by Beth Goobie
“Elliot, I will speak with you further after class.”
Now seated, Elliot flushed but maintained his smirk. Curious as to the class’s response, Maddy ran her gaze across the room, then jerked it to a halt and reversed. Empty – the desk in which David Janklow usually sat was empty. Disbelieving, she scanned the rest of the room, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“Okay, class,” said Ms. Mousumi. “We will now be moving into our study groups. Shove your desks into groups of four, and I’ll hand out the question guide.”
Mayhem erupted as desks began scraping along the floor. To Maddy’s relief, both Vince Cardinal and August Zire left their seats and came over to her, where they claimed Jeremy’s and Kara’s vacated desks. A fourth desk, which Vince also shoved into position, stood uninhabited, the empty space above the seat resonating with Maddy’s relief. Unbelievable as it was – incredibly – mercy had dropped down upon her world. It was a temporary reprieve; she knew terror would return next class, breathing once again down her neck, but for one day – one hour – she could breathe easy.
From several feet away, Maddy could feel Ms. Mousumi’s gaze flicking across August, Vince, and herself, on the alert for signs of trouble. Not today, thought Maddy. No, today all was almost well with the world.
“Where’s David?” asked Vince. “Is he sick?”
“I dunno,” said August.
Maddy shrugged, a smile flickering across her face.
. . .
David didn’t show up on Tuesday, either. As the bell rang, signaling the start of Wednesday’s class, and his desk continued to sit empty, Maddy found herself settling into a confused wonder. How was it possible that David was missing class after class just when she needed him to? Was he ill? Had his family pulled him from school to go on some kind of trip? In grade six, she’d had a friend whose parents took her midterm to Kenya. Apparently the trip had been deemed “educational,” and the school had allowed it. Was it possible David had left the continent on a similar educational experience? If so, Maddy hoped it was a world tour. She hoped his plane crashed in Siberia. Maybe terrorists would kidnap him. Maybe…
Dana Ferwerda walked to the front of the class, holding a tablet. “The Pain Eater,” she announced, not quite catching Julie’s eye. “Chapter ten. Well,” she added, glancing at Ms. Mousumi, “I didn’t know if it was chapter nine or ten, because of Elliot. Does his count?”
Ms. Mousumi grimaced wryly, but didn’t reply. “Well,” Dana continued, “this is a real chapter, whatever number it is. Here goes. It was the full moon in September. The tribe was bringing in the harvest, and the hunters were working hard, killing animals for the winter. Everyone had a job to do. Everyone had to work hard and get things done, so the tribe could get through the winter.
“And then Farang went on strike. She had only one job to do for the tribe, and she had to do it only once a month at the full moon. All she had to do was eat one meal with the allura leaf in it. All she had to do was feel one stomachache, and then it was over. Then she was finished her job for the next whole month. She didn’t have to work in the fields. She didn’t have to sew or weave. She didn’t have to hunt animals or skin them after. For the rest of the month – thirty whole days – she got free room and board and completely free time. She was free as a bird, except for one day when she had one job to do.
“And on the September full moon, she wouldn’t do it. When the high priestess called her out of the bushes, Farang didn’t crawl out as she always did. She didn’t even walk out. No, she sat in a tree close to the clearing and watched what happened. When no one came out of the bushes, the high priestess called again. Still, Farang didn’t come. So they sent out a search party, with everyone running around and searching. When they didn’t find Farang, the high priestess called the temple priestesses together. There were five of them – the high priestess and four lesser ones. They all looked scared. Because they knew if Farang didn’t eat everyone’s pain, someone else had to. It was the law of the land, and they had to obey.
