Don't Call Me Ishmael

by Michael Gerard Bauer

  ‘Well, go on, what happened? What happened then?’ Danny Wallace didn’t even bother about Barry Bagsley’s reaction this time. Nor did the rest of the class.

  ‘He was in mid-air and about to hit me when he was suddenly jerked backwards. I had no idea at the time that he was tied up. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t been afraid. Then I thought about the operation. They warned me that it was a delicate procedure. It could easily have damaged my speech or movement. I began to think that maybe it had caused some other kind of damage. I decided to test my theory. I had always had a phobia about bugs–grasshoppers, cockroaches, and especially spiders–I couldn’t bear the thought of touching them. I went home and caught some. I could let them run all over me. I didn’t feel a thing. All my fears were gone.’

  The class sat in stunned silence, but Barry Bagsley wasn’t going to take it lying down.

  ‘Well, that’s a fascinating story, Bug Boy, but if you’ve got no fear like you reckon, how about you climb up on the window sill over there and jump off? It’s only three floors. That’s nothing to be afraid of for a superhero like you. Go on, prove you’ve got no fear.’

  All eyes turned to James Scobie.

  ‘If I plugged in a lamp and handed it to you, would you be scared of it?’

  ‘Der, gee, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well then, if I told you to take out the bulb and stick your tongue into the socket, would you do it? Take your time, don’t rush in with your answer.’

  ‘Course not,’ Barry Bagsley spat back.

  ‘Well, just because I’m not afraid of jumping out the window doesn’t mean I would do it. A tiny part of my brain that controls fear must have been damaged. The rest of my brain is fine. I’m not going to deliberately place myself in danger.’

  ‘Well, mate,’ said Barry Bagsley, standing up and hovering over James Scobie like a guillotine, ‘that’s bad luck, because you’re in danger now whether you want to be or not and if you’re Mr Fearless as you say, just stay right where you are, ‘cause I’m going to count to five and if I’m still looking at your ugly mug, then I’m going to knock it off. Understand? Now these clowns might have fallen for all that tumour crap, but not me. So why don’t you do yourself a favour and crawl back down your hole with the rest of the hobbits?’

  The class took a collective breath. This was crunch time, and James Scobie looked as if he was going to be the crunchee. I was praying for him to back down. Barry Bagsley began the count like a death knell.

  ‘ONE.’

  ‘Excellent start,’ said James Scobie encouragingly.

  ‘TWO.’

  ‘You’re going really well. Need any help with the next one?’

  ‘THREE.’

  ‘If it’s easier for you, you could just tap it out with your hoof.’

  ‘FOUR.’

  ‘There’s no shame in using a calculator at this point.’

  ‘FIVE.’

  ‘Bingo!’

  Barry Bagsley’s eyes narrowed. I watched his hand mould into a fist and the muscles in his arms tighten. James Scobie blinked impassively. The room waited.

  ‘All right, what’s going on here? Why are we out of our desks? Mr Bagsley? Mr Scobie? Are we choosing partners for the next dance?’

  Mr Barker’s voice boomed into the room and shook it like an earthquake. ‘Well? I’m waiting.’

  James Scobie turned around slowly to face Mr Barker. ‘It’s nothing, sir,’ he said. ‘This boy was just explaining the school’s bullying policy to me.’

  Mr Barker raised his eyebrows and glared at Barry Bagsley. ‘Was he? Was he indeed? Well, Mr Bagsley and I have had our own discussions on that subject in the past, haven’t we, Mr Bagsley? Yes, that’s right. Glad to see you remember. Well, I trust that you made it very clear to Mr Scobie that we don’t tolerate bullying in any form at St Daniel’s and we take a very dim view–a very dim view–of anyone who practises it.’ Mr Barker looked around the room. ‘And I’m equally certain that if anyone here was bullied or anyone here witnessed another boy being bullied, they would immediately inform me or one of the other teachers. Everyone should feel safe at St Daniel’s. I’m sure Mr Bagsley pointed that out to you, because that’s what our bullying policy is all about, Mr Scobie. No one should be afraid here. Are you clear on that, Mr Scobie?’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me in that regard,’ replied James Scobie. ‘I have every faith in the school’s bullying policy, and after talking with Mr Bagsley here, I also have a great respect for the quality of education that the school provides.’

