by Gee, Maurice
‘No,’ Maisie Potter said, ‘I don’t want you working for him.’
‘Ah, come on, Maise, he’s not so bad.’
‘What does he want you to do?’
‘Pull the old garden shed down first. I’m doing that for nothing, for my cups. After that he’s going to give me one and six an hour. That’s good money, Maise.’
‘For what?’
‘Clearing the section.’
‘You’re not a gardener.’
‘And painting the house.’
‘You’re not a painter.’
‘There’s a lot of carpentry too. All the doors and windows need unsticking. There’s rotten weatherboards. And rusty iron on the roof. She’s got buckets everywhere, catching the leaks. He might even want a new flush toilet put in.’
Maisie Potter did not say, ‘You’re not a plumber’. ‘How long is it going to take?’ she said.
‘Maybe three months. Three months of good wages, Maise.’ He took the half-cigar from behind his ear.
‘Smoke that outside,’ Maisie said. ‘And don’t bring Herbert Muskie here.’ She turned to her cooking. ‘I don’t know where he got his money –’
‘America.’
‘ – but I’m sure it wasn’t honest.’
‘He wants Dad to re-lay the drains,’ Laurie said. ‘So don’t blame only me.’ He did not like being sent outside.
Maisie damped the fire down. ‘What does he want? Why is he picking on us?’ she asked the stove.
Colin did not know either. All he knew was that the fat man had got them. And Bette and Verna had got his mother. She was trying to fight Herbert Muskie by being kind to them.
He went into the yard at Bellevue House. No one was around. The Muskies were still the only boarders, and they would be there until the repairs on Mrs Muskie’s house were done. In all ways the Potters were doing well out of the fat man. It was almost as if he’d come back to Loomis to help them out. Monday morning, and Colin’s grandma had already pegged Bette and Verna’s washing on the line.
Colin stood and waited. He wasn’t going in for her. If she doesn’t come by the time I count to fifty, he thought … But he hadn’t got to ten when Bette and Verna came on to the verandah. Colin could not believe the way Verna was dressed: a pink dress, frills, red shoes, white socks. She carried a little brown polished case instead of a schoolbag.
No, he wailed inside himself.
‘Colin,’ Bette Muskie trilled. She smiled at him but seemed to frown at the same time at his bare feet. ‘It’s nice of you to look after Verna. She’s a wee bit nervous, aren’t you, pet? It’s her hair. Tell them it’s the latest fashion from America. No? You tell them, Colin. Don’t let them tease my little girl.’
They would do more than tease, Colin knew, and not only because of her hair. There were only half a dozen kids at school who wore shoes. ‘She can have bare feet,’ he said.
‘Oh, good heavens, we haven’t sunk to that,’ Bette replied. ‘Now kiss me, pet. Mmm. And off you go. You can’t be late on your first morning.’
Verna came down the steps. She had not looked at Colin. She walked ahead of him out of the yard, with her hair shining in the sun. Her shoes, shining too, went click clack as she turned into Station Road. Colin looked around. There were no kids in sight. He ran a step and got at her side, but could not think of anything to say.
‘You don’t have to walk with me,’ Verna said.
‘Sure, if you don’t want me to,’ he said. He ran and got ten yards ahead but could not make himself get further than that. She was like something pinned on him that he could not shake off. He got to the corner of Great North Road, saw none of his schoolmates there, and waited for her.
‘You can take your shoes off.’
‘No,’ Verna said.
‘No one wears shoes. You can walk on anything when you’re used to it.’ He showed her his soles, which were yellow and calloused and cracked. She took no notice of them and walked on.
‘Can’t you get a wig? For school?’ he said.
‘He wouldn’t let me.’
Colin swallowed. He looked over his shoulder, half expecting the fat man to be there. ‘What’s it like, living with him?’
She made no answer but kept walking on the weedy footpath. Red shoes – click clack. Her face was sharp – sharp upper lip like the prow of a canoe. Her ears had pink rims but were white inside, with clean holes going into her head. She must wash more than other people, with a mother like Bette.
