The Dead School

by Patrick McCabe

  It is time for art and this week in art we are doing collage said Malachy, busy as a bee talking away to himself. Now I must be extra careful because unless you know exactly what you are doing things can go wrong in art class. Very wrong indeed and we don’t want that now do we, we most certainly do not. Of course you can make all the preparations in the world, you could be up from now to doomsday getting this ready and that ready but no matter what you do you can always be sure that in the end something will go wrong – that is one sure thing with art class. No matter what you do. Teacher, I got paint all over my jumper. Teacher, I did. My mammy will kill me. Then you have to spend the morning cleaning him don’t you in case little old Mammy will come down complaining to Mr Bell who of course would be on top of us like a ton of bricks. However, there was going to be none of that this morning. None of it at all – Malachy couldn’t believe it! He really couldn’t. The class tidied up beautifully and when they were all settled he said, ‘Now we will go on to our essay which this week is called Gathering Blackberries.’

  He had never seen Stephen so quiet. He was as good as gold, sitting up straight at his desk with his lips together and not so much as a sound out of him. There was a shaft of sunlight in the centre of the room and steam rising up past the window. This was a wonderful school. The best school in the world. Everything had worked out fine. Marion and him were having a few problems here and there – so what! Everyone had those from time to time for God’s sake! Especially when you moved in together for the first time, not to mention both starting new jobs. Problems were only natural. If you were to get yourself into a state every time you ran into a bit of a difficulty with the person you were living with – well I mean you might as well forget it! He hadn’t a thing to worry about.

  The class had really good fun outlining the essay. He drew a picture on the blackboard, little stick men coming over the hill with cans of blackberries. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse my drawings, children. I’m no Van Gogh!’ he said. The kiddies laughed and carried on with their sentences. You could have heard a pin drop they were so attentive.

  Then there was a knock on the door and Mr Bell came in. He was carrying a bundle of papers and his cheeks were purple. He looked at Malachy. Malachy smiled. Mr Bell didn’t smile however. He crooked his index finger and beckoned him over into the corner. The class of course started to get restless straight away. Mr Bell fumbled with the papers and handed Malachy a single sheet. He recognized his own handwriting. It was the savings club names from the previous week. A lot of the numbers had been scored out in angry red felt tip. Mr Bell had scored them out. He hitched up his spectacles and stared at Malachy. Then he said, ‘Well?’

  Malachy took the list and tried to focus on the children’s names, but he couldn’t because all he could hear was the sound of Mr Bell breathing and the class shifting about in their seats. If Bell stopped glaring for a second or two he might actually have been able to read the fucking thing for God’s sake. But he wouldn’t stop, would he? Oh no.

  ‘Do you realize I had to go through every one of those again – every single one,’ he snapped. ‘Do you realize that you have messed up everything? Let me tell you for he may not want to tell you himself – Mr Keenan is furious.’

  ‘I’ll do them out again, Mr Bell,’ Malachy said lowering his head.

  Mr Bell removed his spectacles. ‘Do them again,’ he hissed. ‘Can’t you see that they’re done now? What do you think I’ve been spending my time at for the past two hours above in that office or what is wrong with you at all? Huh?’

  He polished his glasses and stuck his tongue into his cheek, frowning. Malachy could feel his face stretching like elastic. He tried to think of an answer. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Marion. I’m afraid she’s going to leave me. That’s what happened.’ No – that wouldn’t really do I’m afraid. So he said nothing. He just stood there fiddling with the piece of paper. Mr Bell went over to the teacher’s desk and trawled the room. There wasn’t a sound. All of a sudden he swung round and jabbed the air with his index finger.

  ‘Hah!’ he cried and sudden fear leaped in Paul Lafferty’s eyes.

  ‘Lafferty! What are you at, Lafferty!’

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ replied Lafferty.

  ‘Nothing, sir! Don’t nothing sir me – I can see you! What have you got in your hand? What have you got under the desk there? Let me have it!’

  Lafferty left his desk and handed over the Bugs Bunny cards. Mr Bell stuffed them into his pocket and said, ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Lafferty, sir – I have my eye on you!’

