Of Greased Pigs and Schoolboys
October
19th,
1999
Buenos Aires
“Sir?”
“Yes, de Lisle?” the
teacher, without rising his eyes from the paper he was grading,
answered with all the ironic contempt his voice could muster.
“Excuse
me, sir,
but there is a hog in the window,” Guntram said very shyly as he
looked at the rosy, small pig walking back
and forth on
the long
Victorian window parapet.
“How
many times do I have to repeat that ‘in’
means that the poor animal is embedded into said window? The proper
formulation for that sentence is... Any idea, de Lisle?” the
teacher corrected him as the whole class did their best to hold their
snickers in check.
“I
mean, there is a pig at
the window, sir,” the just turned seventeen-year-old blond youth
replied in a shaky voice.
“That's
much better, boy,” the old man said and returned to his papers, not
paying any more attention to his student.
“Excuse
me, sir, but it might fall from
the window,” Guntram
insisted shyly but desperately, looking how carelessly the hog paced
along the narrow parapet, softly grunting as
if searching for
invisible truffles.
“From
any other of your fellows, I would have expected such a childish
prank, but from you, de Lisle? This is most annoying. Can you please
explain me where is the fun in your little charade? Do I have to
interrupt my own work and look at the window for your schoolmates'
entertainment?” the old teacher answered with studied
procrastination, stubbornly keeping his short-sighted eyes fixed on
his
papers.
“No,
sir. May I take it out to the garden?” Guntram asked once more,
and the teacher slammed his fist against the
desk, furiously rising from his seat to face...
A
small pig pacing back
and forth on the window's parapet.
Fast
as a comet, the animal jumped from the parapet and dashed for the
classroom’s
mysteriously open door as one of the teenagers used his
pen as a blowgun, accurately hitting its hindquarters.
The
squawking creature ran
out down the corridor like a possessed soul, and the whole classroom,
without waiting for their teacher's permission, went in its pursue,
yelling their excitement to hunt such a dangerous beast.
All
of the boys, with the exception of Guntram who looked at Mr. Steward
with a mix of guilt and embarrassment in his eyes, disappeared from
sight, their war cries alerting the students in the other classrooms
as they heard a
clamour
of doors violently being jerked open.
“Feel
free to join the pack whenever you want, Mr. de Lisle,”
the old teacher mumbled in defeat as he regained his seat.
Without
waiting
to be told twice, Guntram stood up from his desk and briefly bowed
his head at the gloomy old teacher before leaving the room in haste.
Nervous, because he was well aware that he was committing a serious
offence, like leaving the classroom during lessons, he forgot his
coat hanging from the wall's rack.
He
was a bit surprised to see that all the classrooms had been vacated
in such a short time. Somehow, the corridor's aspect reminded him of
an apocalyptic film: papers and pencils scattered all over
the pristine wooden floors,
some of the serious portraits hanging on the walls set at an angle.
The eerie silence was unsettling as he was used to the permanent
murmur permeating the corridors, regardless of the strict sanctions
imposed on the students for “mindless chatting”.
He
crossed at a fast pace the dark corridors of the pseudo Victorian
Gothic castle, built in 1879—as he had read so many times in the
plaque crowning the main entrance—, and designed as a boarding
school for no more than a hundred students from the wealthiest
provincial families and another four
hundred more enrolled
as part-time students who returned to their homes every night.
No
demographic change could ever convince St. Peter's authorities to
enlarge or modify the magical number of a maximum of twenty students
per class,
as the three British founding teachers had decided that was the
perfect equation. The school still managed to survive based on its
past glory, long waiting lists and high monthly fees that assured
the parents they were giving their children the best possible
education.
The
muffled cries coming from the inner yard's direction told Guntram
that the pig might be running in circles along the galleries. He
pushed open
the heavy wooden door that lead to the inner yard, copied from the
Jerónimos Monastery in Belém, Portugal, to witness a Dantesque
scene.
Two-thirds
of the school were cheering for a very fast and elusive hog running
up and down the narrow paths that led to the central fountain, while
the remaining third, along with the majority of the younger teachers,
ran after the animal.