‘I’ve never seen anyone so fat,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to,’ Verna said. ‘Walk with me, I mean.’
‘I will for a while.’ He looked ahead anxiously. ‘What was your name before? Before she married him?’
‘Barrowclough. It’s still my name. I’m not Muskie.’
‘You’ve got to be. What’s it like? Living with him?’
Verna had a handkerchief threaded through a bangle on her wrist. She plucked it out and pushed it down the front of her dress. ‘My mum’s scared of him,’ she said.
‘Why’d she marry him, then?’
‘She wasn’t scared before, but she is now.’
‘What’s he do?’
‘He puts his hands like he’s going to squeeze her all the time, and then he stops.’
‘Yeah?’
‘He holds her face and turns it like it’s something that comes off.’
‘Yeah?’
‘And then he kisses her. He kisses me. Only on the cheek.’ She looked at him sharply. ‘I have to go away and wash my face.’
‘His scar,’ Colin said.
‘It’s like a maggot,’ Verna said. ‘He washes himself all the time. He makes Mum wash him in the bath.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Don’t you tell anyone,’ she said.
‘I won’t.’ He wanted her to stop and wanted her to go on. ‘Are you going to live in Mrs Muskie’s house when it’s fixed?’
‘We have to. He said.’
‘With Mrs Muskie?’
‘She smells.’
‘She’s got a lot of money.’
‘So’s he. That’s why Mum got married to him. She told me she could make him do whatever she wants.’
‘But she can’t?’
‘No, she can’t.’
They walked a little further. Colin said, ‘You couldn’t have worn your hat anyway.’
‘I know.’ She made a move as if to touch her hair, then dropped her hand to her side. The bangle slid on her bony wrist. ‘What will they do to me?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing much.’ He did not believe it. The tough girls, the gang from over the creek, Betty Simpson, Nancy Rice, Jean Macnamee, would have all sorts of fun with Verna Muskie. And the boys would not leave Colin alone either, unless he got away from her soon. He saw the roof of the school above the chestnut tree. Kids were going in the gate.
‘You go in the front door and the staffroom is down the corridor.’
Verna said nothing.
‘Mr Garvey will be there, not in his office. I’ve got to go now. I’m a bit late.’
He ran ahead, half sideways, looking back at her as she advanced doggedly on the pot-holed footpath. ‘You’ll be okay. You know the way,’ and he turned his back, ran well ahead, his bag flapping on his shoulders, through little kids who had stopped to watch Verna coming up the hill. He went through the gate and crossed the playground – paused at the door to watch her arrive, and heard the sudden quietness as everyone saw her. He went into his room and put his bag in his desk. The sums for the Monday test were chalked on the board, with the world map pulled down to cover most of them. Itchy’s strap was hanging on its nail. Verna’s shoes crossed the boards of the entrance hall and then were quiet. He looked out. She was standing by the coat rack, not knowing where to go. No one was looking in the door.
He went out quickly. ‘Here, down here,’ and led her down the corridor past the standard three and four room and Mr Garvey’s office to the staffroom. He knocked. Th
e door opened at once and Miss Burgess looked out.
‘What?’ she said. ‘It better be important.’
‘Please, Miss Burgess, this is Verna Muskie. She’s new.’
He looked at Verna, who had her case open on her knee to find the letter. He went away, ran outside, found his friends. He had done it. He had got her into school without anyone seeing him. He joined the game of French cricket on the lower playground and did not see Verna again until the class filed into the standard six room after assembly. And there she was sitting in a front desk on the girls’ side, with her fingers folded, looking straight ahead. No one said anything because Itchy Edgar was there, at his table, putting a new name in the roll. They stood quiet beside their desks waiting for him, and Verna, seeing this, got to her feet.
‘Good,’ Itchy Edgar said. He looked up. ‘Sit.’
Everyone sat. He called the roll, starting with the girls, and when he came to M he said, ‘The new girl is Verna Muskie. And I don’t want any jokes about her hair. Do you hear that, Nancy Rice?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you hear that, Austin Rice?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘She’s been sick, that’s why it’s short. We’ll see if it’s affected her brains when we do the test,’ and he went on with the roll.
