Read Spud - Learning to Fly Online
Authors: John van de Ruit
Spud - Learning to Fly (24 page)
17:00 Mad Dog said the reason we didn’t catch any fish was because the water was too cold and Vern made too much noise thrashing about in the reeds.
We returned, showered and once again we feasted.
Amazing how nearly a week has gone by in what feels like a matter of hours. Tomorrow we have our big sleep-out in the bush and then on Friday we leave for home. Perhaps I really should be a game ranger if the acting thing doesn’t work out?
ONE TO REMEMBER
15:00 Dad Dog dropped us off at the gate of the game farm.
‘Watch out for the leopards,’ he said. ‘It’s breeding sea-son.’ He then gave us a wicked smile and roared off back towards the farmhouse. We carried piles of blankets and charcoal, a cool box stuffed with food, marshmallows, jerseys, coats, beanies, long socks and a bag of strange things that Mad Dog thought we might need. Mad Dog, as always, was dressed in khaki and carried his rifle.
16:00 At last our host announced that our camping spot had been found. We dropped our heavy loads and collapsed onto the dry grass where we lay for some time basking in the glow of the warm afternoon sun.
‘Follow me!’ shouted Mad Dog and he galloped off into the bush, barking loudly. Rambo and Garlic lifted the groaning Fatty to his feet as he wailed, ‘Is this meant to be a holiday or boot camp?’
16:30 We found ourselves gathered around what looked like an abandoned well. Garlic peered down into the darkness and asked, ‘Aren’t these wells meant to be lucky?’
‘Not if you fall in headfirst,’ snapped Boggo as he stretched his hamstrings on the wall.
‘How deep is it?’ blurted Garlic.
‘Nobody knows,’ said Mad Dog mysteriously.
‘Could be haunted,’ said Fatty, peering suspiciously into the darkness.
‘What’s down there?’ demanded Garlic again, his eyes wide with curiosity.
‘The bar,’ said Mad Dog, as he felt around the inside of the well.
‘What are you doing now?’ asked Garlic.
‘Bingo!’ shouted Mad Dog and held up the end of a rope that he immediately tied to his left wrist. He then began pulling something extremely heavy out of the well.
Fatty helped Mad Dog haul the package over the lip and down onto the ground.
The bad news was that maggots had eaten away at the box and two six-packs fell out of the package while it was being winched up. The good news was that something had gnawed away at most of the cigarette carton. This was only bad news for Mad Dog, Boggo and Rambo, who say they like smoking.
‘Still,’ said Mad Dog after Rambo and Boggo’s thorough inventory, ‘we got 36 beers and 26 cigarettes.’
‘That’s what I call a party,’ said Rambo.
‘Follow me,’ said Mad Dog and off we ran, leaving Vern peering over the edge of the well and Garlic demanding to know how Mad Dog knew there was booze down there.
17:00 Mad Dog made the bonfire and allowed Vern to set it alight. Vern strode forward with his tongue out and a full box of matches at the ready. I’m not sure if he was already drunk from his first sips of beer or whether he was nervous, but he made a terrible hash of lighting the fire. First the matches kept blowing out in the wind and then he fell over and scratched himself on the wood. Eventually, he was striking about ten matches at a time and throwing the ball of flame at the pile of sticks. Mad Dog came to his rescue and soon we were standing around staring at the flames with the last rays of the sun filtering through the trees and thorn bushes around us.
The night closed in and the half moon blazed away in glossy cream and yellow. The beer went straight to my head and I found myself cackling uncontrollably at Rambo’s impression of The Glock falling off a ski lift and onto his wife. I was so merry that I even forgot to say no when Rambo handed out the cigarettes.
‘Do you realise,’ I said after some silence, ‘that the last time we all sat around like this, was the exact minute before the Mad House was busted.’
‘That’s powerful!’ said Fatty.’
And then we began to relive the old times. From the very beginning when we first met each other over two and a half years ago. First it was Vern wetting his bed, then Fatty’s moment in the chapel and nightswimming and Vern running away and coming back. Then it was Julian and Bert and Gavin, the weird prefect under the stairs. Finally, it was my friend Gecko who should have been sitting here with me, laughing at how wild and crazy things seemed back then.
