I explained the situation.
‘Too late,’ she said. ‘And I’m totally pissed off that he phoned you. If he’d phoned me, I’d have hung up on him.’
‘Obviously he realised that. Very astute. You could have used the “washing your hair” excuse. Without deception.’
‘Anyway, it’s Hudson’s speech night. This is a chance for me to show what’s more important.’
‘Aaargh,’ said Hudson.
It was easy to translate. ‘After Hudson has had to accept a change in parenting because of the importance of your research, it would be extremely annoying—’
‘I hear you. But this is a big night. I really need to be there.’
‘You have to go to the interview,’ said Hudson. ‘I don’t want people to commit suicide because you came to my speech night.’
‘Get this in your head,’ said Rosie. ‘You are not responsible for the consequences of other people’s decisions.’
‘Dad said—’
‘Enough. I’ll go. We’ll talk about this later, though. What time are you on?’
‘It’s the last item,’ said Hudson. ‘I’m going to be the first speaker because I’m the most confident. Anyway, Dad will be there. Grandpa will video it if you don’t make it. Even if you do make it.’
‘Where’s your speech?’ I said as we departed for the school.
Hudson tapped his head.
‘What if you lose your place?’
‘I have a good memory. And it has a structure. The way you remember a speech is to divide it into blocks, which you think of like boxcars on a train—’
‘Carriages.’
‘Carriages, linked together, numbered…’
Hudson explained the speech-memorisation technique as we collected my mother and proceeded to the school.
The hall was almost full when we arrived. Phil, Dave and Sonia were waiting for us, without Zina, who was not feeling well.
As we walked to our seats, we were intercepted by a man of about forty wearing a suit without a tie, who introduced himself as Ewan Harle.
‘I’m the senior-school principal. The incoming principal. Bronwyn pointed you out. I was hoping to catch you and Rosie.’
‘Rosie has a work emergency.’
‘Sorry to hear it. She’s a doctor, isn’t she?’
‘Correct.’
‘Well, I hope the patient is okay.’
‘She’s a researcher. Hence potentially thousands of patients will be impacted.’
Ewan Harle nodded. ‘Good point. It’s funny how we relate better to the idea of someone delivering a single baby than doing something that might have a global impact.’
It seemed odd to bring obstetrics into the discussion, but I let him continue.
‘I’ve been filled in on what happened with your son and wanted to apologise on behalf of the school. Not only about the bird and the knife.’
‘Scalpel.’
‘Ah, I didn’t know that. I gather there was some…encouragement to have your son assessed by a psychologist. All I can say is that if you and Rosie and Hudson make that choice, and it gives the school an opportunity to provide some targeted assistance, we’ll work together. It’s a fine line between encouraging and shaping, but it’s our job to find it.’
‘I like him,’ said my mother, who considers herself able to make judgements of people on the basis of almost zero information. ‘He knew Hudson’s name.’
Ewan Harle joined the junior-school principal on the stage but seemed only to be there for ceremonial purposes, an incredible waste of a senior professional’s time. A hologram or even a cardboard cut-out would have achieved the same purpose.
The preliminary performances were similar in style and content to those we had witnessed at Zina’s school but shorter and of a higher standard, due to only Year Six students participating. They included a percussion combo, featuring Hudson playing bongos. Competently, it appeared. Another item on the list successfully completed, without intervention from me.
Dave leaned over. ‘Told you he had rhythm.’ He laughed. ‘That’s what he’s been doing with George.’
Not stimming, drumming. Even Rosie and I had made the mistake of seeing Hudson’s behaviour through the lens of autism.
‘Your wife still tied up?’ Ewan Harle had come down from the stage, apparently to speak to me.
I checked my phone. ‘She’s on her way.’
The final item was described as ‘Six of the Best from Year Six’. The printed program had not been amended to reflect the recent addition of Hudson. The number could have been returned to six by deleting Blanche, who had received a week’s suspension as punishment for her role in the Pigeon Betrayal, but I agreed with the school’s decision not to exclude her.