Much to the crowd's disappointment, Mr. Carruthers, the
gymnastics teacher, was able to finally corner the frightened animal
against some bushes, but when he bent his body to catch it, the
animal simply slid through his fingers and ran through the maze of
teachers and students with surprising agility.
“It's
covered in Vaseline!” one of the youngest boys shouted while other
added,
“A greased pig!”, provoking a thunderous laughter in the yard.
An
anonymous hand opened the library's door, and the pig escaped to the
security a dark cave could provide. The Second
Class students nearly ran over Guntram in their haste to get out of
the building to open the library's opposite entrance so the animal
could escape to the lawn and thus increase its chances of escape.
Twenty acres of gardens, trails, courts, riding arena and swimming
pool facing the Río de la Plata could provide numerous shelters for
a pig on the run.
Guntram
watched in rapt the pandemonium unleashed by the small pig
as it ran as fast as it could over the large lawn in front of the
school while pursued by some forty students, breaking the sacred rule
of “Keep off the grass”. He was startled when he felt someone
pull from his jacket.
“This
isn't Oxford any longer, right, Coco?”
Guntram chuckled again as he saw the impressive Mr. Elltington
running after the hog as fast as his round belly allowed him.
“Or
Eton,” his friend, built like a rugby player,
laughed. “We are so dead after this one.”
“Happy
birthday, Guntram,” Mariano Bronstein told him, and he added
with a sad smile, “We had something for you, but our esteemed Coco,
here, ate it.”
“I had no idea that the fudge was for him! I thought
it belonged to Brown!” Coco defended himself. “Sorry, man,” he
said with a contrite face.
“Don't
worry. Thank you,
guys,” Guntram answered.
“Here,
take this,”
Coco said, and took a living toad out from his jacket's pocket.
Guntram
looked in surprise at the brownish-green amphibian placed on his
hand, and quickly covered it with the other before one of the many
preceptors would catch
them with it. All the middle-aged “jailers”, as the wardens were
called by the boarders, were out looking
for blood as their peaceful mid-morning coffee break had been
cancelled to hunt for an elusive hog.
“Where
did you get it?” the blond asked in surprise, taking a glimpse
through his closed fingers at the animal.
“From
the lab,”
Mariano answered. “We used the commotion to break
in and save this poor fellow from being dissected later this week.
You can use him as model, and then take him back to the river once
you're done.”
“Should Fuentes not use a video for that?” Guntram
asked as he frowned in sympathy, thinking on the poor animal's fate.
“He's
a sadist,” Coco said asserted firmly. “Every Friday night he gets
the leather costume
out. A real
dominatrix. With whip and all.”
“Coco, a dominatrix is a woman,” Mariano explained
him with infinite patience. “Learn the difference or you'll get a
nasty surprise.”
“Fuck you!” Coco shouted.
“No, you!”
Guntram
sighed as his friends continued to call each other names and he
interrupted the discussion with a,
“I don't think any of us will get permission to go
close to the river in a very long time, Mariano. Besides, it's too
cold, and I have
no coat with me here.”
“You
just
walk over there; no one will ever ask you a thing,” Coco said with
sufficiency. “Some of us are born with a corsair patent,
and people like you come with a sainthood
certificate attached.”
“Here, take my coat,” Mariano added as he removed
it from his body.
Guntram
laughed and carefully slid the animal inside
his jacket, not willing to stain Mariano's blue coat. “OK. I think
nobody will miss me if I disappear now.”
“While you're at it, ask for a wish to the toad,”
Coco joked. “What?” he blurted out when he saw Mariano slowly
shaking his head in a disapproving way.
“Those are the fairy godmothers, Coco. Didn't you
even get that at kindergarten?”
“Not toads?” he asked in genuine surprise.
“Nope. You kiss a frog and you get a prince,”
Mariano explained him.
“I don't want a prince! I'm not gay!” Coco refuted
with deep disgust.
“No,
idiot, not you. The story goes that if you are a princess
and
you kiss a frog,
it turns into a prince.”
“This
is a toad! Not a frog!” Coco protested incensed. “This is
ridiculous. What if I'm a short-sighted
princess and kiss a she-frog?
Do I become a dyke?”
“See you later, guys,” Guntram said as he realised
that this was going to be another discussion on the sex of angels,
more tiring than trying to teach some trigonometry to Coco.
