Spud - Learning to Fly

by John van de Ruit

  Friday 29th May

  LONG WEEKEND!!!

  Saturday 30th May

  My father is up to something. Firstly he called me out into the garden and then led me deep into the shrubbery. After making sure nobody was observing us, Dad asked me if I would take a drive with him. Since I couldn’t think of a single other thing to do instead, I immediately agreed. Dad whispered for me to meet him at the garage in five minutes.

  ‘What’s going on?’ shouted Mom suddenly from her bedroom window.

  ‘We’re just taking a drive,’ said Dad in a high-pitched voice from the front lawn.

  ‘Well, don’t do anything stupid!’ shouted Mom, before slamming the window shut.

  Dad and I raced through Durban city in the newly cleaned station wagon. My father kept pointing out dilapidated buildings and saying that they used to be hotels or nightclubs in his youth. He reckons the entire inner city is going to the dogs and soon it’s going to look like downtown Nairobi.

  Eventually, we found Gale Street and Dad drove very slowly in the left lane for about a kilometre before pulling onto the pavement outside Requiem Funeral Services. I asked Dad if we were buying a coffin for Wombat. He laughed loudly and said I had his sense of humour. The light was fading and the Durban sky was dull grey, reflecting our faces in the tinted windows of the funeral parlour. Dad beckoned me to the door and kicked it open like he didn’t want to touch the handle. Immediately a loud bell rang and we entered the funeral parlour to find workmen drilling and hammering and generally pulling the place to pieces. Frank was over in the corner, wearing psychedelic welding glasses and furiously sawing at a block of wood.

  Dad thumped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Boy, I want to officially welcome you to the next big thing to hit the city of Durban.’ He then spread his arms wide and said, ‘Welcome to Frank’s Bar and Grill, Snooker and Darts.’

  I didn’t know what to say because the place was a mess and a funeral parlour and Dad was waiting for me to speak.

  ‘Wow!’ I said, trying my best to look amazed.

  Turns out Dad is a junior partner in the business with Frank obviously being the man in charge and the major shareholder. My father reckons that they have also secured a big foreign backer to help bankroll the project. He says the place is going to hum seven nights a week and turn him into a millionaire. There seemed no doubt in his mind that a former funeral parlour on the dodgy end of Gale Street was the way forward to certain richness. Suddenly my father’s finger was in my face and he was looking threatening. ‘You tell your mother and I’ll wring your neck!’ he cried, before his face softened and he said, ‘Just our little secret.’ He cast a glance across to where Frank was hard at work and added, ‘You know how she is about old Franky.’

  I did my best to look impressed, and raved on about the place on the road home. If I’m truthful, then I predict Frank’s Bar and Grill, Snooker and Darts is heading towards disaster.

  QUESTIONS & PROBLEMS

  1 The name – it isn’t very catchy. The acronym F-BAGSAD is even worse.

  2 What does Frank know about running a pub?

  3 What does Dad know about running a pub’s kitchen?

  4 It was a funeral parlour. (How do we know there isn’t a stray corpse under the floorboards?)

  5 The kitchen is being built where the dead bodies were stored.

  6 If Dad is keeping this from Mom then he must be financially involved somehow. He’s still paying off debt from his now defunct dry-cleaning business. My father says his (illegal) success with Innocent’s Moonshine is proof that he has a ‘canny knack’ for business.

  7 Won’t Frank and Dad drink all their stock?

  8 Turns out, the big international investor is Uncle Aubrey!

  9 It’s in a dodgy part of town, and across the road from Serpent’s Club which has a neon pink ADULTS ONLY sign above its entrance. Next door is an antique pawnshop that appears to be called Best Price Cash Only No 1.

  10 Frank’s Cressida was broken into last night and his car radio was stolen. His passenger window is now made out of cling-wrap.

  11 Frank seems to be building the place himself. This despite being regularly mocked by my father for his various industrial disasters. Dad says Frank is the only man in the world to have made a five-legged coffee table and reckons it’s no coincidence that Frank plugged in his Christmas lights at exactly the same moment that half the province was plunged into a six hour long power failure.