Blanche had acted unethically, but she was only eleven. I had made mistakes at eleven, too. Being judged and punished by adults had not made me any less likely to make them again, any more than it had in later life. And she had undone the harm she had caused, at some cost to herself.
My phone vibrated. Stuck in traffic.
Hudson had told us he would be the first speaker. Phil was focusing the video camera, and my mother nudged me with an unnecessary reminder.
But instead of Hudson, the principal introduced Blake, the swimming champion and cricket-bat owner. Blake gave his speech, the audience applauded, then Bronwyn introduced the second student. Then the third and the fourth. Something was obviously wrong. Meltdown? Nerves? Illness, possibly as a result of pressure?
I looked at the program again, with no mention of Hudson’s name, and had a terrible flash of insight. Hudson had never been on it. He had wanted to impress us and had tried too hard. Perhaps he had planned to tell us before Rosie’s work crisis intervened. But now there was no escaping the deception. What would he do? Where was he? I tried to stifle my rising panic as the fifth speaker was introduced.
My mother jumped to her feet. I looked around for Hudson, but it was Rosie at the side door. She saw us and squeezed past to the seat we had reserved on my other side. I was about to explain the situation, but Rosie pointed to the stage.
There was another expert problem-solver in the room, one who was innovative enough to be able to re-sequence a schedule at short notice. Ewan Harle was looking directly at us, giving the two-thumbs-up signal.
44
The principal introduced Hudson by describing his assistance to Blanche in the cross-country run. Hudson had been right. His speech as specified would have been pointless, since there was little to add to what Bronwyn had already said. In fact, many in the audience would have seen the race.
Hudson stepped up. It was apparent that he was nervous, but less so than the preceding students. They had read from the lectern, but Hudson took the microphone from the stand, removed his glasses, then stepped to the centre.
‘God, he’s going to give a TED Talk,’ said Rosie.
A voice said quietly, but loud enough to be heard by the audience, ‘Psycho.’ It was the voice. Gary the Homeopath.
‘He won’t hurt you.’ My mother’s voice was louder and there was a ripple of laughter.
Hudson didn’t appear to have heard. He was already speaking, faster and more articulately that the previous students. It was how he normally spoke, but the contrast was startling. I estimated that he would be able to pack seventy per cent more content into his speech.
‘Three months ago, I was suspended for killing a bird. Slitting its throat with a scalpel. Some people thought I did it because I was autistic and one day I might kill a person.’
Phil whispered, ‘He’s got their attention.’ I was thinking that slitting its throat was the sort of detail Gene would have included to make a lecture more dramatic. Perhaps a lawyer would do the same.
Rosie was holding my hand, firmly. My mother grabbed my other hand. If I was required to applaud, I would be unable to.
‘I didn’t kill the bird. If I had, I don’t think Ms Williams would have asked me to give a speech.’ Huds
on smiled and paused for the first time. There was laughter. He was nodding his head, and I guessed that it was a rehearsed action: Stop here and count to some specified number. Eugenie had done an excellent job in preparing him, but Rabbit had also described him as a competent public speaker.
‘This year I learned that I was autistic, and I learned that a lot of people think autistic people are weird or uncaring or not good enough to go to a normal high school.’
My left hand—the one being held by Rosie—was suddenly under increased pressure. There was no change to my mother’s grip on my right hand.
I concentrated on Hudson. The hand that was not holding the microphone had begun as a fist but now had two fingers extended. Two boxcar topics: the bird; discrimination against autism. Given human anatomy, it was likely that he had a maximum of three more points to make.
Finger number three. ‘My parents and teachers tried really hard to help me fit in because they didn’t want people to think I was autistic and then assume those things about me. This semester I decided to show that I can do all the things that “normal” people do’—Hudson illustrated his point with a one-handed air-quotes sign—‘and I think I managed to, because I’ve been accepted to the senior school.’