“The priestesses drew lots – the four lesser ones. The priestess who got the X cried out in dismay. She wept and tore her clothes. Then she crawled to the high priestess and knelt before her. Everyone in the village came up and gave her their pain. They hated doing it because this was the most popular priestess and everyone loved her. But the law was the law. After the priestess got everyone’s pain, she crawled to the cage and ate the poisoned food. And then she died. She died a horrible death, twisting and screaming. Because, y’see, Farang had developed a tolerance to the allura leaf poison. The high priestess had only given her a bit at first, and slowly more and more. Because that’s the way it is with some poisons – you can develop a tolerance for them. So the high priestess had to give Farang more and more, so she’d keep feeling pain. By this time, there was a lot of allura leaf poison in the bowl of food. A bit of allura leaf won’t kill you. But the priestess had no tolerance for it, and since there was a lot, it killed her. She died, when Farang would’ve eaten the poison and gotten just a stomachache.
“When Farang saw this happen, she realized how selfish she was. She didn’t know about the allura leaf because the high priestess never told her. But she did know she was strong enough to eat the tribe’s pain, and no one else was. So she apologized to the tribe and went back to eating the poison. And they forgave her. Really, they should’ve executed her for murder, but the tribe forgave Farang and let her live.
“The end.” Dana turned to face Ms. Mousumi. “I’ll email you this at the end of class, okay?”
The teacher nodded, then stood as Dana returned to her seat. “Well, class,” she said. “Any comments?”
Jeremy’s hand shot up. “I think that’s twisted,” he said. “To say Farang just got a stomachache, as if it was, like, a bump on the head. Like I said in my chapter, she suffers – a lot.”
“In your chapter,” Dana said pointedly. “Not in mine. But either way, the priestess died. Farang killed her by not doing her duty.”
“But the duty is wrong,” broke in Kara. “It’s not fair to make someone suffer like that. So Farang finally says no and stands up for herself. It’s not her fault the priestess died. It’s the high priestess’s fault – she knew the food would kill the priestess who got the X, and she still gave it to her.”
“How was the high priestess supposed to switch the food with everyone watching?” asked Dana. “She didn’t plan to kill anyone. She expected Farang to eat it, and then everything would’ve been okay. It was Farang who caused all the problems by not doing what she was supposed to do.”
“Still,” said Harvir, leaning around Ken to look at Dana, “the high priestess knew it would kill the priestess, and she didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“What was she supposed to do?” snapped Dana, her voice rising.
Surprise crossed Harvir’s face, and he settled back in his seat. “I dunno,” he said diplomatically. “Just something.”
A hand went up, and a quiet, careful voice began to speak. “Excuse me,” it said, “but I think we have two stories in progress, rather than one. Perhaps we need to take a vote, and decide which one we want to write.”
“Perhaps, Sheng,” said Ms. Mousumi, replying to the studious-looking girl who sat at the apex of the first row. “But perhaps that’s the natural outcome of writing a collective novel – we’re actually getting many mini-novels all compressed into one. I say we keep going the way we are. I’m certainly getting curious as to how it’s all going to turn out. But now we have to move on, and get into our study groups for the rest of the period.”
Desks shifted, and students migrated to their groups. August sat down beside Maddy, and Vince settled into the desk opposite August. “You’re the one who gets the last word on all of this,” he grinned at her. “Miss August Zire – how’re you going to end it?”
August raised her eyebrows mysteriously. With her hair tw
isted into faux locs and large bangles dangling from her ears, she regularly turned heads. But she kept hers. This was the second year in which she’d successfully run for year rep to Student Council, and she also played tuba in the school band. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she cooed. “But I don’t kick my dog, I can promise you that.” Then her tone changed as she added, “Where’s Janklow? Is he sick? This is the third day he’s missed, and I’m tired of doing his work for him.”
“He’s skipping,” said Vince. “My older brother works security at Midtown Plaza, and he told me he saw David hanging out at a video arcade nearby.”
“Skipping!” burst out Maddy, shock lifting her out of her usual silence. “Are you sure?”
Vince gave her a startled glance. “She speaks!” he said. “She breathes! She’s alive!”
“Lay off, Vince,” August said, frowning. “She’s shy. That’s okay. At least she shows up and does her own work.”
