Don't Call Me Ishmael

by Michael Gerard Bauer

  ‘Barry, if you’re finished, you can hand that in now.’

  He took his sheet to the front, dropped it on Miss Tarango’s desk and returned, grinning, to the back of the room. As the rest of the class completed their lists, I watched as Miss Tarango read five amazing facts about Barry Bagsley. She seemed to study the sheet for a lot longer than it would have taken her to read it. No expression crossed her face. Then she laid the paper slowly on the desk and crossed her hands on top of it. She looked as if she was meditating. After a few seconds, Miss Tarango’s head lifted, then turned towards Barry Bagsley. It reminded me of a warship locking its guns on to a target.

  ‘Boys,’ she smiled sweetly, ‘if you’re finished with your lists, pass them up and we’ll just have time before the lunch bell for one more activity that I’m sure you’ll all enjoy.’

  Folded sheets of paper began to rustle their way forward.

  ‘Oh, and boys … just one more thing.’

  The growing murmur of sound within the room fell away.

  ‘I’ll need a volunteer,’ she said, scanning the class eagerly before levelling her sights on the lounging form of Barry Bagsley.

  9.

  NOW LISTEN CAREFULLY

  When all the sheets had been collected, Miss Tarango stood up from her desk and moved to the front of the class. ‘Right. Now, for this activity I need someone who is strong-willed and brave, because he will need to meet the challenge of tackling the power of language. Have I got any takers?’

  I glanced around the room. A few boys put their hands up. Barry Bagsley and his friends weren’t among them. Neither was I. This was definitely a time to be a small target.

  ‘A few brave souls, but what about the rest of you? Hope I haven’t scared you off.’ Miss Tarango’s eyes swept over the room like searchlights after escaped prisoners. I studied the surface of my desk intently.

  ‘What about you, Ishmael? You look like you could handle the pressure.’

  I shook my head and smiled weakly.

  ‘He won’t do it–he’s gutless.’

  ‘Well, I don’t seem to remember seeing you volunteering, Barry, but perhaps I should explain the task a little more.’

  With that Miss Tarango pulled the seat from the teacher’s desk and set it up in the centre of the front platform. ‘Whoever volunteers will have to sit on this chair. His task will be to stay on the chair. My task will be to get him off the chair using only the power of language.’

  A general discussion boned around the room.

  Miss Tarango continued. ‘I am not allowed to order him off, threaten him, hit him, push him, or come in contact with him in any way, but before I walk around the chair three times, I guarantee he will no longer be occupying it.’

  Now the class exploded into a rabble of disbelief, accusations and questions.

  ‘No way, Miss!’

  ‘She’s probably got a pin hidden somewhere.’

  ‘Can you tie yourself to the chair?’

  Miss Tarango closed her eyes and held up her hands. ‘Boys, I’ve laid down the rules clearly. The time for talk is over. Who’s willing to take me on?’

  The reply was loud and immediate. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Barry?’ Miss Tarango looked concerned. ‘I don’t know if this is really your sort of thing. And besides, other boys volunteered before you.’

  ‘They won’t mind.’

  Coming from Barry Bagsley, this was more an order than an opinion.

  ‘Well, let’s just check, shall we? Does anyone else want to volunteer? We can draw a name out of a hat.’

  Silence. Barry Bagsley, as always, got his way.

  Miss Tarango appeared just a little flustered. ‘All right, Barry. I seem to have lost my other volunteers. Come out here, then.’

  Barry Bagsley ambled to the front of the room and stood beside the chair.

  ‘Before you sit down, it’s very important that I check a few things just as a precaution. Now, Barry, this is serious-tell me, do you suffer from any condition like a weak heart, high blood pressure or dizzy spells?’

  Barry Bagsley rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘Trying to scare me off won’t work.’

  ‘I don’t want to scare you off, Barry. I just want to be on the safe side, and I also want you to know that if you don’t wish to go through with this, you can return to your seat now and no one will think any less of you.’

