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First published by Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd 2007
Published in this edition 2009
1
Text copyright © John van de Ruit, 2007
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-194006-9
PENGUIN BOOKS
John van de Ruit was born in Durban, South Africa. He went to the University of Natal where he completed a Masters degree in Drama and Performance. Since 1998 he has been a professional actor, playwright and producer, winning numerous awards. His first novel, Spud, has become an international award-winning bestseller, and the fastest selling book in South Africa’s publishing history.
Spud
Spud – The Madness Continues…
For Barry Emberton, a man of mirth, who
mastered the art of casting backwards
and
For Barbara Jean Ellis (my Wombat)
My thanks to all the wonderful Penguins, who march relentlessly. My thanks especially to my editor, Alison Lowry, who led me along the stony path like a chilled out honeyguide and made sure that the Madness didn’t continue forever. To Sue Clarence for her help on the London adventure. To Anthony Stonier for a classic Wombat story. To my family and friends – my deepest apologies for the times when I didn’t return your calls or respond to your emails. To Benny V for his friendship, support and creative energy. Thanks also to Patrick Bond, Mickey Moegoe and the gentlemen of the Pimp’s Paradise. Also the wildcats – Strangely Grey, Two-Tone and Godot – who allowed themselves to be gentled, and to Zog, Potato and family, who made me laugh and feel like a child again. Thanks to my old school – for seeing the funny side and to Dionne Redfern for her support. Once again, apologies to Guy Emberton, who continues to get menacing looks from old ladies in his home town, and to Richy (the royalties are in the post, china!). To Julia: thanks for your love and laughter and for reading The Madness… in nightly instalments.
Finally, I would like to thank all of you who read and laughed and remembered. You reminded me that in this beautiful country nothing is impossible.
TOWN HILL (THE BEGINNING…)
13:35 Dad sat back in the driver’s seat, surveyed the road in front of him, and then screamed so loudly that the keys fell out of the ignition. Once the screaming had died down a long and disturbing silence descended on the infamous lime green Milton station wagon.
Dad had been playing his Carpenters tape at full blast and hadn’t felt the terrible shuddering as our un-trusty old Renault chugged up Town Hill towards school. Suddenly, halfway through the second chorus of I’m On Top of the World, an earthquake struck the green machine. The back right tyre was so flat that the rim was sticking through the rubber. Dad did his usual whistle, nodded at the shredded tyre, and announced that we had a puncture. He then grinned at me and said he’d been changing tyres since he was ‘knee high to a grasshopper’.
With a skip and a whistle he popped open the boot with an unhealthy creak and lifted up the carpet cover. His eyes glazed over and his lips moved without making a sound. Sensing a nasty turn of events, I moved in to get a closer look. Instead of a spare tyre there was a crate of Castle Lager. On top of the beer crate was a faded handwritten note that read:
Pete you old crab stick, hope you don’t mind but I needed the tyre. Here’s some jungle juice to keep the old engine purring. Frank.
And then it said:
PS Will return it by Monday
Underneath the date was written:
24/7/1988
Dad cracked a Castle and reread the note. He didn’t seem at all concerned that Frank had borrowed the spare tyre for a weekend and hadn’t returned it for two and a half years. In fact he seemed to be far more impressed that the Castle Lager still tasted good after spending nearly three years in the station wagon. My father held out the beer can like it was the Cullinan Diamond and said, ‘The taste that stood the test of time.’ He then grabbed two six packs, returned to the driver’s seat, and switched on the Carpenters again.
13:45 Dad drained his beer and crushed the empty can on his forehead (a skill he has perfected since New Year’s Eve, when the same stunt ended up with Mom rushing him to Addington Hospital for stitches). My father burped loudly, shouted, ‘Gesundheid!’ and immediately cracked open another beer. In a voice that could have grilled a steak, Mom instructed Dad to put his beer down and find help. Dad clearly wasn’t picking up Mom’s mood because he spread his arms out and said, ‘We must trust and believe that help will find us.’
Mom then said that the only thing that would find Dad were divorce papers.
Dad shook his head and grumbled to himself. He then grabbed a six pack and started striding up the emergency lane of the freeway. Mom jumped out the car and ordered my father to leave the beers behind because she said they made him look like a Cape coloured. (This wasn’t helped by the fact that Dad had been using Instant Tan over Christmas instead of sun block.)
Dad returned to the car and offered Mom fifty bucks to go and find help. Mom was appalled that Dad thought so little of her that he would bribe her in an emergency. After more shouting and some serious haggling, a bribe of sixty-three bucks was agreed on.
