I had no idea who he was talking about. It took a few seconds to register that he was referring to Kiffo's dad. By the time I was back up to speed, I had missed a bit.
“… that there is a reason, though it might be beyond our comprehension. The Bible tells us that there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. And if a sparrow falls, how much more significance is there in the fall of Jaryd, who was loved by family and friends and, of course, by God?”
I started to zone out again at around this point. I was developing a dull headache, the legacy of my walk in the heat, I suppose. Anyway, the words started to melt into each other. I caught the odd phrase, the occasional reference to “Jaryd,” and each time he said it, the stab of pain in my head increased. I wasn't angry, you understand. I wasn't full of indignation, as some people suggested later. I just felt tired and irritated. I was irritated by the priest's refusal to call him Kiffo. Couldn't he have done his research? I mean, everyone called him Kiffo. Most of the teachers called him Kiffo. Even the Pitbull had called him Kiffo.
I wasn't even aware that he had finished. I remember looking up and seeing the principal on the pulpit. The switch had passed me by, like a conjuring trick.
I forced myself to focus again. For some reason, I wanted to hear what he had to say.
“… will be remembered by all his friends and by all the staff with considerable fondness. He was a larrikin in the great Australian spirit. But he was a student with considerable potential. He had much to offer, and it is a cruel blow that he was taken from us before we had the opportunity to see him develop into the fine adult that he would undoubtedly have become. For there is no doubt that he enriched the lives of all he came into contact with. We will miss him deeply. I can only say that his spirit lives on in all of us, that though he has gone, there will always be a part of Jaryd Kiffing that stays with us. I sense him here with us now. God bless, Jaryd. Godspeed. Thank you.”
He got down from the pulpit as if expecting the round of applause that his final comment seemed to invite. It must have been a good speech. I noticed Mrs. Mills (why hadn't I seen her before?) sniffling quietly into her handkerchief. The principal moved smartly and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. Yes, it must have been a very good speech.
The priest ascended the pulpit once more. I was getting tired of the bobbing up and down. He stood for a few moments, like someone moved to profound contemplation.
“Thank you, Mr. Di Matteo. I am sure everyone is as moved as I am by your wonderful tribute to this fine young man.”
The principal graciously lowered his head in acknowledgment of the compliment and the priest carried on.
“Our last speaker is someone who knew Jaryd very well. A close friend who was with him at the time of the tragic accident. Someone who is admirably qualified to tell us about Jaryd, what he meant to her and what he meant to the rest of his friends. Calma Harrison.”
It was like an introduction in some cheap floor show. “Give it up, ladies and gentlemen, for your friend and mine …”
Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you. It's great to be here today. So Kiffo goes into a bar and the bartender, he says to him, “Kiffo, there was this great lump of asphalt in here and he was looking for you. Didn't look too pleased with you, mate!” And Kiffo goes pale and says, “I'm not fighting him. I know him. He's a complete cycle path.” Thanks. Thanks a lot. My name's Calma Harrison and you've been a great audience.
I got to my feet and moved toward the pulpit. I kept my hands in my pockets. The priest was smiling. He held out a hand and took my arm, guiding me up the steps. After enquiring if I was “up to it,” he glided away.
I looked briefly at the congregation and began. My voice was a little quiet, but you had to admit that the PA system was good.
“Ladies and gentlemen. There has been much said today about Kiffo. In particular, I want to focus on one statement from our principal, Mr. Di Matteo. He said that Jaryd enriched the lives of all who knew him. That's certainly true of me, but I would suggest that many others would disagree. They might argue that he actually impoverished their lives. To the tune of TVs, video recorders, computer equipment, stereo systems, DVDs and other sundry personal items. Let's be honest, ladies and gentlemen, he did have a marked inclination to break into people's homes. And if something wasn't nailed down, he would have it.”
