The Porridge of Knowledge

by Archie Kimpton

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mr Blanket, somewhat uninterested.

  ‘Do you like my hairstyle?’ Mrs Blanket asked Milk. ‘It’s called a Mermaid’s Flunge. I saw it on breakfast television this morning. Apparently all the film stars are wearing it. So I had my hairdresser come round toot sweet and fix it up for me. Don’t you think it’s wonderful?’ Milk thought it looked like a curly pile of yellow sick. ‘You must have a Mermaid’s Flunge. We’d be like sisters! I’ll call my hairdresser right now.’ She finally let go of Milk’s hair and rummaged in her bag for her phone.

  There were a thousand things that Milk wanted to say to this woman, none of them nice. But she was in a hurry. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m late for school,’ was all she managed to splutter.

  ‘Oh, silly me. School! Yes, of course. Reecey’s been studying for his test all weekend. He’s such a delightful boy. You’re a lucky girl, you know!’

  And at that Milk pushed her way back through the crowd and ran home to change.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE TEST

  The moment Ms Cerise sashayed into the classroom, Milk put up her hand.

  ‘Yes, Milk? What is it? Some shabby excuse why you haven’t done your reading, I suppose.’

  ‘No, Ms Cerise. Not at all.’

  ‘Well, what is it then?’

  ‘I wanted to apologise. For my behaviour last time.’

  It was a rare thing to see Ms Cerise lost for words. Slowly and deliberately, she opened her desk drawer and took out her glasses, the ones she’d once stolen from an optician. Without putting them on, she held the glasses up to her eyes and stared hard at Milk.

  ‘I just had to make sure it was the same Milk that was here last week,’ she said, sarcastically. ‘Well, let’s hear you. This should be interesting.’

  Milk swallowed hard and tried her best to look remorseful. ‘I’m sorry, Ms Cerise, for not listening to you in class last Friday. It was wrong and from now on I’ll do my best to be good.’ Then Milk addressed her classmates. ‘And I’m sorry that my bad behaviour ruined your weekend.’ She paused. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. It wasn’t too late to sit down right now and leave it at that. But she had come this far. She was determined to see her plan through. She took a deep breath and continued. ‘And by way of apology I’ve made chocolate flapjacks for everyone. You too, Ms Cerise. Would it be all right if I handed them out?’

  Ms Cerise eyed Milk suspiciously. Years of teaching had made her naturally distrustful of all her pupils. However, Ms Cerise was also a bit of a glutton and the thought of a chocolate flapjack made her thin lips quiver.

  Eventually she said, ‘Don’t think for a minute that this will have any bearing on the test I’m about to give you.’

  ‘Of course it won’t, Ms Cerise.’

  ‘I will still make your life as miserable as possible if you, or any of you, fail.’

  ‘I understand, Ms Cerise.’

  ‘In that case, you have my permission to hand them out.’

  Milk tried not to look elated as she opened the lid of the Tupperware she had prepared the previous evening. She went up and down the classroom, carefully handing out the miniature chocolate flapjacks to everyone in the classroom, making sure she gave the two biggest ones to Reece and Ms Cerise. Once that was done she returned to her desk at the back of the classroom.

  For a moment, the only sound in the classroom was one of contented chewing. Milk had to admit they tasted even better than she hoped. The chocolate topping Jarvis had made was delicious and easily masked any hint of mouldysweetness beneath. He was a good cook after all.

  ‘Right class,’ announced Ms Cerise, sweeping the crumbs off her desk, ‘it’s time for our little test.’ She opened her briefcase and pulled out a pile of papers. ‘If you’ve done your reading then these questions should be easy. Melanie Spoons, you could do with the exercise. Hand these out.’

  Melanie Spoons did as she was told, placing a test paper on every desk.

  Ms Cerise checked her watch. ‘You have half an hour from … now.’

  Milk took out her pencil and pretended to start work. Resting her head in her hands, she peeked through her open fingers, spying on her classmates. Melanie Spoons was looking worried. Fenella Frat was chewing the end of her pencil, not writing anything down. A thin, nervous boy called Jack Pittwoman looked around, almost on the point of tears. Milk crossed her fingers for luck and waited.