  We all knew she was bluffing, of course. She was a teacher. She was responsible. She was a girl, for crying out loud. She wouldn’t do anything dangerous … would she?

  Barry moved to the front of the chair. He looked out over the class, sneered, and sat down defiantly.

  ‘Right,’ said Miss Tarango, her voice suddenly as cold and expressionless as a prison guard’s. ‘As I said, I won’t speak to you or make contact with you in any way, but before I walk around the chair three times you will be off. You must face the front at all times. If you look behind you, the challenge is lost. Do you accept that?’

  Barry Bagsley nodded his head, but with a little less of his former arrogance.

  Miss Tarango continued as if she were preparing Barry Bagsley for execution. This was no time for dimples. ‘Now listen carefully, because this is the challenge. I will start at this point here,’ she said, stepping in front of Barry Bagsley’s knees. ‘When I return to this point, that will be one circle and so on. By the time the third circle is completed, if you are still on the chair, you win. If, however, as will most definitely be the case, the third circle is completed, and you and the chair have parted company, then I win. Are you ready to begin?’

  ‘What prize do I get when I win?’

  ‘If you win, Barry,’ Miss Tarango said happily, ‘you can have the rest of the day off.’

  The room bubbled as if someone had just turned the air jets on in a spa. What? She couldn’t do that. You can’t just let people go home. Only the Principal, Brother Jerome, could do that. Why would she say something ridiculous like that? She’s mad … unless, of course, she knew that she couldn’t lose …

  ‘Tell you what, Barry.’ Miss Tarango smiled sweetly. ‘I’m feeling generous. If you win, why don’t you take the rest of the week off?’ The spa was switched to turbo. ‘Boys, boys–thank you–quieten down now. What’s all the hubbub about? Thank you. Now, Barry, are you ready to rock and roll?’

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Barry Bagsley with a forced smile as his fingers tightened round the arms of the chair.

  Miss Tarango surveyed the area around the chair. She frowned and shook her head slightly. A strange silence settled in the room. ‘Can you boys in the front row just move your desks back a little … a bit more … a bit more … That should be all right, but I usually like more space. We’ll just have to hope for the best. Let’s get started.’

  With that, Miss Tarango walked slowly in a clockwise direction until she was standing behind the chair. There she stopped and looked down at her hands. We couldn’t see exactly what she was looking at because Barry Bagsley was in the way. Miss Tarango stood absolutely still for a few seconds before completing the first circle.

  ‘That’s one,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Getting worried now, Miss? You’re gonna lose ya bet.’

  Miss Tarango continued as if Barry Bagsley hadn’t spoken and didn’t exist. Her breathing had become noticeably deeper and slower. She moved around behind the chair for a second time. Again she stopped and glanced down towards her hands. Then she completed the second circle.

  ‘That’s two.’

  I looked at Barry Bagsley’s face. It was set hard, and he gripped the chair as if he were rocketing towards the loop of a roller coaster. There was no way that he would leave that chair. Miss Tarango was doomed to fail. What was she thinking? She glanced nervously at the front row of desks and muttered something about workplace health and safety. The boys there automatically edged further back. She stepped behind Barry Bagsley and began writing on the board.

  For a moment only the soft sque
aking and tapping of a whiteboard marker filled the room as the entire class peered past Barry Bagsley’s head to the words being formed in Miss Tarango’s neat even handwriting. Barry Bagsley’s eyes danced and swivelled in their sockets as if at any minute they would spin around like symbols on a poker machine and reappear at the back of his head.

  ‘Eyes to the front,’ Miss Tarango said coolly just as Barry Bagsley’s head began to turn slightly behind her back. Miss Tarango finished writing and stepped a little to the side.

  We all read what she had written. We all frowned.

  Then Miss Tarango stood directly behind Barry Bagsley She had only one half-circle to complete. She looked once again to her hidden hands and then slowly raised her left arm into the air.

  Barry Bagsley watched mesmerised while all the eyes in the class moved to a point just above his head. The boys in the front row sat with mouths gaping, like a row of clowns in sideshow alley. Behind Barry Bagsley, Miss Tarango had the cold stare of the Terminator as her fingers closed into a fist.