* * *
As
Guntram
walked towards the beach strewn with tall and prickly rushes, only
used when the middle-years boys had their sailing lessons or during
the long summer weekends, he couldn't help the feel that he was being
followed.
As
he crouched on the sand, he heard a cracking noise among the plants,
and he turned around fast and launched his body to catch a small
bundle hiding among the rushes.
“Pepe!
What are you doing here?” he said when he recognised one of the
youngest boys that attended the nearby soup kitchen.
It was supported by the school and was established to help the people
of the new illegal settlement formed two years ago at the dump site.
Guntram went there to help after classes when he had little homework.
“Ah,
it's you Guti,” a boy his age said sounding a bit disappointed as
he appeared from behind a dense clump of reeds. “Didn't recognise
you with that coat.”
“What are you doing here? The Headmaster could call
the police if someone finds you here.”
“Hunting,”
a third
boy, emerging
from the reeds, explained him nonchalantly.
“Do you already know about the pig?” Guntram asked
shocked.
“What pig?”
“There's one loose at the school. Somebody brought it
in. Everybody is running after it.”
“We
were looking for other kind of pigs. Your preppy friends. They come
here and have a lot of money
in their pockets,” the oldest boy, Pulga, said with a shrug.
“You're OK, no problems with you.”
“We
gonna crush them for ortibas1,
caretas
2y
panchos3,”
another
boy said, his voice laced with real hatred.
“Father
Patricio will kill you if he finds out,” Guntram said seriously.
“This is private property,
and being here is like breaking into a house. You could get into a
lot of trouble if someone from the school rats
you out.”
“They're
all the same piece of shit. Who's gonna speak? The one we caught with
a joint?” the boy smirked,
and Guntram huffed not truly upset.
“What do you have there?” the smallest boy asked
when he saw Guntram's pocket moving.
“A toad. Have to return it to the water.”
“Will
die
here. Not deep enough. Take it to the marsh near where we live,”
Pulga said with
a shrug.
“I can't do that. I can't leave the school premises.”
“The…
what?”
“I can't leave the school. If I do, the Headmaster
will kick me out.”
“That
sucks.
Like juvie, right, Pulga?” the middle one asked to the oldest boy,
who assented silently and turned around to go away.
“Wait,
Pepe,” Guntram said searching his other pocket. “I have some
cookies left from breakfast.” He pulled out a mini-pack
of biscuits and gave it to the boys who devoured them in no time.
“If
you’ve
guts, follow us and we'll show you where's the pond,” Pulga said
and Guntram nodded, partly heartbroken because he had realised that
the boys probably had had nothing for breakfast that morning if they
were ‘hunting’.
“Think
you can tell your friends to send the pig over here?” the boy
who seemed to be ten years old asked.
* * *
Guntram
followed the group of five boys, noticing that their clothes were
very ragged and certainly not appropriate for the cold wind bursts
whistling from the river. They reached the barbed wire fence and one
of them moved aside
a loose wooden pole. Guntram crossed to the other side, taking care
not to ruin Mariano's coat with the wires.
Pepe,
who was perhaps eight years old—it was difficult to tell as years
of malnutrition made them look younger (smaller) than what they
were—was happily telling Guntram about a newly formed cumbia
music group he had discovered. “They're called the
Pibes Chorros,4
like us,” he announced proudly,
and Guntram had troubles to smile back at him. “They rock. Do you
know two of them were already in prison for armed robbery?”
They
reached a small, dirty, natural pond, and Guntram got the toad out of
his jacket. The boys surrounded him and the smallest went to their
tiptoes to better watch the amphibian calmly sitting in Guntram's
hand. While all the boys were looking at the animal, an old man ran
to them and
stopped once he reached their side, raggedly breathing.
“Why?”
“You
shoot
down that guy in Punta Chica,” the man said seriously. “Here,
take this, and good luck.” He pulled a .32 out of his trousers and
brutally placed it on the lanky boy's right hand, dropping some
ammunition on the left.
Pulga
only nodded and stashed
the weapon inside his own trousers as he poured the bullets into his
pockets. “Will this one not speak?” the man asked dangerously
when he saw Guntram standing among the young members of his gang.
