by Caro Soles
“Eyes front, Vanessa,” says Miss Beaumont.
I turn around but swing back again when the classroom door crashes open and hits the wall with a thud and a rattle of the window panes. The class snickers. Everyone cranes around, watching as the boy who was fighting with Cedric in the playground ambles in with a grin on his grimy face. He looks like a fox, his hair red brown, the same colour as his squinty half-moon eyes. “Sorry, Miss Beaumont,” he sings out and hands her a pink note.
“Take your seat, Eddie,” she says, barely glancing at the note.
Eddie saunters over to the next row and slides into the seat right beside mine. He makes a face, crossing his eyes and rolling his lips back as if they’re made of rubber. I look away quickly. Eyes front. Hands folded on my lap.
Every row in the classroom seems to represent a grade or group of grades, and every row works on something different. The last two rows, grades seven and eight, start by reciting the multiplication tables out loud, and the mind-numbing chant lulls me almost to sleep. My group is supposed to be doing silent reading of the silly Dick and Jane book. In my head, I try to translate Dick and Jane into Latin to make it more interesting, but to do it properly I need paper and pencil, and when I start to write it down, Miss Beaumont notices, comes over at once, and takes it away from me.
“What’s this gibberish?” she says, looking at Dickus et Jana in schola sunt. Spotus ex cella est, tamen procul fenestra…. “And why are you doing cursive? Only printing is allowed to begin with.”
I stare at her, outraged. Words desert me entirely.
“She don’t know no better, Miss,” Cedric says. “She ain’t been to school before, like you said.”
“Hasn’t been to school before,” Miss Beaumont says absently. She crumples my translation in one hand and points at the book. “Read,” she says, and walks away. Maybe she doesn’t know any Latin.
Beside me, Eddie suddenly slumps over his desk. One arm shoots out straight, and his head jerks to one side. His whole body starts to shake. The others jump to their feet and move the desks away from him briskly, leaving a circle of free space as he flops to the floor and begins to convulse. Miss Beaumont slips over beside him, kneels down, and forces a thick piece of rubber she takes from her pocket between his teeth. Shocked, I just sit and stare at his jerking body.
School isn’t at all like I thought it would be. I hear Mother’s voice declaiming about the halt and the lame after the truant officer left. How did she know?
14. THE VIPERS
“HOW WAS IT?” Jonathan inspects me as if expecting to find a few fingers or toes missing.
I think of Eddie convulsing on the floor, of Cedric’s weeping pink eyes, of Wanda’s tongue flicking in and out. “Fine.”
“See? I told you.”
We walk briskly out the gate and turn down Bay Street. It’s dusty and cars honk irritably from time to time. A bus wheezes past. We always walk because it’s healthy, Mother says. Really, it’s to save money.
“School isn’t the way I thought it would be.”
“You’ve read too many British boarding-school stories,” he says, “and most of them are Victorian.”
I nod, but I don’t really think that’s it. How can I explain my day? I tell him about Dick and Jane, and he roars with laughter. “Wait till Mother hears about that! She’ll fix them.”
I feel uneasy, wondering if I should have mentioned it, if I might appear not to be trying hard enough to fit in. “Maybe you shouldn’t say anything,” I say.
“We’ll see.”
Everyone always says that.
We walk for a while in silence. I am beginning to relax when I sense he is working himself up to say something. “I’m thinking about inviting some people over on Sunday,” he says. “It’ll be a sort of musical soirée.”
“Like a recital, you mean?”
“No, ninny, this is just for fun. Everyone playing and singing together. Helen plays the flute, and Geoffrey sings and plays the oboe, and maybe we’ll invite Brian from upstairs. He plays the recorder, I think. You can sing, too.”
I am stunned. I wonder why he is talking about this with me. “What does Mother say?”
“I’ll ask her at dinner.”
We walk along some more without speaking. I’m trying to contain my excitement, to rein it in, in case nothing happens. “Would they come for dinner? Where will they all sit?”
