Ian McEvoy really went to sleep one day when Henno told us all to go to sleep. Henno was having a chat with Mister Arnold at the door and he told us to fold our arms and go to sleep. That was what always happened when Henno was talking to anyone or reading the paper. Mister Arnold had big locks that nearly met under his chin. He was on the Late Late Show once, singing a song and playing the guitar with another man and two ladies. I was allowed to stay up and watch him. One of the ladies played the guitar as well. She and Mister Arnold were on the outside and the other two were in the middle. They all had the same kind of shirts on but the men had cravats and the ladies didn’t.
– He should stick to the day job, said my da.
My ma told him to shush.
James O’Keefe’s foot tapped the seat of my desk. I shifted my arms so I could lift my head, and looked back at him quickly.
– Gee, he said. -Pass it on.
His head went back into his arms.
I slipped down in my seat so I could reach the seat of Ian McEvoy’s desk. I tapped it. He didn’t move. I did it again. I slipped down further and my foot went past the seat and I hit his leg. He didn’t turn. I sat up properly again and waited, and turned to James O’Keefe.
– McEvoy’s gone asleep.
James O’Keefe bit his jumper to stop himself from laughing. Someone in the class was in big trouble, and it wasn’t him.
We all waited. We shushed each other so we wouldn’t wake Ian McEvoy, even though we weren’t making any noise anyway.
Henno closed the door.
– Sit up now.
We did, quickly; we sat up straight. We looked at Hennessey, to see when he’d see Ian.
We were doing spellings, English ones. Henno had his book out on the desk. He put all our scores and marks into the book and added them up on Fridays, and made us change our places. The best marks sat in the desks along the windows and the worst were put down the back beside the coats. I was usually in the middle somewhere, sometimes near the front. The ones at the back got the hardest spellings; instead of asking them, say, eleven threes, he’d ask them eleven elevens or eleven twelves. If you got put into the last row after the marks were added up it was very hard to get out again, and you were never sent on messages.
– Mediterranean.
– M.e.d. -
– The easy part; continue.
– i.t. -
– Go on.
He was going to get it wrong; it was Liam. He usually sat behind me or in the row beside me nearer the coats, but he’d got ten out of ten in sums on Thursday so he was sitting in front of me, in front of Ian McEvoy. I only got six out of ten in the sums test because Richard Shiels wouldn’t let me have a look in his copy, but I gave him a dead leg later for it.
– t.e.r. – a. -
– Wrong. You’re a worm. What are you?
– A worm, Sir.
– Correct, said Henno. -Urr-wronggg! he said when he was marking Liam’s mistake into the book.
He didn’t only make us change our places on Fridays; he biffed us as well. It gave him an appetite for his dinner, he told us. It gave his appetite an edge, and he needed that because he didn’t like fish as a rule. One biff for every mistake. With the leather he soaked in vinegar during the summer holidays.
Kevin was next, then Ian McEvoy.
– M.e.d., said Kevin. -i.t.e.r.r.a.n -
– Yes?
– i.a.n.
– Urr-wrong! – Mister McEvoy.
Ian McEvoy was still fast asleep. Kevin sat in the same desk as him and he told us later that Ian McEvoy was smiling in his sleep.
– Dreaming about a molly, said James O’Keefe.
Henno stood up and stared over Liam at Ian McEvoy.
– He’s gone asleep, Sir, said Kevin. -Will I wake him up?
– No, said Henno.
Henno put his finger to his lips; we were to be quiet.
We giggled and shushed. Henno walked carefully down to Ian McEvoy’s side of the desk; we watched him. He didn’t look like he was joking.
– Mis-ter McEvoy!
It wasn’t funny; we couldn’t laugh. I felt the rush of air when Henno’s hand swept through and smacked Ian McEvoy’s neck. Ian McEvoy shot up and gasped. He groaned. I couldn’t see him. I could see the side of Kevin’s face. It was white; his bottom lip was out further than his top one.
Hennessey warned us about being sick on Fridays. If we weren’t in school on Friday for our punishment he’d get us on Monday, no excuses.
All the desks smelt the same, in all the rooms. Sometimes the wood was lighter because the desk was near a window where the sun could get at it. They weren’t the old-fashioned desks where the top was a lid on hinges that you lifted and there was a place for your books under it. The top was screwed down on our desks; there was a shelf in under it for books and bags. There was a hollow for your pens and a hole for the inkwell. You could roll your pen down the desk. We did it for a dare cos Henno hated the noise when he heard it.
James O’Keefe drank the ink.
When we had to stand up, when we were told to, we had to lift the seat back and we weren’t allowed to make noise doing it. When there was a knock at the door, if it was a master coming in or Mister Finnucane, the headmaster, or Father Moloney, we had to stand up.
– Dia duit, [8] we said.
Henno just raised his hand like he was holding something on his palm and we all said it together.
There were two boys in each desk. When a boy in front of you got up to go to the blackboard or the leithreas [9] you could see a red mark from the seat across the back of his legs.
I had to go down to my parents. Sinbad kept crying, bawling over and over like a train. He wouldn’t stop.
– I’ll burst you if you don’t.
I didn’t know how they hadn’t heard it. The hall light was off. They were supposed to leave it on. I got to the bottom of the stairs. The lino at the hall door was freezing. I checked: Sinbad was still whining.
I loved getting him into trouble. This way was best. I could pretend I was helping.
They were watching a cowboy film. Da wasn’t pretending to read the paper.
– Francis is crying.
Ma looked at Da.
– He won’t stop.
They looked, and Ma stood up. It took her ages to get up straight.
– He’s been doing it all night.
– Go on back up, Patrick; come on.
I went up ahead of her. I waited at the beginning of the real dark to make sure she was coming after me. I stood beside Sinbad’s bed.
– Ma’s coming, I told him.
It would have been better if it had been Da. She wasn’t going to do anything to him. She’d talk to him, that was all, maybe hug him. I wasn’t disappointed though. I didn’t want to get him now. I was cold.
– She’s coming, I told him again.
I’d rescued him.
He made his whining go a bit louder, and Ma pushed the door open. I got into bed. There was still some of the warmth left from earlier.
Da wouldn’t have done anything either; the same as Ma, he’d have done.
– Ah, what’s wrong, Francis?
She didn’t say it like What’s wrong this time.
– I’ve a pain in my legs, Sinbad told her.
His rhythm was breaking down: she’d come.
– What sort of a pain?
– A bad one.
– In both your legs?
– Yeah.
– Two pains.
– Yeah.
She was rubbing his face, not his legs.
– Like the last time.
– Yeah.
– That’s terrible; you poor thing.
Sinbad got a whimper out.
– That’s you growing up, you know, she told him. -You’ll be very tall.
I never got pains in my legs.