  The only positive is that working at F-BAGSAD will at least give my father something to do other than follow the dog around the garden and repeatedly check the alignment of the hedge. I just hope and pray that I’m not around when Dad finally breaks the news to my mother.

  I thought about calling Mermaid but couldn’t work out what I was actually going to say and even if I really wanted to speak to her in the first place. I’m definitely over women.

  Sunday 31st May

  Wombat has been moved permanently into a nursing home called Guinea’s Rest. It’s quite a smart place and Wombat has her own apartment, which she shares with a 24hr nursemaid called Regina. The decision was finally taken when Wombat accused another old lady of theft in the lift and attempted to slam her fingers in the door. Buster Cracknell phoned my mother and suggested that Wombat could no longer live without aid. Wombat’s flat goes on the market tomorrow. I hope somebody removes the fish from under the bed before showing it off to potential buyers.

  This senility setback doesn’t seem to have dampened Wombat’s spirits, because she didn’t stop prattling from the moment we arrived at Guinea’s Rest until we were safely down the stairs and heading to the car. A good eighty per cent of Wombat’s drivel was rambling nonsense, although she did mention Churchill twice so she’s not completely loony. Mom and I pretended to listen to her gibbering conversations but Dad was overcome with loud sniggering and had to excuse himself when Wombat confused me with her sixty-two-year-old doctor.

  Thought about calling Mermaid but decided against it. I mean, what’s the point?

  Monday 1st June

  Phoned Mermaid but hung up after three rings, sensing she wasn’t home.

  WEEKEND SCORECARD

  SPUD Rather slow moving weekend with family.

  FATTY Drank 9 litres of Coke in 2hrs, eclipsing his old record by well over a litre. Fatty said this was his final Coke drinking record attempt because he had bad gas and his teeth were now permanently furry even after two days of brushing.

  RAMBO Bench pressed 100kg in the gym. This means he could potentially lift both myself and Garlic at the same time.

  GARLIC Stayed with his rich uncle in Johannesburg. Says it wasn’t as exciting as Lake Malawi.

  SIMON Still AWOL. With each passing day it seems less likely that he’s coming back. There’s a rumour that he might have moved to England but nobody knows for sure.

  BOGGO Had to work off his large stationery debt by cleaning out his stepfather’s garage. He escaped having to clean out the attic as well when Boggo luckily found a box of his stepdad’s dirty magazines in the garage and threatened to tell his mother. Boggo’s stepfather took fright and cancelled his punishment. He then handed Boggo a hundred bucks and let him keep the magazines. Boggo wasn’t very impressed with the content of his stepfather’s porn mags and said, ‘It’s quite hard to look a guy in the eye when you know he’s got a midget fetish.’

  VERN Has returned to school with his right arm bandaged to the elbow after burning himself in the holidays. (Once again, why am I the only one who’s worried about Rain Man’s pyromania?)

  After Whiteside had switched off his light and ceased prowling around, we snuck into the first year dorm to shake Plump Graham’s hand and for Fatty to hand over a present on behalf of all of us for ridding the house of Pike.

  Plump Graham couldn’t believe his eyes when Fatty handed over the huge box of Nestle Malawi chocolates and grinned at the package like it was a beautiful woman. ‘Not all of the choccies are spastic colon friendly,’ Fatty poi
nted out and suddenly looked longingly at the box of chocolates himself.

  ‘We’re proud of you, Graham,’ said Rambo as he shook his hand. Plump Graham became embarrassed, nodding and nackjumping his gratitude. Vern handed Plump Graham a toilet roll as a token of thanks and that became our cue to return to our warm beds where a complicated dream about weightlessness awaited me.

  Tuesday 2nd June

  CAST LIST FOR A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM

  The Lovers

  Theseus the Duke Pig

  Egeus Viking

  Lysander Spike

  Demetrius Giles Lazarus

  The Fairies

  Oberon Rambo

  Puck Smith

  The Comical Mechanicals

  Peter Quince Boggo

  Snug a Joiner Vern????

  Bottom a Weaver The Guv

  Snout a Tinker Fatty

  Flute a Bellows mender Spud Milton!