  ‘Really?’ said Mr Barker cautiously.

  ‘Absolutely Mr Bagsley has just given us all a demonstration of how he can count to five …’

  Jab!

  ‘… and he didn’t use his fingers once.’

  Upper cut!

  The class laughed. Mr Barker frowned. James Scobie twitched. Barry Bagsley smouldered.

  BRIIIIIIIIIIING!

  ‘All right, move out, you lot. I’ll check those exercises tomorrow and that is a threat. Oh, and Mr Bagsley, could I have a word in your shell-like ear before you go?’

  James Scobie and I packed up our books and drifted outside. I checked our timetables.

  ‘James, we’ve got science next period over in lab three with Mr Kalkhovnic.’

  Scobie looked up at me. It was unbelievable. This guy had just gone the distance with ‘The Annihilator’. I checked his face. There wasn’t a mark on it.

  ‘It’s Ishmael, right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Call me Scobie,’ he said, and smiled.

  16.

  THE UNEARTHLY EARDRUM-SHREDDING SHRIEK

  Barry Bagsley gave James Scobie no more trouble for the rest of the week. But it didn’t fool me. I knew something was brewing. I could smell it and I could hear it bubbling. I just didn’t know what it was.

  But the signs were definitely there. A few times, I noticed Barry Bagsley huddled in a tight circle with Danny “Wallace, Doug Savage and some scrawny-looking boy from Year Ten. This was weird, because the Year Ten boy didn’t seem to have much in common with the rest of them. What I mean is, as far as I knew, he wasn’t obsessed with torture and world domination. Besides that, he was a bit of a brain. I even remembered him winning some big award on assembly once. Anyway, he didn’t appear to be all that pleased about being included in the Barry Bagsley inner circle.

  Once or twice over the next couple of weeks I saw the Year Ten kid handing over boxes of various sizes which were hurriedly stuffed into school bags by the other three. Barry Bagsley would then send him off with some friendly slaps on the back that seemed more like an attack than a parting gesture, while Danny and Doug snickered and looked around slyly. Yes, something was brewing, all right, and in Homeroom one Monday morning it boiled right over.

  Three things struck me as strange that morning. Firstly, that smart kid from Year Ten handed me a note in the playground before school that said I had to go to the office. When I asked him why, he just mumbled something, shook his head wretchedly and left. The thing was, when I got to the office no one knew anything about it.

  The second thing was when I arrived at Homeroom (later than normal because of my pointless office trip) Doug Savage was sitting on James Scobie’s desk talking to Danny Wallace. This was strange, because those two usually had to be chased up by Miss Tarango to get to class. But there they were and Miss hadn’t even appeared yet.

  The third thing was that James Scobie was missing. He was always one of the first in, fussing about at his desk organising, arranging, rearranging, adjusting, readjusting, shifting, shuffling, moving, edging, rotating and straightening every book, pencil and pen, piece of equipment, item of clothing and nearly every body part until his personal world was in order.

  An uneasy feeling seeped through me as I moved to my seat and looked around the room. Everyone else was present–everyone except Barry Bagsley. This wasn’t so unusual, since Barry Bagsley seemed to have set himself the challenge of b
eing the last person into every lesson for the term of his school life. Having personal goals is so important. All the same, at the sight of his empty desk, a slithering dread began to uncoil in my stomach.

  ‘What’s up, Le Dick? You look a bit worried.’

  The maniacal grin on Danny Wallace’s face made me question the true level of his concern for my wellbeing. Beside him, Doug Savage stared at me. His small ball-bearing eyes seemed to have retreated deep in the dark caves of their sockets, as if they were tired of being bombarded by things that they couldn’t comprehend.

  ‘If you’re worried about your little freaky mate, don’t be. He’s fine. See?’

