The Mudskipper Cup

by Christopher Cummings

  “Thanks for being judge Sir,” Graham said. He didn’t want Jennifer to leave. He looked at her and she smiled at him.

  She said, “It was a good race Graham. And even if you didn’t win, your model is much better made than Peter’s.”

  Peter snorted. “I like that!”

  Graham was speechless with pleasure. As he watched Jennifer walk away, his heart seemed to swell up and pound. He did not notice the pursed lips of his sister; or the hurt look in Margaret’s eyes.

  The group went back to discussing the sailing race. To the relief of the boys Carmen and the other girls went off to say goodbye to Jennifer and then sat in a group under a tree near the picnic things.

  “Where do we get the boats?” Peter asked.

  “The navy cadets have some,” Simmo suggested.

  “They might let us have one, seeing as we are all navy cadets; but I doubt if they will loan one to you blokes,” Andrew said.

  “We might be able to hire one,” Peter suggested.

  They discussed this for a while. Parents then made noises about going home which ended the debate.

  “We can talk about it at school,” Peter said.

  The picnic was packed up, model ships collected, and they made their way to the cars. Graham said very little on the way home. He felt dejected and physically exhausted. Thus he was in no mood for Kylie’s attack on him in the workshop under the house.

  “Stop flirting with Jennifer!” she snapped.

  “Why should I?” Graham retorted, his temper flaring. “It’s none of your business.”

  “It is my business. Margaret is my friend.”

  “Well she’s not my friend, and I’m not going steady with her. I’m not bloody married to her!” Graham shouted angrily.

  “But she loves you!” Kylie cried. “Oh! Boys are so cruel; and so stupid!” She stormed out of the room leaving Graham feeling like an emotional wreck.

  “Nothing goes right for me!” he cried. He tried to remove some weed from the rigging of his model. It wouldn’t disentangle. In a fit of temper he yanked at it. The cotton rigging snapped. This put Graham into an even fouler mood. For an instant his temper blazed to white heat. He swore and struck at the model.

  Instantly he regretted it. The blow snapped more cords and split the main top gallant mast. He stared at it in anger and dismay. Then uncontrollable tears began to flow down his cheeks and he slumped down in his chair and sobbed.

  CHAPTER 8

  MAX

  As soon as he got to school on Monday, Graham knew it was going to be an awful week. End of Semester exams were scheduled for almost every day; and he wasn’t looking forward to any of them. The exams had the further side-effect that none of his friends wanted to talk. They were seized by a frantic urge to cram. Graham had already mentally resigned himself to failure so he just sat and brooded.

  The first exam was English. Graham hated it. He had not read the set book, or studied the prescribed poems and as for parsing and grammar! Even the writing of a creative piece left him feeling as though it was all just bluff and bombast. It was a relief to leave the room although the knowledge that there was worse to come was something he uneasily tried to push out of his mind.

  At least with the initial hurdle over his friends were more inclined to talk. The four who comprised ‘the hiking team’: Graham, Peter, Stephen and Roger, always sat in the same place. Roger, although only a Year 8, was tolerated because he was almost the same age.

  They were joined by Max Pulford, a wiry, black-haired boy with a long thin face and an olive complexion. He was also in their Scout troop, was in Year 9 as well, and was the third player in the ‘modern’ game of ‘Battleships’.

  Graham asked, “Have we got ourselves a boat yet for this race against Collins and his crew?”

  “No, not yet,” Peter replied. Usually Graham was the leader of the group but with his current low morale, and the defeat of the previous day, the mantle had passed to Peter.

  “Who is going to be our crew?” Graham asked.

  “Not sure,” Peter replied. “I’d like to have a go. What about you?”

  Graham was torn both ways. He wanted to reject the sea and all its works, but its call was strong in him. So was his loyalty to his friend. “If you like. Yes.”

  Peter turned to Stephen. “What about you Steve?”

  “What’s this all about?” Stephen asked, pushing his glasses up his freckled nose with his forefinger. Peter described the challenge.