Mom strode out into the truck lane of the freeway, waving her arms above her head, and soon managed to flag down a PPC cement truck. After some lengthy discussions she drove off in the truck with a sweaty man in a white string vest called Larry. Dad looked at me, shook his head and muttered, ‘Women.’ He drained his Castle and began singing sadly along to We’ve Only Just Begun.
I opened my new shiny red diary.
Year ............................ 1991
name ............................Spud
Comments ............................The Madness Continues…
I guess overall my holiday gets a six out of ten which, although a bit disappointing by most standards, was still pretty decent for a Milton. The first two weeks were a bit rough and I mostly slept and watched videos. Dad tried to get me out of the house to play some cricket in the garden but that was called off after he clobbered my first ball through the dining room window. Blacky (my deranged Labrador) had to have an emergency operation after he swallowed the hosepipe nozzle. Fatty called me once and asked if I wanted to go with him to the Stellawood cemetery at midnight to look for ghosts but I lied and told him I had diarrhoea. He said if I ate a kilogram of chocolate and drank three teaspoons of cooking oil, I’d be fine in a day or so.
The Wilderness is a splendid seaside holiday place near George on the Cape Garden Route. Unfortunately, Mermaid’s folks fought solidly for three days before her dad finally packed up and left. Mermaid got all depressed again, although we still managed to go to the beach every day and take a few romantic walks. We found the Groot Krokodil’s (former State President PW Botha) house called Die Anker. It has a huge wall, electric fence and a white security guard outside with a gun on his hip. We snooped around to check if we could get in but the Krokodil has a watertight lair. There must be lots of people who want to get him. Mermaid was wickedly brave and told the security guard we wanted to see the former state president. The security guy stubbed out his cigarette on the gate post and said it was a restricted area and that the Krokodil was sleeping (no doubt with one eye open). Mermaid giggled nervously and asked him if guarding the Krokodil’s house was dangerous. The security guard lit up another cigarette and said the hadedas were a problem.
Wombat took us to lunch at the yacht club and soon caused chaos when she accused a four-year-old girl of stealing her Christmas cracker. Things were beginning to get a bit nasty so the waiter brought out two crackers for Wombat as a peace offering. My grandmother refused to accept them, thumped her fish fork into the table, and called the little girl a thug. Eventually, our table was moved outside onto the balcony, Wombat’s meal was on the house and we scored a free bottle of champagne.
Dad’s best friend Frank elected himself the DJ, got really drunk and jumped in the pool wearing a pair of underpants that said NUTCASE on the front. Unfortunately, as DJ, Frank was meant to be responsible for the countdown and we only realized at about 1am that his watch wasn’t waterproof. We all sang Auld Lang Syne at 1.03am and that’s when Dad tried to squash the beer can on his forehead. The guests left, Mom took Dad to the hospital, and I was ordered to clean up and search for Wombat. I discovered Wombat in the lounge reading to a very confused Innocence from a book called The Fundamentals of Contract Bridge (Advanced).
Mermaid and I are in love and as soon as we leave school she wants us to get married. I hope my balls drop by then – still no sign of anything and I’m fifteen in three months! Worried people are going to think I’m a freak.
Guess it’s another year of being a spud.
17:10 The security guard saluted as the station wagon pulled up to the school gate. Dad, who by now was well into his second six pack, gave a dodgy Nazi salute out the window and shouted ‘Viva!’ The guard looked at him like he was a maniac and slowly closed the huge iron gates behind us.
I lugged my bags over my shoulders and staggered through the archway into the main quad. Pissing Pete looked a little sorry for himself as he dribbled water out of his sword and down his leg. Suddenly there was a loud shout of ‘FORE!’ followed by the sound of metal scraping against concrete. A huge army trunk roared through the house doors, raced across the cloisters and came to rest in the gutter. I could hear the muffled sound of sobbing from inside the trunk. I approached cautiously and opened up the lid to discover a tiny boy with freckled skin and eyes red from crying. He looked utterly terrified. Then a gruesome face leered through the house door sniggering and guffawing. It was Pike. ‘Ahhhh, Spud,’ he said. ‘Check – I’ve found you another Gecko to play with!’ Pike sniggered again before forcing the new boy back into the trunk and resting his left foot on the lid. He didn’t seem at all concerned that the small boy was freaking out and banging desperately against the sides of the trunk. Pike looked me up and down and said, ‘Welcome back, faggot boy. Think you’re a bit of a rock dog now you’re in second year? Just remember I’m in matric and most probably a prefect.’ He spat a greeny on my cricket bag and strolled off back into the house.
I trudged up the stairs, turned the corner, and stopped for a minute outside the second years’ dormitory. I paused and took a deep breath. Then I threw open the door and there they all were – the Crazy Eight. (Minus one, of course.)