Maddy swallowed, trying to force the tremble out of her voice. She hadn’t spoken more than the odd word since group work had started, but now she had to. She had to. “Why is David skipping?” she asked, her gaze not quite meeting Vince’s.
“I dunno,” shrugged Vince. “My brother saw him, not me. But it’s not like David to skip. He studies hard, usually.”
“I’d like to slap him pretty hard,” muttered August, pulling out her laptop. “Slap him into next week.”
“I’ll call him tonight,” said Vince, opening his binder. “Unless one of you wants to.”
August hissed. Flushing, Maddy ducked her head.
“Okay,” said Vince. “I’ll call Janklow tonight and find out what’s what.”
. . .
So David Janklow was skipping. Her mind still reverberating with shock, Maddy sat staring at the smudged mural opposite. David was skipping, when he was a good student and didn’t usually fool around – and this had all started exactly on the day he had to join a study group with her. Arms wrapped around her knees, Maddy sat still as still, working through the huge thoughts in her head. She recalled the look of horror on David’s face last Friday as Ms. Mousumi had announced the names in Group Two. Her own fear had been so enormous, she hadn’t thought about David’s expression then, but now she replayed every detail in her memory.
David was afraid…of her. More than afraid, he was terrified – so terrified, he’d skipped three days of school rather than have to sit near her. Eyes narrowed, Maddy squinted at this fact, examining its meaning. She had been afraid too. She’d been scared absolutely shitless to face him. But she’d done it. Or rather, she would have if David had shown up. Terrified as Maddy Malone had been, she’d sucked it up and gone to class each and every day this past week.
Admittedly, this was because she hadn’t known what else she could do. As far as she could see, there hadn’t been any options. If she’d started skipping, her parents really would have made her see a psychiatrist. And there was no way Maddy was going to go anywhere near one of those. She was too full of ugly, black guck to let a psychiatrist poke around inside her, even just inside her thoughts. It hurt too much in there. It was full of moans and screams – moans she couldn’t listen to herself, much less let anyone else hear.
So it hadn’t been anything like courage – true grit – that had gotten her through English class these past few days. Still, she did have more guts than David. The realization resounded through Maddy like a note in a bell – a clear, full knowing. She had been able to do something David had fled from. Sure, she’d been shaking head to toe. Sure, Vince and August had ignored her like the bump on a log everyone assumed she was these days. But she hadn’t run away. She hadn’t skipped. No, she’d been there every day, staring at the empty seat across from her and pondering its implications.
David was more afraid of her than she was of him. Impossible as that might seem, it appeared to be true. Maddy took a deep, clear breath, then another. It felt so different – so good to be breathing air instead of fear. I did it! thought Maddy. I did, and he didn’t. He couldn’t. Will he be able to tomorrow?
Before crawling into bed that night, she took her phone out of her bedside table drawer and blocked @theneverknowns.
. . .
David was not in Thursday’s class, and Vince admitted, shame-faced, that he’d forgotten to call. Annoyed, August sucked her teeth, and Vince promised he’d call that night. As Maddy sat opposite the empty desk David should have occupied, she felt almost as if she was pushing outward from herself, and taking up more space. She sat up straighter. Her brain pulled itself out of its usual dark fog. In her rear jeans pocket, she could feel her phone, now secure from unwelcome tweets. “No,” she said at one point, breaking into a discussion Vince and August were having about the protagonist in the short story “War,” by Timothy Findley. “That’s not why he threw the stones at his dad. It was because—”
Her words were hesitant at first, and she stumbled, getting her thoughts out of her head. It had been so long since she’d done this – willingly participated in the give and take of real live conversation. Vince soon became impatient, cutting her off, but then August cut him off and made Maddy continue. In the end, it was Maddy’s idea that was written down as the group answer.
