by Duff, Alan
And when Johno didn’t respond immediately, he said, ‘So what if I am arty-farty and look different? I’m not doing anything to them.’
‘Don’t worry about them saying that. Mavis said you’re in pain. Where?’
‘I hurt all over. Three of them were punching me …’
Violence roiled in Johno’s stomach.
‘What did you do when they hit you?’ Why was he hoping his son wouldn’t say he ran?
Danny did say it. ‘I ran away, but they chased me and held me on the ground.’
Johno had to bite his tongue and say, ‘Keep going, son. I’m your dad, your best—’ No. A father was what was needed now, not a friend. ‘I’m here for you.’ Yet feeling ashamed at his son running.
‘I felt wet on my shorts …’
‘That’s all right. It’s only a reaction. Could happen to anyone if it’s three on one and they’re older.’ Though not to Johno, not at any age.
‘Wasn’t me,’ Danny said. ‘One of them peed on me. And laughed. They grabbed my hat and said I’d never see it again, that I was a weirdo for wearing it.’
‘It was too small for you anyway. We’ll get you another one.’ Must contain the rage or he was of no use to his son. ‘Other kids saw this?’
‘Lots. They were laughing, too. Holding their noses and carrying on like it was me had wet myself.’
‘You tell your teacher?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Then I’m a telltale. That’s worse than a pants-wetter.’
Johno had no answer to that. ‘Okay. You talked to Mavis about the bullying and then what?’
‘I had a bath and Mavis called you.’
‘I mean, what are your thoughts now?’
‘I hate them.’
‘You think about hitting them back? One by one?’
‘I don’t like fighting. I’ve never had a fight. Don’t want to either. It’s stupid, people going crazy punching each other, rolling round on the ground. Blood. Pain.’
‘So how do you think you’ll stop these boys the next time?’
‘Run faster? Go tell the principal?’ Danny seemed more hurt and confused. Johno found it hard to believe his son could be so blind to his own peers. ‘Or I could change schools? I’d rather do that. Can I, Dad? Please?’
‘Do anything you want,’ said Johno. ‘Except change schools.’ Or run away, or raise the idea of going to live with his mother.
‘Why can’t I? I wouldn’t do any art at the next school. I’d know better. Do it at home.’
‘One day you’d forget. It’s in you. Like it is in some kids to get jealous, or pick on you because you’re different. Your good looks won’t change.’ How to say the next bit?
‘Danny …? My father told me the way to stop a bully is hit him back five to his one …’
‘I don’t fight, though. I couldn’t even give one for one.’
‘Sometimes you have to.’
‘No! Why can’t you just move me to another school?’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Then come and tell them not to touch me again — please? Give them your scary look.’
‘I’ve never had that look, not for you.’
‘At work sometimes. The restaurant and at the pub. I’ve heard your staff say you’re scary when you’re angry. You’re scary now being angry at these boys. A couple of times at me.’
‘But …?’
‘I wasn’t actually scared.’
‘No reason to be. Not of me.’ Johno wanted to embrace the boy, end his pain. Yet he also wanted to hear him say he’d stand up to these boys and fight them tomorrow.
Felt guilty when Danny’s grip on his hand tightened.
‘I could either go talk to your school principal, or, I could teach you a few moves.’
‘No!’ Danny recoiled. For just a moment he seemed as fragile as a girl. ‘I hate violence. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I don’t bully other kids.’
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
A little surprised, Danny asked, ‘Did you bully anyone at school?’
‘Never. My dad and Gramps brought me up not to bully but also not to accept being bullied.’
‘I don’t remember you teaching me that.’
‘I didn’t have to. I could see you were never going down that path.’
Danny half turned away. ‘Like I’m never going back to school, either. I’m not.’
