Читать книгу Pynter Bender - Jacob Ross - Страница 11

7

PYNTER COULDN’T FIGURE out how a person’s clothes could remain so smooth and perfectly pleated. It was as if the khaki shirt and trousers of the little man had just been taken still steaming from a hot iron and gently placed on him. He wasn’t walking up the hill – not as normal people did – he tiptoed as if he hated the idea of touching the ground with the soles of his glistening leather shoes. Pynter caught glimpses of his white socks as he lifted his shoes and carefully set them down on the patches of grass that dotted the concrete road. The man carried a little brown case under his arm. It matched his jacket and trousers exactly. In the other hand he swung a beautiful stick with a curved silver top. Despite the heat, he was not sweating.

‘Is there a Mister Manuel Forsyth living here?’

‘What you want my father for?’

‘That’s his place?’ A fat little finger shot out before him.

Pynter didn’t answer at first, but then asked the man to follow him.

The man walked across Miss Maddie’s yard and straight into his father’s house. He entered the bedroom as if he visited every day. His father sensed the stranger’s presence as soon as he stepped in.

‘Who’s it?’ he grumbled.

‘Mister Manuel Forsyth?’

‘I is he. Who you and what you want?’

‘My name is Jonathan, Mister J. Uriah Bostin, Schools Inspector for the parish of San Andrews – urban and suburban, that is – as well as the, er, outer peripheries.’

‘A what?’

‘Schools Inspector, Jonathan U. Bostin.’

The old man’s body relaxed, his face became vacant. ‘I name Manuel. Shake my hand.’

The man seemed to be thinking over the invitation. He stepped forward quickly and stretched out his right hand. Pynter’s father felt the air and got hold of it, his hand almost swallowing the man’s. He seemed to be examining the man’s wrist with his fingers. The stranger didn’t like it. He made an attempt to get his hand back, his large eyes bulging.

‘You short!’ Manuel Forsyth said, letting go. ‘You short-breed people. What you say you name was?’

‘J. U. Bostin.’

‘Those Bostins from Saint Divine – you one of dem?’

‘There is a connection there, I think. I’m here to see you about the boy.’

‘What happen, you not sure?’

‘Well, er, my father is from there – Saint Divine, I mean.’

‘And you?’

‘Well, I was born there, er, if you don’t mind, Mister Forsyth, I am very pressed by the matter at hand. This boy here, your, er, er…’ He frowned at the sheet of paper he’d slid out of the case. ‘It says here that he is your son. Sorry, a typing mishap, I should think.’

‘You shouldn think. He my son. What he done?’

‘Turned truant, I believe, aided and abetted by yourself.’

‘Pynter, get a chair for ’im.’

Bostin placed the brown case on the seat of the chair and the stick beside it. Pynter could see that the silver handle on the stick was the head of a lion. Bostin reached into his right pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He wiped not just the seat of the chair but also the back. Finally, with a smooth and curious sideways movement, he took up his things and slid onto the chair.

‘Well, er, yes. It has been brought to my attention that in relation to the education of this boy, and you might be quite unaware of it, you are contravening the law.’

‘Which law?’ His father seemed almost pleased with the man.

Bostin creased his forehead. ‘The law of the land, Mister, er, Forsyth. The one that bequeaths me the powers to bring this matter to your attention and to take the necessary action if my recommendations are not adhered to by yourself and …’

‘Which law you talkin ’bout, passed when, by who, under which sub-section of which article of which Act?’

‘Well, er, we don’t have an Education Act, per se, but …’

‘Then we don’t have no law which kin force me to send my child to school. That is why you come – not so?’

‘You kin say so.’

‘Is so or is not so?’

‘Depends on how you interpret the matter.’ The man lifted his case and placed it on his lap.

‘You a very frustratin fella, y’know dat?’ Manuel Forsyth had pushed himself forward in the chair. ‘You come here to tell me I breakin a law dat don’t exist an’ threaten me in my own house. I have a mind to report you to the head pusson in your place an’ make you lose your job!’

‘I am the head person, Mister Forsyth. You’ll have to, er, report my misdemeanours to me!’

‘Good. I’ll make you fire yourself then. You finish your business with me?’

‘No, sir.’ The man slipped his hand into his case and eased out a green notebook. He studied it for a moment. ‘Truancy is a punishable offence in, er, the, er,’ the notebook moved closer to his face, ‘in the case where parents have been informed and they persist in, er, withholding the subject of the enquiry from going to school.’

His father laughed. ‘Tell me, Bostin, what is de definition of truancy?’

‘Pardon me?’ Bostin wiped his brow.

‘Define truancy fo’ me.’ Manuel Forsyth was directing a kindly gaze in his direction.

Bostin folded the handerkerchief and dropped it on his lap. ‘I don’ wan’ no argument, sah! I jus’ doin my job, okay? Is confusion I tryin to avoid right now.’

‘Truancy occur in instances where – you lissenin?’

Missa Bostin nodded, sourly.

‘He lissenin, Pa,’ Pynter cut in gently.

‘Good! Truancy is when a child, for any kind o’ reason, decide not to go to school. An act of will on de part o’ de child. It imply an unwillingness to learn on the part o’ de child – a voluntary act of self-deprivation. You agree?’

‘I hearin you.’

‘Well, let me inform you that Pynter don’t need to go to no school. It is I who decide not to send ’im.’

‘Can you say that again?’

‘Pa, he writing down what you say in a lil green book.’