I paused here for dramatic effect, and to watch the reaction of my audience. Kiffo's dad was leaning forward slightly in his pew, hands plucking nervously at each other. He was taking in nothing at all. The wheel was spinning, it would appear, but the hamster was dead. Among the others, though, there was a distinct stir. People were shaking their heads slightly as if they distrusted the evidence of their own ears. Like giving the TV a bit of a thump, they seemed to be under the impression that a quick shake of the head would improve the reception. Mr. Di Matteo's reaction was the best, however. He wore the bewildered expression of someone who had just been beaten, violently and unexpectedly, around the back of the head with a piece of lead piping. His mouth hung open a little and his eyes were glassy. I smiled sweetly and continued.
“Yes, Kiffo was not exactly a saint. Not when he was alive and certainly not now he's dead. Call me old-fashioned, but I don't believe that a person's character changes simply because he has stopped breathing. Do you want to hear the truth about Kiffo?”
Judging by the head-shaking out there, the general opinion seemed to be “No, thanks, if it's all the same to you.” Certainly the mourners were getting restless at this point. In fact, the principal seemed distinctly angry. He turned quickly toward Mrs. Mills, who had the expression of someone who had had a cattle prod administered to her rectum. And then the principal was on his feet and moving toward the pulpit. Like a superhero, he was leaping into action to save the situation. And there was only one way to do that—to forcibly remove me. All he needed was his jocks on the outside and he would really have looked the part. Complete and utter dickhead though he undoubtedly was, he nonetheless had the strength and the authority to do it. So I put Plan B into action.
Reaching quickly into my pocket, I removed the fluffy pink handcuffs that I had purchased earlier at the adult shop. Thirty-five dollars and fifty cents’ worth of kitsch bondage gear. With a fluency that surprised me, I slapped one cuff around my left wrist and the other around the brass rail of the pulpit. That stopped him. Whether it was the sight of one of his Year 10 students manacled to a religious icon with something that was more at home in the Sydney Mardi Gras, or simply that he recognized the futility of any further action, I cannot say. But he stopped in his tracks. I looked him squarely in the eye.
“Please sit down, Mr. Di Matteo. Sit down NOW!”
And he did. Possibly he understood that I had him by the short ones. Unless he had a pair of bolt cutters tucked into an inside pocket, I was staying attached to the pulpit for the foreseeable future. No one else moved.
“The truth about Kiffo?” I continued. “It's a difficult one. Someone once said that the first casualty of war is the truth. And Kiffo's life was a war zone, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised to hear the offensive horseshit that's been offered up to this point. Come on, people. Let's be honest. None of you liked Kiffo. The ‘grieving father’ least of all. Kiffo didn't tell me much about you, Mr. Kiffing, but he didn't need to. I could see it in his eyes and the bruises that he did his best to conceal. I'm not a psychoanalyst, but I do know that a lot of the anger that Kiffo carried around with him, the hatred of authority figures, his tendency toward mindless violence, had to have their roots in your treatment of him. Some of his worst characteristics were those that you taught him.”
Boy, I had their attention now. The congregation sat still, eyes fixed and glassy. They looked like a whole bunch of rabbits caught in a powerful headlight. Part of me wondered why they didn't just leave. I suppose that would have stopped me. Made me look a bit foolish as well, handcuffed to a pulpit in an empty church with just a coffin for comp
any. I honestly don't think it occurred to them. I had them hypnotized. Mr. Di Matteo's expression was still the best. I swear that he could see the big bold headlines in the local paper if news of this got out. He was a man staring at the death of his career.
“And then there was school,” I continued. “The place where abused kids should be able to find support and understanding. So what did he get at school? A different kind of violence, that's what. A worse type of violence, if that's possible. Because his father was just beating his body, whereas the school was breaking his spirit. All the time I knew him, and I spent a lot of time with him in class, he was told that he was stupid. Stupid because he didn't know what a metaphor was. Stupid because he couldn't see why it was important to know. And if you tell someone they're stupid enough times, they will believe you. And Kiffo did believe it.”