  Starveling a Tailor Geoff Lawson

  There’s a school outcry over the cast for The Dream. In what’s been labelled a ‘hometown decision’, Viking is picking up some flak for casting almost exclusively from his own house. Vern’s inclusion has created the most surprise, and more than a couple of eyebrows have been raised at the casting of both Fatty and Boggo.

  Although I was hoping to be a lover, I guess I’ll have to settle for being a comical mechanical instead. I may not have any girls trembling at the knees and begging for sex, but at the very least I might be funny and attract the attention of a famous director who needs a smallish boy with long legs to play a leading role as Julia Roberts’ troubled toy boy in a blockbuster movie premiering at next year’s Cannes film festival.

  Fatty was beside himself with Shakespearian excitement, and Boggo couldn’t stop himself pelvic thrusting wherever he went. Fatty’s hoping that spending the third term at Wrexham College will mean an opportunity to score his first ever kiss. He says he’s not too ashamed to call himself desperate.

  Vern seemed rather disturbed by being cast in the play and pulled his duvet over his head. He then pretended to sleep all afternoon, but I could tell by his breathing that he was faking it.

  The only disappointment is the casting of Smith in the role of Puck. No doubt he’ll march around again like he’s in charge and a superior actor to everyone else. Rambo already hates him and has predicted a series of unexplained events to befall him.

  If I were Smith I’d take his warnings seriously.

  Wednesday 3rd June

  ‘Sin and Forgiveness.’

  Reverend Bishop panicked when Garlic and Boggo entered the vestry having a Bible fight. The chaplain’s desperate calls for the pair to settle down were completely drowned out by loud cheering and Boggo’s nasty goading of Garlic. After chasing each other around the vestry for a while, Boggo eventually Bible-thumped the back of Garlic’s head, sending him sprawling into a cupboard door. Garlic leapt to his feet and charged Boggo, nailing him in the ribs with a resounding blow that sent a hollow echo around the vestry. Boggo collapsed into his chair clutching his ribs and complained that the fight was rigged against him on account of Garlic having the far more lethal King James Version Bible. On closer inspection, Boggo was right. His rather thin and harmless looking Holy Bible didn’t match up to Garlic’s heavy artillery at all.

  But the wily Boggo then reached into his bag and withdrew a gigantic Atlas of the World that stopped the advancing Garlic dead in his tracks. The chaplain seized on the momentary stand-off and forcefully ushered Garlic to his desk with his own leather bound Anglican Prayer Book.

  That’s when the chaplain panicked and asked Vern to open the class with a prayer. It was clear that Reverend Bishop regretted it the moment he’d said it, because a shadow of uncertainty crept across his eyes and he repeatedly licked his lips while shifting uneasily from one leg to another.

  Vern buried his head in his bag. Then he raised his head, closed his eyes and snorted loudly to clear his throat. What followed was some loud muttering in gibberish Shakespeare.

  By now a ripple of sniggers was beginning to drift around the vestry and the chaplain’s eyes darted about as if searching for help. Vern then said, ‘For what we’re about to receive dear lord make us truly grateful.’ He then shouted, ‘Amen!’ and buried his head in his bag once more.

  ‘Does this mean you’re serving a late lunch, vicar?’ asked Fatty hopefully from directly behind me.

  The chaplain eventually regained control of his face and informed Fatty that he wasn’t serving lunch since it was already 16:30. He then asked Fatty not to refer to him as ‘vicar’ because it was an outmoded Church of England tradition.

  ‘Whatever you say, boss,’ said Fatty and popped a Zoo biscuit into his mouth.

  Then Vern lit a match and let it burn down to his fingers. After the flame had disappeared, he dropped it, still smoking, into his top shirt pocket and then opened his Bible to a random page before pretending to read.

  ‘Sin,’ said the chaplain in a loud voice, ‘is the one single thing that’s common to all of us. Yes, boys, we are all sinners.’

  Garlic looked deeply offended. He raised his hand and called out plaintively, ‘But what have I done wrong?’ The chaplain smiled warmly and explained to Garlic that he hadn’t done anything wrong but he was sure that somewhere in his past he would have sinned against God.