‘Let ’im write! I got a lot more for Mister Bostin to write down. I hope your book big enough. Tell dem fools who send you that de purpose of schoolin is to learn – to be educated. It don’t have no other reason for goin to school. Now once I kin prove dat Pynter here is not missing out on his education, you don’t have no case in a court of law against me. In fact, I would like for you to take me to court so’z I kin make a fool of every single one of you. Then I will take y’all to court for taking me to court and causing me a whole heap of stress I didn ask for. You out of place to come here in my house and call my child a truant. What I really want to know is who report me to you. Who do it?’

‘I cannot expose that, sir.’

‘I hope to God dat is not who I think it is. Pynter, get me the Bible. You a believer, Bostin?’

‘A regular churchgoer and a family man, sir.’

‘Well, listen to the boy read and be blessed at de same time. C’mon, Pynter – Matthew, chapter uh, lemme see, seven. Yep! Matthew, chapter seven – start from verse three.’

Pynter took the book and threw the man a sympathetic glance. He began to read. ‘“And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?”’

‘Skip verse four,’ his father said. ‘Jump to five and six.’

‘“Thou hypocrite,”’ Pynter continued, ‘“first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother’s eye. Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you.”’

‘Good.’ Manuel Forsyth smacked his lips. ‘You see my boy can read and with feeling besides.’

Mister Bostin pulled out his handkerchief and sopped his forehead. He gave Pynter a hard sideways glance. ‘You numerate?’

‘Yes, he kin count,’ Manuel Forsyth said.

Mister Bostin turned the back of his right hand towards his face and examined his fingers. The nails were cut very low, except the little finger, which sprouted a long and curving outgrowth that he was clearly proud of.

‘Well, I’m reasonably satisfied that he’s doing something. I must refer the matter, though. A daily diet of the Bible may be just the, er, thing – morally, that is – but to school the boy must go. That’s what my job dictate.’

‘You mean, I waste all this time arguing with you?’

The man got up. For the first time he smiled. Pynter was surprised at the brightness of it. ‘That’s for you to decide, sir.’

‘I’ll fight every one o’ you in court.’

‘You’ll hear from me, Mister Forsyth. Follow me, boy.’

‘Half-edicated jackass.’

Pynter looked quickly at the man and then back at his father. His lips were moving angrily. Bostin paused as if he were about to say something. He thought better of it and tiptoed out of the bedroom.

The man turned to face Pynter on the steps. His voice was almost a whisper. ‘Talk the truth now, lil fella, you really want to go on like that? The truth!’

‘For now.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yup.’

‘How come?’

‘Iz all he got right now.’

The man nodded. ‘How old you say you is?’

‘I didn say how old I is. I almos’ ten.’

‘Ten?’

‘Almos’.’

‘Ten, you say?’

‘Yup, ten. Almos’.’

‘Look, son, it have a lot more, er, there is much more to school than reading books and counting fingers. You got to go to school, y’unnerstan?’

‘Pa say I don’t have to.’

‘What you going to do when he gone?’

‘He not going nowhere.’

‘Everybody got to go somewhere. He ought to be preparing you for that.’

‘Don’ unnerstan.’

‘S’all right. Tell me, where’s your modder?’

‘Home.’

‘Home where?’

‘Where she live.’

He pulled a page out of his notebook and wrote quickly.

‘Give this to her. It got my name, place of employ and the name of the person – Miss Lucas, the headmistress in Saint Divine Catholic School. Come September, I want her to take you to that school and give this paper to her. It got to be September. Or you’ll miss your chance.’

‘What chance?’

‘The one I would have given my eye teeth for. Promise me you going give her.’

‘Okay.’

‘Come September, I’ll be checking up on you pussnally.’

‘Who call you to come here – Miss Maddie?’

Mister Bostin rested puzzled eyes on him. ‘S’far as I could tell, ’twasn’t a woman. He say that you his uncle.’

Department of Education Division of the Ministry of Internal and Related Affairs San Andrews 12th July 1965

Mr. Manuel Forsyth

Upper Old Hope

Parish of Old Hope San Andrews

Dear Sir, This is to confirm our conversation at your residence on May 15th of this year in which you stated your decision to keep your son and minor …

‘Pa, what minor mean?’

‘Go on, read the letter.’

… your son and minor Pynter Bender from school. After much deliberation I have decided …

‘He decide! Who he think he is?’

I have decided that it is not in the best interest of the child in question to be exposed solely to the literature available at your residence.

‘He goin to burn in hell fo’ that. Condemning God word!’

In view of the above observation and consistent with the powers vested in me, Jonathan Uriah Bostin, Schools Inspector, San Andrews Division of the Associated State and its environs …

‘If fancy title was money, he would be a rich man. Read that part again fo’ me!’

‘It long!’

‘Read it, boy!’

In view of the above observation …

‘Pure wind! Fart – that’s what it is. Read de rest fo’ me.’

… I have agreed with the relevant authority to enrol the minor, Pynter Bender …

‘Pa, what’s a minor?’

‘You.’

‘What it mean?’

‘A lil boy.’

‘And how you call a lil girl?’

‘A minor. Finish de letter, child!’

… to enrol the minor, Pynter Bender, in the Saint Divine Catholic …

‘And he claim to be a man o’ God!’

… Catholic School from first September. Failing which and without valid reasons, said authority reserves the right to proceed legally against you .

‘You mus’ never learn to write like that man, y’hear me?’

‘Why?’

‘S’not natural.’

‘Why?’

‘Say what you have to say and finish it. Always.’

‘Why?’

‘It help to keep life simple.’

‘How?’

‘Stop bothering me, boy.’