‘You are, son. Because you have to. I can’t even go with you and talk to these boys. Not how it works. A lot of kids get bullied. It’s something you have to sort out for yourself, even if your teachers intervene.’ Couldn’t suggest getting others to help, not to a kid who’d never made friends, not how he was. And Johno hadn’t exactly made a lot of friends either, more acquaintances. He rarely accepted invitations to parties, to any social event; always had running his pub as an excuse.
‘It’s not fair.’
‘I know. Not fair you’ve got good looks and artistic ability, either. Not fair we live here in a nice air-conditioned apartment and I have a successful pub, while people like Frederick are homeless.’
‘Did you take your dad’s advice?’
‘Yeah. I did.’
‘Can you tell me how?’
‘No. Or then it’s boasting. I just stood up to bullies and — I still would. Like you have to.’
‘I’m not fighting. I’m too scared.’
‘We’re all scared. But you know who’s the most scared? The bully.’
‘No.’ Danny didn’t believe it for a moment.
‘He’s scared of other kids laughing at how dumb he is. He’s scared of the kids who are better at sports showing him up. And he’ll be shit scared of girls — afraid they’ll reject him or, even worse, laugh at him. Most of all he’s scared of being seen as a coward. Because that’s what every bully is at heart, a coward.’
Danny said nothing, and with his face turned away Johno couldn’t read where he was going next.
‘I could teach you how to throw punches that will hurt. And how to use this.’ Johno tapped his forehead. ‘Your forehead’s like a sledgehammer. Takes an opponent by surprise. Even if they gang up on you, as long as you hit them back they won’t come again. You’ll feel better giving a bully a taste of his own medicine.’
‘How do you know they won’t come back even if I do hit them?’
‘I’ve got quite a bit of experience. Either you fight back or they’ll walk all over you.’
But Danny looked horrified at the thought. His head went from side to adamant side as he muttered ‘No’ over and over.
Johno said, ‘I’m not suggesting you take them on tomorrow. Just think about what can happen if you let bullies push you around.’
‘Will you do anything then, Dad?’ Danny seemed to be soliciting some form of bizarre comfort or assurance.
‘I could go talk to their dads and if they won’t hear their little boys are lowlife bullies then …’ He shrugged. ‘Can I show you just one punch, see if you like it?’
‘No.’ Danny shook his head. ‘Please don’t make me do it.’ Tears rolled down the cheek Johno could see.
‘If I make you do anything, son, it’s always for your own good.’
‘If I bullied someone what would you do?’ Danny rolled over.
‘You wouldn’t.’
‘Just say I did.’
‘I’d let you know how unhappy I was. Tell you you’re a coward. Would you like to be called that?’
‘No.’ Danny said, ‘Would you hit me?’
‘Have I ever?’
‘I’ve never been a bully before. What if I was?’
‘You wanting me to say it?’ said Johno. ‘All right. If you hit a smaller kid younger than you then I would show you what it’s like. But as we’re only talking theory …’
He took his boy in his arms and told him what he always did: how much he loved him. ‘I’ll meet the school principal. See what can be done.’
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��Now.’ He held Danny away from him. ‘One thing you can do is draw these drongos.’ Saw his son had never heard the word. ‘What do you call big dopey boys who act like apes?’
‘Neanderthals, retards — though we’re not supposed to use that word.’
‘Like a few other words and subjects they get precious about.’ Johno shook his head.
‘And show my drawings to other kids so everyone’s laughing at the bullies?’ Danny warmed to the idea.
‘You got it. Get everyone on your side. Show your class teacher, too, and tell her why. Say I told you to show her, in case she turns on you. Make them uug-ly.’
But in the morning Danny had no drawings of the bullies to present and he refused to go to school.
‘You have to go, son. It’s the law.’
‘Dad? You were in jail.’
Johno had to think fast — the subject had never been discussed. ‘Yes. For breaking the law. Where they could send me again if you don’t go to school. You’re running late already.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘How about I phone the school and say you won’t be in till after lunch? You, Mavis and I can talk about it.’
‘I don’t want to talk to Mavis. I love her, but I can’t talk about this with her.’ The look he gave suggested he couldn’t talk to his father either.