So Maddy was flying as she made her way through the halls to her locker at the end of the day. Flying at half mast, maybe, in low-level sky, but still up off the ground. Even seeing the leering decal mask stuck to her locker wasn’t enough to deflate her mood and bring her entirely back to earth. Until she saw what was beside it.
“What’s this?” she muttered, studying it.
“It’s from Maintenance,” said Tim Bing, an older student from her homeroom who had the next locker. “They want you to get rid of that sticker.”
That was obvious. The notice stuck to her locker read: No decorations of any kind are allowed on the outside of a student locker. REMOVE IMMEDIATELY.
“Crap!” muttered Maddy. “I already tried to get it off, but I can’t.”
“You didn’t put it there?” asked Tim, hefting a knapsack onto his back.
“Uh uh,” said Maddy. “And I don’t know who did, either.”
“Well,” said Tim, “your best bet is probably a hair dryer.”
“Won’t that glue it on tighter?” asked Maddy.
“If you blow it on that sticker for hours,” Tim grinned. “But a couple of minutes, and it’ll just warm up the glue. Then the sticker’ll come off easy. You’ll need an extension cord, though. The nearest outlet is over there.” He pointed to the baseboard opposite.
“Oh, double crap,” said Maddy. “I guess I’ll have to ask my dad.”
“I have an extension cord I can bring tomorrow,” offered Tim, closing his locker, “if you bring a hair dryer. Meet me here – say, eight-thirty – and we’ll get it done.”
“Sure!” said Maddy, a burst of radiance surprising her from within. “That’s totally awesome of you. Thanks!”
Tim flushed, then turned to head off down the hall. “See you tomorrow,” he said.
Maddy watched him disappear into the throng of students. Tim Bing – before this moment, she’d never spoken to him, other than the odd hello. And here he was, saving her butt from a potential run-in with Maintenance. Odd, how the world was so completely only one way – dark, heavy, the sky pressing down everywhere – and then it changed, lifting the sky back up to where it belonged, and letting you breathe normal air…breathe hope.
Hope. Maddy knew what it was that she hoped for. What she hoped was that David never came back. And that, wherever David was, Ken and the others joined him there. She hoped they all died and disappeared from the face of the earth – forever and ever, amen.
Closing her locker, Maddy glanced fleetingly at the mask decal. Tomorrow you will be gone, she thought. I will destroy you, and you will be over.
She started off down the hall.
David was there. He was there, sitting in his seat. Friday afternoon, as Maddy entered English class, the first place her eyes went was David’s desk, and that was when she saw him, turned to his left and talking to Julie. Panic slammed her, and she veered right toward the front of the room and her own seat. It was over, she thought desperately. Her brief, four-day respite from terror was over. As Maddy sank into her seat, she broke into a cold sweat. Dropping her gaze, she started jamming in her thumbnail – grinding it in deep, hard.
Ms. Mousumi got to her feet. “Today’s chapter will be given by Rhonda Hinkle,” she said, interrupting the classroom chatter. “Rhonda, would you come up here, please?”
In spite of herself, Maddy glanced across the classroom, directly opposite, to where Rhonda sat at the end of the front row. Rhonda’s reason for choosing this seat was obvious – born with cerebral palsy, she had limited mobility, and this was a relatively easy desk to get in and out of. Pushing herself up into a standing position, Rhonda took a moment to unsnap several pages from a binder. Then, in a slow, weaving motion, she made the brief, five-step journey to the front of the room. With a visible breath, she straightened her shoulders and threw her gaze straight out at the class.
“I can’t,” said Rhonda, her voice carrying clearly to every corner of the room. “All her life, Farang woke up and that was the first thing she thought – I can’t. I can’t do what I want. I can’t talk to anyone. I can’t be happy. I can’t be me.
“Because they decided who I have to be. When I was born, my tribe decided who and what I was going to be in life. It didn’t have anything to do with me personally. They could’ve chosen anyone to be the pain eater. But because I happened to be born when I was, it ended up being me. A fluke. Chance. Remember – if you were born to this tribe, it could’ve been you.
