David Mathew - O My Days

Assaulting Ostrich might be a solution to two problems.

So what’s the word about me, Billy?

The question is aimed at my back: I am stacking the shelves marked Quick Reads—the bowdlerized versions of the classics, for the div kids with learning impediments.

The word, Miss? I call over my shoulder.

Yes, Billy, the word. I’ve been here a good few weeks now. And I know how you fellows talk among yourselves… What’s so funny?’

Miss, I ain’t heard fellows in time. I pretend to take an inordinate interest the diet-down version of David Copperfield.

That can’t be true. The guards say it every day, Kate Thistle replies.

With a smile on my face I turn to her. She is sitting behind the desk, her fingers poised on the keyboard.

One, Miss: it’s officers and not guards. And two: they say fellas and not fellows . Say fellows in here and you’re likely to be mocked at the very least.

Thanks for the tip, Kate replies.

If nothing else, she is gracious enough in defeat—even if the victory is hardly worth mentioning, if not for the conversation that follows. I see some mileage from her question.

Trade down, I suggest.

The relay of rapid blinks that she offers implies a quick-lit fuse of thought and repercussion. But we’ve already established something of a wary understanding; we have started to engage in conversations when Miss Patterson is out of the room, as she is right now, on a comfort break. Like boyfriend and girlfriend caught in coochy-coo conversation by teacher, we close our mouths when the door handle turns: therefore we have a secret. Therefore we have a bond.

What are you proposing? Kate asks.

I will tell you, I say carefully, slowly, holding the rest of the Quick Reads in front of my chest like a shield. Might be I look like confidence itself, but there’s an echo in my chest that sounds like an Electrolux. I’ll tell you what man saying about you, Miss—if you tell me why you’re studying Dott.

She’s not shocked; she’s not offended. Worse still, she’s not confused. Up until the very last syllable I’ve been hoping—somehow—that I’ve got it all wrong; wishing for a puzzled expression.

You first, she says.

I tell her straight: We think you’re a fed.

And that’s when the Library door opens. In walks Miss Patterson, snapping shut the conversation between me and Kate. It’s like being caught red-handed. For a second that copper is banging on my yard again. And Mum’s screaming: It wasn’t him. It wunt my boy. Please don’t take him away. My sisters are standing behind Mumsy. He’s a good boy , Mum’s shouting. And I can’t believe I’ve been caught; I can’t believe my mother’s defence, despite what I’ve done.

So angry am I at this interruption, this torn circumstance, that I spit the first thing that comes to mind.

I’m just filling up the shelves, Miss, I say—too quickly.

That look of perplexity I hoped for on Kate’s face, is here now on Miss Patterson’s features. I can see that, Alfreth, she tells me. She turns to Kate and asks her if everything is all right. Phoney smile follows. If we ever had it in the first place, I get the impression that we have just lost the Librarian’s trust. It creates a certain sense of irreparable loss. But then, life’s full of disappointments. Innit?

The disappointment lasts for most of the morning. Then it’s time for me to take the Library Pass to Classroom 1, to begin the slow process of letting one prisoner into the Library at a time. It’s one of the I.T. classes; the Gov is John, and he turns to me as I knock on the door and look through the wire- meshed glass. He straightens up from one yoot’s screen and walks over, unleashing his keys from the pouch and he lets me in. I have taken a risk—a huge risk. Beneath the laminated A4-sized pass is a tiny scrap of paper I’m holding to the plastic, like a magician secreting a playing card. But the paper is much smaller than that, folded down to the size of a pill. I am gambling that Roller, who is nearest to the door, will take the usual scrummage to be first out of the room seriously. It’s my only shot. Once I’ve given up control of the pass it will shuttle back and forth until nobody in Classroom 1 wants it any more. Then I will take it to Classroom 2.

Me, Gov! Roller shouts, standing up and pushing his chair back a metre on its wheels. Our eyes meet. It’s not friendly. It’s an urgent understanding. It’s a battleground stasis.

Wogwun, Alfreth, Roller mutters, discerning what John has not seen: that I’m holding the pass very tightly and in an awkward way.

It’s wet, blood, I tell Roller.

John does not know that this means nothing at all. I hope Roller will understand that I’m trying to talk in a code that only the two of us can bust. Watched by the Education Landing Officers, we walk in silence back to the Library, with Roller now in possession of the pass and of my note.

I enter the Library but Roller says to the screw, Before I go in, sir, would you mind just unlocking the toilet. I’ve been drinking a lot of water.

The screw stands up. Don’t get any drops on that Library Pass, I hear him say as the door closes slowly on its fire-hinge.

Before we hear the toilet flush, carrying away its flotsam of one discarded piece of paper, I fancy that I hear other things. I hear Roller unfolding the note; I even hear Roller reading my words— What REALLY happened? —and I imagine him sitting there, and I can hear the swish of his hair as he shakes his head.

You’re all sweaty, Alfreth, Miss Patterson informs me.

Sorry, Miss. Think I’ve caught a cold from Jarvis. My next door.

All sympathy, of course, she ignores what I say and instructs me to boot up the machines at the end of the room that teach driving test theory. We’re expecting a couple of bookings in half an hour and the PCs have been experiencing some technical problems.

I couldn’t give a fuck about driving test theory. I’m just waiting for the pass to arrive back at the Library so I can take it to Room 2, passing 1 on the way. Though I’m not sure if Roller is smart enough to give me my answer. My pessimism is unfounded. After the I.T. class has finished ordering mags, renewing books and browsing atlases, I stroll slowly along the corridor—even more slowly as I approach the window to Room 1. Roller sees me coming and very quickly he uses his mouse to click onto another file that he has obviously prepared behind Gov John’s back. He highlights the miniscule font on the screen and clicks it up to size 48—massive—so I can read it from outside. He has twisted the monitor slightly towards me, and it’s a good job I’m a swift reader, man, because he’s typed more than I expected.

It was like time stopped man—I went DEAD—and there was someone else in my head, I could feel him there but I could not get him out—he tells me he can make my time go faster, he’s got a way, and he shows me he can control people’s minds, some people, and he makes me fuck Meaney up bad, and I don’t want to, yoot done nothing, you know what’s up Alfreth, man I’m scared, then he makes them screws kiss us, he’s evil.

Move on, Alfreth! the screw calls from his desk.

Yes, sir.

My teeth are chattering; my skin is raw. But I am happy.

Visits! We all look forward to Visits! Unless your visitor has specifically indicated that today’s the day, you don’t have any idea of who you’re going to meet in the Visits Room, near B. I’m praying with my beads when Screw Oates tells me. Pull on the denim. Make a good impression yat. Could be Mumsy. But it’s unlikely. She always phones first to arrange a visit. (Leave a message for me to use my credit to call back.) So it’s one of my boys! Yay! No. It’s my babymamma Julie, and our daughter Patrice. It’s like a Christmas visit; it’s like a birthday. Oh fuck, I realize…