I had no experience of what going to school in a warish zone would be like. I do now. Everyone was edgy and aggressive, including the teachers. You’d be afraid to look at someone the wrong way in case you got an earful. Maybe worse. I lost count of the amount of scraps there were in those first few days.
Because Pav couldn’t speak the lingo like a politician under interrogation he was put into some of the thicko classes. They said he’d catch up much quicker due to the pace being slower in thicko classes. Now, my brain isn’t blessed with the cells of the great thinkers, but this seemed to me like a contradiction, or like some smart-arse was having a laugh at the poor Old Country boy. This meant I didn’t see Pav for large chunks of the day, so I couldn’t keep an eye on him, protect him, make him laugh, help him with the trauma of a new school. I couldn’t be his surrogate teacher. I couldn’t plot out a way to Mercy Lewis’s heart. All my classes did proper learning. Basically I only saw Pav at break and at lunch, and sometimes I didn’t even see him then, as I was studying or doing homework. Keeping on top of it.
It was Mercy Lewis who told me. It was day three. I had my nose in a story. She was out of breath. Her face was chalk, which then made my face go chalk. At first I thought it was due to the hunger; sometimes it made me disoriented and faint. I knew that I looked skinnier and paler. Sure, we all did. But this wasn’t hunger Mercy was oozing; sometimes the eyes can tell when something isn’t a piss-take. The heart knows right away, and so does the skin colour. Especially when it’s Mercy Lewis who’s telling the tale; she wasn’t exactly renowned for her monkey business and mickey-taking. Mercy had never seen anyone being punched full force in the face or headbutted on the crown before. And it was the first time she’d witnessed one human stamping on another human’s head. It left its mark on Mercy, so much so she was struggling to speak. That’s why when she tried to tell me what had happened she was shaking like a leaf.
‘It’s OK, Mercy,’ I said. ‘Take a deep breath and tell me what’s happened.’
Mercy Lewis took a gulp of fresh air. My heart was bursting out of my shirt.
‘Charlie, it’s Pav.’
‘What about him?’
‘Max and Bones.’
‘What have they done?’
Mercy held her chest. Her oh-my-God moment.
‘Mercy, what have Max and Bones done?’
‘He was on the ground, Charlie. Blood everywhere. They stamped on him. On his head, again and again.’
‘Where is he, Mercy? Where is Pav now?’
‘He was lying there,’ she said.
‘Outside?’ I asked. ‘Who’s with him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Teachers?’
‘No, I think he’s alone.’
As soon as she said the word alone I was on my heels. I dropped my book, legged it outside and immediately saw the small gathering. A growing circle had formed. Not one of them doing anything to help. I couldn’t hear a kind or sympathetic word being uttered. No warm hand. No words of comfort. What was wrong with these people? Little Town people. My people.
‘It’s your new mate,’ someone said to me as I fought my way through the circle.
‘He looks finished,’ said another.
‘Serves him right,’ the first voice said. I didn’t even see their faces. My eyes defaulted to tunnel vision mode, exactly the same eyes as when I was inside The Big Man’s mine.
Then I saw him.
Little Pav.
My mate, Pav.
Lying in the foetal position.
In a ball.
Tight.
Huddled up.
Trying to protect himself.
Came to Little Town for a better life and here he was lying in a heap, blood trickling out of his ear, nose, mouth and head. Black-and-blue eyes. Swollen. His body shaking. Everyone watching but no one doing a thing. No fingers being lifted. Nothing. All watching the best movie in town. If ever there was a swear moment – not like previous swear moments – this WAS it. I didn’t, I couldn’t, hold it in.
‘Why are you all just fucking standing there? Get some fucking help!’ I screamed.
The circle got wider. Less enclosed. People were doing what I’d said. Scared of my voice, my new voice. A voice that shocked even me.
‘Go, beat it!’ I shouted.
Oh, how I wished The Big Man’s guns were tucked inside my trousers. I’d blow them all into next week.
I wiped my eyes and nose and knelt down. I put my hands on his body. It shook. I picked him up a little, held him close to me.
‘Pav, it’s me. It’s Charlie.’
My hands reached under his head, his blood-matted head. I couldn’t see a major cut or laceration. Still.
‘Pav, it’s Charlie.’
Pav was all over the place: dazed and dizzy. I slid my jacket under his head and tried to keep him warm. I’ve seen people do that in films. Surely Mum couldn’t skelp me for bogging up my jacket in these circumstances?
The circle was no more. Just Mercy standing. Watching. Still chalk-white. Still shaking. Face etched with worry. For Pav.
‘You’re going to be OK, Pav. Promise,’ Mercy said.
‘You’re going to be fine, mate,’ I said.
His eyes had that rabbit stare about them. I looked into them, not in the staring-game way though. I wish. He blinked too much. His trousers were ripped at the knee. He coughed twice.
‘You’re going to be just fine,’ Mercy said.
‘Totally fine,’ I said.
How did I know for sure? I was no medicine man; I had no qualifications. All I had was my gut. There’s no way I should’ve been telling anyone that they were going to be OK, especially when they were lying in a pile of cuts with a head injury. But I was his mate, his only mate, so it was my duty to tell him that he was going to be fine.
‘He’s going to be fine, isn’t he, Mercy?’ I heard my voice rattle.
‘You’re going to be totally fine, Pav,’ she said.
I took out a hanky and wiped the blood from his nose and ear. The blood from his eyebrow had already clotted. Warm water required for that one. When I got him to sit up the colour returned and his eyes seemed to focus. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva on the ground. We sat there in the yard as if we were fishing. Pav muttered words in his own lingo, words that weren’t very nice I’d imagine. I didn’t speak. Just sitting with him was enough. I shared a look with Mercy. Pav spat again and tried to pull blood from his nose.
‘There you go, Pav,’ Mercy said, handing him one of her hankies. A real one that you’d need to wash afterwards. The letters ML embroidered in the corner. Somehow I don’t think Mercy wanted it back.
‘Thanking you,’ Pav said, handing the hanky back to Mercy.
‘No. No. You keep it, Pav. Hold on to it; you might need it again,’ Mercy said.
‘You OK, buddy?’ I said.
‘I OK. I OK,’ he said.
‘I can take you to the school nurse if you want?’ Mercy said.
‘I no need nurse,’ Pav said.
‘As a precaution,’ Mercy said. Pav looked confused. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
‘It might be a good idea, mate,’ I said.
‘You’ve got some cuts,’ Mercy pointed out.
Pav put his hand up to his head.
‘Bastards,’ Pav muttered, then began to say something again in his lingo.
More spitting on the ground; it wasn’t to get rid of the blood this time though.
‘We need to get you checked out and cleaned up,’ I said.
‘That would be my recommendation, Pav,’ Mercy said.
‘Where is nurse?’ Pav asked.
‘Just in there.’ Mercy pointed to the main doors of the school. We all looked. I had seen neither head nor tail of any nurse since we returned less than a week ago. The old nurse’s room had been flattened, but I assumed there would be someone who knew first aid.
‘You should really go, Pav,’ I said. ‘Just in case.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Mercy said. ‘If that’s OK with you, Charlie?’
Why wouldn’t it have been?
‘Of course it’s OK,’ I said.
‘OK, I go,’ Pav said.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Mercy said.
We helped him to his feet.
I watched them walk towards the school building. Mercy guiding him. Her hand an inch away from Pav’s waist. They never touched, but they were almost clinging on to one another.
I remained in the empty yard, looking at the splashes of blood on the ground. Where were the teachers? Where was the concern? Where was all this protecting the students crap?
I needed a chat with Norman or The Big Man. Sort this mess out.