Fatty sat on his locker eating a large packet of salt and vinegar chips. Simon was perched on his footlocker knocking in his cricket bat with a mallet. Rambo was lying on his bed and obviously in the middle of telling Boggo a war story from the holidays. Boggo was listening to Rambo’s story while popping a zit in the mirror. Mad Dog was halfway through engraving his name on the newly varnished windowpane with his hunting and filleting knife and had already made a spelling mistake. And finally, there was Vern, sitting on his bed having an in-depth conversation with Roger the cat. When Vern saw me, he began jumping up and down and pointing at the other bed in his cubicle. He then introduced me to his teddy bear called Potato. I shook Potato’s paw and started unpacking. It seems that for the second year in a row I’m sharing a cubicle with Rain Man. A bed in the far corner of Fatty’s cubicle stood empty. It doesn’t feel quite right without Gecko – I’m not sure it ever will.
| RAMBO | Went to Europe with his dad and his new stepmom. Rambo says his stepmom is hot and only 27 years old. Rambo’s dad is 46! Rambo reckons he wouldn’t mind shagging his stepmom. |
| FATTY | Has put on 5 kilograms since last year which he says isn’t bad since he’s only keeping up with inflation. |
| BOGGO | Worked at his mom’s boyfriend’s betting tote. He also says he has a girlfriend, but didn’t seem to know what her name was or anything else about her. He just said that ‘a girl can’t talk with her mouth full!’ Unfortunately for Boggo, nobody believed his story and Rambo threw his alarm clock out the window. |
| SIMON | Went to America and made Fatty jealous by going on for ages about how delicious Mc-Donalds burgers are. He went to Disneyland and the Grand Canyon but said Washington was freezing and boring. |
| MAD DOG | Had to go to extra maths, English and Afrikaans lessons because he failed all his exams despite being on standard grade. Apparently he’s dyslexic which according to Mad Dog means he reads words backwards like the Chinese. The Glock has said he could enter second year as long as he dropped to functional grade. |
| VERN | (RAIN MAN) It’s unclear what Vern did in the holidays. All we could get out of him was that he and his mom knitted a jersey for Roger. Rain Man said it’s Roger’s birthday on the 7th March and he’ll wear his new bright orange jersey then. Bad news is that Vern looks even crazier than last year. |
Our new dormitory is far brighter and less spooky than the old first year dormitory. There are no rafters and the walls are painted cream. I took a stroll around the deserted first year dorm before lights out and sat on my old window ledge for a few minutes. I then started feeling sad so I returned to the new dorm and watched Mad Dog slicing off the ear of Potato the teddy bear while Vern groaned and cried on his bed.
Luthuli dropped by to switch off the lights and say hello. With his head boy’s blazer and tie, he looked very smart and impressive. He welcomed us back and said he was thrilled that he was no longer responsible for the Crazy Eight.
I lay awake late into the night listening to Pissing Pete and thinking about the Mermaid. She left a pressed purple flower on the back page of my diary. It smells beautiful and mysterious – like her.
06:15 Bad news. The bloody rising siren hooter is right outside my window! Poor old Roger screeched and leapt up in fright. Unfortunately, he must have forgotten that he was sleeping in Vern’s locker, and he knocked himself out cold and ended up face down in Vern’s stokies.
After breakfast, Sparerib called the Crazy Eight (minus Vern) into his office. He glared at us with his wonky eye and welcomed us back to school before threatening us with barbaric punishment should we get up to anything as dodgy this year as last year. He also said we must accept the fact that Vern is a complete nutcase and that we must be prepared to give him some rope. (I would have thought rope is the worst thing you could give to a nutcase.)
Sparerib then licked his thin lips and winked at us (it could have been a wonky eye twitch) and said, ‘I’m not sure if you are all aware of this, but the so-called Crazy Eight seems to have achieved some sort of notoriety around the school.’ Rambo looked immensely chuffed and nodded like a proud father. Sparerib glared back at him and spoke in a menacing voice. ‘You so much as try another illegal caper, Mr Black, and you’ll feel my wrath, and believe me I’ve been playing a lot of squash lately.’ Sparerib lifted the short sleeve of his shirt and showed us his veiny bicep. Mad Dog then pulled up his sleeve and showed Sparerib his bicep. Sparerib glared at Mad Dog with his wonky eye until Mad Dog put his bicep away.
