moment, as if Charlie interrupting him to ask if he could have his say was outside Mr Davis’s understanding.
So Charlie shot in on the gap of Mr Davis momentarily stunned into silence.
“Sir, I honestly think the boys here need, like …” hearing his own voice, as almost adult-like, suddenly frightened Charlie. He’d been sure what he was going to say and now he wasn’t. (Love. It’s love they — we — need more’n anything. And after that it’s life being cleared up, getting the haze, the muck wiped off it, like a dirty window, that’s what we need.) “I — I, uhh —. Well, you see, sir, I think some of the kids — I mean the ones I know —. Well, I think —.” No good. It’d gone. But then he heard a little voice in his head telling him he must speak up.
So Charlie drew himself to full height, still surprised that Mr Davis was yet giving him speaking space. “Sir, I’m not saying this place is bad cos it isn’t. Not really. And the staff, some of them are really neat. Miss Eccles, well she’s — she’s — she’s really really nice. And I think she understands what the boys need — oh, not saying you don’t, sir. But she’s a, you know, she’s sorta like a mother.Some of the boys, hahaha, call her Grannie behind her back,” hearing himself talking, giggling nervously, unable to control himself even when he wanted nothing more than an ability to control.
“But Mr Dekka, sir, well I think you’d know —”
“Mr Dekka? What have you to say about Mr Dekka?”
“I, uh — well, sir, he’s — sir, you must kind of know what he’s like. Not just me saying it, you ask any boy, he’ll tell you the same thi—”
“What, are my staff supposed to be here so you boys will like them? Do you think it’s a popularity contest? And don’t give me that confused look, Wilson, you know damn well what I’m saying. You would not have been chosen for Riverton Boys’ High if you were as thick as you’re now trying to make out. And, might I remind you, there have only been a handful of boys in the history of this place who have gained places at Riverton Boys’. But you have to mess up. Background, you see now, Wilson? It’s your bloody backgrounds that we are up against at every turn. We —”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Mr Davis. I do know it’s background, like you say it is. And I’m not trying to be clever. I — it’s — you know I’m scared of you. Every boy here is. You know we’re not happy, though. None of us. Why we’re here — sir. No disrespect, sir. Because we’re, you know, because we’re not, like, happy, sir. But we didn’t make ourselves like that sir …” Hearing himself run off at the mouth, this surge of verbal recklessness that yet felt so right it couldn’t stop itself. And more, because he’d seen in this moment of having his eyes opened that Mr Davis didn’tknow, not really, much and any more than the kids he was in charge of. Or why weren’t they all, or just some, turning out for the better?
Even when Mr Davis stepped swiftly around from behind his desk and backhanded Charlie across the face, Charlie didn’t feel so much fear, as it was, somehow, a confirmation of the truth of what he was saying.
Charlie wiped at his mouth. Blood. He looked at the blood, then up and into the eyes of Mr Davis. They were brown circles inside a perfectly white surround, wide with anger though. Charlie looked at the blood smear on his hand again, thinking — or feeling — in that flash of concept the mind embraces in a milli-second: I been bleeding my whole life. Hasn’t every boy here? So what’s a few more drops?
So when Mr Davis slapped him again, and Charlie fell against a wall, and something came crashing down behind him sounding like broken glass, he was neither alarmed nor afraid. Not now. (Boy, I been getting slapped and punched, and I been hearing breaking glass my whole damned life.) He just felt like grinning. Though he didn’t dare. Though when
So Charlie shot in on the gap of Mr Davis momentarily stunned into silence.
“Sir, I honestly think the boys here need, like …” hearing his own voice, as almost adult-like, suddenly frightened Charlie. He’d been sure what he was going to say and now he wasn’t. (Love. It’s love they — we — need more’n anything. And after that it’s life being cleared up, getting the haze, the muck wiped off it, like a dirty window, that’s what we need.) “I — I, uhh —. Well, you see, sir, I think some of the kids — I mean the ones I know —. Well, I think —.” No good. It’d gone. But then he heard a little voice in his head telling him he must speak up.
So Charlie drew himself to full height, still surprised that Mr Davis was yet giving him speaking space. “Sir, I’m not saying this place is bad cos it isn’t. Not really. And the staff, some of them are really neat. Miss Eccles, well she’s — she’s — she’s really really nice. And I think she understands what the boys need — oh, not saying you don’t, sir. But she’s a, you know, she’s sorta like a mother.Some of the boys, hahaha, call her Grannie behind her back,” hearing himself talking, giggling nervously, unable to control himself even when he wanted nothing more than an ability to control.
“But Mr Dekka, sir, well I think you’d know —”
“Mr Dekka? What have you to say about Mr Dekka?”
“I, uh — well, sir, he’s — sir, you must kind of know what he’s like. Not just me saying it, you ask any boy, he’ll tell you the same thi—”
“What, are my staff supposed to be here so you boys will like them? Do you think it’s a popularity contest? And don’t give me that confused look, Wilson, you know damn well what I’m saying. You would not have been chosen for Riverton Boys’ High if you were as thick as you’re now trying to make out. And, might I remind you, there have only been a handful of boys in the history of this place who have gained places at Riverton Boys’. But you have to mess up. Background, you see now, Wilson? It’s your bloody backgrounds that we are up against at every turn. We —”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Mr Davis. I do know it’s background, like you say it is. And I’m not trying to be clever. I — it’s — you know I’m scared of you. Every boy here is. You know we’re not happy, though. None of us. Why we’re here — sir. No disrespect, sir. Because we’re, you know, because we’re not, like, happy, sir. But we didn’t make ourselves like that sir …” Hearing himself run off at the mouth, this surge of verbal recklessness that yet felt so right it couldn’t stop itself. And more, because he’d seen in this moment of having his eyes opened that Mr Davis didn’tknow, not really, much and any more than the kids he was in charge of. Or why weren’t they all, or just some, turning out for the better?
Even when Mr Davis stepped swiftly around from behind his desk and backhanded Charlie across the face, Charlie didn’t feel so much fear, as it was, somehow, a confirmation of the truth of what he was saying.
Charlie wiped at his mouth. Blood. He looked at the blood, then up and into the eyes of Mr Davis. They were brown circles inside a perfectly white surround, wide with anger though. Charlie looked at the blood smear on his hand again, thinking — or feeling — in that flash of concept the mind embraces in a milli-second: I been bleeding my whole life. Hasn’t every boy here? So what’s a few more drops?
So when Mr Davis slapped him again, and Charlie fell against a wall, and something came crashing down behind him sounding like broken glass, he was neither alarmed nor afraid. Not now. (Boy, I been getting slapped and punched, and I been hearing breaking glass my whole damned life.) He just felt like grinning. Though he didn’t dare. Though when
Similar Books
