Read Online The Invisible Wall by Harry Bernstein - Free Book Online Page B

something that would really make the headmaster’s eyes light up with interest. She had taken her best purple velvet dress, the only good dress she really had, and had cut it up into a suit for me. It was a great sacrifice on her part—she would never have another dress like it—and it had entailed a lot of work on top of all the work she already had with us and with her shop.
    But the sacrifice was nothing at all to her. She was tremulous with excitement now as she put it on me. It was a Lord Fauntleroy suit, with short pants and a jacket, complete with a large white lace collar.
    â€œOh, you look beautiful, so beautiful,” she exclaimed, standing a little distance away from me, and viewing her handiwork with hands clasped under her chin, her eyes shining.
    But I was scarcely interested in the suit. “Can I put me clogs on now?” I pleaded.
    â€œYes.”
    She was ready at last, and now it was I who was trembling as she went to the cupboard, took out the white box stored there, and brought out the clogs. She let me touch them first before she fitted them onto my feet, smiling a little as she saw me fondle them. Perhaps there was a touch of regret in her smile. How she had resisted until the very last, hoping still there would be enough money for shoes. But her new shop, resurrected from that terrible first day, had disappointed her, bringing in enough for clogs, but not for shoes.
    But they were better than nothing, because my old shoes, Mr.Hamer had told her, were falling off my feet, fit for nothing but throwing in the midden. My mother had agreed with him.
    Still, I think, my happiness made up for a great deal in her mind, and her smile also contained a little of my feelings. “You’ll just have to walk very quiet and respectful when you go in the school,” she said, as she put the clogs onto my feet, kneeling in front of me on the floor. “If you don’t draw attention to your clogs, maybe the headmaster won’t notice them.”
    I wasn’t listening. I was fairly quivering with impatience to try out the clogs. As soon as she had snapped the buckles on tight, I sprang off the chair and began to stamp about like a young colt, but the real test would come when we were outside. Again I chafed while my mother got herself ready. She had put on her own best clothes, had brushed her coat carefully before putting it on, and finally had donned the hat with the feather. She also took an umbrella in case it rained.
    As soon as we got outside I began scraping my feet against the pavement. Nothing happened, and I broke free from my mother’s hand and ran out into the street and tried it against the cobbles. This time sparks shot up, and I screamed, “Look, Mam, look!”
    â€œYes, I see,” she said, smiling, “but we’ve got to go, and I don’t want you to wear your clogs out before you get there.”
    We went up the street, but our progress was slowed by my trying to raise sparks every few feet. Then there were further delays as women came to their doors, curious about my outfit, and my mother had to explain to them what it was about. At the top of the street we crossed over to the other side. Mrs. Turnbull was just bringing her husband outside, and seating him in his chair. She turned at the sight of us, and exclaimed, “Well, look at him! A regular bloody little toff! And where’s he going all dressed up like that? To the King’s ball?”
    â€œNo, I’m taking him to school, the one up the park,” my mother said.
    â€œSt. Peter’s isn’t good enough for him,” Mrs. Turnbull said. “I can’t say it surprises me, though. He’s been acting like a rich gentleman’s son all summer long, buying sweets nearly every day.”
    â€œHas he?” said my mother.
    â€œBeen in and out, in and out, nearly every day, bothering the life out of me, tapping on that glass counter with his penny. Hasn’t