Jonathan shakes his head. “Dinner’s too complicated. An afternoon affair will work better. We could serve tea afterwards. Perhaps some fancy sandwiches.” He looks worried.
“Who’s Helen?” I say. I know Geoffrey. He sings in the choir at church.
Jonathan jerks at my hand and begins to walk faster. “Stop asking questions and pick up the pace. Do you have any homework?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think they do homework in that place,” I say.
“That figures.”
Mother is already home, humming in the kitchen as she slices the potatoes. She gives me a small block of rat-trap cheese to grate and asks about school.
“We’re doing multiplication tables,” I say, watching her face.
“Don’t you know those already?” she asks, stirring something on the stove.
“Not very well, and not the nine times table.” I demonstrate how much I have learned, falling into the sing-song rhythms of the grade sevens and eights in the sight-saving class.
Mother smiles. “Well, I guess that’s something,” she says and turns off the stove.
At dinner, Mother talks about her visit to Dr. Hazel. I’m not sure why she goes there so much, or if Dr. H. is a friend more than a real doctor, as Daddy says. When Mother comes home after one of these visits, she seems more lively and full of smiles. Daddy says she’s going through the Change, something women do when they’re older. We’re supposed to be understanding when she gets snappish, but I’m not sure how to be since I have no idea what’s going on. “Just be sympathetic,” Daddy says. “She’s having a hard time of it.” I guess he means about losing all our money and my bad eyes and him being so sick all the time. But that’s been going on for a long time now.
Tonight she doesn’t need any sympathy. She tells us that Dr. Hazel understands her and it’s so good to know someone who empathizes with what she’s going through. When Jonathan mentions the musical soirée, she agrees at once. “As long as it’s over before dinnertime.”
“So it’s not really a soirée,” I say. “If it’s in the afternoon, I mean.”
Jonathan glares at me. Mother just laughs.
That night I want to lie awake for a while, thinking about the musical soirée-in-the-afternoon this coming Sunday, but I am so tired and full of the sounds and pictures in my head I fall asleep right away. When I wake up next morning, I don’t even remember any dreams.
At school, I’m learning a lot of things. Now I know about Double Dutch skipping and can do it pretty well too. I’m learning all the rhymes that go with it. That’s just for girls, though. When I asked one of the boys to join us, everyone laughed at me. But we all play Red Rover, Red Rover. It’s pretty rough, but I don’t care. I just want to be on someone’s team. Cedric always picks me. Wanda’s mad at me about this, but I don’t like her anyway so I don’t care. I like Rosemary. She’s tall and gentle and speaks slowly in a soft voice. She can’t play Red Rover because she has a steel brace on one leg from polio. She plays ball games and can juggle much better than I can. She says she’s been in this class ever since it started. I didn’t ask her how long ago that was. It seemed rude. At recess, she often stays inside even though we’re not supposed to, and sometimes I stay too and we play pickup sticks or jacks and she talks about the books she reads, like Nancy Drew and Cherry Ames. And the Bobbsey Twins. I’ve never heard of any of these, and when I mention them to Mother, she turns her nose up at them and says they aren’t well written
and not to bother. I don’t tell Rosemary.
Friday at recess, Cedric comes over to where I’m standing under the big advertising billboard at the edge of the schoolyard, waiting my turn to climb up to the shelf high above our heads. I haven’t managed to make it to the top yet, but I am determined this time. Eddie is already up there, daring me to follow, his taunts infuriating. Cedric is with some other boys and a few girls I don’t know.
“Want to join our club?” he asks, squinting in the bright light.
“’Nessa’s got a boyfriend,” sings Eddie from above.
“Shut your trap!” shouts Cedric.
“Make me!”
“Not now!” One of the boys tugs at his sleeve.
I move away, following Cedric to the schoolyard gates. “Is it a reading club?” I ask, that being the only kind I know about.
The short girl with the messy lipstick laughs, throwing her head back. Her name’s Maisie and she’s chewing gum. “Yeah, he’s such a reader, eh?”