  Stephen made a wry face and sniffed. “Sorry. I’d like to but I’m still ‘grounded’ at home,” he replied. None of the others questioned this. They all knew the outline of the story but only Roger knew the details and he coloured in shame. Stephen and Roger had both become involved in two different gangs. The gang Stephen had joined had dabbled in witchcraft and had been involved in several rapes and some carnal knowledge, not to mention burglary and shoplifting. Stephen was actually on probation from the Children’s Court.

  Roger had got off more lightly, being seen as a victim of assault. There had been a fight between the two gangs in the swamp behind the cemetery and a boy had been killed. It had been a very sobering experience for him.

  “Yes, I’m allowed,” he said. “I asked my parents.”

  “We need four,” Peter said. “Who else can we get?”

  “We could ask my brother Alex,” Graham reminded.

  “Yeah. Maybe,” Peter said without enthusiasm.

  “What about you Max?” Graham suggested.

  Max nodded. “Yeah. Sounds like fun. I’ll be in that.”

  Peter frowned but said, “Yes. OK. Now, where do we get a boat?”

  “Dunno, but I’m going to get a drink,” Graham said. He stood up and walked along under the school to the nearest drink taps. On the way he noticed Ailsa. “Gosh she’s beautiful!” he murmured. She had lovely blue eyes set in a heart shaped face, blonde hair and a very shapely body. ‘She’s not as beautiful as Jennifer, but heavens she’s got nice boobs.’

  All of a sudden Graham was grabbed from behind and picked up. He tried to struggle but more hands grabbed his legs. Burford’s sneering laugh sounded in his ear and caught sight of Harvey’s grinning face. They hoisted him right off the ground and upside down. Graham yelled out hoping Peter would hear. His pen fell out of his shirt pocket and several coins tinkled on the concrete.

  Before he realised what was happening Graham found himself shoved head first into a rubbish bin. Burford laughed maliciously and Graham was released. He wriggled violently and the rubbish bin toppled over with a clang, depositing him painfully on the concrete. As he struggled clear and looked around the first thing he saw was Ailsa and her friends staring at him and grinning.

  A wave of humiliation swept over him. He felt like crawling back among the food scraps to hide. Tears prickled in his eyes, partly from pain, but mostly from mortification. He struggled to his feet and wiped rotten banana off his hair and face. This caused those near him to burst out laughing. He tried to recover his dignity and attempted to ignore them.

  Burford and Harvey were gone. So was his pen and money.

  “Bugger it! Bastards! I’ve got an exam in ten-minutes,” Graham swore.

  Burning with anger and shame he stalked back to where the others sat.

  “What happened to you?” Peter asked.

  Graham told them, then lost his temper at their response. “It’s not funny! You don’t have to bloody laugh as well!”

  “Sorry mate,” Peter said, trying not to smile, “But you've got a big smear of vegemite across your face.”

  Graham swore. All he wanted to do was hide. He took out his handkerchief, hesitated for a moment because his mum would have to wash it, then wiped his face.

  Roger stood up. “Here, let me,” he said. “Sit down so I can get at your thick head.”

  Graham did so. “Can someone lend me a pen. No? What about some money?”

  Max passed him a coin. Graham thanked him and set off at the
run for the tuckshop to buy another pen. As it was he just made the exam room in time, earning a glare from the teacher. He had no chance to have a drink or to wash himself and felt sure he smelt. He could feel a greasy film on his face and hoped nothing showed.

  The exam was a disaster. Geometry. Graham finished the two-hour paper in less than one. Forbidden by the rules to leave the room he was forced to sit and wait. As he did he felt a deepening despair. “I’ve failed this. I know I have. I can’t do anything! Oh what will I do now I can’t be a sailor? What will I be?”

  He couldn’t think of anything he wanted to become. Even the sight of Ailsa’s curves a couple of desks ahead gave him no pleasure. It just reminded him of his humiliation. It also brought to mind the suicidal frame of mind he had been in at the end of the previous year. He ground his teeth in silent misery. Then he stared out the window at the distant mountains and yearned to be up there bushwalking; free!

