Moving with great energy he left Goun behind, staring at the trophy case and muttering, ‘Sixths in a hole? In a hole?’
IX
‘Finish your nice tree drawings, everyone. Hurry up.’ Mrs Dorano clapped her hands. ‘Jennifer and I are going to pin up all the nicest ones for everyone to see. And, uh, Suzy dear, you pass out the new readers. QUIET! Anyone I see talking from now on is going to have his tree put in my waste-basket. Jennifer hurry up, dear. Billy, let her have the drawing, finished or not.’
‘Miss can I—?’
‘Miss, Miss, Billy drawed a boy’s pee-pee!’
‘—my pencil and I want it back!’
‘QUIET! Suzy they’re right there, the stack of blue books on my desk, just pass them — Margery, sit DOWN!’
‘But Miss, Billy drawed—’
‘Never mind what Billy draw drew, you shouldn’t even know what one of those looks like, just sit down and…’ She shuffled through the stack of drawings quickly, eliminating those that looked even remotely like body parts — Kids seemed to think of nothing but sex, sex, sex as it was. Too much of it in these promiscuity classes, that’s where it came from. Mr Goun, she’d seen him hovering in the hall, waiting to pounce on any passing child and pour corrupting filth into its little ear.
Most of the drawings looked as little like organs as they did trees, thank heaven. They looked variously like lollipops, fans, clouds, telegraph poles and green squiggles. Little Chauncey had turned out a nice effort, incorporating a rubbing of some ornament — and at the bottom he’d written DECIGEONS.
‘Very, very good, Chauncey. I think what you meant to write was deciduous — I’ll show you how to spell it but I think it’s wonderful that you even attempted such a grown-up word. I oh!’ She had come to little Roger Wood’s drawing.
‘Somebody’s a copycat here,’ she said. ‘But who?’
‘Not me, Mrs Dorano.’ Chauncey grinned.
‘Roger?’
‘What?’ He was peering into his new reader.
‘Did you copy your tree drawing? It looks like a copy.’
‘Well I guess all these decigeon tree drawings look the same, because heck—’
‘That will do.’ She tore up his drawing. ‘As usual, Roger, you disappoint me.’
‘Hey, can I ask you about this here reader? It looks kinda hard and—’
‘That will do, I said.’
Ms Beek looked as though she’d been weeping. Miss Borden, patting her arm, spoke to Captain Fest.
‘Do you really have to barge in here? I was just in the middle of a counselling sess—’
‘I’m sorry ma’am, but the damnedest thing, my binoculars are missing.’
‘Stolen?’
‘Presume so. Had ’em locked up in my desk with a few, ah, personal papers, went out in the hall to have a word with Goun, came back to find it ransacked. Everything gone. Naturally nobody in the class saw anything.’ He passed a hand through his grey crewcut.
Miss Borden looked at a stain on his sleeve. ‘Is that blood? You weren’t attacked?’
‘That? No, it’s nothing. Just interrogating one of the kids about the theft, he slipped and fell, that’s all.’
‘I see. And you were talking to Mr Goun when the robbery occurred?’
‘Wanted to see if he’s interested in joining a male teachers’ drill team, I’m trying to form a crack—’
‘Why male? Because I’m sure Miz Beek here would like—’
‘With all due respect ma’am, problem of different heights, different strides — anyway he was busy talking to that handicapped kid, Wood, wonder if maybe he doesn’t take an unhealthy interest there, always following the kid around the corridors, talking to him in corners—’
‘That’s, I asked him to assess the boy.’
‘Whew! That’s a relief, thought for a moment there… I mean you can’t be too careful about fraternization — oops, sorry Miz Beek, forgot you were here, did I—?’
‘Captain why don’t you go and fill out a form S3, so that I can get Ogilvy to work on your binoculars?’
When he’d gone she patted Ms Beek’s arm again. ‘There now, he didn’t upset you did he? Because we’ve all forgotten about that little incident, haven’t we?’
‘…forgotten…’
‘Yes I know you’re having a little trouble remembering the number of your classroom, but I just know you’ll soon be back in the swim.’
At recess, Mr Goun was waiting for him again. He was always lurking somewhere, the droopy red moustache (normally pointing to 4:37) jumping to 3:42 in a rigid smile. He always asked the same questions: did Roderick’s parents work? Did they fight a lot? Did he blame them for his handicap? What did he dream of?
Roderick made up a dream or two that put the moustache to 5:32 (and the eyebrows to 12:55).
Today they stood by the trophy case. Roderick was just saying, ‘…then there was this big decigeon tree, with instead of apples hanging on there was skulls…’ when a big hand grabbed his arm.
‘Good work, Goun, we got him this time.’ Captain Fest gave the robot a shake. ‘Here’s the trophy case, busted open and empty, and here’s the culprit. You see any of his accomplices?’
‘No look, I don’t think Roger here could’ve—’
‘No? Just look at him, guilt written all over that tin face. Let me get him alone for a minute, I’ll find out where they hid the swag. Told Miss Borden this would happen but does she listen? No, and Ogilvy our so-called security man, always off somewhere pulling his pudding…’
‘Maybe we’d better just take him to the office, Fest, straighten out this whole, I’m sure there’s some mistake.’
‘And this little bastard made it. Okay you, MARCH!’
Mr Fest gripped his arm all the way to the office, where Miss Borden told them all to sit down and get calm.
‘Now Roger,’ she said, staring down into the glass depths of his eyes. ‘I want the truth. Have you seen our school trophies?’
‘Trophies?’ he said. ‘You mean like a thing with a little silver statue of a basketball player, seven inches high and made in Hong Kong? And a disc about four inches across, that says 3rd place state spelling contest 1961? And a gold football for the all-county champs 1974?’
‘Yes, have you seen them?’
‘Nope.’
‘Ma’am you just let me get him alone for a coupla minutes—’
Goun said, ‘Give him a chance, maybe he saw them in the case?’
Roderick shook his head. ‘Nope, I never saw them at all.’
Miss Borden’s colour scheme of buff and blue was momentarily spoiled by bright spots of colour in her pale buff cheeks. ‘Young man, this is serious! If you don’t come clean with us, you’ll have to talk to the sheriff. Reform school, is that what you want?’
‘Wants the buckle end of a belt laid across his backside if you ask me. Suppose he didn’t see my binocs, either!’
‘Or my book!’
The interrogation went on for an hour before Miss Borden called the sheriff. ‘Be right over,’ she said, putting the receiver down. ‘He’s watching some game show on TV. God I hate all this! Getting the juvenile authorities in on it, we’ll all end up spending hours filling out forms — please, Roger! Please confess!’