  Then he glared at Malachy, ‘Which is more than your teacher seems to have – on you or on anything else!’

  He gathered up his papers. ‘Now get down and do your work and not another word out of you until that bell goes at three o’clock do I make myself clear?’

  The class replied with one voice, ‘Yes, sir.’

  The classroom door swung shut. Malachy felt like shouting ‘Get back here!’ after him. But he didn’t shout that. He didn’t shout anything. Instead a voice in his head whispered, ‘She’s going to leave you if you don’t do something.’ He was on the verge of panic when he heard that whisper. He was on the verge of panic because he didn’t know what to do.

  After twenty or thirty drinks in Martin Coyningham’s bar later that night Malachy was flying. Bell? Who gave a shit about Bell! Baldy fucking bastard! Mr Bell? Anyone home? I am gonna get smashed. You got that? Smashed, asshole. By the time he left the pub he was cruising ten feet high, man! Where’s that Joe Buck! Hey, you peeg – breeng me zee head of Alfredo Garcia and I weel geef you one million dollar.

  Ha ha ha! Aw-right!

  He was having a ball. Chuckling to himself now if you don’t mind. The tinkers went up Abbey Street with a pile of junk in a pram. A metal shutter scrolled to the pavement with a jarring clang as a shopkeeper locked up. Malachy looked at his watch. It was still three o’clock according to that. Useless watch. Must have been designed by Baldy Bell. Ha ha!

  When he got home there was a note from Marion saying she had gone to see the Electric Strangers.

  The city was the colour of dishwater. A few papers blew around Daniel O’Connell’s concrete feet. He went into an amusement arcade and played the machines for a while. The man in the glass booth ticked off horses in the Daily Mirror and passed out cylinders of coins one after the other. Malachy won two pounds and then lost it again. He walked as far as Grafton Street. He went into four pubs and had a whiskey in each. He was really looking forward to meeting her and these ‘headcase’ friends as she called them. They could have a few drinks together. See that he wasn’t quite the dull dickhead they thought he was, huh? Mr Frogspawn! Mr Scared Shitless of Mammies and Baldies. I don’t think so. Not anymore, ladies. Not after tonight!

  They’d have a few laughs. That was what it was all about, right? They were gonna have a ball, or would have if he had managed to find anyone. He went back home to Rathmines. He bought an Indian takeaway and ate it as he walked, spilling some curry sauce on his jacket. He laughed out loud. ‘Hey, Mr Bell! Hey, Baldy! Look at this – are you gonna do something about it! You gonna do something about it, my friend?’ He bounced the silver carton off a telegraph pole and laughed as it hit the ground. ‘You just try it, Baldy! You just try it, pal!’

  Rathmines Road was full of Kentucky Fried Chicken boxes and burger wrappers blowing in the wind. There was a fight starting outside the shopping centre. A youth in half-mast jeans defied a countryman twice his size. The countryman kept repeating, ‘I’ll murder him! I’ll murder the fucker!’ Then the youth came flying out of nowhere and kicked him on the side of the head. The countryman came toppling down. There was blood streaming out of the wound. A woman screamed. The youth was on top of the countryman now and lashing him mercilessly with his two-tone shoes. ‘I’ll bleedin’ batter him! I’ll batter him to death!’ he screamed.

  Malachy reckoned she just might be there waiting on him to give him a surprise. Now that would
be good!

  ‘You weren’t expecting me, Malachy, were you!’

  Maybe in her nightdress with her hair up or something like that. She wasn’t, however.

  He flicked the light on and found yet another letter from Cissie lying on the mat. There was a musty smell in the room and on the table a newspaper and the dishes from the night before. As he read the letter, he could hear the married couple arguing next door.

  The wife said, ‘All I ask you to do is to stay home one night with us. It’s not much to ask, Eddie. You’re down there every night of the week.’

  He muttered something but it was inaudible. Then she said, ‘It was a bitter day for me the day I married you.’

  A train rattled across the night sky and he heard the woman whimper. Then, the husband consoling her. He said, ‘I love you. You know I do.’