  We knew she was bluffing, of course. But then again … maybe she realised Barry Bagsley had beaten her. Maybe she was desperate now and didn’t know what she was doing. Maybe she was a fake. What did we really know about her, anyway? She could be a totally insane lunatic who had escaped from an asylum and was just pretending to be a teacher!

  Miss Tarango’s fist hovered over Barry Bagsley’s head. She took in a deep breath. She seemed to be expanding so that her slight frame towered over the rigid form seated below her. Her eyes drifted up from Barry Bagsley’s head to her fist. I held my breath, not knowing if I wanted her to do it or not. Then, when the tension was almost unbearable, Miss Tarango rotated her wrist, looked at her watch and turned to the class with a radiant double-dimpled smile.

  When the end-of-lesson bell blared through the intercom, the whole class was jolted, as if they’d been stuck with electric cattle prods. Some boys gasped out loud. I was one of the gaspers. Bill Kingsley let out a squeal that would have been right at home in Night of the Living Dead.

  Even Barry Bagsley flinched. But he didn’t budge from his seat.

  Suddenly Miss Tarango was her old self again. ‘Well, boys, we’re all out of time, so we’ll have to continue this tomorrow. Don’t forget your English text for next lesson and your workbooks. Now pack up quickly and …’

  But she was drowned out by a howl of objections.

  Miss Tarango looked bewildered. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Barry Bagsley broke in rudely. ‘You haven’t finished the last circle. You have to finish the third circle and then I win. You can’t pike out now.’

  ‘But it’s lunchtime, Barry. I don’t want to hold up the rest of the class. We can do it tomorrow or perhaps another day. Good morning, everyone.’

  Barry Bagsley looked astounded. ‘What am I supposed to do?’ he whined. ‘Sit here all night?’

  Miss Tarango smiled pleasantly. ‘Well, yes, Barry, I suppose you do, because that was the challenge you accepted. If you don’t believe me, it’s right here on the board. You can turn around now and have a look if you want to.’

  Barry Bagsley swivelled around but maintained his grip on the arms of the chair. On the board was what Miss Tarango had written a few minutes ago–Before I walk around the chair three times you will be off.

  ‘You see, Barry, this is the key word here,’ she said, cheerfully underlining the word ‘before’ heavily. ‘Now, my part of the deal was to walk around the chair three times. I didn’t say how long I would take to do that or when it would be completed. Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow, maybe the next day or the day after that-maybe next year, who knows? And naturally, if you are still on the chair at the time, then you win. I promise you though, one day before I die, I will complete that last circle because, as I said, that’s my part of the deal.’ Then Miss Tarango leant in closer to Barry Bagsley and looked him right in the eyes. ‘Now your part of the deal is to stay on that seat until I do.’

  A groundswell of realisation rumbled around the class like a Mexican wave. When even Bill Kingsley’s face eventually lit up in a rare display of comprehension, Barry Bagsley knew he was beaten.

  ‘You see how powerful language can be, boys? Even a little word like “before” can hurt you if you don’t treat it with respect and listen carefully. Now, before we all head off for lunch, let’s give Barry here a big round of applause for having the courage to volunteer today and help with the demonstration.’

  Cheer and jeers mixed with laughter and clapping as everyone spilled noisily from the room. Miss Tarango had won more than just a challenge; she had won over the class-all except for Barry Bagsley, of course. He sat glowering in the teacher’s seat while everyone filed out so that no one would see his unavoidable surrender.

  Here are Five Amazing Facts about Miss Tarango:

  1. Her dimples are deadly weapons.

  2. Her smile is hotter than a laser beam.

  3. She can make poetry sound exciting.

  4. She’s not afraid of Barry Bagsley.

  5. She’s definitely no Barbie Bimbo.

  Supplementary Amazing Fact: After just one day I knew she would be the best teacher I ever had.

  10.

  HEY, BLUBBER BOY!