“How would I know?” I answer, flushing.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Cedric shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles. He’s wearing blue jeans that are turned up above the ankle. His teeth are stained. “We do things, exciting things that take guts. You’ve got guts, but you have to go through an initiation before you can be an official member.”
I throw back my shoulders and think of Churchill. I look around at all the others who are not being invited into Cedric’s group. “What’s the name of your club?”
“The Vipers,” he says, his voice so low I’m not sure I heard. “So you want to join?”
I nod. The name alone sends a pleasant chill down my back.
“Meet us here at lunch, and I’ll give you your assignment.”
“I do it and then I’m in? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he says and claps me on the back. I stumble, but his hand on my shoulder steadies me.
The rest of the morning crawls by. I have discovered the boy in front of me can’t tell time. I teach him. Miss Beaumont doesn’t seem to care that I’m not doing my map colouring. Maybe she noticed I did it yesterday.
At last the lunch bell goes. Chairs scrape back, everyone grabs lunch bags and metal lunch boxes and runs for the door, Miss Beaumont’s raised voice nothing but a high droning accompaniment. In the hall, Eddie catches my wrist and gives me a Chinese burn. This is the third time this week. I kick him in the shins and run down the stairs. I forgot my lunch bag and now will have to eat lunch at second recess.
Cedric and the others are waiting, and we all slouch off quickly down the street. We’re heading for the Five and Ten, its red-and-gold sign and crowded bright windows a promise of the delights inside. Everyone slows down as we get near.
“What you do,” Cedric says quietly, “is just walk around for a while innocently, then pocket at least two things and leave the store, but not right away. Got it?”
“You mean steal them?”
He laughs. “You can take it back after, if you like. It’s just a test. Everyone’s done it.”
I’m hot in my tunic and Oxfords, feeling them all staring at me accusingly as if I’m letting them down, letting Cedric down, the one who said I was tough. I start into the store. “Aren’t you coming?”
“We’ll wait here,” Maisie says.
That almost stops me, but I keep going. Inside, the store looks bigger than I remember. I’m so nervous that at first all I see is a blurred jumble of colour and noise. I have no idea what anything is. I stop and force myself to focus on a display. I realize I’m staring at a counter full of boys’ underwear and feel the colour flood my face. I move on quickly.
In the next aisle, a group of women crowd around the notions section. One of them is buying grosgrain ribbon to trim a hat. I stand there quietly, looking at the pin cushions and rolls of bias tape; cards full of straight pins, snaps, and hook and eyes; lengths of elastic, some black, some white. Thimbles fill one compartment, and I reach out and take one, test its weight in my hands, slip it on a finger. It’s too big. About to put it back, I slip it into my pocket instead. Nothing happens. I move on, away from the chattering women who have taken up the attention of the shop girl behind the counter, and into the hardware section. I think of Daddy, who always spends time looking at things like this, rarely buying. This part of the store smells different. I catch the scent of rubber, of oilcloth for tables, the kind Mother never uses. She says it’s low class, but I like the bright colours and the shiny surface. There aren’t many people here, but there are no small things here either, nothing I can easily slip into my pocket, except screws and nuts and bolts, but I don’t think Cedric would count those. I need one more thing.
I slip back to the aisle where the group of women from notions are now exclaiming over some fake flower arrangements. Mother doesn’t think much of fake flowers. Dust catchers, she says. I slide over beside one fat woman and finger a small paper rose. After a moment, I tuck it into my pocket with the thimble.
At once, prickles of perspiration break out under my arms, between my shoulder blades. I am positive the saleslady has seen me. I force myself to look at a bunch of improbably purple flowers, their poisonous blossoms stiff and smelling of dye and glue. I turn away and walk to the door. It’s hard not to hurry.
As soon as the door closes behind me, I break into a run. The Vipers all let out a whoop and follow me, laughing and shouting. I feel as if I can run forever, wild and free and full of energy, but I am soon out of breath and have to stop around the corner. I can’t see the store from here.
“What’d you git? What’d you git?” Maisie asks, reaching out her grubby hand. “Lemme see!”