  ‘When?’ demanded Garlic with a rapidly reddening face.

  A look of panic returned to the chaplain’s eyes and a toothless smile spread across his lips. ‘We all sin, Garth. We sin because we’re human,’ he said, and spread his hands gently to indicate all of us.

  Then Fatty argued that the chaplain had no right to accuse Garlic of sins if he couldn’t come up with proof.

  The chaplain grew frustrated with the debate and exclaimed, ‘We all sin because we’re human, Sidney. Therefore, I can conclude that Garth has committed a sin against God at some stage in his life.’

  Fatty wasn’t impressed with this explanation and said the chaplain’s logic was unsound because there was no proof that Garlic was actually a human in the first place.

  Even Garlic roared at that one. The chaplain tried his best to argue back but his strident voice was drowned out by all the cackling laughter. Then Boggo raised his hands for silence and pretended to read out a quote directly from his Holy Bible. ‘Let he who is without guilt, cast the first stone!’ He then accused the chaplain of casting the first stone at Garlic.

  ‘Is this a personal vendetta between you and Garlic, Father?’ asked Rambo innocently while rocking back on his chair.

  The chaplain looked terribly guilty and immediately apologised to Garlic for hurting his feelings. Garlic seemed hugely relieved and said, ‘Thank God. I thought I was in trouble again.’ Garlic then apologised to the chaplain for blaspheming in the vestry. The chaplain accepted his apology and then apologised to the rest of the class in case we were hurt by anything he said during the class.

  Rambo smiled gently and said, ‘We forgive you, Father.’

  The chaplain let us go early without even reaching the part about forgiveness, which is what I thought Christianity is meant to be all about.

  I then followed those without sin into the common room to watch the final twenty-five minutes of The Bold and The Beautiful.

  Thursday 4th June

  The Crazy Eight was assigned to a compulsory tour of the new computer room with Mr Green at 3:30. It was my first look at the new set-up and it was certainly impressive. We all crowded around Mr Green as he showed us how to switch the computer on at the big white box on the floor. The box is actually the computer! What I thought was the computer turned out to be the monitor. The round thingy you move the cursor with is called a mouse (?).

  Vern really struggled coordinating his mouse and eventually had it pressed up against the monitor screen in frustration before Mr Green intervened and banned Rain Man from touching a computer again unless he was watching.

  I must admit it was pretty heavy going. It t
ook ages to find the right key to press and I had Boggo sniggering next to me and writing a rude story about Mrs Bosch on his screen.

  We finished the tour with a one-minute speed writing competition. I didn’t pick up much speed because I could never find the ‘U’ and ‘S’ keys on the keyboard and the loud laughter from everyone watching only made me more desperate. After a late charge where I nailed three words in quick succession I managed a grand total of 19 words in my allotted minute.

  Fatty was the best with 38 words (including 10 errors) and Rambo was even slower than me and only managed a mere 17 words. Meanwhile Vern clocked up an amazing 394 words. Unfortunately, the only letters he’d used were G and H so he was disqualified.

  Before dismissing us, Mr Green said that by the 21st century computers would rule the world. Rambo grinned and said, ‘Not if I get there first, sir.’ Mr Green laughed.

  14:00 An open list for the St Catherine’s Senior Social has been posted on the notice board. So far nobody has written their name down for fear of being mocked for looking desperate, although at least thirty boys are hovering around the quad with pencils pretending to be busy examining the various notice boards. Eventually, Rambo broke the deadlock when he wrote Leonard Pike as the first name down. Soon a mad crush of boys descended on the notice board and within seconds a loud scuffling fight had broken out.

  I have decided not to put my name down. I have no interest in seeing Amanda kissing somebody in front of me and Christine is just plain scary. With the first Dream rehearsal beginning tomorrow and what with me playing a serious/comic Shakespearian character, I have no time in my life to be pining over girls.

  18:00 Boggo said he had written down all our names on the social list because he wanted witnesses when he unveiled his infamous business card plan.