‘Twenty-four boys from other houses have requested a move into your dormitory because obviously… Henry… Gecko – no longer… er… due to… certain circumstances… we now have a vacancy there.’ Sparerib sniffed and looked sour. ‘Now you may think that notoriety is something to be proud of, but in my book that’s a direct insult to me and the proud discipline of this house. You’re here to get educated, not horse around looking for ghosts and terrorizing people.’ This time Sparerib glared at Fatty who stopped chewing his elastic band and looked mildly ill. ‘So I have decided that your new dormitory mate won’t be a joyriding thrill seeker from another house but a boy who will hopefully instil some good old fashioned normality to proceedings.’ We all leant forward in anticipation but nothing more was said about who the new boy in our dormitory is going to be.
‘Oh, and finally,’ said Sparerib, ‘you will under no circumstances attempt to corrupt, touch or bully any of the first years. They will be vulnerable enough and I won’t have you worsening the situation. I also understand that there is no love lost between you lot and Leonard Pike, but his brother Renton is a first year in our house and I won’t stand for any shit. You hear me?’
I’ve never heard Sparerib swear before – clearly the Crazy Eight has him worried! He continued to glare at us with his wonky eye before uttering in a cruel voice, ‘I’ll be watching…’
It was quite funny watching the new boys arriving and being led by their proud parents through our dormitory and into the dingy first year dorm. We were all very polite and Mad Dog made a point of bowing to every parent and calling them Mam and Sir. Boggo pretended to be writing the new boys’ names down but was actually making a list about which mothers he’d like to shag. Fatty kept a close eye out for new boys with a good supply of tuck, while Vern lay on his bed talking to himself and pulling out hair and was clearly disturbed by all the activity.
While all the new boys went off to meet The Glock and have lunch in the quad with their parents, Rambo convened our first Crazy Eight meeting of the year. He reckons that nobody can just join the Crazy Eight because they move into the dormitory. He said that whoever this new dude is, he’ll have to prove himself to be a legend, a fine sportsman, or completely insane. Apparently the new guy is arriving tonight!
20:00 Sparerib called the entire house to a meeting in the common room. The poor new boys looked terrified, apart from Renton Pike, who was sprawled out in a chair looking like a millionaire. It was good to see Rambo accidentally kick him twice in the shins on his way past.
Sparerib announced our head of house and new prefects.
| HEAD OF HOUSE | Greg Anderson |
| PREFECTS | Guy Emberton (Rumour has it his dad is now building a rugby pavilion on Trafalgar.) |
| Linley Perkins (weedy looking guy whose nickname is Death Breath) | |
| Julian (who is coming back to do six months of post-matric before heading off in August to the Royal College of Music in London. He’s not back yet from a holiday in Thailand with Reg.) |
The good news is that Pike and Devries have to carry their own laundry this year because they aren’t prefects. The bad news is that Anderson has never forgiven me for insulting his crippled sister, despite the fact that he doesn’t even have a sister. Emberton still blames me for ruining his chances with Amanda – and Death Breath has always looked at me shiftily in the showers.
After the house meeting I took a stroll around the school to find my new classrooms so that I don’t look like a first year and get lost on the way to class tomorrow morning. As I walked out into the quad I heard a great booming voice shout out, ‘MILTON THE POET!’
The Guv strode up to me swinging his walking stick wildly and gave me a bear hug that lifted me clean off my feet. All I could manage in return was a very spudly squeak of ‘Sir.’ Once he’d plonked me down and given me a friendly crack on the head with his stick, he demanded to know what books I’d read in the holidays. I thought about lying but then confessed that I’d read absolutely nothing except for the Sunday papers. His eyes bulged and he let loose a torrent of swearing and general abuse in the middle of the main quad. A new boy carrying three cups of tea stopped and stared, his mouth wide open. The Guv told him to sod off, making the frightened first year spill half the tea on himself. The Guv looked very healthy and impressive in his tweeds and said that he had a new lease on life. He reckons he’s coaching the under 15A cricket side but he’s not my English teacher anymore. With that he shouted, ‘Exit, pursued by a bear!’ and marched off towards the chapel.
23:00 The door creaked open and there was a loud scuffling sound as an extremely tall figure dragged his trunk and bags towards the empty bed in Fatty’s cubicle. The new boy started unzipping his bags and packing things away into his locker. We were all awake, although for some strange reason we pretended to be sleeping. (Except for Vern, that is, who stood on his locker and shone his torch directly onto the new boy.) It felt a bit weird – like there was a trespasser in the dorm. I found myself resenting this tall shadow for taking Gecko’s bed and forcing himself into the Crazy Eight.
I dreamed that Pike slit my throat in the night. I tried manfully to stop the blood by putting on my school tie but then thankfully the rising siren screeched in my ear and pulled me out of my own murder.