There was sustained applause. I didn’t clap, and nor did Rosie or my mother, and not only because our hands were being used for connection purposes. Having spent six months helping Hudson to fit in, I was now feeling uncomfortable with the outcome. I was also aware that he had not finished his speech but was waiting for the clapping to finish. His fourth finger had uncurled.
‘But it took a lot of work that I could have spent on other things, like getting good marks and going to the bar.’ More laughter. ‘It’s our family business and my dad designed it to be a comfortable place for autistic people.’
Finger number five: ‘What I learned from the bar is that autistic people shouldn’t have to do all the changing, and my goal is to make the world a better place for people who are different.’ The audience clapped for a long time. They obviously hadn’t observed that he had closed his fist again and uncurled another finger. I guessed his time was almost up.
‘Next year I’m planning to go to a special school, so I can practise being myself without pressure to act like someone I’m not, and when I’m ready I want to come back here to get the best chance of being a lawyer while still being myself, so I can advocate for people who aren’t good at speaking for themselves. If that’s okay with Mr Harle.’
He turned to the senior-school principal, and the audience erupted in laughter and clapping. Hudson didn’t move until Ewan Harle smiled and nodded his head, and then he walked off the stage as the audience applauded again. There were a few moments of audience discussion while Bronwyn went backstage to retrieve the microphone, which Hudson had taken with him.
‘Nice work,’ said Phil. ‘Put the headmaster on the spot. He’ll be a lawyer all right.’
Bronwyn returned with the microphone and reinserted it in its holder. ‘It looks like the teachers in the senior school have an exciting time ahead, and maybe Hudson will reconsider coming here next year,’ said the principal. ‘We say we embrace diversity, and we have had parents and students in the past who have held us to that challenge, and that only makes the school stronger. I’m sure Hudson’s parents are proud of the maturity that he’s shown in finding his way.’
The phrases were similar to those my academic managers had used regularly, and which I had ignored regularly. But, doubtless because it was our son who was the subject of them, I found that my eyes had become wet. Rosie was now holding my arm. My mother was nodding.
The final speaker was, of course, Blanche, who was guided up the poorly lit stairs by Dov, carrying her oversized tablet computer. The principal introduced her with a reference to her impaired vision, which was obvious to the audience.
Blanche was more nervous than Hudson had been and took a few seconds to get started.
‘First of all, I don’t want anyone to think Hudson’s my boyfriend.’ It was the sort of statement that could be expected to provoke laughter in primary-school students, which it did, and also in their parents, who had apparently been infantilised by the environment.
Blanche was smiling. ‘She did that on purpose,’ said Rosie. ‘She’s a smart kid.’
‘But,’ she said, ‘we worked on our speeches together, so I knew what he was going to say. Everything he said was right. Also, he’s a really good person, except for being obsessed with space travel and computers and not with personal hygiene.’
There was laughter before she continued. ‘This year I learned four important things.’ I looked to her fingers, but she was reading, so no counting was necessary.
‘One was that I want to be a scientist and that it’s possible to be vision-impaired, even completely blind, and be a scientist.
‘Two was that your parents and teachers know heaps more than you do, but they don’t know everything. That’s a problem when you’re a kid and you’re not sure about something important. You have to do research and then decide. My dad is not in favour of conventional medicine, but I decided to go to a doctor about my eyes.’ She looked at her tablet for a moment and then looked straight out at the audience. ‘And get immunised.’
From several rows behind me, I could hear Gary’s breath being blown out from between pursed lips, as it had been when Phil challenged him at the swimming carnival.
‘Three: I hung out a lot with Hudson, and I’m probably autistic too. It’s not so easy to see in girls, and nobody would notice it in me anyway because my albinism is the big deal. But I did the test and guess what?
‘Four is that I learned that people can be super-kind and most of what I just talked about was because of Hudson and his dad, who—Hudson said I could say this—is as good a person as Hudson and maybe even a bit weirder.’
