6 February 2013 / 11:00
Noah follows his parents as they walk into the small room and sit down opposite Leonie Blake. He looks around at the 8 straight-backed chairs with blue padded seats arranged in a circle. It’s very informal; no table with a place at the top and 1 at the bottom, just a ring of seats: 1 for Mr Reynolds, 1 for the mediator, 3 for the Blakes, 3 for the Groomes. No particular order, Noah sees. The mediator should be at 1 end of the table, Mr Reynolds at the other. Noah and his parents should be on 1 side, the Blakes on the other. Circles don’t work in a difficult situation. You need sides.
Mrs Blake’s mouth is a mean line between her thin cheeks. She’s dressed for battle: khaki trousers and a boxy jacket open to reveal a plain, black t-shirt. Her short, manicured nails are painted a dark, dark red. Her feet are firmly on the ground, her arms are stiff in her lap. She looks straight ahead, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
The door opens again, and in comes Mr Reynolds, followed by Kyle and Mr Blake. Kyle’s father is a complete contrast to his well-groomed wife. His top collar button is undone, his shirt is untucked and his tie looks as if it’s been thrown on at the last minute.
Mrs Blake turns her head and looks at her son. ‘Here, darling.’ She pats the seat next to her.
Kyle moves forward slowly, one arm strapped to his body in a sling. He lowers himself gingerly into the chair and winces as he makes contact with the arm rest.
‘Shame, sweetheart. Is it still very sore?’
Kyle grunts.
Mr Blake sits on the other side of his son and there they are: 3 Blakes facing 3 Groomes. Mr Reynolds takes a seat and they all stare at the empty chair, waiting for the mediator to appear.
Dominic glances at his watch and stifles a small sigh.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Dominic.’ Mrs Blake’s voice is as sharp as the creases pressed into her trousers. ‘Are we keeping you?’
‘No, not at all, Leonie. I was led to believe this meeting would start at 11.’ He smiles at her.
Now Mr Reynolds is the one looking at his watch. ‘It’s not like her to be late,’ he says and Noah feels a flutter of relief. This mediator, the woman who’s going to determine his future, likes to keep to her timetable. Something unexpected must have delayed her.
There’s the sound of running in the corridor. The pace slows, then stops outside the door. A moment of silence and it opens. A small woman stands just inside the doorway, still trying to catch her breath. Her eyes sweep the room, flicking from camp to camp. The chairs might be in a circle, but there’s no doubt as to who is with whom.
‘Ah, Miss Moloi.’ Mr Reynolds jumps to his feet. ‘Good, good.’ He ushers her to her seat.
Noah slips his hand into his pocket and counts his pebbles, 1 2 3 4 5. His thoughts turn to David, who walked out onto the battlefield to face Goliath, with 5 smooth stones in his shepherd’s pouch. Noah tries to let his thoughts wander, tries take his mind off the folder in the mediator’s hand, the clipboard she has balanced on her knees, the pen she’s just clicked open.
‘Good afternoon. My name is Linda Moloi.’ She directs a bright smile at all of them.
Noah sees Goliath swaying where he stands. And then, like a huge tree that the lumberjacks have been sawing away at, down he crashes.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late. The traffic was impossible.’ Noah’s mother smiles at her, his father nods. In Noah’s mind, the battle between David and Goliath plays out again, keeping Miss Moloi’s voice at a hum as she goes around the circle, asking their names, checking that everyone is comfortable, whether they need anything to drink, or to use the bathroom. ‘I’ll start with a brief rundown of how the process works,’ she says, ‘and then you’ll all get a chance to speak.’
Noah’s side of the story is pretty obvious; Kyle’s arm says it all.
Kyle’s mother is on the edge of her seat now, leaning into Miss Moloi’s words, waiting for the first available opportunity to dive in.
Noah’s focused on his 5s, his stones are keeping him still. So far, no need to tap, or time his breathing. Not yet. If he can just keep sidetracking, he’ll get through this.
Mom told him the tale of David and Goliath over and over when he was small. At tidy-up time, Noah would put everything away. He’d march his animals into their wooden ark, 2×2×2, then park his cars in their Duplo garages, one colour at a time – blue into the blue garage, red into red, black into black, green into green and yellow into yellow. Then it was ‘Hop into bed, Noah!’ And there was Mom, ready with a story from Fairy Tales from Around the World or Bible Stories for Children. David and Goliath was always his favourite.
But that was so long ago. A bedroom, a mother and a son from another life, another family.
‘I’d like to ask you to try not interrupt each other.’
Noah briefly tunes back in to his surroundings.