06:30 There was an uproar at roll call when the very tall new boy in our dormitory responded to the name:
Alexander Short
Alexander Short looks much better in the dark. He has a bad case of pimples around his mouth which makes him look like the kind of person who frequently forgets to wash around his mouth after eating. I introduced myself to him but all he said was an unfriendly, ‘Howzit.’
07:25 Wombat called to wish me Happy Birthday. I didn’t want to confuse her so I said thank you and tried to sound happy. She then started crying and said I must get on the first boat for Southampton as soon as the war ends. She then said an air raid siren had gone off and she had to switch off the electricity and hide under her bed. I called home to tell Mom that Wombat was losing her marbles but got Dad instead. There was a lot of shouting and commotion in the background and Dad kept screaming, ‘Straighten up! Straighten up!’ Then there was a huge crash and the line went dead. Mom phoned back to say that the builder’s lorry just smashed the gates clean off! Dad’s building what he calls a ‘safe house’ behind the garage with a concealed door. He says it’s for safety reasons but Mom and I reckon it’s because Innocence and Dad need more space to brew their liquor.
We have a whole lot of new teachers; most of them are really boring. Luckily we still have Lennox for history. Our English teacher Norm Wade is wickedly dull and never changes the tone of his voice when he speaks. He also has a mean stare and a bad stutter. Boggo thinks Norm could have the makings of a seriously good poker player providing he doesn’t have to speak. His official nickname is Salamander because he has long legs and very short arms. Eve is now the school counsellor and no longer teaches drama. (Not sure if this is because of her affair with Rambo last year or because of Dr Zoo leaving.) Boggo says he heard Dr Zoo is now doing experiments on people in Zambia. Viking is teaching us drama, which should be scary. I’m also doing art with Mr Lilly, and something called Adventure Club with Mr Hall.
11:00 There was an awkward moment in the main quad when Eve abruptly walked out of Sparerib’s office and nearly bumped into Boggo, Rambo and myself. Rambo stepped forward as if he wanted to hug her but Eve marched off without even greeting us properly. Then Sparerib came out and ordered us back to the house. He didn’t look at Rambo once and clearly there’s still tension in the air. The soap opera continues!
I asked Fatty about my nightmare last night. He said having a black cat sleeping in my cubicle is bound to create bad Karma. He suggested poisoning Roger or drinking a litre of water before sleeping to cleanse my bed of evil spirits.
14:30 CRICKET TRIALS
My bowling was very poor and I spent the afternoon chasing leather all over the place. After four full tosses in a row The Guv leapt up and shouted, ‘For God’s sakes, Milton, use the facilities, man!’ I guess I’ll have to practise hard tomorrow and hope like mad The Guv doesn’t drop me before Saturday’s game against Drake College.
Alexander Short has top of the range Gunn & Moore cricket equipment which he drags around in what looks like a coffin. His bat was even signed on both sides by Graeme Pollock. He told The Guv that he had been the best cricketer at his last school (a school in Jo’burg that nobody’s ever heard of). Clearly Alexander Short wasn’t much of a bowler because his run up looked like a deformed giraffe running away from a lion and The Guv said his bowling action was reminiscent of an aged cat having an epileptic fit.
Alexander Short then made the foolish mistake of going in to bat without his helmet. To make things worse he had taken ages to decide whether he needed his helmet or not, before eventually tossing it aside rather casually and opting for his brand new navy blue cricket cap instead. The choice of cap over helmet hadn’t escaped the attention of Mad Dog who immediately lengthened his run up by about twenty metres.
Short was looking rather cocky and spent ages stretching his hamstrings before The Guv told him to hurry up and threatened to impale him on his shooting stick and feed him piece by piece to his ex-wife. Short shrugged his shoulders, straightened his cap and took guard. Mad Dog shouted, ‘Coming in!’ and galloped out from under the trees looking like he was about to commit an act of savagery. Alexander Short seemed a little short on courage and confidence because when he saw Mad Dog roaring in like a barbarian his eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates and he started edging away from the wickets at a rate of knots. The ball rocketed into his stumps, sending them flying out of the ground. (By this stage Alexander Short (of courage) had ended up taking cover in the side netting.) The Guv then asked him if he hadn’t in fact come from the blind school. I was feeling sorry for the poor guy so I bowled him a gentle leg spinner but Alexander Short charged down the wicket and smashed it out of the nets and onto the pavilion roof. (That’s the thanks you get for a little generosity.) As I slunk off to go and find my ball Mad Dog promised to get revenge for me. I thanked him and set about looking for a ladder because the ball had got stuck in the gutter.
When I returned to the nets half the team had disappeared. It turns out that Mad Dog had got my revenge by hitting Alexander Short on the back of the head with a nasty bouncer. It took half the team to carry the new boy to the san. What a start!
