpless stick a final, deadly twist.
“Skimp’s right,” I said. “That’s exactly what she’d be – a consultant. She’s an expert in something and we need her services. She could be an associate member while she’s a consultant, and then when she’s told us what Malcolm’s trying to tell us, we could tell her her services are no longer required,” I urged them. After all, I had to go along with them on this whole “girl” thing. Personally, I figured that once Tracy had spent all of sixty seconds in our company she would rather move into a zoo with Malcolm.