  Danny Wallace’s finger was pointing out the window. I looked down into the playground. There by the bubblers, in deep conversation, were Barry Bagsley and James Scobie. Well, at least Barry Bagsley was in deep conversation. James Scobie could have been a statue if it wasn’t for a twist of his mouth every so often. Then, after what seemed quite a long speech by his standards, Barry Bagsley thrust his hand forward. Scobie studied it for a second then reached out. After shaking hands vigorously Barry Bagsley threw his arm around James Scobie’s shoulders and together they headed towards the stairs.

  ‘Awww, that is just soooo boodiful. Love will find a way. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside,’ Danny Wallace declared with a quaking voice. Doug Savage responded with a snort. This was bad. This was very bad.

  ‘O?, listen up, you clowns. I have an important announcement to make. A miracle is about to happen right here in Room 301. That’s right, a medical miracle.’ Danny Wallace paused for effect. ‘In just a few seconds, right before your very eyes, little James Scobie will be given back his sense of fear. And you can all share in this wonderful occasion by just enjoying the show and keeping your mouths shut, right?’ Then Danny Wallace leant in so close to my face that he went all blurry. ‘Right?’

  Soon after that two figures appeared at the door. Barry Bagsley gave James Scobie a friendly pat on the back, winked and headed for his seat, where Danny Wallace and Doug Savage quickly joined him. Around the class boys went through the motions of talking, unpacking books and doing last-minute homework, but everyone’s attention was secretly focused on the small fidgety form of James Scobie.

  Looking back, I suppose I should have done something or warned him in some way, but what could I have said or done that would have made any difference? Everything seemed normal enough, and though I knew something was going to happen, I had no idea what it was or exactly where or when it would unfold. I did try to catch James Scobie’s eye, but he just nodded once, sat down and started to unpack his bag. It wasn’t until he placed both hands on the lid of his desk and began to lift it that the memory of Danny Wallace sitting on top of it flashed into my mind and I finally knew at least where the danger lurked.

  But it was too late. James Scobie had already straightened his arms and pushed up the lid.

  A blur of wings exploded from within. It was like a scene from The Mummy, Arachnophobia and A Bug’s Life all rolled into one. First about a dozen enormous green and brown grasshoppers catapulted themselves into the air, smacking into windows, leaping past startled faces and clasping their sharp spiky legs into unsuspecting hair, necks and limbs. This led to random outbreaks of what appeared to be the Mexican hat dance around the class.

  Then three enormous stick insects the size of rulers roared into the air with humming, purple wings. Unfortunately one immediately flew up into the fan and was slung across the room, hitting the whiteboard with a sickening Thwuug! before sliding slowly and messily to the ground. One landed with a thud on Bill Kingsley’s back and held on for all it was worth until Bill Kingsley ripped his shirt off in panic and flung it unintentionally over Doug Savage’s head. This in turn caused a strange rapidly escalating growl to rise from Doug Savage as he madly tore the shirt from his head and sent it sailing out the window and into the playground three storeys below. The third stick insect continued to sweep around the room like a Black Hawk helicopter while everyone ducked and dived for cover.

  As all this was happening, dozens of big dark brown cockroaches were spilling from James Scobie’s desk, scuttling among stamping and pirouetting feet, diving into school bags or flying unpredictably around the room like hit fighter planes. Taylor MacTaggert, who sat in the desk immediately in front of James Scobie’s, was laughing so hard at all the ‘wusses’ dodging and dancing around him that he failed to see until it was too late the three large spiders on the front of his shirt. He became aware of their presence only when the biggest one decided to seek shelter under his collar. At that moment Taylor MacTaggert did a fine impromptu impression of a Zulu warrior as he leapt madly into the air beating his head and torso like a frenzied drummer.

  I would really like to be able to report at this point that I coped well in all this chaos, but the truth is, as soon as the first insects appeared, I leapt backwards from my seat, tripped over my school bag and landed on my backside on the floor. When I looked up and saw an advancing wave of spiders and cockroaches heading towards me, I scuttled backwards on my hands and feet like an upside-down crab to the far corner of the room. I was still taking refuge there when I finally looked up to see what James Scobie was doing.

  About the same time, the rest of the class also began to regain some composure and, apart from isolated outbreaks of hysteria, they too were looking in James Scobie’s direction. It seemed that in all the chaos, Scobie hadn’t moved an inch. Now he sat motionless as the last of the cockroaches dived from his desk and scuttled to freedom.