I could feel small beads of sweat gathering on my face. Maybe the air-conditioning had broken down. I brushed a damp lock of hair from my eyes and carried on.
“His teachers hated him. I don't blame them, particularly. He could be absolutely vile in class. And he was a thorn in your side, Mr. Di Matteo. But he's just a larrikin now, isn't he? Because he can't answer back. Death has removed the problem and you can afford to be generous. It's easy to like the dead, Mr. Di Matteo. They make so few demands.”
I paused once more. The headache was starting to kick in again and tiredness was flooding through my body. I felt on the point of collapse. My legs were starting to tremble and drops of sweat stung my eyes. My thoughts were muddy. Why was I doing this? What was it I was trying to say? When I had started out on my speech, the conclusion had been clear, a bright destination. Now it seemed beyond my reach, like the name of someone you've forgotten. I forced myself on, in the hope that the destination would reveal itself in the process of traveling.
“And what about me? Do you know, I still don't know what Kiffo thought about me. Not really. He didn't see things the way others saw them. He knew, I suppose, that I was the best learner in the class but I don't think he was impressed by it. It was something I had that he didn't, but he placed no great importance on it. Like his red hair or his bandy legs. A characteristic—it didn't make you better or worse. An accident of birth.”
The lock of hair had crept back. I plastered it behind my ear.
“And that's what I learned from Kiffo. That underneath we are all pretty much the same, that we shouldn't judge by appearances, as he was judged his entire life. Recently, there was an unpleasant rumor about me, and, for a time, my life was hell.”
I looked at Rachael Smith in the front row. Her eyes flickered downward.
“People avoided looking me in the eyes,” I said. “Others just avoided me. And for a while, I knew what it must be like to inhabit Kiffo's world—a world where everyone judges you and finds you wanting. The only person who didn't do that was Kiffo. It didn't matter to him what other people thought. He accepted me. He gave me friendship and support.”
I was building up momentum again, and the destination, if not sparkling clear, was at least getting less blurry around the edges. But the light-headed feeling was still there and I had to force myself to focus. I desperately wanted to sleep, but I had to get through this first.
“I have only vague notions of Kiffo's true feelings toward me. But I know how I feel. I loved Kiffo. Forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum. And now I find myself here with a box beside me and a mouth full of empty words. Perhaps, in the end, at the end, this is all I can do—present for him the most absurd image I can, chained to a pulpit with a tacky sex toy. And Kiffo would have loved this. He would have laughed because this is his kind of style. So come on, guys, let's have a good laugh, for Kiffo's sake. And then take that damn box away and burn it so we can get the hell out of here.”
I could feel myself going in the last couple of sentences. The light shifted and swirled. The last image I saw was the principal leaning forward in his chair before the world tilted and crashed. And then, as it says in all the best books, there was only darkness.
Year 6, Fourth Term
You sit under a leafy tree in a corner of the schoolyard. It is recess and you have a schoolbook open. Tucked within the pages, there is a newspaper clipping. You read.
An inquest is to be held after the discovery on Monday of a body in a northern suburbs town house. A police spokesperson confirmed that the deceased was 17 years of age and a known heroin addict. The officer declined to comment on suggestions that the death was caused by an overdose. “Investigations are proceeding,” he said, “but we are not actively looking for any other person in relation to this matter.”
The body was discovered late Monday afternoon by the deceased's younger brother.
You sit back as the sun splashes through the leaves above you. In your head, a fist pounds a wall as tears fall down a small boy's face. You notice, without surprise, that your cheeks are wet too.