Colin always tried to finish halfway in the test so he would not have to change his seat by the window. So he got two sums wrong and four of the mental and four spelling words. They changed papers for marking and Itchy checked them while they wrote their morning paragraph. Then Itchy read the placings out and people cleared their desks and shifted round. Girls first. Verna Muskie had made no mistakes. She stayed where she was in the front desk. Colin could not believe she had been so dumb. Nancy Rice and Betty Simpson, who had come last again, would get her for that. He looked at them sitting at the back, with their faces thick and eyes bright. The way they watched her made him feel sick. He did not care for Verna’s face either. It was white and pointed and still. She looked straight ahead as though the blackboard and its sums were a corridor she might vanish along. Her cap of hair showed the thinness of her skull, which had the shape of a glass bowl. A tap with a spoon would splinter it. Colin turned away. He tried to make it easier by telling himself she was the fat man’s daughter.
At interval Itchy Edgar kept her inside. But when lunchtime came she had to go out. She sat by herself and, with Mr Garvey on duty while they ate, no one went close to her. Colin got up to put his lunch paper in the rubbish tin. He made a curve on the way back, close to the girls’ side, and risked saying to her, ‘Why did you have to get top in the test?’ She looked at him, eyes blank, and shrugged. It must be like waiting for the firing squad. Then the bell rang and Mr Garvey went inside and people were free to move about.
Nancy Rice stood up. She stretched like a cat. Betty Simpson twirled around until her bloomers showed. And Jean Macnamee, with her flea-bitten legs, ran to join them. The boys, the Settlement gang, grinned and watched. ‘You’re going to get it now, Mustpee,’ Austin Rice said.
At first they pretended to be friendly. ‘What did it feel like getting your head shaved?’ Nancy said. But that sort of questioning soon stopped. Betty Simpson said, ‘I don’t think you’re a girl, you must be a boy.’
‘Girls don’t have short hair,’ Jean said.
‘Take her bloomers down and see,’ Austin Rice called out.
Jean Macnamee shrieked with glee and grabbed Verna’s dress; but none of them had the nerve for it, with boys around. Instead they spun Verna, making her dizzy, faster, faster. Then they pushed her lazily back and forth until she had her balance back.
‘We’re going to give her green hair. Green hair,’ Nancy cried. She ran away round the side of the school, into the hollow where the drains came out. Betty and Jean held Verna by the arms, pulling her, pushing her, making her head wobble. Nancy came back. She carried two handfuls of green slime, holding it out to one side. It trailed grey water as she ran.
‘Green hair,’ Jean Macnamee squealed. They held Verna still. A way opened for Nancy Rice and she ran through and stopped in front of Verna, who drew back her head at the dripping mess in Nancy’s hands. ‘Don’t,’ she said.
‘You can get it permed,’ Betty Simpson said.
‘We don’t like kids with no hair,’ Nancy Rice said. ‘And dresses and pink bows and shoes and stuff. Or skites who come top of the class. Hold her still, Betty.’
They had forgotten Verna’s feet. She kicked suddenly. Her hard shoes cracked on Nancy’s shins. Nancy cried out and dropped half the slime. But she pushed her head back in range, almost in Verna’s face. ‘Now we’ll make you eat it, Mustpee.’
Verna spat in her face.
Then Miss Burgess’s voice cried, ‘What’s going on here?’ She broke into the circle. Nancy had dropped the rest of the slime to wipe her face. Betty and Jean let Verna go.
‘Verna Muskie spat in Nancy’s face,’ Betty Simpson said.
‘She just spat at her. For nothing, Miss Burgess,’ Jean said.
‘She’s a loony.’
‘She’s got no hair.’
‘Quiet,’ Miss Burgess cried. ‘Now, Nancy. Where are you?’
‘Here, Miss Burgess.’
‘Did she spit at you? What for?’
‘I don’t know, Miss Burgess. She just did it. I was only standing here.’
‘Not bullying her?’
‘No, Miss Burgess.’
‘You. New girl. Did you spit at her?’