Rambo’s voice grew softer and he told Mad Dog about Simon’s mental breakdown. Mad Dog wasn’t convinced about the whole thing and said it didn’t sound like the Simon he remembered. He exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke into the flames and said, ‘I played cricket with that guy like every day – he’s as hard as nails.’ He didn’t buy the story about Simon’s dad either and said that Simon never really bothered about whether his dad came to his cricket matches or not.
‘Maybe,’ said Boggo as his finger rose skyward, ‘maybe he’s got an Oedipist thing going with his old man!’
‘You mean Simon’s gay?’ gasped Garlic in alarm.
‘Bullshit!’ shouted Mad Dog and leapt to his feet like his mother had just been insulted.
‘I’m not saying he’s gay,’ said Boggo, looking panicked. ‘I’m just saying the whole thing is suspicious.’
‘What’s suspicious?’ demanded Mad Dog as he calmly picked up his rifle.
Boggo’s eyes darted nervously between the gun and Rambo, who lay relaxed and thoughtful up against the tree trunk. Boggo stammered, ‘Hey, don’t get me wrong, Mad Dog. Simon’s a legend – like the best guy ever. But you had to be there to see it – he was like weird.’
‘Ja, well, I wasn’t there to see it, was I!’ retorted Mad Dog with sudden ferocity. We all fell silent. It wasn’t just that Mad Dog was holding his rifle and looking dangerous, we’d reached a point where we had relived all the old stories worth remembering and now only had new and more interesting ones to tell. Somehow Mad Dog seemed threatened by our new stories and was unwilling to find joy and laughter in any event that he hadn’t been a part of. For the first time I can remember the Mad Dog felt like a stranger among us. It was as if he could no longer understand, nor wanted to understand that we were now different somehow. There was no way of telling him that school wasn’t the same as before, and the marauding chaos has been replaced with something older and safer.
Eventually, Mad Dog finished cleaning his gun and packed it away, but the more he drank, the more depressed and bad spirited he became. With tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks, he gave us each one final rib-shattering bear hug before passing out next to the fire and snoring like a chainsaw. There was more silence now than speaking, and gradually everyone buried themselves under their blankets and drifted away.
I lay on my back and gazed up at the sky. It didn’t take long for those ever charging thoughts and visions to fly into view. I saw Amanda lying in her bed with those beautiful locks of red hair cascading over crisp white pillows. I saw myself running from above and then flying from below. I saw vivid colours and bright yellow lights flashing and then disappearing. And then a feeling of great stillness overcame me and I closed my eyes, but I swear I could still see the stars.
HOME AT LAST
Thankfully, Mom’s fury about my father secretly pouring his life’s savings into Frank’s pub seems to be over. Mom reckons she’ll reserve judgement until she’s seen the place for herself, although she still hasn’t ruled out divorce should this business venture go the way of most of the others. The grand opening is scheduled for Saturday the 1st of August. Let’s hope the place looks a little less like a funeral parlour or I might become just another sad story youth from a broken home.
Dad is hardly around any more and spends most of his time working at the pub or sawing wood in his garage. He reckons Frank is going all out and has even imported two handmade Swedish pool tables and a state of the art jukebox from Japan.
I’m ashamed to admit that my toes curl when I think of Dad and Frank’s pub.
My best-ever report card arrived. Apart from the dodgy E for Maths, the rest was enough to drive my father straight to the liquor wholesaler where he bought large amounts of cheap champagne at a discounted rate.
VIKING’S REPORT
Overall, a fine semester for John Milton. In fact, I am happy to report a complete rejuvenation amongst his year group and, as a result, a far happier house environment all round. While this may be largely attributed to new leadership and tighter disciplinary controls, one may point to an improved attitude amongst the third years as a contributing factor.
John has returned mostly fine academic results, Mathematics notwithstanding. Since the boy has indicated a tendency towards a career in the performing arts, this should not be cause for alarm, although it remains a nasty scab on an otherwise unblemished and impressive academic effort.
John is a lively presence around the house and his warm humour and easy charm make him popular amongst his peers. His warmth aside, one senses that he is at heart a loner, far happier scribbling away at his diary than in the company of the greater bustling group. Nevertheless, he has won the respect of the younger boys in the house and continues to take a full part in daily school life.
