Schoolie
Life in The Village, through the eyes of Tom
Grant, the only teacher at the remote school.
This is an original work of pure fiction (just
an expression of a fantasy)
(re-written from my 2013 version)
The resemblance of the characters by action,
name, location or description to any real person is purely coincidental.
If it is illegal, or offensive, for you to
read stories involving interactions of a sexual nature between adults and
youths, then what are you doing here?
From Chapter 50:
I
can't imagine Kurt saying anything to anybody about our encounters, especially
to an almost complete stranger. And I don't think that Andy would risk
endangering our `friendship' by blabbing either.
No,
this was a solo effort! Hmm. Who?
On
the one hand, Kurt can have me almost any afternoon, if he chooses.
On
the other hand, Andy has been making a play for me to get personal and `help
him' almost since the moment he arrived. I remember that when we were in the
showers at the beach, he loved holding me and was wanting to demonstrate how
good he could be at jacking me off. It's obvious! My deduction is Andy! What do
you reckon Dr Watson?
I
pause to think, Then again...
I
step out, close the panel and, ensuring that there is a sufficient time lag
between the boys' departure and mine, I exit the bathroom.
Chapter
51 – What Magic is This?
I
decide to indulge in some of the food that has been prepared, so I make my way
down to the lower verandah.
Even
before I round the corner, the aroma of well-done sausages and caramelised
onions fills my senses as a wisp of pale blue smoke wafts from the
country-sized cooker to greet me. My mouth is already watering.
I
exchange pleasantries with the guys and some visitors.
I
take a large, soft, elongated, pre-sliced bread roll, butter it liberally and
lay on some mayonnaised coleslaw with finely-sliced vegetables before adding a
sausage, onions and topping it with a squirt of sauce.
I
walk towards the back of the verandah intending to stand above the Landau and
eat in private, without having to chew and talk at the same time. As I round
the back corner, I come face to face with Mum, doing what appears to be,
consoling Mrs Thompson, Andy's mother. My expression by itself is enough to
say, `What's wrong?' so I don't need to contravene one of Mum's rules about
speaking while I have food in my mouth.
Both
women turn to face me. It's clear that they've both been crying, but their
countenances are anything but distressed. I make an obvious point of swallowing
and then open my mouth to speak.
However,
Mum beats me to it. "It's another miracle," she says, rubbing Enid's back.
"What
has...?" I commence.
Mum
continues, without me needing to finish my question. "First Andy and me, and
now Enid," she answers in something between a confidential whisper and a cry of
joy.
"Yes,
I know that Mrs Thompson was feeling much better within herself, too," I say.
"I was there when she told us so."
"It's
more than that," Mum adds. I look at her, anticipating that she will continue.
And she does.
"Enid
spilled some sauce on her blouse so we went upstairs to rinse it," Mum says.
She pauses. "When Enid removed her blouse, she almost collapsed in tears."
"Why?
What happened?" I ask.
"All
of the scars from when Derek Peters burnt her with a cigarette have completely
gone," Mum says.
They
both burst into tears again and hug each other.
I
have to wonder whether this house has healing powers for everyone, or possibly only
Jintabudjaree descendants.
Speaking
of which, I wonder how many others of `us' there are?
So
far, if my theory is correct, I know of Andy and (potentially) Mrs T, me and Mum.
And there would have to be Amelia (of course). And then, logically, I might
have to be included Mum's Aunty Doris and Karen. I'll definitely have to begin
drawing up a family tree.
It
would be interesting to see how far back I would have to go before Mrs T's
branch and ours actually coincide! But, firstly, to confirm my new hypothesis, I'll
have to submit Mrs T. to the `doorknob test'!
I
know! Marty's been here. I'll have to check him out tonight to see whether the
scar on his shin from the snake bite is healed. If not, this `magic' could be a
Jintabudjaree legacy only. And, for how long might the healing last?
"Oh,
there you are, Tom," Julie Smith says, popping her head around the corner.
Then
she notices Mum and Mrs T. "Everything all right, dears? Can I help with
anything?" she asks them.
"It's
fine," Mum replies. "Really. We were just sharing a happy moment. But, thank
you!"
"Tom,"
Julie continues, "would you be ready for the signing of the paperwork in about
a quarter of an hour?"
"Sure
thing!" I reply. "Let's do it!"
She
comments, "I'll organise to have the police and the Council representatives in
the dining room in fifteen minutes then, and I'll ask Davo and my husband to
round up everyone so that they don't miss it. And, just to let you know, I
think that Davo has a bit of a speech prepared."
"Thank
you, Julie," I say. "Yes, I know Chad and Helen. But I hope that Davo doesn't
expect me to speak after he does. I haven't even thought about it."
As
she leaves, I comment to Mum, "The pen is mightier than the tongue."