“At
least I'm not giving my people the wrong bullets,” Guntram answered
darkly. “Those are .22
and that's a .32. Hardly the same. The weapon will not work at all,
Pulga.”
“What?”
The youth opened his hand and examined the four bullets lying
in his palm. “Motherfucker! You snitch!” he roared pushing the
man with all his force as the other boys jumped on top of their boss
like hungry piranhas, beating and kicking him with all of their
strength.
Guntram
tried to separate the two smallest boys from the bundle of kicks and
punches, but they had more strength than he had ever credited them
for, so he had to settle for shouting,
“Cops are coming!”, making all the boys run away in disarray.
The
man looked badly hurt, but Guntram, instead of going away, extended
his hand to help him to stand up. Still shaking and spitting blood,
the man stood up on shaky legs
and looked at his saviour.
“Are you not the one from the parish?” he growled,
recognising him.
“Yeah, that's me.”
“Should
have said it,” the man smirked. “I don't want troubles with you.
Your old man is with the Peronist Party and
a criminal judge. Our middle-man would kill me if he cuts our welfare
checks. We are all dead if something happens to you. Swear you'll say
nothing, kid.”
“Who's
going to ask me?”
Guntram smirked. “I'm the bloody Mother Theresa. Beat it before I
tell my old man.”
He
watched how the man left the place before he took out the almost
dried toad from his
pocket. Knowing that he was alone, he left it next to the water and
the animal madly jumped in.
“Hey,
you forgot to grant me my wish!” he protested,
but the toad was well away. “I could have asked for a family and a
lot of money to give to people like Pepe. He really deserves
something
better than
drugs, thieves, asphalt pirates and misery. Or motherfuckers who use
small children to do their shit because they don't want to go to
jail. I wish all those bastards would drop dead.”
* * *
Walking
slowly, Guntram returned to the school.
After checking
his old Casio watch, he realised he had missed lunch, if any had been
served at all. He had enough time as to smuggle himself into
Art class as the young teacher would be, as always, dreaming of
creating a masterpiece while his classmates loafed as much as they
wanted, pretending they were “looking for inspiration”.
As
predicted, the teacher only said, “Ah,
you're back, de Lisle. Sit down and do something, if you can,”
under the barely contained snickers of his fellows.
Guntram
sat at his usual place. With
morose moves, he got his drawing pad out and loudly passed the pages,
making the teacher throw a venomous look at him. With calculated
clumsiness, he let his tin pencil box fall to the floor, noisily
clanking as the pencils scattered all over the classroom.
“I'm
sorry, Miss Peña,” he said with mock
contrition, and bent his body to start to gather his pencils. Slowly.
As
she was huffing like a ragged bull, Guntram heard another metal box
hit the floor, and through the metal table legs
saw Fedérico mimicking his own small ‘guerrilla tactics’ against
the teacher.
“Martiarena!”
she shouted enraged. “Out!” She vented all her frustration on
the well-known offender.
“Yes,
Miss Peña,” Fedérico said
in his best ‘sweet lamb’ voice, but the scorn in his eyes was
very visible to the teacher. “Do I go to detention or to the
Headmaster's?”
“Out!”
she
roared hysterically. “You too, de Lisle!”
“Yes,
madam,”
Guntram answered from under his classmate Laucha's desk, looking on
his fours for his pencils while getting several discreet kicks in the
ribs from his fellow. Without saying another word, he yanked Laucha's
ankle very violently and threw him out of his chair, much to the
class entertainment.
“You
too!” she
shouted to
Laucha, laughing like an idiot from the floor.
Once
the three boys were out, Guntram mumbled,
“My, what a
day we are having.”
“She's
going to be fired. The
Headmaster told her this morning,” Fedérico smirked. “She's an
idiot if she can't control even you, pumpkin.”
“Most obliged, Fefo.”
“That's
what the Headmaster said at the Board's meeting. My mother was
there,” Laucha informed them. “But I still have to finish those
twenty drawings she wants,” he added darkly. “Same price, Guti?”
“Depends. Caran d'Ache?”
“Stäedler,
and a box of twelve pencils.”
“No way. Twenty-four and two white number five pads.”
“That's robbing me!”
“In advance.”
“Guntram! We are pals!” Laucha protested.
