David Almond - My Name Is Mina

Mum gave me a look.

“I’m not certain I understand,” said Ms. Palaver.

“Never mind,” I said.

I sat up straight again. I looked past Ms. Palaver into the street.

Mum started talking about how Mina had an adventurous mind. She said she’d be able to commit lots of time to Mina. She talked about Mina’s dad and about Mina being an only child and about how she had no objections to St. Bede’s itself, but …

“And as for facilities,” I said, “we have a very nice tree in the front garden in which I have many thoughts. And the kitchen is a fine laboratory and art room. And who could devise a better classroom than the world itself?”

Mum smiled.

“As you see,” she said, “Mina is a girl with her own opinions and attitudes.”

Ms. Palaver peered at me closely. I could see her thinking that Mina was an impertinent girl with her own pompous crackpot notions.

“To be quite frank,” I said, looking straight back at her, “We feel that schools are cages.”

“Indeed?” said Ms. Palaver.

“Yes,” I continued. “We feel that schools inhibit the natural intelligence, curiosity and creativity of children.”

Mr. Trench rolled his eyes.

Mum smiled and shook her head.

Ms. Palaver said again, “Indeed?”

“Indeed,” I said.

“Before you make your final decision, Mrs. McKee,” said Mr. Trench, “you might find it worthwhile to have Mina spend a day at Corinthian Avenue.”

“Corinthian Avenue?” said Mum.

“It’s where we send children who don’t …”

“Or who won’t …,” said Ms. Palaver.

Mr. Trench brought out a leaflet from the inside pocket of his black jacket. He held it out to Mum.

“Can’t do any harm,” he said.

EXTRAORDINARY ACTIVITY

Read the Poems of William Blake.

(Especially if you are Ms. Palaver.)

The thought of Corinthian Avenue makes me edgy, so I pick up my book and my pen and head downstairs. This is something that needs to be written in the tree! Mum’s on the phone in the living room. I get an apple from the fruit bowl and bite into it. I put some trainers on. It looks chilly outside so I put a jacket and scarf on. She’s still on the phone.

“I’m going outside!” I call.

She doesn’t answer.

“I’m going out, Mum!” I call again.

I listen. I shrug and head for the door.

Then she’s there, coming out of the living room.

I point to the book and pen.

“Going into the tree,” I say.

“OK.”

“Who was that?”

“Who was what?”

“On the phone.”

“Oh, on the phone? Colin.”

“Colin?”

“Colin Pope. Remember? You met him when we went to the theater the other week. In the interval.”

“Oh, him.”

She folds her arms and tilts her head and looks at me.

“Yes. Him.”

I think back. Colin Pope, a skinny tall man with a pint of beer in his hand.

“He was nice, wasn’t he? Remember?”

I shrug. I don’t remember if he was nice. I hardly remember him at all. Why should I? And anyway, what’s nice? He shook my hand and said he’d heard a lot about me. I don’t think I said anything to him. I read the program while they prattled and drank and nibbled peanuts. The play was Grimm Tales. I do remember I thought about talking about whether wolves really were as savage as they’re made out to be in the fairy tales. But I didn’t, and they prattled on.

“Remember him?” Mum says again.

“Not sure if I do,” I say.

She grins.

“I’ll be off to the tree,” I say.

“Go on, then.”

I head for the door. I hesitate there.

“What did he want?” I say.

“Just to say hello.”

“Took a long time to say hello.”

I go out and close the door.

Huh! Colin Pope!

I’m in the tree. The leaves are thickening fast. I check the eggs. Still there, still three of them, still beautiful.

Squawk squawk, go the blackbirds.

“OK,” I whisper back.

I sit on my branch, surrounded by thickening leaves. Soon I’ll be quite hidden away up here. I turn my mind back towards the past.

They sent a red taxi to take me to Corinthian Avenue – maybe to make sure I went at all. Mum came with me that morning. The taxi driver was wearing a yellow football strip with PELÉ written across the back.

He kept looking at me in the driver’s mirror as we set off.

“Do you take many to Corinthian Avenue?” I asked him.

“Sure do. Got a contract. I’ve took quite a crew to Corinthian Avenue in my time, I can tell you.”

He drove on, past the park, through the slow-moving traffic towards the city center.

“And I could tell a tale or two,” he said.

“Tell one,” I said.

“No chance.”

He shook his head. He took a hand off the steering wheel and tapped his nose.

“Confidentiality,” he said.

He wound the window down and leaned an elbow on the frame.

“More’n my job’s worth,” he said.

The traffic thickened, edged through the streets past the offices and shops. We drove slowly onto the bridge. The arch arced beautifully above us. The river sparkled beautifully below.

I caught him watching me again.

“So what’s your story?” he said. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is?”

“Sorry?”

“Tell me to shut up and stop prying if you like. But some kids like to get it off their chest with a bloke like me. And whatever you say’ll stay within these cab walls.”

I looked at Mum. She looked at me.

“I think we’ll just keep it to ourselves, thank you very much,” said Mum.

“It’s OK, Mum,” I said. “I’m sure Mr. Pelé will keep it secret.”

“It’s Karl,” said Karl.

“OK,” I said. “It was violence, Karl.”

“Get away,” said Karl.

“It’s true. I attacked a teacher.”

“Aye?”

“Aye. With a pen.”

“A pen?”

“Aye. It made a great weapon. I stabbed her in the heart. I’m really vicious once I start. I don’t look like it, but I’m a bloody savage!”

I snarled into the mirror. I bared my teeth. Karl raised his eyebrows. He shook his head. He whistled softly.

“Goes to show.”

“Goes to show what?”

“That you never can tell.”

“That’s what I think as well. You never can tell.”

He drove on slowly in silence.

“She asked for it,” I said.

“Aye?”

“Aye. She went on and on. Yak yak yak.”

“Yak yak yak?” said Karl.

“Yes. Yak yak yakkity yakkity yak yak yak.”

“I had a teacher like that,” said Karl.

“Was she called Mrs. Scullery?”

“Nah. It was a bloke. Blotter, we called him. Can’t remember his real name.”

“But he went yak yak yak?”

“Aye. He had more of a snarl in it, though. So it was like more vicious. Yek yek yekkity yek! That kind of thing.”

“Did you attack him?”

“Naah. He was a great big bloke, and I was just a titch. He had a hell of a temper, and all. So I just shut me lugs and let him get on with it. Yek yek yek yekkity yek.”

“Pity. Anyway I’d had enough of Mrs. Scullery and her yak yak yak, so I done her.”

“With the pen.”

“Aye. I done her good, with the pen.”

“Murder?”

“Not quite. She’ll survive.”

I looked down at the water that flowed beneath us toward the sea. I said,

“Are you as good as Pelé, Karl?”

He grinned.

“Aye,” he said. “In fact, I’m even better.”

“Really?”

“Really. You should have seen the goal I scored in the park last week. Breathtaking.”

We grinned at each other in the mirror.

“So why are you driving taxis?” I said.