  Miss Tarango might have won her battle with Barry Bagsley, but I was still fighting mine. Well, when I say fighting, it was more like I was cringing down at the far end of the trench while Barry Bagsley bombarded me with abuse. And to make matters worse, Miss Tarango’s revelation about Moby Dick had provided Barry Bagsley with a whole new range of ammunition. Now his name-calling had taken on a decidedly nautical flavour.

  ‘Hey, Blubber Boy!’

  ‘Yo, Whale Dick!’

  ‘How’s it goin’, Fish Paste?’

  But there was something even more troubling about Barry Bagsley. He was still burning with humiliation and resentment over the chair challenge. Not that Miss Tarango ever tried to rub in her victory. In fact, she never mentioned the incident again. At least I don’t think she did-not intentionally, anyway. There was that one day when Barry was becoming very restless and was swinging and swivelling in his chair as if he was on a show ride.

  ‘Barry, if that seat is uncomfortable for you, you’re quite welcome to come and sit on the teacher’s chair. It’s padded.’

  That’s all she said. Some of Barry’s crew laughed and made comments, but Miss Tarango ignored them and continued to look at Barry with such genuine concern that no one was sure if she had meant to be funny or was deadly serious in her offer. It didn’t really matter one way or the other. The thing was, it worked. Barry Bagsley immediately deflated like a punctured balloon while Miss Tarango smiled as sweetly as a rose till you really believed there couldn’t possibly be any hidden thorns there that you might need to be wary of.

  The problem was, however, with Miss Tarango out of reach of Barry Bagsley’s anger and frustration, he had to find a closer, easier target. This is where I came into my own. Not content with chewing up my name and spitting it out in mangled, barely recognisable blobs, Barry Bagsley began to expand his repertoire of torment into other fields.

  These included, but were by no means limited to:

  moving or hiding my bag, pencil case, calculator, books, hat or any other possession he could get his hands on, so that my day became one tedious, neverending treasure hunt

  updating my homework diary with obscene drawings and suggestions, often involving Miss Tarango and whales

  leaving half-eaten sandwiches, sausage rolls and rotting pieces of fruit in my locker/desk/bag until everything I opened seemed to reek like a compost bin

  taking every possible opportunity to bump, push, jostle, shove, collide with, elbow, prod, dig, jab and shove me, so that I spent most of my lunchtimes careening around the playground and the school corridors as if I were trapped in some gigantic pinball machine.

  All right, I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I stand up for myself? Why didn’t I do something abo
ut it? But what would you suggest?

  Threaten Barry Bagsley?

  Look, Barry, I’m warning you, if you don’t stop picking on me I’ll make you listen to my father telling his how-Ishmael-got-the-name-Ishmael story.

  Flatter him, perhaps?

  Barry, Barry, Barry, you shouldn’t be wasting your time just making my life miserable-you’re so much better than that. Why don’t you start a singing career? That way you can make millions of people miserable.

  Appeal to his better nature, maybe?

  Look, Baz old buddy, you’re obviously a very sensitive and caring person. I think you would be great with animals. Have you ever considered working with orang-utans? Who knows? One day the orang-utans might even make you foreman.

  Bribery, you say?

  Look, B.B., have I got a deal for you. If you just leave me alone you can have all my worldly possessions–three dollars seventy-five in loose change and my twenty-centimetre-diameter ball of used Blu-Tack.

  Of course, I guess I could always plead with him while at all times maintaining my dignity:

  Please, Mr Bagsley sir, please stop picking on me. Please, please, pretty please. By the way, would you like me to wash these feet of yours after I’ve finished kissing them?

  Don’t worry, I gave each of them serious consideration. But who was I kidding? Talking to Barry Bagsley was like trying to reason with an avalanche. You could say whatever you liked but you’d still end up being pummelled into oblivion. So I did nothing and I tried to convince myself that if I took him on, somehow I would be lowering myself to his level. Of course, the real reason had more to do with fear and the likely prospect of Barry Bagsley terminating my life with painful and extreme prejudice.