  She said, ‘No, you don’t, you don’t, how could you when you’re never here?’

  There was silence for a long time and then a slow, heavy sigh as their lovemaking came to an end.

  Cissie wanted to know why he never came home, why he never wrote. She said she missed him so much and his coldness towards her broke her heart. There was a new postman in the town and Kevin Connolly’s mother had sprained her ankle. Please write to me, she finished, please, Malachy. He crumpled up the letter in his fist and realized his eyes were wet.

  Outside the cinema opened its doors and the flushed faces streamed out. Words drifted warmly upward and melted like snowflakes. There was a ringing in his head. He dozed fitfully, waking now and then to the creak of bed springs next door. Long groans. Oh. Oh. Then silence. He was shivering. He knew there was something very bad wrong. He had to get a good night’s sleep. Once he got that, everything would be fine again.

  It was after three when Marion got home. ‘What a night we had,’ she said. ‘You should’ve been there.’

  Then she laughed and kissed him on the forehead. She flopped into his lap and reached in her bag. Look what I got. She held up two tickets. They were for the Stadium. Horslips were playing. ‘It’s going to be fantastic,’ she said. Then she undressed and climbed in beside him, holding him close to her. ‘Oh, Malachy,’ she said. ‘We love each other so much. We love each other, don’t we?’

  He thought of them sitting together in the Stadium, the crowd going wild as Eamon Carr appeared with the shamrock on his backside and Barry Devlin the bass player shouting, ‘Hi! It’s good to be here – we’re the Horslips!’

  Marion cheered and cheered. Everyone cheered because they were happy and he would have given anything if things could really have been that way.

  Psst

  The children filed in on the dot of nine and said good morning teacher. Malachy said good morning children now are we all ready for the prayer. They said yes teacher we are. They all said it together. Then they all sat down and took out their books and they began Our News. Malachy walked up and down between the rows of desks. They had lots of news items. Each child contributed. Then he read them all out. All the little bits of news. The children performed excellently. He was delighted. He could see that everything was going to go well today. Magnificently in fact. And that was the way it would have continued if Stephen Webb hadn’t started getting up to his old tricks. Malachy couldn’t see exactly what it was he was passing over to Kyle Collins.

  He said, ‘What are you doing down there at the back, Stephen?’

  Stephen looked up at him with his big innocent brown eyes as per usual.

  He crinkled up his nose. Malachy couldn’t believe how stupid he looked. ‘Me?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Malachy said. ‘You.’

  ‘Sir, I wasn’t doing anything,’ Webb said.

  ‘Oh, you weren’t doing anything were you not? Well, what was that I saw in your hand just now?’ Malachy said.

  Stephen stared down at his hands. It would appear he was amazed to find them growing at the bottom of his arms. Then he shook his head.

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ he said.

  Malachy had had just about enough of this nonsense. He went straight down to him.

  ‘Let me see what you have there, please,’ he said. He thought it was a compass or something but as it turned out he didn’t in fact have anything in his hands. Whatever it was, he must have put it back in the desk.

  ‘Very clever, Mr Webb,’ Malachy said. ‘Very clever.’

  Stephen gave him a big smart-alec smile because he knew he’d got away with it.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake I’m worse than you to be standing here talking to you!’ he snapped and went back to the blackboard.

  ‘Come on now get the rest of this news down, class,’ he said.

  ‘Psst,’ said Webb.

  Then what did he do only start smiling again. But not an ordinary smile. A cheeky, sickening smile. Before Malachy could get to him, he had his head down and was carrying on with his work. Then he put up his hand and said, ‘Excuse me, sir – you’re in the way. I can’t see the blackboard.’

  He didn’t think his teacher could ignore him. That was what he thought. But that was where he was wrong. For that was exactly what Malachy did. He could be just as smart as Stephen when he wanted. That was what Webb forgot you see. Malachy smiled down at him, then spun on his heel and went over to the window.

  He was thinking about Marion again now. His mouth was all dry.

  Even though it’s cold you can still sweat. It’s different sweat though. It’s like scales on your skin.