"Thomas!"
Mum chides. "You can't mix two adages like that!"
"Like
what?" I ask, sensing that even as the words tumbled out of my mouth, they
didn't quite sound correct.
"'The
pen is mightier than the sword' is the correct expression," she says.
Mrs
T adds, "And the other one is, `The tongue is sharper than a two-edged sword."
"OK!"
I reply. "So, I just discarded the swords!"
They
titter together. It wasn't all that funny!
They
are either being polite at my attempted humour, or sharing a joke at my expense
- that teachers aren't perfect!
I
walk back past the food and cannot resist the tantalising aromas on the way. I
select a pork and beef kebab. and I take another can of lemonade.
"Can I join you?" I ask, looking at everyone in the Landau.
"I'm sure that you meant, `MAY I... ?' Sir," Will pronounces
with a hint of sarcasm because I am always correcting HIS English.
I respond, looking at the `passengers', "Is it possible,
gentlemen, for me to fit into your carriage?" And then staring at Will. I
continue, "And, if there IS room, then MAY I please join Your Lordships in a
circuit of the estate?"
I bow and they all giggle. So do the observers, entertained
by the good-natured interplay.
"By all means, good fellow," Will answers. There is more
mirth at his addressing of the local Schoolie in such terms!
Andy and Kurt separate and I sit between them.
I'm enjoying the role play. "You may drive on, my good man,"
I tell Will, "but be wary of highwaymen. What, ho! Behold yonder mob of
ruffians," I say indicating Reg and those talking around him. "They look to be
particularly undesirable characters."
Jake turns to look at me then his face lights up at my
jovial insult of his sister and parents.
Suddenly jumping forward and pointing one hand, revolver
fashion, at the drivers, Reg shouts, "Bale up!" joining in my game.
This seems way out of character for the dry-humoured Reg
O'Brien, whom I thought that I knew. However, I do appreciate it. Good on him!
Bravo, Sir!
I throw my hands into the air, and the kids all follow suit,
squealing and pleading.
"Your money or your lives!" Reg gives the ultimatum.
"Please, sir, we have no money!" Andy replies, doing a great
impression of shaking with fear and, standing, displaying his jeans pockets,
turned inside out as far as the lining allows.
"Then it will have to be a life!" Reg growls, pointing his
finger-gun at each of us in turn.
When it's pointed at David, he responds instantly, "Here is
a life, sir," he exclaims, holding his little brother forward. "You can have
this one."
Little Eric's wails of protest are interrupted by the saving
sound of Davo's voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to move to the
dining room and witness the signing of the title deeds."
Everyone acknowledges and thanks him.
Reg, Di and the others move towards the Landau and share a
laugh with everyone on their improvised drama.
We are all happy with, perhaps, one exception. Five-year-old
Eric pouts, kicks David in the shins then jumps and runs to take refuge behind
his mother.
Have you ever seen cows align themselves as they head for
the milking shed? I smile to myself as I and the herd of others head for the
dining room.
I also think of a conga line at a wedding-reception dance,
with more and more people joining themselves to the end and going wherever the
leader goes and the line follows.
1-2-3-kick. 1-2-3-kick. Although tempted, I refrain.
Some children have run ahead. Others attach themselves to
me, literally, while a few are restrained by more patient parents.
At the near end of the long dining table, just inside the
door, are Julie Smith, Davo, Chad the cop and Council representative, Helen
O'Sullivan. I recognise the leather-bound document wallet, open on the table.
There is a stylish silver pen lying beside it.
People fill the room, around both edges and the far end.
They shuffle around until everyone is in.
Karl, Kurt, Andy and Will are close by me to my left with
Mrs T. behind Andy. Mum and Uncle Bill are behind Will. Near the wall on my
right are Acacia, Marty, Anna and Sean.
"Why
don't you sit down, Tom, love," Julie Smith says.
It's
not a question, and she indicates the carver chair at the head of the table.
Then,
raising his voice, Davo begins, "Ladies and gentlemen, ..." He pauses for silence
then continues in a very congenial tone, "Today, we close the tome on a piece
of sinister local history, and open a new page in a new, much happier book."
"Here!
Here!" rolls around the room, with accompanying applause.
"According
to the express wishes of our forefathers, this homestead, a magnificent piece
of early colonial architecture, is about to become the property of our
much-respected Schoolie, Mr Tom Grant, known to some as `His Worship, the
Mayor' of our village - long may he reign!" He waits for his emphasised homonym
of `rain' to register with the locals and then for the chuckles to subside. He
continues, "To others..." he stares at Jacko, "he has even been likened to Harry
Potter."
"Onya,
Jacko!" one of his mates interjects.
Davo
continues, "But to all of us, he is about to become our neighbour and, I am
sure, a treasured friend."