Rambo isn’t very impressed with Alexander Short. He reckons he’s not Crazy Eight calibre and he’s going to have to improve his personality if he wants to join up.
I drank a litre of water to cleanse myself of bad spirits and a possibly haunted cat. Unfortunately, I spent most of the night running to the bogs for a slash.
08:00 The Glock was all fire and brimstone at the first assembly of the year, although most of the school were trying to hide their sniggers at our headmaster’s ridiculous sunglasses tan. Obviously the big man had fallen asleep on his lilo again. The first years looked terrified of The Glock and he made a point of glaring at them the whole time. Hard to believe I was just like them a year ago.
11:00 I have been selected for the under 15A cricket team! The only change from last year is that Rambo has replaced Steven George who has quit cricket and taken up canoeing instead.
14:30 Anderson forced Mad Dog, who forced us, to co-apologize to Alexander Short in the san. When Sister Collins saw our faces at the door she shouted, ‘Oh Christ!’ and stubbed out her cigarette in a potty which she now seems to be using as her ashtray. She reluctantly let us in and showed us to Alexander’s bed. The new boy looked very funny with his neck in a brace and his feet dangling off the end of the bed. Vern pointed at the patient and squawked with laughter. He then realized that everyone was staring at him so he produced a very fake cough before moving across to the window and hiding behind the curtain.
Short reckons he has concussion and should be out of the san by Monday. Mad Dog apologized without really meaning it and told him that he deserved to get bounced because he didn’t wear a helmet. Alexander looked insulted and said he didn’t expect his friends to try and kill him at cricket practice. Rambo’s eyes bored into the new boy and he said, ‘Who’s talking about friends, we don’t even know you yet.’ Then there was an awkward silence so we all said we had to go and left the new boy in peace.
Fatty reckons any boy who tries to replace Gecko will be cursed by his ghost and he said it was no coincidence that the new boy had ended up in the san, Gecko’s old haunt, less than a day after his arrival. Fatty then said that Mad Dog had also broken Gecko’s arm at the beginning of last year so this was definitely a sign from Gecko’s ghost. Nobody was particularly impressed with Fatty’s theory and a loud and abusive argument began and lasted until about a hundred metres before we reached the tuck shop. That’s because Fatty was walking too fast for the rest of us to catch up.
20:30 House elections for captains and representatives.
Fatty was voted in as the house catering rep, Boggo the AV rep and Vern won a crushing win over Devries for his second term as bog monitor. (In fairness to Devries, he was set up by Pike who proposed him as a joke and then voted for Vern.) Vern punched the air with his fist when he heard the news of his victory and asked Sparerib if he could leave the house meeting immediately for a thorough bog inspection. Even Sparerib couldn’t contain himself and the entire house erupted once Vern had pulled out his notepad and pencil and marched off to the bogs.
23:00 Rambo announced that the time had come for the Crazy Eight to introduce themselves to the first years. Boggo refused point blank. (If anybody so much as looks at a first year sideways before their week of grace is over, they are guaranteed to be expelled.) Rambo accused us of being gutless cowards, so we all backed down and made our way to the first years’ dorm.
We stood in silence in our creepy old dormitory. After a long pause Rambo spoke in a deep voice. ‘Which one of you is Junior Pike?’ There was a groan and then a tired voice said, ‘Um, I’m here…’ Rambo spoke again. ‘Junior Pike, I have bad news for you.’
Junior Pike staggered out of bed and into the harsh gleam of Vern’s torch. He blinked like a mole and asked, ‘Wha… what’s happened?’ There was a pause. Rambo cleared his throat and then spoke in an icy deep voice. ‘Your mother’s dead.’
Junior Pike was struck dumb. He just stared helplessly into the light, opened his mouth and then closed it again.
‘Your mother died in a skydiving accident,’ Rambo continued. ‘She jumped out the plane but forgot to put on her parachute…’ Pike shook his head and tried to say something but Rambo told him to keep silent.
Then Boggo joined in.
| BOGGO | Obviously stupidity runs in the family. |
| RAMBO | Pike, your mom crashed down to earth at twice the speed of sound. |
| BOGGO | Half the speed of light. |
And then Mad Dog joined in.
| MAD DOG | Quarter the speed of my bowling! |
A loud guffaw. Junior Pike was by this stage beginning to look distraught.
| BOGGO | She was lucky to survive the fall. |
Relieved again.
| JUNIOR PIKE | So she’s okay? |
| RAMBO | Her fall was broken. |
| BOGGO | And so were her legs. |
More elbowing and some sniggers.