Verna stood alone. Her face was sharp and sour and her teeth showed.
‘Answer me. We won’t have any spitting in this school.’
‘Yes.’
‘In her face?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. We’ll teach you a lesson. Go and wait outside Mr Garvey’s office. And the rest of you clear off and play or I’ll send Mr Edgar out.’
They broke up reluctantly. Colin kept away from Austin Rice’s gang. He saw Verna walk into the school and Miss Burgess follow; watched Nancy and her friends chatter gleefully. He sat down on a seat and put his hands on his knees. He knew that now he had to do something. It was like having to swim across a deep pool in the creek without knowing what was on the bottom. No one else was going to help Verna. He had never seen anything like the sharpness on her face when she spat at Nancy. Suddenly she had seemed made of broken glass. Now he could not turn away from her, even though the Rice gang would get him.
After a moment he went into the school. He passed the standard four room and stood at Mr Garvey’s door. He heard Mr Garvey’s voice inside, asking questions. He heard him say, ‘I don’t like strapping girls, but I will if I have to.’
Colin knocked. The door sprang open.
‘Yes, boy?’
‘Please, sir,’ he said, and his dry mouth could make no more sounds. Garvey towered over him, smelling of his pipe. Verna watched, expressionless.
‘Please, sir …’
‘You know the rule, Potter. You only come here for important things.’
‘Yes, sir. This is important, sir. Nancy Rice was putting slime on her for her hair.’
‘Slime?’
‘From the drain. That’s why she spat, sir. Betty Simpson and Jean Macnamee were holding her.’
Garvey turned to Verna. ‘Is this true, girl?’
Verna answered woodenly, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Slime from the drain?’
‘Green slime. For green hair,’ Colin said.
‘Girl?’
‘Yes.’
‘All right, we’ll see about this. Potter, send those three girls in to me.’
‘Me, sir?’
‘Go on, boy. Do what you’re told.’
Teachers didn’t understand a thing. He went into the playground and found them. ‘Mr Garvey wants you,’ he said.
‘You pimped, Pottsie.’
‘You pimped.’
‘You’re a pimp.’
They were like dogs snarling at him.
‘You better go. He’s waiting.’
‘I’m telling my brother,’ Nancy said.
He went away and lay down on a seat. His stomach felt the way it had at Bellevue House, sitting down for dinner with the fat man. Somehow all of this was the fat man’s fault.
By the end of lunchtime the news was round the school. Nancy and Betty and Jean had got two cuts. Verna Muskie had got one for spitting. And Colin Potter had pimped. All afternoon he sat in class knowing that the Rice gang would get him. Usually they left him alone because he was good at football and cricket; because his father had been a boxer too. But pimping changed all that.
They would get Verna as well. Across the room, she knew it. She looked at her red palm and sat still, waiting for the thing that must happen to her.
The bell rang. They went out into the playground. The slime lay where Nancy had dropped it, pasted on the asphalt, drying in the sun.
‘Say your prayers, Pottsie,’ Austin Rice said. He went out the gate and down towards the bridge. It didn’t matter if Colin tried to go the other way. They had scouts up there too. Verna came out, carrying her case, which Colin looked at with pity.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘They’ll be waiting for both of us.’
‘They can do what they like.’
He saw them lounging on the bridge. The girls were there too. Somehow they were worse than the boys. All the boys would do was punch. Then he heard a horn hooting and the Rice gang scattered. The Buick came through, riding high, with the fat man at the wheel. He took no notice of them but drove up the hill and pulled up at the school gates. He put his elbow on the window frame of the car and pushed his hat on to the back of his head.
‘That gang down there wouldn’t be waiting for you, would they, kid?’
Colin made no answer. He did not want to be saved by the fat man.
‘Want me to go and deal with them?’
‘No,’ Colin said.
‘What about you, Vern? They causing you any trouble?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Pity,’ said the fat man. ‘I could do with some exercise. Okay, hop in.’
‘Not me,’ Colin said.
‘Yeah, you. It’s your old man’s orders. You’re coming to do some work at the house.’