“That's
the pals' price. Otherwise,
I would charge you four pads and a box of thirty-six pencils. I'm
saving you from failing this class, Laucha. You can pass to the final
year with only two pending subjects, and you have, at the moment,
five to go.”
“Fine!”
the boy growled and turned around to disappear in the garden to smoke
a cigarette. He was well aware that the teacher would not check
if he had gone or not to the Headmaster's office.
“What do we do now?” Guntram asked his friend who
only shrugged. “Headmaster or detention?”
“Where
were you today? You missed all the fun,”
Fedérico asked instead.
“No, I saw part of it. It was just incredible, Fefo!”
“Did you like it?”
“Sure! That pig was certainly funny. Do you know
where it is?”
“I think the gardeners were trying to catch it. No
chance,” Fefo laughed with a contagious smile. “Let's play the
ant. Teachers are too busy thinking on how to punish us to realise
anything.”
“You
think they won’t notice
that you are not in the classroom? The silence will give you away,
Fefo,” Guntram laughed back but followed his friend to the garden.
“What were you doing at lunchtime?” Fedérico asked
again.
“Just saving a toad's life,” Guntram shrugged.
“Fuentes wanted to cook the poor guy.”
“He's a sadist, no doubt about it,” Fedérico
mumbled.
“If
the piggy is gone, let's go to the library. We can study for
tomorrow’s maths test. You certainly need to,” Guntram said, and
Fedérico whined. “What? You're also toasted like Laucha,
and I want to graduate with you.”
“As you say, Father Guntram,” Fedérico smirked,
secretly glad that his friend cared for him no matter what.
* * *
At
three thirty in the afternoon, the Senior classes—the
Fourth and Fifth years—
were summoned to
the multi-purpose room.
The
forty boys looked at each other in surprise as normally such an
offence would deserve a general scolding at the school-yard since
there were no apparent
culprits and all the school, down
to the kindergarten babies, had participated in the action.
The
old Headmaster, Mr. Stoyle,
entered the room with long strides, followed by other four teachers,
but he was not the one who provoked the involuntary collective gasp
of terror. Father Patricio had joined him, and if he was there, most
certainly someone would be expelled at the end of the day.
“Sit
down, gentlemen,” the Headmaster said as he took
his seat at the desk placed on a small dais, and the middle-aged
priest joined him. All the boys took their places in an almost
complete silence. Guntram felt his heart
beat very fast, but said nothing as he sat between Fedérico and
Mariano.
“Today
has been one of the most shameful days at St. Peter's,”
the Headmaster
started his speech. “We have
done our best to show you how to become the perfect gentlemen, but
our lessons have gone unheard or have been blatantly disregarded.”
“Children
are mischievous, and that is part of their education,” Father
Patricio spoke, clearly stressing the first word much to the boys’
annoyance. “But today your actions hurt a creature of God. The poor
animal was trembling with fear and exhaustion.”
“This
kind of fearless action can only come from the Senior years,”
Stoyle barked. “This kind of behaviour will not be tolerated at St.
Peter's. The culprits will be punished with the utmost severity.
“As
it is, the animal could have not entered the school during the
morning, so the only option left is during Sunday afternoon when the
boarding
students returned
to the campus. I'm willing to give you an opportunity to redeem
yourselves, gentlemen, and I expect that you will confess of
your own will.”
The
silence in the room was deafening. If anyone knew anything, the pact
of silence was powerful enough so
as no one would break it. Guntram looked at his friends but they all
looked clueless,
and the ones he knew from the Fifth year were also putting their best
innocent faces on.
“Should
I start to interrogate you one by one?” Stoyle barked,
and Fedérico mumbled, “You might as well do your job,” to a
flushing Guntram.
Guntram
looked at Father Patricio and saw that he was scrutinizing each one
of their faces,
and he felt bad because he was well aware that he had been breaking
more important rules than smuggling a pig in. His face showed real
guilt and the priest looked at him in genuine surprise.
“Very
well, gentlemen. I'll start to interrogate all the boarders.
The rest of you may return to your classes,” Stoyle said
nonchalantly. “You too, de Lisle. You returned on Sunday from the
soup kitchen with Father Patricio.”