‘How about Wilson?’
‘He works on Wednesday morning.’ Danny knew his mentor’s schedule well.
‘But you’d like him included in our discussion?’
‘I guess. But I’m not going back to be bullied by those turds.’
‘I said I’d come talk to the principal.’
‘How will he stop them after school? Dad, I can’t go back …’
‘Change the music, son.’ Johno had had enough. ‘How long have you known I was once in prison?’
‘Ages. Can’t remember my mother, but I can hear someone’s voice talking about it.’ Danny grabbed his father’s hand again. ‘I’m not ashamed of you, Dad. Never.’
‘Not ashamed of myself. I did it and paid my dues.’
‘For what?’
‘This has got nothing to do with bullying.’
‘You asked me first.’
‘Because you surprised me.’
‘Were you a bank robber?’ Danny asked.
‘That would make me a bully.’
‘Why?’
‘If I walked into a bank with a gun and pointed it at a terrified teller?’
‘Even worse if she was a woman.’
‘Exactly. I pinched trucks carrying goods that were easy to sell, with a mate I’d grown up with. If you want a lesson in life, then you should know that he’s back doing time in a maximum security prison. That’s what happens if you’re a criminal who doesn’t wake up.’ He felt a twinge of guilt at speaking about his closest friend like this. Yet it was the truth.
‘I heard you once say, having me to bring up saved you,’ said Danny.
‘You got elephant ears or something, kid? What don’t you hear? Sure, having you to look after did save me.’
‘From what?’
‘Saved me from myself,’ said Johno, and saw his son didn’t understand. ‘Being responsible for you made me a better person.’
‘And is that why my mother left you? Because you weren’t a very good man,’ Danny added, ‘like, back then?’
‘One moment you don’t understand. The next you’re one step ahead of me. I wasn’t a good man.’
‘And now you are.’
‘Yes,’ said Johno. ‘Now, seeing Wilson isn’t around this morning, why don’t you come to school with me and I’ll talk to the principal? I’ll talk to these boys, too.’
‘Dad …?’ Danny suddenly looked frightened and vulnerable. ‘Every class before loved my drawings. Now kids are saying I’ve got something wrong with me. Have I?’
‘Only if being different is something wrong,’ said Johno. ‘Course there’s nothing wrong with you. One day you’ll all be grown up and guess whose name they’ll have on their mean tongues. I bet kids said cruel things about every major artist throughout history. It’s because most of us are ordinary and don’t understand talented people. Why would an art lecturer put so much time into you if he didn’t know how special you are? Come here, kid. Gimme a big fat hug.’
Feeling that slender body, wondering if the Ryan muscular genes were ready to start popping out. He thought not.
Letting Danny go, he said, ‘And you are not sitting around here all day waiting for Wilson’s opinion.’
‘I can paint while I wait.’
‘You can but you’re not going to. I’ve got jobs for you at the pub. We’ll meet Wilson here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go and see the headmaster.’
‘Principal,’ Danny said and winked. ‘What sort of jobs? You know I get bored, Dad.’
‘Not very nice jobs. Cleaning the beer cellar. The toilets.’ Johno wasn’t sure if this old-fashioned approach should be applied here but that wasn’t stopping him. ‘Kinds of jobs people who leave school early do. So find your oldest clothes and let’s be going to work.’
The principal said he’d have a word with Danny’s antagonists but that he couldn’t speak to every boy, and, though the school was anti-bullying, it was impossible to eradicate the practice.
‘And Danny’s personality makes it worse.’ Johno said it for him.
‘Well, he is an exceptionally sensitive boy. Could even be said he’s fragile. A private school might have less of this bullying behaviour. Otherwise you can apply for home-schooling on either religious grounds or some strongly held principle that you can convince the education authorities to accept. Either way I’m afraid he’s in for a rather difficult few years.’