  Our News

  Eight fifty-five a.m. and Malachy was in great form altogether. He was paring pencils. He’d been whistling for nearly ten minutes before he realized he’d been whistling at all. His chosen tune this morning was the old favourite – ‘Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep’. He grinned when it dawned on him, then grinned even more when he thought how much of a surprise a certain person would get when he arrived home with that little beauty under his arm. He could just imagine her face when he pulled it out from under his jacket. ‘I thought you might like this, Marion,’ he’d say, casual as you like. He was over the moon as he gathered up the remainder of the pencil shavings and walked over to the bin with them. It was a great idea. It was a fantastic idea. ‘I thought you might like this, Marion.’ He couldn’t wait!

  Then it was time to admit the rascals. He opened the door and said hello to all the mammies. ‘I think that’s the coldest yet,’ he said. They said, ‘yes indeed it is, Mr Dudgeon.’ Then James McCann’s mammy came over and touched him gently on the forearm. She dropped her voice and whispered in his ear, ‘James has terrible trouble with the maths.’ He told her they would be going over them again today and not to worry too much.

  She asked him how he was doing. ‘Is he getting along all right, Mr Dudgeon?’ she said.

  He said he was getting on like a house on fire.

  Then Stephen Webb arrived with his mammy. She was a bit hesitant when she saw him standing there in the classroom doorway and so was Stephen. He turned towards her sullenly. She smiled weakly. Then Stephen re-emerged from the bulk of her skirts. Malachy ran his fingers through the boy’s tumbling blonde curls.

  ‘And how’s young Stephen this morning? All set and ready to go – hmm?’

  Mrs Webb rubbed her hands and said, ‘It’s got very cold hasn’t it, Mr Dudgeon?’

  He said, ‘That’s just what we were saying.’

  One of the women said, ‘If you ask me it’s the coldest yet.’

  He said, ‘Well, time to put the shoulder to the wheel, eh, kids?’ Then he led them all inside. Just as he closed the door he overheard the tail end of his name. Right kids, he said, and gave out some of the sharpened pencils. He read the roll and then wrote Our News on the blackboard. For just the briefest of seconds he thought, Oh no! It isn’t going to work out! It’s all going to go wrong again!

  But he needn’t have worried his head. It went terrific. There was no doubt about it – he had the best kids in the school. And Webb! Not only did he give him one piece of news �
�� but three pieces!

  He really had to say – ‘Stephen, come out here and read your news. Come on now – there’s a good lad.’

  So out came Stephen and stood there in his short trousers and his grey cub scout socks. He really was an excellent reader too, enunciating each word perfectly. He paused between each sentence and commanded everybody’s attention.

  This is what he read:

  I went to my Uncle Jim’s house in Coolock.

  Our cat is called Marmaduke.

  My favourite is alphabetti spaghetti.

  When he had finished, Malachy said he would have to give him two stars not only because he gave us three bits of news but because they were hard bits of news. There weren’t many kids in the class who could spell alphabetti never mind spaghetti. Actually there were three altogether because he checked – Brendan Dunne, Tom Curran and Patrick Jones. So well done Stephen he said again.

  Malachy didn’t know where the morning went. Before he knew it he was in the middle of nature study. Look at this little fellow, he said. He’s called a drone. Look at all these legs!

  Then the bell went.

  Phew, he said, and wiped the sweat off his forehead, what a great little bunch you are – you really have worked hard this morning haven’t you?

  He was delighted as he walked off down the corridor. Not that there was anything surprising about that. After all, everything was sorted out, wasn’t it? All sorted out at last! All he had to do now was go into Grafton Street after school and get the record. He went into the staff room. There was a sectioned green frog poster wilting on the wall. Mr Keenan was practising his tin whistle. He was only learning and was finding it quite hard. He hit it off his knee.

  ‘Damn bloody thing! I have it and then it’s gone again,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not the easiest of instruments,’ Mr Boylan said. ‘What is the song? Do you know – I’m nearly sure I recognize it.’

  ‘Row Row Row Your Boat,’ sang Mr Keenan.