Chapter 24
Mediation
The chairs were set up in a circle. Mrs. Mills sat in the one directly opposite me. Mum was on my left. The police officer with the crooked face was on my right. I still didn't know her name. To the left of Mrs. Mills was the Pitbull. To the right of Mrs. Mills was my home group teacher, Miss Blakey. The room was comfortable and quiet. It had soft lighting, deep-pile carpet, potted plants with glossy leaves arranged artistically in corners. And there were posters on the walls. You know the kind of thing. Help lines and stuff. I didn't pay them that much attention. After everybody sat down, there was an embarrassed pause, as if we realized the show had started, but no one could remember who should deliver the first line. Why was I here? The question fluttered across my mind and was gone. Mrs. Mills cleared her throat.
“We are here today to engage in a process of mediation and I welcome you all. It is not the purpose of this meeting to decide who is right or who is wrong, whether people are good or bad. We are not here to allocate blame. What we are here to do is to repair any damage that might have been caused by recent events. As far as we can. The death of Jaryd Kiffing cannot be undone by anything we might say here. But we can start the process of healing. Calma, would you like to start? Have you anything you want to say?”
I shook my head.
“Miss Payne, perhaps you could start us off, then?”
I kept my head down. I didn't want to look at anyone. There was another pause.
“I'd… I'd like to say that I am so, so sorry about the death of Kiffo. This is the first time, in all my years of teaching, that I've… lost… a student. And it was so sudden. I know that you cared for him, Calma. And I feel for you. My heart goes out to you. It really does.”
I looked up then. I couldn't help it.
“I don't believe you,” I said. “You hated him.”
The Pitbull leaned forward in her chair and fixed her eyes steadily on mine.
“I understand why you don't believe me, Calma. And maybe I don't blame you. I know how I appear to students, particularly at the beginning of a course. Trust me, I know. Horrible, nasty, strict, no sense of humor? I know. But I do care, whatever you may think. Perhaps I care too much. It would be very easy to be a popular teacher. I could make jokes, get the students to like me. You look as if you don't think that is possible, but it is. I don't do things that way, Calma. Maybe I can't do things that way. I get my students under control. In order to teach them. Only when they are under control can I relax the tight grip, give a little more freedom. Only when they are learning. It's what I am paid to do.”
“The students hate you.”
“That's actually not true, Calma.” This was Miss Blakey. “Oh, I'm not saying that Miss Payne is the most popular teacher in the school. She isn't. But she is one of the most respected. Would it surprise you to know that Vanessa Aldrick thinks that Miss Payne is the best teacher she has ever had? That she has learned more from her in one term than in all her other terms of English? And Vanessa's not the only one. Not by a long way.
”
Vanessa? Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised. After all, the world had been making a habit recently of turning my expectations and perceptions upside down. But Vanessa?
“Think of it this way, Calma,” said the Pitbull. “You are talented at English. Perhaps the most talented I have ever taught. But the other kids in the class, they're not like you. I could leave you alone and you would be fine. In fact, for someone like you, it is probably better to leave you alone. But not the others. They need teaching, Calma. And that's what I do. You might not like my style. Hell, I don't like my style sometimes. But it does get results. And that, as I said before, is what I am paid to do.”
There was silence for a while. Mrs. Mills broke it. God, there was something about her voice that made me want to scream. So professional, so soothing. So reasonable.
“But, in the end, it's not Miss Payne's teaching style that is at issue here, is it? It's the extracurricular activities that occurred between you, Kiffo and her that is our main concern. Now, Calma, I know that you are going to find this difficult, but I want you to remember that no one here wishes you any harm, or wants to see you humiliated. But we need to get this out in the open. Can you tell us your suspicions about Miss Payne? What was it you and Kiffo thought she was doing?”
This was what I had been dreading. How could I say it? It sounded so stupid now, even when it was just in my head. There were all these adults around and what I was going to say would just sound so infantile to them. It sounded infantile to me. It was like I was being forced to say that I thought she was from outer space or something. How could I, in that room, in that company, say, “I thought you were involved in organized crime,” and retain any credibility? But I didn't know what else to do. I needed Kiffo. But he wasn't around. He was never going to be around and there wasn't anything else to do.
The Crimes and Punishments of Miss Payne Page 17