  Finally he lowered his arms. Then he turned slowly around and looked squarely at Barry Bagsley. The entire class stared at James Scobie’s face. A spider the size of a saucer had spread itself over his cheek and neck. When Scobie screwed his mouth around and wrinkled up his nose, the spider’s great hairy legs picked their way across his face before settling like a giant bullet hole over the left lens of his glasses.

  Nobody moved or said a word.

  If it wasn’t for the unearthly eardrum-shredding shriek that came from Miss Tarango, we might have stayed frozen like that forever.

  17.

  THE EXCREMENT HAS HIT THE FAN

  Most people assume that Miss Tarango’s unearthly eardrum–shredding shriek was produced in response to the last of the stick insects mistaking her neat, blond hair for a landing pad. Personally, I think the sight of Bill Kingsley with his shirt off might have been the real cause. In any case, it brought people running from all directions, and leading the cavalry charge, as always, was Mr Barker.

  ‘Sweet mother of god, it’s the plague of locusts!’ he gasped in horror as he surveyed the classroom. It was quite a sight. Grasshoppers and spiders decorated the walls and ceiling and every so often startled cockroaches made erratic dashes across the floor. Meanwhile the stick insect that Miss Tarango had repelled with a mad flurry of hands before she fled down the corridor was now climbing shakily up the edge of the blackboard, while the one that had tangled with the fan was lying like a wrecked umbrella on the ledge.

  Mr Barker glared at the class. He ground out his words like a Mack truck in low gear. ‘I’m only going to say this once, so listen very carefully. You will have one chance and one chance only. I want whoever is responsible for this to … MY GOD, SCOBIE! GET THAT TARANTULA OFF YOUR FACE!’

  James Scobie looked at Mr Barker and then crossed his eyes as he tried to examine the spider spanning his glasses. ‘Actually, sir, I think you’ll find it’s not a tarantula but a very fine specimen of a Mexican bird-eating spider. They’re quite harmless, really.’

  ‘Scobie, I don’t care if it’s the spider equivalent of Mother Teresa. Just get that horrible hairy insect off your face!’

  Scobie gently lifted off his glasses and placed them, with spider intact, delicately on his desk. ‘Technically, sir, it’s not an insect, although many people make that same mistake. You see, insects’ bodies are clearly divided into three parts or segments and insects usually have two pai
rs of wings and three pairs of …’

  ‘Scobie!’ Mr Barker’s voice rang out like a warning shot. ‘If you say one more word, one–more–word, you will become an insect. Because if you say one more word, I will come down there and with my bare hands I will clearly divide you into three parts or segments and then before you know it, you will be flying, insect-like, out that door and down to my office. And guess what? You won’t need two pairs of wings, Mr Scobie. Oh no. Because all the thrust you will need will come from my boot on your backside. Do I make myself clear, Mr Scobie?’

  Scobie blinked his small glassy eyes and nodded.

  ‘Right, now who knows where these insects came from?’

  James Scobie raised his hand.

  ‘Scobie, if you are about to tell me that that spider on your desk came from Mexico, I would recommend very seriously that you reconsider.’

  ‘No, sir, I was going to say that all the insects, and the spiders,’ Scobie added quickly, ‘came from my desk.’

  ‘From your desk, Mr Scobie?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do they belong to you, Mr Scobie?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘So are you telling me that you didn’t put them in your desk, Mr Scobie?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, in that case, Mr Scobie, do you have a theory on how the insects … and spiders … came to be in your desk?’

  ‘No, sir. That remains a mystery to me.’

  ‘A mystery, Mr Scobie? Well, let me see if I can help you solve it.’

  Mr Barker rubbed his chin and paced slowly back and forth in front of the class, turning sharply towards James Scobie whenever a new hypothesis came to mind. ‘Tell me, Mr Scobie, do you think that it’s possible … that the climatic conditions inside your desk just happen to be the next best thing to insect and spider Utopia, and maybe that’s why bugs from all over the globe seemed to be rushing to take up residence there?’