  Then she saw her first shudder. It was Frank Frat. He seemed momentarily confused, as if he’d just woken up in a strange place. Then he looked down at his test paper and began scribbling away at top speed. Melanie Spoons was next, followed by Jack Pittwoman, both shuddering, just a little, before putting their heads down and getting on with their work. One by one, everyone else in the classroom, apart from Reece Blanket and Ms Cerise, had a little shudder. At last Milk had her own shudder and started the test.

  Question 1. Train driver Jenny has a cold. If her train leaves Swindon station at 07:46 and travels at an average speed of 47 miles per hour, at what time will her tissues run out?

  It was easy. She wrote down the answer on her test paper.

  Question 2. Fat Bob is allergic to prawns. He weighs 102 kilos. Using the Baile Theorem discussed in Chapter 3, calculate the number of prawns he needs to eat before he is violently sick. (Show your workings.)

  Just then Ms Cerise spotted Frank Frat looking out of the window. ‘You! Frat boy! Why have you stopped working?’

  Of all the children in her class, Ms Cerise loved picking on Frank or Fenella Frat the most. They were the perfect pupils; silent, obedient and scared.

  Today, however, things were going to be different.

  Frank Frat sat up straight, looked Ms Cerise directly in the eye and announced in a clear voice, ‘I’ve finished.’

  Ms Cerise froze. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Frank Frat never spoke! Eventually, she stuttered, ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’ve finished, Miss. Would you like to check my answers?’ replied Frank, calmly wiping his nose on his sleeve. (Some things never change.)

  ‘Are you trying to make a fool of me, boy?’ roared Ms Cerise. ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘Not at all, Miss. I’ve finished the test, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see about that. Bring it to me.’

  Frank Frat was not a tall boy. Everybody knew that. With hunched shoulders and a premature stoop, he resembled a worried old man. Yet now, as he crossed the classroom, he seemed ten feet tall. His back was straight and his shoulders pointed to the ceiling. And strangest of all, he was smiling.

  ‘What are you smirking at?’ growled Ms Cerise as Frank handed over his paper.

  ‘I’m not smirking, Miss. I’m smiling.’

  ‘Well, don’t. It makes you look constipated.’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ replied Frank, still smiling.

  And with that, Ms Cerise took out her red pen (yes, it was stolen too), and prepared to mark his paper. Oh, she was going to enjoy putting this boy in his place …

  But slowly, her expression changed from a sadistic grin to utter confusion. He had got every answer correct.

  ‘You cheated! You must have cheated,’ she bellowed, flinging Frank’s paper onto the floor.

  Frank Frat looked genuinely hurt. ‘Not at all, Miss. I studied all weekend, as you asked, and it was really difficult and I didn’t think I understood it, but I must have because I found the test really easy.’

  Ms Cerise gripped the sides of her desk with her fingers. Such was her fury, the tips of her fingernails sank into the wood. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ she howled. ‘Tell me, how did you do it?’

  But before Frank could answer, Melanie Spoons announced, ‘Miss, I’ve finished too.’

  ‘And me,’ added Jack Pittwoman.

  ‘It was easy, Miss,’ chirped Fenella Frat.

  One by one, everyone in the class put up their hand and said they were finished. Everyone, that is, apart from Reece Blanket.

 
It was truly wonderful to watch Ms Cerise, the malicious, spiteful, cruel kleptomaniac, struggling to understand what was going on. This was her classroom, where she decided what miseries to inflict. Yet, in front of her eyes, her pupils were making her look very stupid.

  She slammed her pen down on the desk, splattering red ink on her blouse. ‘This isn’t possible,’ she raged. ‘Bring your papers to the front.’

  She marked every paper there and then. Her red pen hovered, but not once did she use it; there were no mistakes. The porridge had worked its magic.

  In Ms Cerise’s mind there was only one possible explanation. ‘Somebody must have seen the test and given out the answers. Who was it? Who’s the cheat?’ She scanned the classroom, looking for a culprit. Inevitably, her eyes stopped on Milk.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about this, do you?’ she sneered, accusingly.

  ‘No, Ms Cerise. How could I?’