  After school Graham walked morosely home. His bad mood was made worse to find that Margaret was there. She smiled and gave him a cheerful but anxious ‘hello’. Graham just scowled and grumped off to get some afternoon tea.

  Then the sight of Kylie going into her room carrying a sheet of balsa wood aroused his curiosity. He walked along the corridor and went in.

  Kylie shrieked. “Get out! You can’t come in!”

  “I’m in,” Graham replied. He was astounded to see laid out on her desk the plans and half-completed hull of a model sailing ship.

  “What’s this?” he asked walking towards it. Kylie blocked his path. “None of your business. Don’t you come into my room without permission. And knock next time. I might have been getting dressed.”

  Graham sniffed and tried to step around her. “Huh! Be nothing to see anyway! Give me a look.”

  Kylie and Margaret both reddened. Kylie called out, “Go away!.. Mum!”

  At that Graham retreated. He went to his bed on the enclosed front veranda and threw himself on it. For a while he lay brooding but his curiosity had been aroused. Kylie, making a model sailing ship. Why?

  “It isn’t for a sailing race,” he told the ceiling. “It hasn’t got a full hull. It must be for the game. I thought she had lost interest.” He went back over things Kylie had said recently. Then he snapped his fingers and sat up. “She really means it! She is making a model to prove she can do it better than me.”

  He went back to Kylie’s room and this time knocked.

  “What do you want?” Kylie called.

  “Are you making that model to put in the show?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I look at it?”

  “No.”

  Graham argued. But it was no good. She wouldn’t let him in. He could see Margaret sitting beside her. She looked all eager but worried, not wanting to take sides.

  Graham stalked off and sat at his own desk. He knew he should study but just shrugged. “What’s the use? It’s too late now to catch up. I’ll fail anyway.” Instead he took out a large book full of pictures of sailing ships. He at once recognised the ship Kylie was building.

  “Which one can I build? Or should I just repair the frigate and improve it?” he wondered. He looked at the frigate propped up on a bookcase. The idea of a new model appealed to him. “How long have I got? When is the show?”

  After consulting a calendar he saw that the show was a bit over five weeks away. “Hmmm. Time enough. And two weeks of that in school holidays.”

  Graham had the book open at a picture of a 17th Century ‘Indiaman’. It was one of his favourites and he could never look at it without it evoking romantic ideas. “Captain Kidd,” he thought, “Pirates and Buccaneers. Blackbeard and Henry Morgan. I’ll build this one. And I’ll call her the Falcon.” The choice was determined by an adventure story he had once read.

  Drawing his large sketch pad towards him, Graham was soon totally absorbed measuring and ruling pencil lines to draught the plans. By the time he went to bed the plans were complete and he had begun cutting out the hull pieces, using tracing paper to transfer the shapes to the balsa sheeting. For several hours he was happy and relaxed.

  The first exam the next day was Maths. It was Graham’s weakest and most detested subject. It was also taught by the teacher he most disliked, Mr Burgomeister, a crusty old grump. As Graham sat in the exam room doodling on a spare sheet of paper he wondered why he had even bothered to turn up.

  ‘I must be one of those masochists who like to inflict pain on themselves,’ he mused. He was deeply dejected. ‘If only I had the courage to stay away. But what would that achieve? I’d only end up in trouble because the office would know. Then I’d be in trouble at home. And dad would probably give me a belting. In fact when he sees my marks he probably will anyway.’

  Memories of previous thrashings by his father rose to haunt him and to further depress his spirits.

  During the break Graham went to the tuckshop, then sought out his friends. He found Peter and Roger in their usual place. After exchanging a few bits of gossip Peter brought up the topic of the sailing race.

  “I wish you hadn’t suggested Max be a member of our boat crew.”

  “Why? Max is alright. He’s a lot of fun,” Graham replied defensively.

  “He’s a bloody clown,” Peter replied. “He’s always playing the fool.”

  “He’ll be alright. Who else could we get anyway?”

  The arrival of Max ended this discussion.

  “Hi gang! How’s tricks?” he said, sitting down beside Roger. He had a packet of lollies and popped one in his mouth. “Want one?” he asked, offering them around.