| RAMBO | By the power lines. |
| BOGGO | Do you have any idea how many volts of raw un-pasteurized electricity pass through those wires? |
| JUNIOR PIKE | No, I… |
| BOGGO | Well, neither do I, but I heard it’s a shit-load! |
| RAMBO | The power lines didn’t kill your mother, Pike. |
| JUNIOR PIKE | Look, there must be a mistake. My mom doesn’t skydive. |
| RAMBO | Shut up. The power lines broke her fall. |
| MAD DOG | And her legs. |
| RAMBO | And her legs. |
| BOGGO | They both fell off. |
| RAMBO | Pike, I hate to tell you this but your mother was legless. |
By now there were loud cackles and sniggers. I think Junior Pike smelled a rat but he was still looking half asleep and completely disorientated.
| RAMBO | She fell to the ground. |
| BOGGO | And landed safely on the freeway. |
| JUNIOR PIKE | Look, I don’t know what you… |
| MAD DOG | Where she was run over by a rhino. |
More giggling and elbowing.
| BOGGO | Incorrect. She was run over by a Greyhound bus. |
| RAMBO | They found her head in Bloemfontein. |
| BOGGO | And her arms outside a lesbian club in Lesotho. |
Vern enjoyed the lesbian in Lesotho bit and started shrieking with laughter and stomping his foot in the dustbin.
And then the lights flicked on. Anderson looked a little disturbing dressed only in striped underpants and looming over us brandishing a sawn-off hockey stick. He glared at Rambo. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Rambo didn’t answer. I have to admit the scene didn’t look good. Mad Dog was armed with his hunting and filleting knife, Rambo carried a cricket bat, while Vern was madly pulling out hair with one hand and clutching onto Potato with the other.
Next Emberton sauntered into the dorm munching away at a stick of sugar cane and looking smug. ‘Friday night and the shit hits the fan.’ He grinned at me and took another munch of sugar cane. The two prefects circled slowly like sharks at an aquarium five minutes before feeding time. By now other new boys were peeping over their lockers to see what the commotion was all about. Junior Pike scrambled to his feet and leapt back into bed.
Anderson and Emberton led the Crazy Eight back to our dormitory. In the meantime Rambo had thought of a plan and he launched into a long story about breaking down barriers and becoming friends. Anderson let him finish and then grinned. ‘What a load of horseshit! You may have fooled Luthuli last year, but I’m no fool. I know you okes. Give you a fingernail, you take the whole flippin’ arm!’
We were ordered to line up outside Anderson’s room. One by one we took our thrashing (two strokes with the sawn-off hockey stick). The only bonus was that I got to stare at a naked centrefold with huge breasts on Anderson’s wall while he was thrashing my bum.
Emberton lay on the bed and continued noshing his sugar cane while the floggings were dished out. He looked especially pleased after I started running on the spot before I could get out of Anderson’s room.
I lay in bed with my bum on fire listening to Junior Pike sniggering triumphantly in the next dorm. Sometimes I wish Rambo would just die peacefully in his sleep! (Make that shockingly run over by a rhino!)
09:55 The Guv made us listen to a tape of Beethoven at full volume in the change room before our match against Drake College. Our coach strode around conducting the recorded orchestra with my cricket bat. After the piece finished, he told us to ‘Render all helpless in the eternal fight for blinding glory.’ We all looked as aggressive as possible and Mad Dog punched a dent in the toilet door.
We swarmed onto our new home cricket field, called Godfrey Ellis after an Old Boy who was apparently the first casualty of the Second World War. According to Fatty, Godfrey Ellis drowned in Durban harbour after falling off the gangplank while waving to his family.
We charged onto the field looking wickedly impressive in our cricket longs. There was a sprinkling of polite applause from a few parents and loud hooting and flashing headlights from a green Renault station wagon parked next to the sightscreen. I didn’t dare look at my parents and walked in an utterly focused manner towards gully (my fielding position). Rambo trotted across from his position at first slip to have a word with Mad Dog, whose run up is now almost all the way to the boundary rope. On the way back to his position Rambo had a few words to the batsman who I must admit looked a bit startled. The Guv shouted, ‘Play!’ and Mad Dog came roaring in and bowled a fast bouncer that flew over the batsman’s head. Mad Dog then followed through all the way up to the batsman and growled at him like a dog. Rambo shouted, ‘Take it easy, Mad Dog! Remember it’s just a game.’ The batsman looked a little freaked out and shot a look at the square leg umpire. The next ball smashed the middle stump out of the ground. Rambo and Mad Dog ran up to each other and embraced in a bear hug, followed by high fives in the middle of the pitch. Dad charged back to his car and hooted again.
