— Must have been yesterday, we only knew today, the headmaster didn’t call us to the hall he came to our class, every class, first we didn’t have a clue what it was about.—
So their boy didn’t see.
She explains — The football team had been taken to play in a match at another school. — Gary Elias has been spared violence, even the corrupting spectacle of it, not on TV.
— We won, six-three, easy.—
— Blessing called while she was driving the boys home from school today, the line kept breaking…I’d left the Centre, was here at the time she dropped Gary.—
They shared relief each can confirm unspoken, Gary is not frightened; in fact shows again sense of importance of one who is connected with the sensational at second-hand: he could have been in the school when it happened, it might have been experienced not only as he is conscious of being present at the battles of space monsters on television.
Julius Malema in the news channel switched on out of habit tonight. A clip from the twenty-ninth birthday party of the ANC youth leader, who has said the youth are ready to take up arms and kill for Zuma, is with one of the successful businessmen and the premier of the province where the birthday boy was born.
Nice shot of political connection between rebellious youth and new capitalist. But doesn’t say this to her, doesn’t belong in their present moment.
He and Peter Mkize go together to the headmaster of the school next morning. Not along with the usual transport to school shared by Mkizes and Reeds; they agree it’s better not to add to the impact on their boys by showing how disruptive the ‘incident’ is of reassuring routine. They’ll go later without the sons knowing. He’s called the faculty to arrange for someone to take his class in the laboratory, Peter waves away any need to explain late arrival at his firm.
The headmaster can’t refuse to see parents but the secretary asks, do they have an appointment.
If the man is unable to be prepared for dangerous bullying in his school he hardly qualifies for the formalities. The fathers will sit it out until the headmaster returns to his office from whatever he is about. There is a whispered consultation behind computers and a young woman is sent, evidently to summon him. Her ankle twists on a stalk-heel shoe and is embarrassedly righted, as she passes. The office staff must have been told to say the headmaster is unavailable. — Doesn’t want the press to get hold of this. — Peter is accustomed to waiting, it’s the timetable of the blacks’ apartheid past, when he was a youngster.
But Mr Meyer-Wells (good mixture of origins in that name) arrives in full stride. Smiles as if they are people he’s called upon. He’s recognised: two father-friends from one of those new suburbs where black and white live as neighbours. — The son of Mr Mkize, good to see you. (One of the few black lads, the school should be able to attract more.) Professor Reed — it’s been too long! Gary Elias is doing well, and going to be one of our sports stars — (A coloured, actually the school has more of those, along with the Indian intake.)
In the principal’s office the young woman who went to summon him brings tea. There’s determination to make this a friendly occasion of a request to see the master of the school, not a confrontation by parents, one a university professor, who’ve come in academic and business hours to speak to him. Yes, it happened. The problem is — how to predict these unfortunate things. And the learner (nomenclature in accord with a progressive private school) this boy is not a boarder, we cannot know what influences he might encounter that his parents aren’t aware of. — Of course they are very disturbed. He’s apparently a friend of one of the matriculants although he’s in a class below. He may of course — think of the behaviour a couple of months ago as assertion…You’ll know from experience with your own offspring, childhood’s become very short these days, I’ve no experience in this regard with adolescent girls, but in twenty-six years’ teaching the male young I think I can claim knowledge of change — adolescent boys now take charge of themselves before they have the moral judgement to succeed, if you follow me, they experiment with mores and morals — behaviour — to reject the intermediate stage of life they feel we impose on them in preparation. For the world they’re going to live in; and with modern technology they’re so much more exposed to the kind of world it is than other generations I’ve taught. It’s a world of display isn’t it — you must show who you are, and the way to hand is take power loud and abusive over your peers.—
A fluent analysis — but if his experiences can’t see the signs, can’t predict. — Have you thought of some combined group of teachers and boys — the boarders and day boys, like ours — to talk together, why they think — see — these things happen among them. It won’t be easy, they may be quick to button up in suspicion of being recruited to spy. Tell-tale. But you can deal with that; if your staff’s open, make clear this is absolutely not a disciplinary tribunal. It’s their school.—
The principal feels obliged to listen attentively to the academic; he teaches, too, and the campuses have their troubles — and then some! He rests chin on fist. — Perhaps you — one of your colleagues, a young lecturer himself not so long out of school, mh? he could come along and meet our boys, talk to them as the young men they’re going to be.—
It’s not a bad idea but what is the headmaster himself going to do about the peer group that follows its own code of discipline in the school, probably they’ve never heard, been taught about fascism but the fact is they’re young fascists in the making, Mussolini-style, Nazi-style, Apartheid-style. History’s always ready to make a comeback. The man can’t regard what’s happening as a mishap in his school’s production of a free-thinking generation in a free country.
Each must go his own way, to the city, the university, now’s not the time to talk about what they, parents, have to do…There’s only the shared frustration — what use was the confrontation. Alone in the car, addressing himself. Poor devil’s having to deal with developments coming to him from outside the school walls. Julius Malema’s harnessed himself bucking high to the election campaign, pulling the great eager mass of black youth (brothers of Njabulo and Gary Elias although without the privilege of private school) behind Zuma. For the time being not singing his adapted hate song, the generic ‘Kill The Boer’ which in Struggle days meant not the Afrikaner farmer but the white army of apartheid. On the subject of discipline — Malema’s still successfully ignoring any edict against hate speech, with gibes, insults, racist and sexist, at opposition leaders. If not a hero, he’s created a climate which sweats rebellion.
Peter draws up alongside the open car window as both are driving off. He’s in some agreement with himself — Not much sense, aih, taking the boy out in the middle of the year, I think let him finish it and then start somewhere else, new school, next year.—
— Peter’s going to leave Njabulo to complete the year.—
She prompts with questions the account of the principal’s response to Mkize and him.
— And then?—
He’s aware what both are thinking.
It’s end of summer but still warm enough for them to exchange the day on the terrace where the Dolphin’s welcoming gift of the hibiscus plant is blooming man-tall. — Njabulo’ll be in another school next year; that’s it.—
And doesn’t make sense for Gary Elias to leave the school, now. Next year. He won’t be here, in the Suburb.