  Peter shook his head but both Graham and Roger took one. The lolly was a hard grey ball the size of a large marble.

  “What are they?” Graham asked curiously, studying the thing.

  “Caramel Gum Balls. You suck them till the outer shell melts, then chew it,” Max replied, chewing contentedly.

  Graham placed the thing in his mouth. So did Roger. “Funny taste,” Graham said. In fact it seemed to taste like a stone.

  “Suck hard. Roll it around,” Max suggested. He took another one from the packet, a large orange one, and popped it into his mouth and crunched it.

  Graham sucked and tried to bite it. “Ow!” he cried. He spat the thing out and it bounced on the concrete with a clinking noise. “What the bloody hell is that?”

  The smirk on Max’s face gave way to laughter. “Modelling clay that’s gone hard. I made them in Art. Good aren’t they?”

  Graham swore. His eyes met Peter’s and that made him angrier. He didn’t need Peter saying ‘I told you so’ quite so obviously. “You’re a bugger Max!” Graham said angrily.

  “No I’m not. You know I’m not,” Max replied.

  Graham coloured at the reference. One of Max’s attractions was his sister Cindy. She was a year older and a real tomboy. She had always joined in the boys’ games. The previous year she had been persuaded by Max to take off her clothes so that Graham could see her nude. There had been several of these sessions with a deal of exciting but normal adolescent sexual exploring. Several times after that she and Graham had met secretly and they had experimented in naughty but not too serious ways.

  Cindy had then offered to go all the way and Graham had found himself confronted with a real test of morality and moral courage. Despite serious temptation he had said no. Cindy had then rejected him and gone on to experiment with sailors from visiting warships. Unknown to Max she had developed into a real little tart, something that had caused Graham great distress. He had made a great effort to persuade her not to behave like that and the whole situation had immensely saddened him as well as hastening his growing up and deepening his understanding of human nature.

  Graham resented the hold this seemed to give Max over him. He wasn’t in any way mollified to see Roger surreptitiously remove the ‘lolly’ from his mouth and drop it in the garden. Now feeling thoroughly miffed Graham stood up and walked off. He didn’t like being made look a f
ool. “I’m just going to the dunny,” he said to hide his motive.

  On the way he looked around for the bullies. Seeing no sign of them, he went into the toilet. There were half a dozen boys in there and Graham took little notice, except that he was at that age where he was a bit embarrassed using a public urinal.

  This one was a typical ‘piss-trough’ of stainless steel with a step where about six boys could stand side by side. Graham stepped up and unzipped his fly. Hiding his penis with his hand so the Year 11 boy next to him couldn’t see, he began.

  Suddenly he was lifted up and flung forward. Two hands had gripped the bottoms of his shorts from behind and hoisted him up. Graham lost his balance and fell, putting out his hands to break his fall. His eyes registered the yellow urine, mucous and spit, soggy cigarette butts and general muck. His brain screamed ‘Don’t touch it!’ - even as his hands and shoulder hit the backing and slipped.

  He fell heavily on his right side into the trough. He was still urinating and this sprayed up and fell on him. There were shouts and laughter. Graham tried to get up, slithered, and fell again. His eyes took in Harvey and Burford, both mocking and leering, and other faces in various stages of amazement and amusement.

  Instant outrage sparked white-hot fury. Graham scrambled to his feet screaming with rage. Quite beside himself he rushed towards Burford.

  To his amazement both bullies fled. Burford swept a Year 8 against the wall and knocked another over in his haste. The other boys scattered before Graham’s headlong rush.

  He paused at the entrance. They had got away. He could hear them laughing and yelling to each other. Anger began to give way to shock and shame. Graham was aware of a circle of gasping, giggling faces at the door including some Year 8 girls. He realised that he was soaked with urine and muck. It was dripping off him. But only when a girl pointed and whispered to her neighbour, whose eyes went round, did he realise that his penis was still poking out.

  He quickly covered himself and turned his back. The boys inside scattered back away from him, their faces all smirks. Burning shame engulfed Graham. He did up the front of his shorts and went to a washbasin to take stock.