And so it went on. Every batsman got a word in his ear from Rambo and one by one Mad Dog cleaned them up. After a brilliant bowling effort he retired exhausted to the fine leg boundary and The Guv retired thirsty to the Milton deckchairs. Dad fired up the skottelbraai and cooked hotdogs and fried onions. I gave Mom three letters to give to Marge to give to Mermaid. I figured it’s quicker than post. Unfortunately, The Guv and Dad started chanting the Wedding March so I got embarrassed and ran back to the change room. I noticed that Martin Leslie’s parents, who had parked next to the folks, had moved to the opposite side of the field under the trees.
Simon smashed Drake College to pieces. He scored 91 not out, out of a total of 115. He was literally amazing. The poor Drake bowlers spent the afternoon shaking their heads and shouting at each other’s fielding which grew progressively more useless by the over.
THE BOG DISASTER
20:10 Saturday night movie was Kramer vs Kramer with Meryl Streep and Dustin Hoffman (the real Rain Man). It was good to see Hoffman speaking normally again. Unfortunately, the first ten minutes was very slow moving so I ducked off for a drink of water. I heard one of the first years sobbing in the toilet. I tried to talk to him but he ignored me. Then Vern charged in to see what was happening in his beloved bogs and ordered the first year out of the toilet. Rain Man was dead set on reporting the poor homesick first year to Sparerib. He seemed appalled that someone should be grief stricken in his bogs without permission. Vern wrote a written warning on his pad and slid it under the door. I kept trying to stop him but he threatened to report me to Sparerib for bad form in the bogs and surrounds. (I can’t believe bad form in the bogs and surrounds is a real offence actually.)
Then Vern started banging on the toilet door, before scribbling down a second warning and sliding it underneath it. Unfortunately, he slid the warning into a puddle of stagnant toilet water. While Vern was furiously writing the second draft of his second warning and muttering angrily to himself like Gollum, Boggo strode in from the common room and asked us what was going on. Vern told him there was a criminal hiding in the bog. Boggo said that the only way to drive a rat from its lair is by an airborne bog wash.
‘Bog wash,’ gasped Vern like Boggo had given him the cure for cancer. Boggo filled a bucket of water and hurled it over the toilet door. There was a crash and a splash and then silence. Vern banged viciously on the door again and demanded that the criminal emerge from his hiding place. Then the latch clicked and Eunice, the African lady who cleans the bogs, staggered out crying her eyes out and holding a drenched letter in her shaky hands. My heart sank. I felt like crying. I heard Boggo saying, ‘Oh shit!’ Vern and I said nothing as Eunice shuffled past us and disappeared out through the house door. There was a loud thunk as Vern ripped out a knot of hair. The only other sound was the hum of the neon bog lights.
As if all the guilt isn’t enough, Anderson was hanging around outside the house drinking tea and saw what happened, so now we’re in serious shit as well. Anderson says we have to apologize to Eunice in writing. (Vern started right away on his notepad.) We also have to do an hour of hard labour in Eunice’s vegetable garden at a time that suits her best. Boggo said there was no way in hell he would do hard labour for black people and stormed off back to the common room.
Feeling like I’m a traitor to the Struggle and it’s not even my fault. I tried to find Luthuli for a chat but he was in Johannesburg giving a speech so I returned to the common room to watch the movie. It’s all about divorce which made me think of Mermaid. I ducked out again and called her but Marge said she was out with friends. Then I imagined her out with other boys and got insanely jealous, so I told Death Breath I had a headache and went to bed.
After chapel I sprinted across the quad in an attempt to get to the dining hall before Fatty. (Halfway through Reverend Bishop’s sermon on fish and wine, Fatty announced that he was ravenous and that he was planning to eat our table’s entire bacon ration.) I was stopped in my tracks by a loud screech, followed by a squeal of joy. Julian was back!
Julian galloped over to me with a look of horrified panic on his face. I said, ‘Hello.’ Julian squealed again and jumped for joy because my voice hasn’t broken yet. He reckons the choir is touring Johannesburg at Easter. He waved his finger at me, rattling the bracelets on his arm, and said, ‘May God help you if your balls drop an inch!’
The morning headline read…
SHORTFALL!
The entire front page was devoted to Alexander Short’s dad, who has been arrested for fraud, embezzlement and money laundering. The newspaper said that further charges against Hugh Short would be added once further investigations have been concluded. They also mentioned Alexander and the school and made his dad sound really dodgy. When Rambo read the story he thumped his hand onto the couch and said, ‘This is exactly what we need. The Crazy Eight now has a criminal!’ Boggo and Fatty were so excited about the idea of hanging out with a criminal’s son that they led us all down to the san after breakfast. Sister Collins came to the door waving her arms and shouting, ‘Too late! Too late!’ She wouldn’t let us in.