She looked up. ‘This wasn’t in my speech, but I hope Hudson comes to the senior school next year so he and Dov and me…I…can help each other. Thank you.’
Again, there was a great deal of applause. Hudson was right about me not caring about being called ‘weird’. But, despite the term having been used by others in the past year to describe Hudson, I had never thought of him as actually weird—possibly because we might both be weird along the same dimensions.
‘Wow,’ said Rosie. ‘Did you have any idea he was going to say that? Or Blanche?’
I shook my head.
‘Shh,’ said my mother, as the principal was delivering platitudes again. Then there was the actual graduation ceremony. It was over before I had finished processing Hudson’s revelation that he had self-diagnosed as autistic and chosen to announce it in public. And Blanche also.
As we stood to leave the hall, Dave and Phil were congratulating me for Hudson’s speech, and Sonia was hugging Rosie in the way people had hugged at my father’s funeral. I noticed that Rosie’s hair was looking strange: two different shades of red.
Rosie spoke to me over Sonia’s shoulder. ‘Blanche’s father may have mixed feelings about what she said.’
Rosie was wrong. Gary the Homeopath’s feelings seemed to be wholly negative. I identified his voice as we walked towards our designated meeting point outside the hall: ‘You piece of shit.’
Then I saw who he was speaking to: Hudson. He was using aggressive and potentially threatening language to a child. My child. I was instantly angrier than I could ever remember being: at risk not of a meltdown, but of committing a physical assault.
Finally, I saw Gary the Homeopath in person. He looked almost exactly as I had imagined him, though bigger—not as tall as me but more powerfully built.
If Hudson had studied martial arts, he would have known what to do, which was to run away. Instead he was standing beside Blanche, only a few metres away from Gary. As I approached, Allannah interposed herself between Gary and the children, and Gary half-pushed and half-struck her out of the way.
Phil walked straight up to Gary and grabbed him by
both shoulders. Gary expertly broke free, created distance, then kicked Phil in the knee, precisely and extremely hard. Phil went down, and Rosie said, loudly, ‘I’m calling the police.’
‘They can arrest him,’ said Gary, pointing to Phil, who appeared to be in pain. ‘I’m entitled to defend myself.’ Then he turned to Hudson again. ‘I’m not finished with you.’
‘Yes, you are,’ said Allannah. ‘We’re going home. Now.’
‘You’re staying right where you are until I’ve dealt with this little shit.’
Allannah walked back to Gary and grabbed him by the arm, and this time he held on to her, but didn’t move. He turned back to Hudson.
It seemed inconceivable that he would strike a child, but I did not want to take the risk. He had already assaulted Phil and Allannah.
‘Go inside,’ I said to Hudson.
‘Do what your father said,’ said Rosie.
Hudson walked but stopped just behind Rosie.
Gary was now looking at me. Angrily. Aggressively.
‘You. You’re the piece of shit who poisoned my daughter. You had her assaulted.’
‘Incorrect.’
‘By doctors. And you’ve been hanging around my wife like a fucking bad smell. You’ve got a kid on the way, haven’t you?’ It took me a moment to remember Allannah’s excuse for hugging me in the shop.
Gary pointed towards Hudson. ‘Might want to think about skipping the vaccination this time.’
People leaving the graduation had gathered around us, and I had a flashback to my schooldays when students shouting ‘rumble’ would summon a crowd to observe a fight, until a teacher arrived to separate the antagonists either physically or with threats of punishment.
In this case the teacher was Rabbit. ‘That’s enough,’ he said, and put his hand on Gary’s shoulder. Gary twisted and flung Rabbit away, delivering a blow to the side of his head that he could probably claim was accidental.
‘Anyone else want to have a crack?’ said Gary, looking at me.
‘Are you talking to me?’ I said. It was a genuine question of clarification, but it came out sounding like a challenge.
The Rosie Result Page 26