The Black Joke

by David Bramhall

  Chapter 14

  Thou hast covered my head in the day of battle (Psalm 140)

  At school the next morning Pert felt that his classmates were looking at him a bit strangely. The twins' busy tongues had been wagging about the Captain and the gold piece. It would be all over the town by evening. He watched Rosella carefully but she gave no sign that anything had changed. She behaved, as usual, as though he didn't exist. To be fair, he thought, she behaved exactly the same about everyone else in the class.

  At playtime he went as usual to find Fenestra, and she was nowhere to be seen. Esmerelda was sitting with another group of girls.

  “Where's Fenestra?” he asked her.

  She looked abashed. “I'm not to be friends with her any more.”

  “Who said?”

  “Everyone.” She turned her eyes to the other girls. “Them.”

  “And do you always do what the other girls say?”

  She looked abashed, and nodded her head.

  “But where is Fenestra? Did she stay inside?”

  The girl held out her hand, mutely pointing towards the toilets in the corner of the playground. Pert walked towards them. He saw Solomon and Seth waving at him to join them, but kept walking.

  As he neared the toilets he could hear voices, one deep and the other high. He began to run. There was no one in the boys' side, so he ran to the other end where only girls were allowed. Inside the two sides were identical, a little roofless yard walled in with brick, and several cubicles with half doors.

  Against the wall was Fenestra, tears streaming down her face. In front of her stood Darren Durridge, and beside her was Batty Bunt. He had her arm up behind her back and was twisting it. No one else was near, and Pert knew this was because everyone knew what was going on and wanted no part of it.

  Bunt saw Pert approaching and grinned. He gave Fenestra's arm an extra twist and she shrieked.

  “Well, look who's here!” he said. “Sneaky little Potts, come to rescue the potty little sneak!”

  A blind rage came over Pert and he rushed at Bunt. His onslaught took the bigger boy by surprise. Even as Darren Durridge reached out a beefy arm to grab him, his head connected with Bunt's chin and the bully went down on his back, hitting his head on the brick wall on the way down. He rolled onto a ball, pressing his hands to his head. The wall had hurt him more than Pert had.

  Pert grabbed his sister's hand and pulled her with him. He ducked under Durridge's outstretched arm, and shoved Fenestra towards the exit, kicking out at Durridge and catching him on the knee. Durridge swore and reached for him, but Pert was gone. They took hands and ran for the school building, hearing threats and imprecations behind them. Inside he took Fenestra to her class. The teacher was already there so she should be safe enough. Then he turned towards his own classroom, mingling on the way with the crowd of boys and girls returning from playtime.

  “What happened to you?” said Seth as he fell into his seat.

  “I had a run-in with Bunt and Durridge,” he said. “They were after my sister.”

  “Cor, rather you than me,” Solomon said. “What happened?”

  “I knocked Bunt over and banged his head.”

  “You'll be sorry. They'll get you later,” said Seth.

  “Thanks for your support!” Pert turned away. He'd always known it would come to this. He'd always known he would be on his own when it did.

  Last into the room were Bunt and Durridge. Bunt had a livid bruise on his jaw where Pert's head had struck him, and was still rubbing the back of his head. Durridge was limping.

  Durridge stopped in front of him, and leaned over him menacingly. “Dinner time, Potts! We'll be waiting!” he said, and hurried to his seat as Mr.Merridew arrived.

  It was maths until lunch. Pert had no idea how he managed to get through the hour, for the little x's and y's in his algebra book danced before his eyes and wouldn't keep still. At the best of times he couldn't really understand why x's and y's were so important, or why they kept changing their value from chapter to chapter. Any sensible letter would decide what it was worth, and stick to it. He knew what he was worth, and that was practically nothing at the moment. He felt sick, and when he wrote with his pencil the writing was shaky like an old man's. He could feel eyes on the back of his neck, and was certain that somehow the word had got round. No one dared chatter in Merridew's class, for that would certainly earn a bare bum and a thrashing, but somehow they knew, they all knew that Potts was going to get a beating at lunchtime. It was going to be the show of the year, and none of them would miss it for the world. Like Merridew's canings, they knew it wasn't fair and they knew it wasn't right, but so long as it was happening to someone else they'd be there and take a dreadful pleasure from it.

  The hour dragged on and on, and Pert felt more and more frightened. What was he going to do? Should he try and run for it? Should he pelt across the playground and out into the town and hide somewhere? But that would leave his sister alone and unprotected at play and at the end of school.

  Should he tell a teacher? That might save him a beating, but he'd be labelled a coward and a sneak for the rest of his life. So long as he lived in this town, he'd be the sniveling little weakling who hid behind the teacher's skirts. Should he do the sensible thing, and just curl up in a ball and take it and hope it didn't go on too long? That would probably be Mr.Surplice's advice, and it was probably the most practical option. At least Rosella would be at her lunch and wouldn't be there to see his humiliation.

