Simon Lelic - A Thousand Cuts

We’re in the staffroom. This is after lunch one day. I forget when exactly. November maybe? December? It’s me and Samuel and George, although George wanders out after a while, which leaves just me and Samuel. And we’re both minding our own, both of us just reading, when the headmaster appears at the door.

Janet? he says and takes a step into the room. He looks at me. Have you seen Janet?

I say, no, sorry, I haven’t, and he scowls, like he’s convinced that actually I have and I’m not telling him just to spite him. He takes another step and peers round the corner into the kitchen. For just a second or two he’s got his back to us and I don’t even need to think. I give Samuel a dig. I hiss at him. I say, go on, Samuel. Go on. And I give him another prod.

Samuel gets up. He looks at me. He’s trying to decide, I can tell, but he’s running out of time because the headmaster’s finished in the kitchen and he’s turning round and he’s heading for the door and he’s virtually out of the room.

I make a face and Samuel shakes his head. I clear my throat, like I’m about to say something, and I don’t know if the noise startles him or what. He says, Headmaster. Like the word was caught between his tongue and his teeth and just needed a jolt to knock it loose. Headmaster, he says again.

The headmaster stops. He turns to look. Meanwhile I get up and I say, excuse me, and I nip between them and into the kitchen like I’m going to make a coffee. Or that’s what I’m hoping it looks like. The headmaster, though – either he forgets I’m there or he doesn’t particularly care. More likely he doesn’t care. I could have settled into one of the armchairs with a Coke and a bucket of popcorn, and I doubt it would have made any difference.

Headmaster, Samuel says again and Travis says, Mr Szajkowski. What is it?

May I have a word? Just for a moment?

A word? says Travis. He checks his watch. He glances towards the door.

It’s just, I have a problem. I was hoping… I thought perhaps… I was hoping that you could help.

Travis sighs. I can’t see from where I’m standing but I can just picture him rolling his eyes. A problem, he says. But of course you do. I would hardly have expected anything else.

Samuel hesitates. For a moment he doesn’t say anything.

Well, Mr Szajkowski? Please, don’t keep me in suspense.

I’m… I’m having a spot of trouble. With the children.

Again the headmaster sighs. Trouble, he says. What sort of trouble, Mr Szajkowski? With which children?

And Samuel, the silly sod, he thinks he shouldn’t name names. It’s not important who, I don’t expect…

If it’s not important, Mr Szajkowski, then why do you feel so obligated to bring it to my attention? I’m rather busy, as you can imagine.

And for a moment Samuel doesn’t know what to say. He looks across the headmaster’s shoulder and he catches my eye. I nod at him. I nod twice.

They defecated in my briefcase.

This from Samuel. He just comes out with it, just like that.

They did what?

They defecated. In my briefcase.

Who defecated in your briefcase?

I didn’t see anyone do it. But I found it. I still have it, in fact.

You kept it?

No, no, no. I didn’t keep it. Christina Hobbs, she took it. She wrapped it up.

Mr Szajkowski. The headmaster’s pinching the bridge of his nose now. Mr Szajkowski. Perhaps you would do me the courtesy of starting your story at the customary point of departure.

Which throws Samuel completely.

The beginning. Begin, if you would, at the beginning.

So Samuel does. He tells Travis about the coughing and the swearing and that certain classes of his have become unteachable. He tells Travis that he has been tripped, shoved, abused, hounded, spat at. He tells Travis that his bicycle has been vandalised, his seat stolen, his tyres knifed. He tells Travis about the graffiti he has seen, the notes he has discovered in his pigeonhole, the text messages he has received. He tells Travis again what the kids deposited in his briefcase. And then he drops into a chair like he’s physically exhausted and the headmaster’s left standing there looking down at him.

How old are you, Mr Szajkowski?

Samuel looks up. I’m twenty-seven. I was twenty-seven just last week.

Well, congratulations. Did you have a party? Was there a cake?

I’m sorry, I’m not sure I—

Never mind. You’re twenty-seven. A fair age. Not a mature age but an adult one. You are an adult, Mr Szajkowski?

Yes. Yes, I am an adult.

I am pleased to hear it. And your tormentors. How old are they?

They’re year eleven, mainly. Year ten.

Fifteen then. Sixteen perhaps. Fourteen possibly.

That’s right. Yes. I would say that’s right.

Do you not see a discrepancy somewhere, Mr Szajkowski? Do you not sense something awry?

Samuel nods, he’s saying, yes, Headmaster, I do. But they defecated—

In your briefcase. Yes, Mr Szajkowski, you mentioned it. What of it?

Samuel is regretting having sat down, I can tell. The headmaster’s a tall man anyway and now he’s looming right over him.

What of it? Travis says again. What would you have me do? Perhaps I should summon the culprits to my office, make them apologise to you, make them promise in future to play nice. Perhaps, Mr Szajkowski, you would like me to ask them to stop picking on you. Perhaps you think that might help.

No, says Samuel. Of course not. There won’t be any need for—

Or perhaps, Mr Szajkowski – now here’s an idea – perhaps, Mr Szajkowski, you might consider for a moment your function as an employee of this establishment. You are a teacher, Mr Szajkowski. I have reminded you of that fact before but perhaps you have forgotten it. You are a teacher, which means you teach and you lead and you maintain order. You maintain order, Mr Szajkowski. You effect discipline. You do not allow yourself to become intimidated by a fifteen-year-old boy who in twelve months’ time will either be queuing for his dole money or stealing other people’s. Do not look so surprised, Mr Szajkowski. You do not name names but you do not have to. I see everything that happens within this institution. I am omniscient. Donovan Stanley is a reprobate. He will be with us only for a few months more. During that time I will not waste time or attention or resources on something as sordid and inconsequential as that boy’s shit .

And then he leaves. He doesn’t look back at Samuel and he doesn’t look over at me.

I’m standing there. I’ve got a teaspoon in my hand and I’m just standing there. I look at Samuel. I’m watching him. I feel like I should say something but I don’t know what. What can I say?

In the end I don’t say anything. Samuel doesn’t give me the chance. He stands up and he picks up his bag and he packs away his books and he’s across the room and without so much as a glance he’s out the door and he’s gone.

And that, Inspector, was that. That was that and nothing changed. I mean, I assumed that Travis would do something. I told myself that his little speech was for Samuel’s benefit. You know, a sergeant major ball-busting one of his troops. But he did nothing. He actually meant what he said. He did nothing and nothing changed.

No, that’s not quite right. Things did change. Things got worse. At the time I didn’t think it would be possible, but it was, it most definitely was. You heard about the football match, didn’t you?

‘It’s a joke.That’s what it is. It’s a joke report.’

She said nothing. So far she had said nothing.

‘Come on, Lucia. Put me out of my misery. Show me the real one. This is hilarious, real comedy stuff, but give me the actual report, the one that says what we all need it to say.’