  ‘Maybe you broke into my house and copied the test. Children from broken homes are always doing that sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t even know where you live,’ replied Milk, in all honesty. ‘And my home isn’t broken either.’

  ‘Well, what is your explanation for this outbreak of … cleverity?’

  ‘Maybe we’re cleverer than you think,’ suggested Milk.

  ‘Ha!’ boomed Ms Cerise. ‘With the exception of dear Reece, you lot are about as clever as a brick.’

  ‘But Reece is the only one who hasn’t finished the test,’ replied Milk.

  ‘Well, that proves it,’ declared Ms Cerise, getting to her feet. ‘Reece is the only one who didn’t cheat. Isn’t that right, Reece?’

  Up until now Reece had remained unusually quiet. He was still stuck on question one. ‘Yes, Miss. They must have all cheated,’ he agreed wholeheartedly.

  That instant, the classroom filled with angry, high-pitched voices.

  ‘That’s not true,’ insisted Melanie Spoons, going red with fury.

  ‘He’s lying,’ yelled Jack Pittwoman, who never yelled.

  Even Fenella Frat got to her feet and squeaked, ‘I’m not a cheat,’ over and over.

  Ms Cerise walloped her copy of Syd Thicke’s Advanced Maths for Really Clever People on her desk and demanded silence. But no one was listening to her any more.

  Milk leant back in her chair, wallowing in the classroom chaos she had created. This was beyond her wildest dreams. At best, she’d imagined that her classmates would do well in the test and Ms Cerise would be slightly annoyed. But this! This was wonderful!

  And then, fuelled by the porridge, Milk had an excellent idea. She stood up and raised her hands, calling for quiet. Gradually her classmates returned to their desks. Milk had become their leader.

  ‘Ms Cerise,’ she said calmly. ‘Ask us anything you like.’

  ‘What?’ quivered Ms Cerise. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘If you think that we’re not very clever, why don’t you test us? Ask us anything you like. It’ll prove we didn’t cheat. And if we give you one wrong answer, then you can punish us any way you like. Detentions, extra homework, anything.’

  ‘And if you answer them all correctly?’

  ‘Then you apologise for calling us cheats.’

  ‘And I can ask you anything I like?’ asked Ms Cerise, negotiating the finer points of the deal.

  ‘Anything,’ replied Milk, sitting back down.

  How can I possibly lose? Ms Cerise asked herself. I know millions of things. Things they’ve never even heard of. I’ll squash them. I’ll make their lives a misery, especially that odious Milk.

  ‘OK then,’ Ms Cerise said, rubbing her hands together, ‘let’s see what you bunch of snivelling cheats can do.’

  CHAPTER 19

  JARVIS FINDS HIS FLUSH

  Jarvis felt huge. He reached down and patted his enormous stomach that sprawled across the kitchen floor. It was like someone had stuffed an overinflated balloon under his shirt while he was sleeping. With a groan, he rolled onto his back and lifted his head out of the bottom of the fridge. A dollop of blancmange slid down the side of his face.

  Slowly he began to piece together the events of the previous day. He had eaten. Lots and lots. And then he’d eaten some more.

  He stretched his tongue out of the side of his mouth and licked the blancmange off his cheek. The soft dessert swilled around his mouth, but it tasted of nothing. He was back to normal. No taste buds. The effects of the Porridge of Knowledge had worn off.

  Pushing his hands against the floor, he heaved himself into a sitting position. His stomach sank down and flopped onto his lap. When he was little, he would sometimes sit like this on the kitchen floor and watch his mother at work. By all accounts her cooking was exquisite. Everybody said so and the café was always busy. Sometimes Jarvis would help out, chopping this or stirring that, ‘to learn the ropes’, as his mother used to say. But as hard as he tried he was never going to be as talented as she was. How could he be? Remember the old saying; a chef without taste buds is like a toilet without a flush.

  But now things were going to be different. He’d found his ‘flush’.

  He struggled to his feet, burped, begged your pardon and went through the beaded curtain into the café. Beneath the counter were the six remaining Tupperwares full of the Porridge of Knowledge. Plenty left. He felt a sudden surge of excitement at what he might achieve. All he wanted was to make his parents proud. To make Carp’s Café a success once again.