Both Mavis and Wilson Reed agreed that home-schooling was the best choice. Mavis was happy to supervise. Johno felt he was agreeing to a cop-out, but Danny’s singular personality was an argument in itself, and if he got bored being at home he could always go back to school.
Wilson garnered the support of academic colleagues in putting a case forward on Danny’s behalf, stretching the facts somewhat by saying he showed signs of being autistic, making much of his artistic talent. And Wilson declared in a sworn affidavit he was prepared to give many hours a week of his own time towards developing that talent. Having Mavis living in the home helped their case. Danny Ryan’s somewhat unusual life had taken another turn.
Chapter fourteen
Danny could quickly spot him, tall and wildly bearded in his distinctive, heavy grey overcoat, standing close to his supermarket trolley with its black plastic covering, or hear his deep bass voice, speaking to an unheeding public. At home he would recall the lines, speaking them aloud, at least in snatches.
O the mind, mind has mountains, cliffs of fall. Frightful, sheer …
At twelve not understanding them, yet drawn to Frederick as if he held some secret, a key to another world. The man seemed to have a direct connection to the deeper, unarticulated art in Danny, the part of him that felt at one with his dreamscapes because he saw so much in them. But Frederick could show him even greater panoramas, even if their full meaning would only come later.
When he showed Frederick a notepad of his pencil drawings, the homeless man accorded Danny close to fatherly affection. Frederick was full of interesting information on all sorts of subjects, and Danny had kind of adjusted to his smell, though it was always overpowering at first; he never failed to come away from Frederick’s company without feeling he’d learned something, usually important and often profound.
He showed his father rough sketches he’d made of Frederick, and that he was working on the subject in detail. ‘Especially his coat. He only takes it off when it’s really hot. I like its pattern. I like … Well, I like Frederick’s coat. I want to see if I can reproduce it in watercolours first. Wilson says if I want depth, then oils are best. The trolley’s hard to draw but at the right angle it’s an object of beauty, like a miniature ship you can see right throug
h — if it wasn’t full of his things covered in black plastic. I like trying the different perspectives.’
Technical talk like this owed much to Wilson Reed, to the art books he and Danny pored over. Johno didn’t mind his son going out alone on a Saturday; it was his busiest trading day at the pub and he had no time for anything but ensuring it went smoothly. Not a day went by, he told Danny proudly, without some new customer arriving saying he’d heard about the place and immediately being met by Danny’s drawings and paintings. ‘Which never disappoint. In fact most people are stunned.’
On Johno’s instructions Danny, if accosted by some older stranger with questionable intentions, was to say that his father was nearby ‘and he’s a boxer’. In any event Danny should be ready to ‘call for help and/or run like hell’. Part of Johno was glad Danny was getting out and about in the supposedly big, bad world, even if it was only hanging around in daylight hours in public parks with a man who had mild mental problems. Danny and his funny little replacement hat might attract unkind attention yet at the same time harden him up, jolt some of that sublime innocence from him, or would be his undoing in a world his father knew as often hard and cruel.
It was Mavis who tried to interpret the snippets of poetry Danny recited after encounters with Frederick. The one about the ‘cliffs of fall’, she said, meant ‘a person’s thoughts are fraught with danger, as they have great insights’. If Mavis was worried about Danny’s friendship with Frederick she said nothing, and never asked Johno to stop the relationship. She just warned Danny to be careful of the other homeless men in the parks, not least the drunks.
It wasn’t so much the poems Frederick recited that attracted Danny as the rhythm of his delivery, helped by the sonorous voice. The heavy coat, though, was almost an obsession — its intricately woven thread, the protection it signified, as well as a former elegance. Then there was the supermarket trolley that seemed to have a personality of its own — the squeaky wheels, the way the wire hummed if an object was run along it, as if the reverberations might tell Danny something more. At night he imagined the trolley bobbing on the ocean with the splendid coat as its sail and Captain Frederick the Homeless proudly, defiantly, at the helm.