  The bell went. Pert put his books away very slowly, while the rest of the class went gleefully past him and flooded out into the playground to get the best view. He left his sandwich in his desk. He wouldn't be needing that. He went towards the door into the playground. The teachers were all either in the staff room, or in the hall with the lunch eaters. He could hear the sound of cutlery and a hum of conversation from the hall.

  In the playground the rest of the class stood in a large semicircle. Bunt and Durridge stood in the middle, waiting and smiling. The crowd were silent. He seemed to be seeing everything with the most dreadful clarity. He could see Billy Moon with his grin. He could see the twins, looking serious. He could see one boy chewing his sandwich unconcernedly, waiting for the entertainment to start. He could see a fat girl, a friend of Durridge, smiling and winking at him, nodding encouragement. He saw a disturbance in the crowd as Fenestra pushed her way to the front and stood beside Billy Moon, her face ashen and her eyes enormous.

  He knew what he was going to do now. He was going to fight. He would get as many blows in as he could before he went down. Sooner or later – probably sooner – their weight and size and reach would bear him down and once that happened he was finished, but until then he'd do his best to mark them.

  He walked slowly to his left, to the side where Bunt stood waiting. Bunt was the fatter and the slower of the two. He tried to get Bunt in between him and Durridge so he only had one to deal with. Bunt smiled, and came towards him.

  As he had before, Pert put his head down and charged. His head went into Bunt's stomach, and a howl went up from the crowd. Suddenly there was a tumult of noise, shouts of “Fight! Fight”, screams and excited laughter. He punched with both fists, punching at anything he could find. He felt blows on his back and sides, but he kicked out furiously and broke away.

  Bunt was still in front of him, looking slightly surprised but otherwise unfazed. Durridge had circled round and was approaching from behind. He went to dodge between them and escape, but at the last minute jinked towards Durridge and lashed out with his fist. A hit! he realised with a spurt of joy. His fist had connected with something soft. He had hit the bully square in the eye.

  Joyful suddenly, a feeling of blood-lust in his heart, he turned and tried to follow up his advantage. He took another shot at Durridge's head but as he did so he felt the dead weight of Bunt's mass seize him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the floor. Then two massive blows from Durridge hit hi
s stomach, driving the wind out of him. He doubled up in pain. He could not breathe, his chest felt like a band of fire, he felt another fist strike his forehead. This was the end.

  But suddenly the screaming of the crowd rose to an even higher pitch. Something was happening. Another body was joining the fray, and as Bunt dropped him to the ground to meet the new onslaught he saw slim legs, a yellow dress, and two big boots that hacked viciously at Bunt's shins, one, two, and danced back, and returned again to kick twice more.

  Pert got to his feet and lunged into Durridge, hitting and scratching at anything he could reach. Another figure was below him, clinging on and biting the youth's great legs. Billy Moon was small, but he was fast, wriggling and squirming like an eel, an eel that couldn't punch very hard but could grip and squeeze the places that hurt the most, and bite the others. His vicious assault made Durridge forget Pert, but as he covered up and thrashed at the tiny boy he was hit by a fresh wave as Seth and Solomon launched themselves onto the great back. Durridge staggered and went down and Billy Moon swarmed all over him.

  Pert turned his attention to Bunt. He was still moving forward, wary of Rosella's feet. She danced in front of him, smiling savagely, her eyes alight with fierce hatred. She had a scratch down one cheek and a bruise on her forehead. She moved away from Pert, drawing Bunt with her, and Pert launched his own attack from the side. He hit Bunt on the side of the jaw with a mighty swing, and felt a tooth crack under his fist. Then he hit again, one, two, left, right, all at the head. Rosella darted in and planted two solid hits on Bunt's legs and the lout swayed, covered his head with his arms, and fell forward at her feet. She didn't hesitate, but kicked him again, this time in the stomach.

  Durridge had managed to wriggle free of his attackers. He staggered to his feet and began to push his way through the crowd, which parted reluctantly. His trousers were in tatters, and his shirt was torn completely off, hanging on one shoulder. He had lost his shoes, and began to limp painfully towards the playground gates. He was weeping.

  Pert pulled Bunt to his feet and pushed him towards the gate, and he took to his heels, also limping. His clothes were more or less intact but his face was bloody and swollen and his right eye almost closed.

  A small body ran from the crowd and threw its arms round him. It was Fenestra, kissing him on both cheeks. Over her head Pert and Rosella looked at each other, breathing hard. There was a look in her eyes of savage exultation which was mirrored, probably, in his own, but the crowd suddenly began to melt away and the tumult died down.