“Let her get her breath.” Cedric stands, legs apart, pushing his white hair out of his eyes. Beside him, Leon, his black legs under his baggy shorts pale with dust, imitates his stance. Leon looks tough, but I’m not afraid of him.
My heart slows down and doubt pours through me like cold water. The wonderful feeling seeps out of me, and I feel myself deflate like a balloon leaking air. I wish I was somewhere else. But I’m here, and everyone has gathered around me in a circle. I pull out the thimble, the rose.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Maisie says, disgusted. “What the hell kind of trophy is that?”
I push my glasses up on my nose, shocked by her swearing into defending myself. “Nobody said anything about a trophy. Just take two things, you said. There they are. One. Two.” I throw them on the ground in front of Cedric.
“Shit,” says a skinny boy whose name I don’t know.
I try not to react, though tears prick behind my eyes.
Cedric bends down and picks them up. He squints at the thimble, holding it close to his weepy eyes. He hands it back to me, reaches over and puts the rose into Maisie’s wild hair.
“You’re both right,” he says. “We didn’t say what sort of thing to take, like we should have.”
He hasn’t finished talking, but I turn away, walking fast back to school.
“Hey!” Cedric’s voice follows me, but I keep going. I don’t care about their silly club anyway. The thimble in my pocket weighs me down as if it’s a large stone, and my stomach lurches and growls. I want my lunch but am afraid I might throw up if I eat it.
Back at school, I hide out with Rosemary in the book corner of the classroom.
“What’s the matter?” she asks, leaning forward, pushing her long hair to one side.
“Nothing. Just a stomach ache.” I think of the word viper, what it means, how the real ones look. I don’t want to be one. My stomach churns some more. Perhaps this is what evil feels like: what happens to people like me who keep too many secrets, people who are cruel and mean like I was to Patricia. People who steal. I lean over and give Rosemary the thimble. I don’t even look at Cedric when he comes in for class.
15. THE SOIRÉE-IN
-THE-AFTERNOON
“WILL DADDY BE HOME IN TIME for the soirée?” I ask at dinner that night. I’m still calling it that even though it’s in the afternoon. It sounds very bon ton.
Mother shakes her head. “Maybe next weekend,” she says. “Definitely in time for the Recital.” She smiles across the table at Jonathan. He frowns.
I bow my head. My pleasure in the musical event is clouded by prickly memories of the Five and Ten, the sweaty anxiety, the incredible burst of pure excitement. And the sight of my rose leaving Cedric’s hand, snuggling down in Maisie’s bird-nest hair. The only good thing was that Miss Beaumont made her take it off in class. “Not appropriate,” she said crisply. I smile, remembering.
“What are you grinning about?” Jonathan asks, irritably.
“Nothing.”
“You’re being awfully quiet, dear.” Mother gives me one of her searching looks.
For a few seconds, I’m afraid she can see what I did at lunch hour, will see a wretched thief sitting here at the table, someone who stole the prism even before meeting Cedric, someone who does not deserve to be a Dudley-Morris. I freeze. But when she asks if I’d like the last pancake, I breathe easy again and say yes.
“Don’t give her that—she’ll get fat,” Jonathan says. “She already has a pot.”
“I do not!”
“We should call her Pot. Maybe Potty for short.” He grins.
“That’s enough,” Mother says, handing me my plate.
I feel him watching as I pour molasses over my hotcake and stop before I really want to. I try to think of a name to call him back, but my mind stumbles. “Blooberpuss,” I mutter. I pull in my stomach.
Saturday afternoon, Janet is full of her school-closing activities. We are up on Mount Olympus, hidden by the great maple tree. I glance at the coach house, wishing I could tell Janet about my adventure up there, an adventure that has robbed Mount Olympus of its thrill. I wish I could tell her how Brian was my knight in shining armour that day, but it’s a secret. Being secret gives it a special power. This part of Brian is all mine. And it’s a happy secret, too, not like the Vipers. That’s something I don’t want to tell anyone about. Something shameful. Dark. Like a stain.