Guntram
was
very relieved, but he felt bad because Coco and Mariano looked very
concerned, already knowing that it would be virtually impossible to
fool the priest about their morning's activities at the laboratory.
Father Patricio possessed a sixth sense for catching people in their
lies, especially young teenagers. Guntram slowly rose from his chair
as the other exonerated boys went
away in a silent but fast pace.
“Excuse me, sir,” Guntram said shyly.
“What
is it,
de Lisle?” the
Headmaster shouted, and he flinched.
“I was with Father Patricio at the soup kitchen...”
“Yes, we have ascertained that. Thank you very much
for reminding me my own words,” the Headmaster said with
sufficiency.
“Excuse
me, sir, but I would like to say something,”
Guntram insisted, and all the boys looked at him in astonishment.
Guntram had the opportunity to escape unscathed and he was directing
Stoyle's attention towards him?
“Speak up, de Lisle.”
“When
I was there, with Father Patricio, at the settlement, I noticed there
were some pigs. Perhaps the animal belongs to
the people there, and we should return it, sir,” Guntram said in
a shaky voice. “I think I saw a hog, but I'm not completely sure.”
The
Headmaster and the priest looked at each other in surprise,
and Father Patricio said, “I don't remember the pigs, but it is a
common practice
for them to keep
animals to support themselves.”
“Perhaps the pig escaped and got lost,” Guntram
suggested, more shyly than before. “We should ask this people.”
Both
classes looked at Guntram in hope, and Fedérico contained
a chuckle as teacher and priest exchanged looks, uncertain of the
best course of action. A “reasonable doubt” was floating in the
air, and asking the poor people if the pig belonged to them or not
was a waste of time.
The answer would be ‘yes’
in any case.
“A
pig is very valuable,” Guntram added innocently. “We can't keep
it here, and perhaps the owner is looking for it. Maybe it entered
the school premises through the fence and wandered
lost till today.”
“We
will investigate your allegations, de Lisle,” Stoyle said
defeated, as he
could
not see other way out. Accusing the students when there was another
very feasible explanation to justify the animal's presence
would only strain his public relations with the parents.
“Until further notice, all your privileges are
suspended. Dismissed!” the Headmaster shouted to the sixteen
remaining boys in the room, and they all dashed out in haste, knowing
they had escaped by very little this time.
* * *
“That
was fucking brilliant, Guti,” Mariano chortled once they were in
the inner yard.
All the students, communally and silently, had
decided to skip the last class as there were only thirty minutes left
before tea time.
“Stoyle
should return the animal,” Guntram said seriously. “It's the
truth,
and I wasn't joking.”
“Forget
it!” Coco laughed good-heartedly. “Teachers will grill it
tonight! It was rosy, round and looked
in very good shape.”
“Don't
be nasty,
Coco,” Guntram retorted.
“If
you become a lawyer, call me,
de Lisle,” one
of the older boys chuckled, patting his arm as he passed by.
“Greatest day in this smelly hole.”
“And no casualties,” another one snarled. “Stoyle
must be getting a new ulcer.”
Guntram
felt embarrassed as he
knew that most probably the prank with the pig was one of his
classmates fault, but on the other hand, the pig would be certainly
appreciated by the settlement's inhabitants. 'Who could have done it?
It was really funny, but poor animal. It must have been very scared
with all those people running after it,' he thought.
Two
of the preceptors entered the
yard and shouted that classes were still not over and that they
should return to their classrooms. The students howled and their feet
grew roots,
but the men began to herd them back to the building with soft pushes,
glad that the serious students,
like de Lisle, Dollenberg, Bronstein and Martínez Zuviría went
peacefully by themselves, destroying the other students'
justification to resist.
* * *
Feeling very tired, Guntram finished his homework for
the next week, alone in his room. As part of the “privileges
suspension” there had been no dessert and no TV, leaving the boys
with no other option than studying. 'That fudge would have been
dandy, right now,' Guntram thought, missing to have something sweet
to eat.
His
roommate
was in the infirmary due to a strong cold, and the doctor had
preferred to keep him isolated, so he had the rare opportunity of
having the room all for
himself. Next year, when they would
be allowed to choose their partners, he was sure he would ask for
Fedérico as Mariano and Juan wanted to continue together,
and Coco was happy with his cousin.
