Читать книгу Ploughman of the Moon - Robert William Service - Страница 12

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Just as my class neighbour at my last school became Britain's brightest journalist, so my desk mate at this was destined to distinction. Though I could see no reason for it, he was called Stinkey. We all had nicknames. The boy in front of me was Monkey, the boy behind Piggy, while I was known as Beefy. In my case it was not unjustified, for I was chubby of cheek, my looks belying my dreamy and romantic nature. My rosiness began in babyhood, when girls would ask to kiss me; but their osculatory ardour passed with my perambulator age.

Stinkey was two years older than I. He wore cotton-wool in his ears and a flannel bandage around his neck. He had a suit of green velveteen, with stockings pulled over long drawers. Spectacles handicapped him for sports, though he was wistful to hold his own in games. I figured I could lick him, but he had read a lot and mentally he was miles ahead of me. In class he was abstracted, treating the proceedings with weary disdain. I, too, was the object of his scorn, for he rarely spoke to me. Once he remarked:

"I see you have a sense of balance. You avoid the head of the class and also the ignominious bottom. To be average is to be comfortable. My father says that the boys who succeed are never the boys at the top of their class. I could beat these blighters but what's the use." His father being a professor, I was inclined to believe there was something in what he said. Of the boys I have known who were brilliant in class, only one has made a name for himself. Perhaps it is because they had too few vices. Our educational system seems to put a premium on propriety. The good boys go to the pulpit while the bad ones get into Parliament. There is no morality54 in worldly success. Sinners perch on high seats while saints black their shoes.

Stinkey was torpid but one day he amazed us. It was the examination and the Chief Inspector was giving us a quiz in history. Suddenly this boy seemed to awaken as from a trance. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright, as he absolutely stole the show. Question after question he answered before any one else could get a chance, and always when we were stumped he came to the rescue. The teacher looked at him in wonder, while the Inspector complimented him. Then Stinkey slumped into apathy again and we decided his brilliance must have been a flash in the pan.

He left school soon after, and I lost sight of him. Then some fifty years later I happened to read the obituaries in the London Times and there was a half-column devoted to him. He had entered the Indian Civil Service and become high-muck-a-muck to a Maharajah. He had been knighted and lived a life of glory. It was hinted that he had burned the candle at both ends and had returned home with health broken.

I expect that he concealed his board-school experience, as something not pukka. Our school was a model of constructive beauty and modern equipment, yet to every shabby private academy we were cads and bounders. And we accepted their patronage.

So my classmate became Sir Something Somebody and an honour to the Empire; but if he killed himself in the process, I would rather be a live nonentity than a dead knight.

About this time I had what I will call the adventure of the Corpse in the Cooling Room. I would not mention it if it were not another illustration of that strange compulsion that made me do things against my will. Near us was a deserted building known as the Western Baths. Its promoters had gone into bankruptcy and for many years it had been left to silence and decay. Most of the windows were broken, while grass grew to the mouldy doors.

One day, with two chums, I went exploring around the basement, when under a stairway we discovered a window that opened to our pressure. We peered into the dark interior fearfully, and with a55 sense of sinister menace. I said: "Come on, let's explore." But to my surprise the others hung back. Shudderingly they tried to pierce that evil gloom. "Come on, don't funk it. I'll go first," I challenged; but I could not taunt them into following me.

However, the idea haunted me, and I felt I must brave that blackness or be a coward in my own eyes. So next day I stole away and slipped through the window. It was quite dark as I groped over rubbish and rubble. Then a glum light guided me, and stumbling up some stairs I came to the main floor. I was staring into the huge swimming tank, now cluttered with debris. The light that penetrated the glass roofing was evil and dubious. My slightest move made a startling echo, and I had a feeling that mocking eyes were on me. The very walls seemed to laugh derisively. I wanted to run away, but something kept urging me on.

Furtively I pushed open a door. Beyond was the room where the Turkish bathers reposed. Under a glass cupola that grudgingly yielded a pallid light were two lines of velvet couches. They were mouldy and gutted, and some rats scurried over them. Then I was conscious of a dreadful stench. I was shrinking back when suddenly I gasped with horror. Lying on a couch was the body of a man. His head was lower than his feet. I saw a black hole for a mouth and empty eyes. Through a mat of hair his face was the white of a shark's belly. His arms and legs sprawled wide, while one hand trailed on the rotted carpet. I had a feeling as if lice were creeping under my skin, and panting with fear I fled.

Oh, the joy of breathing clean air again! I decided to say nothing. No one had seen me go in, and I made sure no one would watch me leave. But the sight haunted me. I tried to make myself believe I had imagined it; I forced myself to think that the man was only a drunken derelict. But I could not sleep for the horror of it. I circled the building, fascinated as by an evil spell, while no power could have made me enter again.

Then we went away for our summer holiday by the sea. The vision faded in intensity, but it always loomed darkly in the background. I refused to look at the papers for fear I should read something about it; for I could not get rid of a feeling that I was involved56 in a gruesome crime. I should have told the police. Maybe I was what they called "an accessory." On the whole my summer was ruined. I dreaded returning home, but the time came when I must face the scene of my guilty secret. I must pluck up my courage and visit the window by which I had entered. To my intense joy it was boarded up. I could have danced with delight.

Then one day in school the door opened and two policemen entered. My stomach seemed to slump. Here was my Nemesis.

"Is there a boy called Service here?" The query fell like a knell on my ears. The teacher gave me a startled look. The boys, who had been frightened a moment before, sighed with relief. Every eye was turned on me. As I went out on the floor my legs seemed made of butter. I was preparing to make a full confession: "I did not kill him.... I swear I did not kill him ..." when the policeman spoke:

"You did it. Admit you did it. You are the boy who broke the lamp-post glass."