  He opened one of the Tupperwares, scooped out a generous lump of gooey porridge and held it up to his face.

  ‘Well then, my little friend,’ he said to the porridge, ‘let’s see what you can do.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Jarvis, pretending to be the porridge.

  And he popped it into his mouth. As usual it tasted of nothing. He chewed, swallowed and waited. After a moment’s thought, he picked out an extra lump of porridge and popped that into his mouth as well. Just in case, he told himself, as his body shuddered gently.

  CHAPTER 20

  GENIUSES

  Poor Ms Cerise. How was she to know she was up against a roomful of geniuses? Poor, poor Ms Cerise. She never stood a chance. Not against the Porridge of Knowledge.

  Ms Cerise scanned the classroom. Who shall I choose? she asked herself. Who’s the most brainless, the most dim-witted …?

  Her eyes stopped on Melanie Spoons.

  Even without the Porridge of Knowledge this was a bad choice. Melanie Spoons was by far the cleverest girl in the class. Not that Ms Cerise had noticed. In fact, all Ms Cerise had seen was a quiet, overweight girl – an easy target to humiliate.

  But today things would be different.

  ‘Stand up, Melanie. Let’s have a look at you.’

  Melanie Spoons did as she was told. Her chair scraped across the floor behind her.

  Ms Cerise looked her up and down. ‘Have you lost weight?’

  ‘No, Miss.’

  ‘That’s correct. You haven’t lost weight,’ cackled Ms Cerise. ‘At least you’ve got one question right. Well done.’

  At the back, Reece Blanket tittered like a little girl. Melanie Spoons didn’t flinch, staring hard at Ms Cerise.

  ‘Let’s try something a little harder. Tell me, Melanie, what is the capital city of Australia?’

  ‘Canberra,’ shot back Melanie, without a moment’s hesitation.

  Ms Cerise raised her eyebrows. Though it wasn’t a very difficult question, she certainly hadn’t expected the girl to give her the right answer.

  ‘Oh, very good,’ said Ms Cerise, patronisingly. ‘It appears that you have been listening in class after all.’

  ‘I didn’t learn it from you, Ms Cerise,’ replied Melanie Spoons.

  ‘Not from me?’

  ‘No, Miss.’

  ‘From where then?’

  Melanie Spoons rolled back her shoulders. ‘I just knew it, that’s all. I know all the capital cities.’

  Ms Cerise felt slightly un
settled. This wasn’t the same Melanie Spoons she loved to tease. This was something very new and Ms Cerise didn’t like it one bit.

  ‘In that case, if you know them all, what is the capital city of Ecuador?’

  ‘Quito.’

  ‘Jamaica?’

  ‘Kingston.’

  ‘Kazakhstan?’

  ‘It used to be Almaty, but they changed it to Astana in 1997.’

  Ms Cerise’s eyes almost bulged out of her head. ‘SIDDOWN!’ she roared.

  ‘That’s not a country, Miss.’

  ‘I know it’s not a country. I’m telling you to SIT DOWN.’

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ replied Melanie Spoons, with a big smile across her face.

  Milk leant back in her chair. Things were going swimmingly.

  Ms Cerise felt dizzy. This wasn’t how she had pictured it. By now she should be giving them all detentions and extra homework.

  ‘Jack Pittwoman. When was Charles Dickens born?’

  ‘1812, Miss,’ replied Jack calmly.

  ‘What day?’

  ‘The seventh of February at 3:15 p.m. It was a Tuesday.’

  ‘Fenella Frat. Give me the square root of two hundred and twenty-five.’

  ‘Fifteen,’ squeaked Fenella Frat.

  ‘Milk. What is a dodecahedron?’

  ‘A solid figure with twelve faces.’

  ‘Spell it.’

  ‘I-t,’ spelt Milk, cheekily.

  ‘No, you idiot. Spell dodecahedron.’

  Of course Milk spelt it perfectly.

  And so it went on. Ms Cerise fired question after question at her class and every time, the correct answer pinged right back at her. Her eyes began to twitch. Little white flecks of spit formed at the corners of her mouth. Her mind was going blank. She couldn’t think of any more questions. How do they know all this? It’s just not possible.