you seemed a nice sort of person. A lady, he said you were. Sim wasn't sure
whether you were man or woman until Piri said that," the man's grinning again.
Kerewin smiles into the fire.
"So Haimona brings out this chesspiece, not to save himself the beating so much as to say something about
you, you know?"
"I can imagine."
"Well, it started me thinking. He said how you started to teach him chess, and how you were patient with him
when he tried to talk with you."
She remembers her sneers, and jibes, and coolness, and decides Simon/Sim/Haimona is a diplomatic little
liar.
"And that you didn't exactly like him, but you were still kind and patient. That was impressive, because
generally he's either treated as an idiot, or deaf as well as mute -- you've no idea how many people raise their
voices to him! Or they talk over him, as though he'll vanish and not be an embarrassment any more. It works
too. He generally vanishes from that kind of person very fast." He broods a moment, hand back on his small
son's shoulder. "So there it was. We spent an hour wondering why you were different, decent. And -- how
can I put it?" speaking to Simon now. "Good for you? Good for him," says Joe, looking straight at her.
Kerewin looks back, eyebrows raised.
The man eases down to lie supported by his elbows.
"I mean, it can be bad at school. He comes in for a lot of, o, a lot of petty bullying and shitslinging there. Not just because he's different being dumb, but because he's a bit of an outlaw." The child and his father swap
grins. "Like this Monday, well Monday last week. He missed two schooldays before the weekend, and when
he went to school on Monday, someone started having a go at him. 'Cops get you again, Gillayley,' style of
thing."
Joe draws a deep breath.
"If you push him hard enough, he'll fight you to make you understand. It's his last resort, spitting and
kicking... he'll do his damndest to punch into you what he wants to say. That's bad, I know, you know,"
wagging a finger at the boy, "but he's still trying to talk to you," lifting his eyes to Kerewin, "you know?"
"I can imagine," she says again.
"If you won't listen after that, or you fight him back, he'll despair, and literally throw himself on the ground.
And stay there, and shake. It looks like a fit. It isn't. Say the medics. It is sheer frustration and despair that
you won't listen, you won't converse, when he's got something to say that's important to him."
Kerewin nods.
"So last week, the little bastards do this push-and-tease-the-oddie business until Simon stupid obliges them
by giving up and getting sick. And then you won't go to school for the rest of the week, will you?"
Simon is squinting at the gold grass floor.
"So. Today, I came here and left the note and then I took the morning off work, and went along with him to
school to find out what started everything off this time. And all those sweet smiling little kids said, 'Your
Simon started it, Mr Gillayley, he's bad isn't he?' And they all believe it, or know it's a very safe bet, on his
Past record, that I'm going to believe it... but I don't know...."
Kerewin asks,
"What did the teachers say?"
"Nothing much. They didn't see it happen. Anyway, they've more or less given up on him now. Because he
can be unapproachable
-- you've never been coldshouldered till Sim's done it to you, believe you me! Even I've been on the receiving
end-- Some of the teachers tried to help. In his first year there, last year, one lady tried very hard, but it was
too soon after. The death of my wife. And he was upset about that. So this year, they shoved him in the
special class to begin with, all the slow learners and near nuts and that. Patently ridiculous, because he can
read and write as competently as kids twice his age. Well, nearly. So then they put him in Standard One, and
he's not fitting in there either. They recommend an institution of some kind or the other. For handicapped
kids, you know
whether you were man or woman until Piri said that," the man's grinning again.
Kerewin smiles into the fire.
"So Haimona brings out this chesspiece, not to save himself the beating so much as to say something about
you, you know?"
"I can imagine."
"Well, it started me thinking. He said how you started to teach him chess, and how you were patient with him
when he tried to talk with you."
She remembers her sneers, and jibes, and coolness, and decides Simon/Sim/Haimona is a diplomatic little
liar.
"And that you didn't exactly like him, but you were still kind and patient. That was impressive, because
generally he's either treated as an idiot, or deaf as well as mute -- you've no idea how many people raise their
voices to him! Or they talk over him, as though he'll vanish and not be an embarrassment any more. It works
too. He generally vanishes from that kind of person very fast." He broods a moment, hand back on his small
son's shoulder. "So there it was. We spent an hour wondering why you were different, decent. And -- how
can I put it?" speaking to Simon now. "Good for you? Good for him," says Joe, looking straight at her.
Kerewin looks back, eyebrows raised.
The man eases down to lie supported by his elbows.
"I mean, it can be bad at school. He comes in for a lot of, o, a lot of petty bullying and shitslinging there. Not just because he's different being dumb, but because he's a bit of an outlaw." The child and his father swap
grins. "Like this Monday, well Monday last week. He missed two schooldays before the weekend, and when
he went to school on Monday, someone started having a go at him. 'Cops get you again, Gillayley,' style of
thing."
Joe draws a deep breath.
"If you push him hard enough, he'll fight you to make you understand. It's his last resort, spitting and
kicking... he'll do his damndest to punch into you what he wants to say. That's bad, I know, you know,"
wagging a finger at the boy, "but he's still trying to talk to you," lifting his eyes to Kerewin, "you know?"
"I can imagine," she says again.
"If you won't listen after that, or you fight him back, he'll despair, and literally throw himself on the ground.
And stay there, and shake. It looks like a fit. It isn't. Say the medics. It is sheer frustration and despair that
you won't listen, you won't converse, when he's got something to say that's important to him."
Kerewin nods.
"So last week, the little bastards do this push-and-tease-the-oddie business until Simon stupid obliges them
by giving up and getting sick. And then you won't go to school for the rest of the week, will you?"
Simon is squinting at the gold grass floor.
"So. Today, I came here and left the note and then I took the morning off work, and went along with him to
school to find out what started everything off this time. And all those sweet smiling little kids said, 'Your
Simon started it, Mr Gillayley, he's bad isn't he?' And they all believe it, or know it's a very safe bet, on his
Past record, that I'm going to believe it... but I don't know...."
Kerewin asks,
"What did the teachers say?"
"Nothing much. They didn't see it happen. Anyway, they've more or less given up on him now. Because he
can be unapproachable
-- you've never been coldshouldered till Sim's done it to you, believe you me! Even I've been on the receiving
end-- Some of the teachers tried to help. In his first year there, last year, one lady tried very hard, but it was
too soon after. The death of my wife. And he was upset about that. So this year, they shoved him in the
special class to begin with, all the slow learners and near nuts and that. Patently ridiculous, because he can
read and write as competently as kids twice his age. Well, nearly. So then they put him in Standard One, and
he's not fitting in there either. They recommend an institution of some kind or the other. For handicapped
kids, you know
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