What a weight was lifted from me! I stoutly denied throwing the stone that broke the gas-light globe. In fact I had not seen it done. In fact I had been somewhere else. I protested my innocence, calling on my chum Silverman to testify that I had gone home peaceably on the afternoon in question. So the affair ended, and with it my last apprehension.

But it was through Silverman I was to have a rude shock to my vanity. He was my chief chum, a Jew boy, brave and bright, but inclined to ironic humour. One day he came to me grinning all over.

"What d'ye think.... Pop's just been to see the Head. He's not satisfied with the progress his little hopeful is making and he wanted to know why. The answer is—YOU."

"Me! How the ... ?"

"Well, bad company corrupts good manners. You're supposed to be leading me astray. You're my evil genius."

"Me lead you astray! Why, it's the other way about. I'm continually trying to pull you back into the straight and narrow path.... But what happened?"57

"Well, my parent complained, and the Head asked who my boon companion was. Your name was mentioned. Old MacWhiskers hummed and hawed. There were two boys of that name, he said. One was the best boy in the school, the other the worst."

"I know, but that boy's father's a Minister. He belongs to the apostolic side of the family; I belong to the alcoholic branch. I've told him I would punch his fat head, but they don't allow fighting in this goddam school."

"Yes, the Head went on to say this boy was a model pupil. He was destined for sure success, a paragon and an example to all. Whereas the other boy was a black sheep, lazy and incorrigible. He was inevitably doomed to disaster. In short, an egregious and unpredictable young pup."

"Is that all? Well, in that case you had better drop me and go with my precious namesake."

"Nothing of the sort. If you're going to the devil I might as well tail along. Come on, we'll buy a packet of woodbines and toast the health of old Whiskers in shandygaff."

Silverman was a leg-puller and he may have exaggerated; but I knew I was in evil odour and the shadow of expulsion loomed ahead. What hurt was the prophecy that I was fated to failure. Well, I would fail colourfully. Better that than drab mediocrity. But the thought worried me not a little. It was the first suggestion that I was of the vagabond breed and destined to die in a ditch.

My last year in school was an error in judgment. I wanted to go to sea. I dreamed of it night and day. How I would swagger in brass buttons and grow tough and strong! How I would come back with weird stories of wild lands! I spent every Saturday wandering the docks, regarding the ships and imagining the day when I would belong to that world of enchantment. But I was only thirteen and my parents refused to let me be a sailor. No, I must go to school for another year. Well, if I must, I would not do a darned thing. And I did not.

My rebellion began gradually. It took the form of cheeky retorts that made the boys laugh and the teachers savage. I became the58 class wise-cracker. For instance, as I was looking up a word in the dictionary I was so slow the Master growled: "It's easy seen you're not used to doing that." And I answered pertly: "On the contrary, sir; it's because I do it so often my arm is stiff and sore."

Another time the Head was taking us in French, and when he asked me a question on grammar I replied that I had forgotten the rule. He said sarcastically: "I suppose you'll be telling me you have forgotten your alphabet next."

"That would not be surprising, sir," I told him. "It is so long since I learned it."

This form of repartee in which I was an adept, did not commend me to my various teachers, so in the end they ignored me. Then I would sit aloof and brooding, often drawing caricatures of them. I always hoped they would try to punish me, when I resolved I would stage a fight on the floor. But the Masters sensed this and left me alone. Besides, it was not on record to flog an eighth grade boy. So I sat in insolent isolation, paying no heed to the lesson. I turned up late, nonchalant and moody. Things were rapidly coming to a head.

What brought about my dismissal was my defiance of the drillmaster. He was an old soldier and fiery of nose and temper. He did not like me, but in virtue of my seniority I had command of one of the companies which we formed before marching into school. For we had a system of cadet training in which each class had its squad, the whole making a battalion.

On this particular day I was in a devilish mood. I had charge of the last company, and as a rule the drillmaster told us "Battalion, march off from the front," but this time he shouted: "Battalion, march off from the rear."

He thought to catch me napping, hoping I would get balled up. In my confusion I said: "Company, right-about turn." They obeyed. Then suddenly I realized: Here I am, master of this company. I can make them do what I will. I regained my nerve. I would do something audacious. At first I thought I would order them into the street, so I gave the command: "Quick march." I could see they59 sensed some fun, they obeyed so readily. I gave them a left turn, flanking the battalion, then a right turn in front, and was wondering what to do next when I was aware of the Sergeant shouting at me. I turned to see him coming for me, his eyes blazing with fury. Now, I thought, he'll take over my company and disgrace me. How to save myself?

Right in front was a low building with the sign: "W.C." in big letters. Then I had an inspiration. "Left turn," I yelled. They needed no second bidding. An order was an order. Joyfully they marched forward and ended up, laughing and tumbling, in the heart of the school latrine.

Then I turned to the Sergeant. "Awfully sorry, sir. Lost my head. Piled my squad up in the privy. I am unworthy to command. I resign my position."

But the Sergeant made a complaint to the Head and I was called on the mat. He looked at me thoughtfully:

"You do not seem to be doing much good here." I cordially agreed. "Well, if you do not want to learn we cannot force you. But it seems a pity you should be wasting your time. No doubt there is some other sphere of action that must be worthy of your abilities. Perhaps it might be better if you ceased coming." He was sensibly sweet about it. It was really expulsion with kid gloves.

So ended my school days. I was glad, for I was eager for the adventure of life. I have never gone back to my old school. Some day I may revisit it. I can see myself addressing the senior pupils and giving them a pep talk on success in life. I will tell them not to be lazy and disobedient, as I was, and point to myself as a horrible example of how I failed to be a bright business man and a respectable citizen. I hope they will take my homily to heart and follow in the sober path of their fathers.