‘Let’s make the process a respectful one,’ Miss Moloi says. ‘Give everyone a fair chance to talk and be heard. I can assure you, you’ll each have an opportunity to share—’
‘Noah’s behaviour was un-ac-ceptable.’ Mrs Blake can’t contain herself any longer. She turns to her husband and he nods.
‘Unacceptable,’ he says, his voice an obedient echo.
Mr and Mrs Blake feed into each other, deliberately touching Kyle as they speak.
‘Noah needs to take responsibility for his actions.’
‘There must be consequences.’
Kyle is leaning back in his chair, his face blank. He glances at Noah and raises an eyebrow. Miss Moloi notices the interaction and, as she catches Kyle’s eye, he adjusts his position and winces audibly.
‘Do you see?’ Mrs Blake is glaring at the Groomes. ‘Now do you see?’
The mediator raises a hand, but Mrs Blake won’t be stopped that easily. ‘A gunshot,’ she says. ‘That’s what Kyle’s friends told me. That when your son broke my son’s arm it sounded like a gun going off.’
The mediator tries to regain control. ‘Mrs Blake, let’s try to get all sides of the story. I’d like to hear from everyone.’
But Kyle’s mother won’t be silenced. ‘How many sides can there be?’ she demands. ‘He dislocated my son’s elbow.’ Her voice is shrill. ‘Do you realise how complicated an injury like this is? And it’s his matric year. This is the last thing he needs.’ She turns imploring eyes on Mr Reynolds.
Mr Blake opens his mouth to say something in the small space his wife allows, but the mediator is quicker than him. ‘It would be good to resolve this as soon as possible,’ she says.
Mr Reynolds nods eagerly.
‘Perhaps we should hear from Kyle and Noah,’ Miss Moloi says.
Noah’s been preparing for this, listening to his sister saying, ‘You have to tell them, Noah. You have to let them know what Kyle and his friends are like.’ He licks his lips, lets his hands rest firm on his thighs. He can do this. He can tell the mediator what Maddie’s already told his parents: ‘It wasn’t his fault. Why should Noah have to pay when he was just defending himself, standing up to that bully?’
Noah sits silently, Kyle straightens, flinches, and begins. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘I was running to get to English. My friends and I were a bit … er … late.’ He smiles deprecatingly. ‘And I bumped into Noah here, said sorry, but I don’t think he heard me. You see, the thing is, Noah doesn’t really hear when you talk to him. It’s like he can’t. He’s too busy talking to himself … So anyway,’ Kyle continues, ‘I bump into him and then he just pushes me. Like hard. Really hard.’
Leonie Blake draws breath and rests her hand on her son’s shoulder and Kyle smiles bravely. He looks directly at Noah. ‘So yes, he pushes me and I fall down and all my friends are laughing.’ He looks at the Groomes, says apologetically, ‘Sorry Mrs Groome, Mr Groome. I mean, he shoved me for no reason, so what was I supposed to do?’
He stops, shakes his head and his blond hair flops onto his forehead. ‘I retaliated. I shouldn’t have, I know.’ He bites his lip. ‘I thought I could stand up to Noah and look what happened. Who knows what he might do if someone else gets in his way and—’
‘That’s what we need to worry about.’ Mrs Blake jabs in Noah’s direction. ‘The next time, and then the time after that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Kyle. ‘I know I should have walked away.’
Mrs Blake nods virtuously.
‘The thing is, Leonie,’ says Noah’s mother, her voice almost conciliatory, ‘I’ve heard that this isn’t the first time Kyle has “bumped” into Noah. Or called him names—’
‘I knew it!’ Mrs Blake’s voice is triumphant. ‘What did I tell you? I knew she’d try to make it all about Kyle and not her son. I’m not the only one, you know.’
‘The only one?’ Noah’s father’s voice is quiet.
‘A lot of the other parents feel the way I do. About your son. About him being at the same school as our children.’ Her voice softens and she leans forward. ‘Don’t you see, Kate? Dominic? Noah needs professional help.’
Noah’s mother is ready to speak, but it’s his father who answers. ‘So what is it you want, Leonie? What exactly do you want us to do?’
Mrs Blake is about to answer, but Miss Moloi quickly steps in. ‘Perhaps Noah would like tell his side of the story? I’d like to hear what he has to say.’
Noah opens his mouth, closes it again.
Don’t even try, Noah.
Noah’s right hand flies to his face. His mother looks at him pleadingly. But he can’t help it. His lips, 5 taps, and then both hands are there, holding back the words. His feet have started tapping, 5 times to the left, 5 times to the right.
There’s nothing you can say, Noah. Nothing can make this better. The moment the barking started, that was it.