Guntram
organized his papers for the next
day and then began to make a series of sketches of his classmates and
their hunt for the pig, already knowing they would be never published
in the school's magazine. Without knowing why, he also drew
the toad and the faces of the poor boys. 'Hopefully, they'll get the
pig,' he thought, 'but I doubt they'll eat it if they're on the run
from the police. I wonder what might have happened. Maybe it was a
lie from that man. Pulga is violent sometimes, but he wouldn't kill a
man.
'I
have to find a way to tell Father Patricio that the boys are after
our throats. It
could be dangerous if someone plays the hero. The police want
to get them out and most of the parents too. On Sunday,
at confession. Yes, that's the best moment to speak with him.
Probably I'll get a slap on the head for playing the ant.'
“De
Lisle, go to bed,” the warden grunted softly, his head peering
through the door, not willing to shout to
the young man as he was the least
problematic of all the students in his ward.
“Yes, sir,” he answered, and without delay, he put
together his pencils and cleaned his desk.
He
changed into his pyjamas
and went to the communal bathroom, carefully avoiding to be splashed
by the two twelve-year-old boys playing with water, to brush his
teeth. Hurrying a bit to avoid to be left in the darkness when the
lights would go out, he slid into his bed and fell asleep on the
spot, so tired he was.
* * *
“Hey,
what are you doing here?” Guntram mumbled waking up when he felt
Fedérico slid into his bed very late that night.
“Sneaking
in. That's all, pigeon. It's lonesome out there.”
“That’s
because everybody is out but us. All who could, ran to mama. Our
class has been punished, remember? But that
pig show was well worth it. ”
“Happy birthday, Guntram,” Fedérico giggled.
“Was
it you?” he
asked in total shock. “I thought it was the Senior class!”
“Yeah,
the piggy is mine,” the brunette answered with deep
satisfaction. “This one will be remembered over the years.”
“It
was incredibly funny,
and it certainly could run. I had no
idea pigs were so fast,” Guntram chuckled very amused. “Why did
you do it? Why didn't you wait for next year?”
“You
always feel
a bit blue on your birthdays. I bet you didn't sulk at all today.”
Guntram
laughed and hugged his friend before turning
around in the bed to nest his head over his propped elbow. “Thank
you. Birthdays are hard for me, you know?”
“Next
year, I'll blow something up. Have to leave this hole through
the grand door,” Fedérico said with a pleased smile, barely
visible in the darkness. “I can always blame the nerds at the
chemistry lab.”
“Hey!
I'm one of them!” Guntram protested falsely offended. “It was
really great of
you,” he added softer. “Do you know what happened to the pig?”
“Grilled
and served tonight at the teachers table. Why do you think they were
running so fast after it?” Both boys laughed hard
and the bed squeaked noisily forcing them to be quiet before the hall
warden would show up to investigate the noise.
“I might have something for you,” Guntram said very
softly.
“What?”
“Laucha paid me with cigarettes. He had no pencils
left, and I didn't want to get him into more trouble with the Arts
witch.”
“You don't smoke.”
“No,
I don't, but you do.” Guntram's body trapped Fedérico's when he
moved over his friend's body to get a pack
of cigarettes from under his mattress, and he shyly offered them to
him.
“Marlboro?
I'm impressed, pumpkin,” Fedérico said with a warm smile, and his
hands crossed over Guntram's waist, almost forcing him to remain
sprawled over his chest. The blond didn't protest as he had grown
used to be familiarly touched by Fedérico since he was thirteen
years old. He only readjusted his position on the
bed, so they wouldn't be touching each other so much, and rested his
head over his friend's shoulder. “You should have waited for the
pencils,” Fedérico added softly, still without relinquishing
Guntram's waist.
“No, those come on Monday,” he said a bit
embarrassed because of their close proximity.
“I'll
take you out next Saturday
to Tremendous
and buy you a full ‘Crazy Jar’. I'll
make a man out of you there!”
“We
are grounded till the end of time,
remember?” Guntram smirked. “Thanks to you, Einstein.”
“Wait
till I plead my Human Rights case to my mother. There's not a single
piece of physical evidence against us, and thanks to you, nor
a clear culprit. Stoyle is only saving
face with this
stupid grounding.”
