On Tuesday afternoon, Ms Tarasek asked us to write an essay comparing the depiction of the female form in a sculpture (the Venus of Willendorf), a painting (Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus) and a photograph (Madonna Flexing Muscles in Conical Bra by Jean-Paul Gaultier). On completion, we discussed our thoughts with our collaboration partners.
‘Madonna’s photo conveys a provocative duality,’ Isa said. ‘Wearing underwear on the outside, she appears simultaneously vulnerable and powerful. It’s soft and pink but structured and protective, like armour. The pointy bra is weapon-like. She’s flaunting her sexuality, but making sure you know that she’s in control. It was a revolutionary feminist statement that effected a shift in popular culture thirty years ago.’
‘Before we were born.’
‘I’ve been thinking about the project,’ Isa said. ‘I was dismissive of your idea because I’d decided we were doing mine. Now I’ve realised you can’t force your vision on someone.’
‘Exactly.’
‘They’d only sulk and become resentful, and might even sabotage it. There’s no point proceeding if somebody turns into Grouchy McGrouch.’
‘Am I Grouchy McGrouch?’
‘You don’t have to be, because I’m willing to drop my idea and go with yours.’
‘That’s considerate but unnecessary, because I’m fully committed to your idea now.’
‘Typical male strategy. You fight to get your own way and when it happens, you pretend you never wanted it.’
‘Sorry, I don’t remember the fighting part?’
‘You’re so contrary,’ Isa said.
‘Okay, hold that thought.’ I fetched the atomic-orange knitting from my bag and laid it in front of her. ‘It’s not great because I’ve never knitted before. My nana taught me.’
Isa picked it up and wiggled her finger through one of the holes. ‘It’s amazing,’ she said.
‘I know it’s not. I dropped a lot of stitches.’
‘I meant it’s amazing that you learnt to knit from your nana and proved me wrong.’
‘It was just for practice.’ I rolled up the knitting.
‘No way. We’re putting it up tomorrow morning, before there’s anybody around. Let’s meet for a coffee at International Velvet and figure out what to tag.’
‘I don’t drink coffee.’
‘Now’s the time to start. Bring your knitting and I’ll bring everything to attach it. All we need is a name for our crew.’
‘Our crew? There’s only two of us.’
‘Well, think up an alias for yourself.’ Isa shot a smile at me and a light switched on behind her eyes, revealing their colour properly for the first time. They’re not just green – hazel lines radiate from the pupils like trees.
‘What are you staring at?’ she said.
‘It’s like standing in the middle of a forest – your eyes, I mean.’
‘It’s called central heterochromia, according to Tibor. But I prefer your description.’
Wednesday morning at seven, I chained my bike to a pole outside International Velvet. Isa was sitting in a corner booth wearing a black t-shirt and dark sunglasses. She gave me the subtle two-finger wave preferred by secret agents. I slid into the booth beside her.
‘You’re in school uniform,’ she said. ‘I thought we should dress incognito in case we get sprung. Have you got an alias?’
‘Working from the craft angle I came up with Mammoth Woolly, which I think is kind of funny.’ I paused, noticing her frown. ‘But you don’t?’
‘It’s okay.’ Isa was already onto a cappuccino, so I ordered a macchiato because it sounded like the serious shit.
‘What about Clawed Neon?’
‘Aren’t they sign-makers?’
‘Clawed with a “w”.’
‘Clawed Neon. It’s got a punk vibe – I like it. I’m Dawn Sparrowfart.’
‘The Dawn Sparrowfart – Vice President of the Country Women’s Association?’
‘Exactly.’
The waitress delivered a miniature cup of coffee crowned with a tiny pad of froth. ‘Macchiato?’ she said. It was super strong and bitter but I drank it without sugar, hoping to appear hardcore.
‘Coffee moustache,’ Isa said, and handed me a napkin.
We split the bill and went to scope out our first target. Isa found a pole near the back entrance of the teachers’ car park and measured the circumference. ‘Perfect,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t we find somewhere less prominent?’
‘That defeats the purpose. Pass me the knitting.’ She wrapped it around the pole and, starting from the top, began to sew the edges together. ‘This pole has been signless for years. Today we’re reactivating it with a new message for everybody who passes.’
‘What will it say?’
‘Good morning, teachers and pupils of Crestfield Academy. Welcome to a new day of mutual enlightenment. Dare something worthy!’ A Land Rover tooted, kids waving from the back window as it passed. ‘Shit, Lincoln! You’re supposed to be on lookout. Give me some warning next time.’
‘What are you going to do – jump behind the fence?’
‘It’s seven-thirty. Teachers will be arriving soon.’
‘Sew faster.’
‘Would you like to take over?’
‘You’re doing fine.’
‘Go and keep watch on the corner.’
Despite my initial reluctance to go along with Isa’s idea, I was enjoying the slightly subversive nature of the mission. The possibility of being caught was giving me a thrilling tingle not unlike tonguing the terminals of a nine-volt battery. I went down to the corner and called out every car that turned into our street. Isa finished before any teacher arrived.
‘That looks hectic,’ I said, inspecting her work.
‘Well done, you.’ She took a selfie of us in front of the pole with her phone then, while I was taking one with mine, I spotted a car coming up the street.
‘White Econovan at three o’clock!’
‘It’s Maintenance. Act normal!’ The car turned into the entrance and the driver’s window slid down.
‘Early again?’ Jespersen said to me. ‘What’s this?’
I told him it was an art project and asked him to keep our identity secret. He touched the side of his nose then pointed to a security camera mounted beneath the eave of New Block.
‘We’re toast,’ I said as Jespersen drove into the car park.
‘Relax. Tibor told me it doesn’t work.’ Isa waved to the camera then curtsied.
With time to kill, we sat in the seniors’ area planning our next hit. Isa randomly asked if I was scared of Nads.
‘Of course not,’ I said.
‘I used to be scared of him.’
‘Why?’
‘Middle of last year he started following me around a lot. He’d come up really close to talk and it made my skin crawl.’
‘He has no concept of personal space.’
‘This was something different. He’d put his hand on me and pat me like I was an animal. It was creepy and intimidating. Has he ever spoken about me?’
‘Not really,’ I lied. ‘Why?’
‘Last year, when Phoenix and Mullows got together, Nads arrogantly assumed I’d be interested and the four of us could hang out. Cosy. I knocked him back three times. Then, one day after school, he caught my train to Erskineville. Thank God I was with Pericles. He lives at Marrickville but got off early to ensure I was safe. Nads followed us all the way to my street without speaking, so Pez turned around and told him to piss off.’
‘Was there a fight?’
‘Nads started ranting like a maniac, insanely jealous of Pez even though there was nothing between us. He needed a reason to explain my rejection other than his ugly personality. He kept shoving Pez in the chest, but Pez stood his ground. Nads punched him in the stomach then kneed him in the groin. Pez collapsed onto the footpath and Nads walked off laughing.’
That was a completely different version from the one Nads had told. And, after having witnessed his brutal treatment of Starkey with the billiard ball and their violation of the old man’s rose garden, Isa’s story was infinitely more believable. This new development tripled my anxiety about what might happen when they returned from their suspension.
When I got home from school I finally started reading Frankenstein, and though the story within a story was a little confusing at first, I became totally engrossed. Late at night I reached the passage where the monster sees his reflection in a pool of water for the first time. His realisation that he looked a bit worse than grotesque broke my heart. The poor bastard was made up of scraps from the slaughter yards.