  Merridew and another teacher stood before them. Fenestra let go of Pert and ran to catch up her classmates. The five of them, Pert, Rosella, Seth and Solomon and Billy Moon were left. Merridew made a motion with his head, and they trooped obediently back to class.

  Inside, the room was silent. In the back row the empty seats of Bunt and Durridge sat accusingly. Pert's warriors stood in line.

  “Brawling,” said Merridew. He took down the cane from its hook behind the door. “Brawling,” he repeated, his voice a little higher, “brawling in the playground like common ruffians! Have you any idea how this reflects on me?” His voice was still rising, the colour inflaming his cheeks. “You know what they will say? That I can't control my classes? That I am a laughing stock and my pupils free to rampage round the school, brawling like common ruffians?”

  He paced back and forwards once, evidently trying to control his temper. This was a Merridew they had never seen before. Normally his cruel punishments were inflicted with calm, sardonic enjoyment, but this rage was something new, the loss of control both frightening and at the same time diminishing.

  “Who was the ring-leader? Who?” he yelled. “As if I didn't know! It was you, Potts. Wasn't it?” He poked his face in Pert's. His sour breath washed around Pert and he took a step back.

  “Don't you move away from me!” the man yelled, grabbing him by the neck. “Nasty, sneaking little thief, rotten criminal fomenting rebellion in my class ...”

  He dragged Pert to the desk and thrust him face down. Pert felt his trousers yanked down his legs and a rain of vicious blows, four, five, six ... it went on for a long time, but Pert didn't care. He felt immune. Pain was just pain. Victory and justification were more powerful.

  At last the onslaught slackened, and Pert was able to step aside and pull up his trousers. Merridew ordered Billy Moon forward, and started on him. Billy made no sound and didn't wriggle once. His stoic grin was intact when he was finally released. It was as if he knew that he had made a friend at last, and that while the position at the foot of the class was probably his for life, he was nevertheless somebody, a name to be reckoned with and respected. Pert thought that for such a small and filthy person, he had a colossal pride. He admired him.

  Seth and Solomon were less stoic, but the rage had gone from the man and their punishment was shorter. Merridew stood and rested. The colour had gone from his face, and the fury had been replaced by something colder, something more hateful.

  “Now,” he said, “Prettyfoot, come here. Bend over!”

  There was an intake of breath around the class, and Pert felt his head swim. Rosella did not move.

  “Bend over the desk, girl! If you can brawl in public like a common harlot, you can take a common harlot's punishment. Get over that desk!” He pulled at her arm, and she resisted.

  “Sir, sir!”said Pert. “You can't! Sir, she's a girl, you can't!”

  “Shut up, Potts! I've put up with your insolence, girl ...” he dragged her to the desk and started pushing her head down.

  “Sir, stop it! Cane me again instead! I'll take her punishment!” Pert burst out. “Sir, she was just trying to help me, it was me, not her! Cane me!”

  Merridew stopped what he was doing. Without a word he pulled Pert to the desk, tore down his trousers and caned him six more times. He did it with malice and accuracy, laying the cane right on top of the weals he'd already made, and Pert started and hissed in agony at each one. Then he was allowed to stand.

  “That was for interfering!” said Merridew. “Now, girl, your turn ...”

  As he reached for Rosella again, Pert dashed towards him. “No!” he shouted, and shoved the man backwards. “No, don't touch her!”

  He shoved again and the surprised teacher tripped on the corner of the dais and fell flat on his back. The cane skittered across the floor, and every child in the class rose and laughed.

  “Quick, you fool, run for it!” said Rosella, took his hand and dragged him towards the door. “Come on, run!” she said, and hand in hand they fled down the corridor, out of the door and across the playground, screeching with joy and excitement.

  They skidded at the gate and turned up the hill, running helter- skelter through the Market Square and past the church. Sometimes when they came to a lamp-post they loosed hands and split up, but always their hands came together and Pert ran with a fierce joy and abandon, nothing mattered, only this headlong flight up the town with Rosella, her warm hand tight on his.

  They ran and ran, saying nothing, but laughing and whooping, up past the vicarage, up the sandy lane where the little cottages began to peter out, up beyond the town and out onto the moor and the sandy lane turned to springy turf beneath their feet and the cottages gave way to peaty tussocks and heather and clumps of gorse already yellow, and they ran until their breath failed and finally they fell and lay on their backs, laughing up at the sky and kicking their legs with glee.

  At last, exhausted by running and laughing, they fell silent. Pert rolled onto his side and looked at Rosella.

  “We can't go back,” she said.

  “We'll have to eventually.”

  “But not yet.”

  He grinned at her. “There'll be a hell of a row when we do. Have you ever been right to the top?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Yes. You have to crawl, or the wind might pick you up and blow you.”

  “Will you take me?” He stood up and held out his hand, and she took
it, and they started walking. “I don't care what they do,” she said. “It was worth it.”