“What's
a ‘Crazy
Jar’?”
Guntram asked out of blue.
“It's
the drink of the
gods. At the end
of the party, all what is left over in the glasses is poured into a
grand silver champagne bucket and raffled among the merry revellers.
It's a great honour to get a sip.”
“Phew!”
Guntram grimaced with deep disgust. “Have
you ever drunk it?”
“Lady
Fortune has never been on my side,”
Fedérico said haughtily, and Guntram laughed almost rolling out of
the bed.
“I'll
pass your invitation,” Guntram chuckled but went serious. “I
don't like it
when you or the guys go there. I mean, you're playing with those
girls, and they deserve some respect.”
“Father
Guntram, the girls love it, and at my age you want to dip your
biscuit in any coffee
milk, tea or
cocoa you see. Is that clear?”
“You're disgusting, Fefo!” Guntram protested with a
laugh and punched him on the biceps.
“I
can always marry you, if you don't want me to go to such places.
Would you show me the right path?” Fedérico said dramatically, and
Guntram laughed louder. “Come on, pumpkin.
Let's shock my mother and your tutor. We can run away to Brazil,
marry and live together for ever and ever.”
“Don't be silly!”
“You're
perfect for me,” Fedérico chuckled. “You do my homework,
remember my test dates, bring me cigarettes, defend my innocence from
the Headmaster,
are good looking—”
“And a man, dimwit.”
“We
all have small defects. Once I
show you what I can do, you will not want to have anything else,”
he said seriously as his hands travelled across Guntram’s back to
stop just before the touch would be more than a friendly jest.
“Did
you study for the Alliance
Française
test?” Guntram
blurted out, strangely confused by the serious tone his friend had
used.
“Yes,
I've already chosen my piece. Something from Les
Amitiés
Particuliers.”
“Peyrefitte?
You’ll
be so dead when Madame
Mendoza hears you.”
“The
old hag deserves a shag now and then. Imagine, the vivid descriptions
of two boys in love in a boarding school!”
“Dites-moi
un synonyme pour le mot 'cependant', Monsieur Martiarena,”
Guntram imitated her haughty accent. “That's what's she's going to
tell you, and your Révolution
Française will end
right there. You're nuts if you think you can pull this one, Fefo.
Why don't you read a chapter from Le
Petit Prince?
That's all what she asks.”
“‘S'il est
vrai, Cloris, que tu m'aimes,
mais j'entends que tu m'aimes bien,
Je ne crois pas que les rois mêmes
Aient en bonheur pareil au mien.
Tout ce qu'on dit de l'ambroisie,
ne touche point ma fantasie,
“Where
did
that come from?” Guntram asked very surprised.
“Some
French guy. Théophile de Something. That's what I'm going to tell
Madame
Mendoza if she doesn't appreciate my reading of Peyrefitte.”
“You're
totally crazy!” Guntram chuckled. “It's very nice though,” he
said oddly moved. “Does that mean you
read a non-mandatory book?”
“A
whole poetry book. Short sentences, you know?” Fedérico joked
in a slightly
quivering voice. “Did you like it?”
“Yes,” Guntram said. “Save it for a very special
girl,” he added nervously, not understanding where the conversation
was going.
“Or a special person,” Fedérico said simply,
leaving his words dangling in the air.
“We'd
better hit the pillow. There are thousands of potatoes waiting for us
tomorrow,” Guntram said
blushing in the darkness and putting as much distance between them as
he could in the small bed.
“You're
right,” Fedérico answered
and released his friend, who turned around mumbling “night”
before falling asleep almost immediately, emotionally drained like
never before.
'Maybe
I have a chance. He did
not hit me when I recited the poem. Laucha or Brown would have killed
me for such a thing,' Fedérico thought as he got out from Guntram’s
bed to use the empty one next to his.
'He's still a little boy, but perhaps he's not against
it. He's just prejudiced.
'Maybe I have a chance.
'That
would be
great.'
2Careta,
Argentinean slang for superficial, liar, smug, arrogant or a person
who does not use drugs.
And that, my dear Konrad, Ferdinand and Co., is how Guntram and the boys fool around. *laugh*
ReplyDeletePoor Fefo, though, his Chloris never listened to his words.
PS Perhaps if he had sang them?