Despite a nasty concussion at the beginning of the second quarter putting paid to his winter sporting ambitions, he has recently been elected President of the African Affairs society. It is good to see John in his first position of leadership, albeit in a society of just two members. He also auditioned successfully for A Midsummer Night’s Dream to be produced, designed, directed, and adapted for the stage by yours truly. John is a young actor growing in skill and stature, who stands on the verge of an important theatrical experience. I wish him luck.
Mr Bosch informs me that he has displayed a keen interest in general wildlife and geology this term. He has also enrolled in optional confirmation classes, which is an indication of a growing maturity and a deeper spiritual connection with God.
I am expecting more from this young man in the days and months to come and trust that he will not disappoint me in his endeavours.
Regards
Mr Richardson BA UED (HONS) Rhodes University
SPUD’S REPORT
Viking has made a confident start to his career as housemaster. Not only has he de-prefected Pike, but he seems to have lowered the general level of violence in the house. Unfortunately, he’s had to use extreme violence in the process, which is deeply ironic. On the plus side, he didn’t laugh when Spud Milton said he wanted to be an actor, and unlike his predecessor, hasn’t tried to ban him from keeping a diary.
Viking is prone to periods of non-stop shouting and frothing at the mouth. He should try to chill out more and be angry less. He recently turned 50 and still isn’t married. Nobody is sure why he still lives alone but three reasons are regularly bandied about:
A) All women are terrified of him.
B) He’s not straight.
C) He has an unnatural relationship with his cat.
I look forward to seeing how Viking behaves in a girls’ school environment and if he has a nervous breakdown during the rehearsal process.
Regards
Spud Milton (3rd year senior)
16:00 Amber phoned and asked me to call Dad. I found my father sawing away at a large block of wood in the garage. When I informed him that our neighbour was on the line, he leapt up and charged past me like Amber might have been calling long distance from Helsinki.
‘Don’t have a heart attack,’ hissed Mom, as she placed a fresh bowl of water inside Blacky’s kennel. My father pretended not to hear and didn’t stop running until he was inside the house. Minutes later, he stepped casually out of the house, whistling to himself and doing a very bad impression of somebody acting cool.
‘Thinking of spraying the roses,’ Dad said in a weird voice to nobody in particular. Mom said nothing and returned to the house. Dad then looked at me and said, ‘Might as well spray Amber’s roses if I’m spraying mine …’ I nodded back at Dad, and for some time we nodded together. ‘It makes sense,’ he said.
16:15 Caught Mom on top of the stepladder peering into Amber’s garden. When I enquired about what she was doing she hurried back down and hauled me into the kitchen.
‘Your father is having an affair,’ she said, before conceding that she didn’t have a shred of proof yet. She then accused Dad of having a permanent midlife crisis and called Amber a dolled-up man-eating bimbo. My mother’s voice faded to a whisper as she offered to double my pocket money if I spied on my own father.
I refused.
Later I went riding and re-imagined arriving at Wrexham, and suddenly felt nervous and excited, but more nervous.
Mermaid called to congratulate me on my exam results. She then invited me out to dinner with her and Gavin at his parents’ house. ‘I’m dying for you to meet his mom and dad,’ she said, as if I may find that experience hugely exhilarating. I quickly told her I was going out with friends and she sounded surprised. We agreed that we would see each other next Friday for the official pub opening and she blew me a friendly kiss over the phone.
Why does she keep inviting me to hang out with her boyfriend? What does he really think? Surely Gavin should be jealous of me? If he isn’t jealous, then why not? (It should be remembered that Gavin is, after all, an evangelical cricket umpire so truly anything is possible.)
This also means I won’t escape the Mermaid this holiday. Let’s hope she’s suddenly developed a beer gut or a bad case of acne. Most of all, I hope her breasts have shrunk, so that I don’t have to feel them rubbing up against my chest when I hug her. I deeply regret promising her that we would be best friends for life. What was I thinking? (Major schoolboy error.)
Dad has banned everyone from seeing the pub until it’s finished – he maintains it already looks fantastic. One week until the official opening, and I’m beginning to worry about my father’s sanity and marriage should this go the way of all his other business ventures.