"Here!
Here!" resounds again, this time with foot stomping.
"Over
the years, what we have known as the `Jintabudjaree curse' has claimed more
than a dozen people, relatives of many here today..." He nods to Acacia and her
family; also to Helen O'Sullivan and some others scattered around the room.
"They were friends of us all, and we remember them, especially today, with
great fondness and love."
"Here!
Here!"
I
look at Acacia, wiping her eyes and being given a loving squeeze by Marty on
one side and Sean on the other. I feel a sudden pang of guilt (not for the
first time). The curse took away her husband, Jack, and their father in his
prime which left them to cope as best they could. And who am I to deserve to
own the most prestigious property in the district; me, a `blow in' from the
Gold Coast? Then I think ... I didn't choose this house; it seemed to choose me
to discover it! It could well have been anyone else; Marty, or one of his
brothers, or Helen O'Sullivan. I will have to accept my fate gracefully and
gratefully, and resolve to use this `gift' somehow for the good of all of the locals.
Davo
interrupts my thoughts. "Just before Helen O'Sullivan, representing the
Council, and Officer Chad O'Brien, representing the Queensland authorities, and
of course Tom, all sign these title deeds, would anybody like to say anything?"
There
is a silence, and I am gripped by an apprehension that I am sure a bride and
groom, about to be wed, would experience when the question is asked whether
anyone knows a just reason why they shouldn't be married.
There
is a hush. I expect and hope for continued silence. No such luck! Multiple
hands are raised, like children in a classroom offering the answer to an easy
maths question.
Davo
indicates the speaking order.
Marty
begins. "Thank you Davo for the opportunity to speak. Many here today will not
know that Tom actually saved my life not long after he arrived in The Village."
There
are gasps, and Marty continues, "I ended up in hospital and it was really
`touch and go' for a while, I was told. It's a long story, or should I say a
long tale (tail)."
Those
who are acquainted with the details, laugh politely at the `extended' reference
to the snake.
Marty
adds, "Tom being here has made an enormous difference to me personally and to
my family, especially to young `Will', as Tom re-named him. Tom took him under
his wing in difficult circumstances, as you may all be aware, and my young
cousin has come to appreciate Tom as much more than his teacher, and to love
him, as we all have. I can think of no more deserving person than Tom to own
this house, and to live amongst us, hopefully for a long time."
While
I ponder Marty's use of `love', some begin to clap then, progressively, all
join in with enthusiasm. I feel very humbled by Marty's words and have to
breathe deeply to actively fight back tears.
Next,
Reg praises me for changing Jane's and Jake's attitudes towards school, adding
that they have insisted on coming to school every day since I arrived, even
when they were feeling `off colour'. "In the past," Reg says, "the young
scalawags would have gladly missed school had they even stubbed their toe on a
gum leaf!"
He
adds his blessing to Marty's. More clapping.
Jan
adds a few words of indebtedness for the much more positive outlooks of his
sons, Karl and Kurt, who had previously been forlorn at the departure of their
mother from their lives. I look at the twins. Karl gives me a `thumbs up' and
Kurt appears a touch embarrassed and smiles sheepishly. I return Karl's gesture
and to Kurt I give a quick, reassuring wink.
Jacko,
towards the rear of the room, clears his throat and raises his voice as if
stepping onto a soap box in the style of a politician or an evangelist. "I
don't know Tom that well," he begins, "but I can tell that he is a great guy
and a good sport. We need him around here, and I hope he stays." Then, staring at
me directly, he adds, "Besides, I'm hoping that he might need a strong, helping
hand from time to time."
Jacko
had previously hinted at employment (actually, from memory, he came right out
and said that I might need to hire a farm hand which would help him pay off his
bar tab) although I can't help but ponder the double meaning in his tone of
offering to give me a hand, coupled with his previous jibe about my `magic
wand'. I wonder whether he might actually `bat for our team' as the saying
goes.
Another
pub patron adds, "Tom seems to have a positive influence over many things, even
the weather. It will be a pleasure to have him as my neighbour, and I look
forward to getting to know him better." He then tacks on, addressing me
directly, "When are we going to get some decent rain, Mr Mayor, instead of just
this overnight drizzle?"
Everyone
laughs, but I can tell that there is an underlying seriousness too.
And
so, it goes on; anyone and many add their own words. Even Acacia. When she is
finished, she steps across and gives me a hug. "Thank you, Tom, dear," she
whispers into my ear.
Will
is given the next opportunity to speak, and I wonder what he will say. I am
nervous. Will he `out' us? Even accidentally, in front of all of these people,
including my cherubs and their parents? I take a deep breath. There is no
escaping nor predicting what will come out of his mouth; it's best to just grin
and go along with it, I guess.
He
begins slowly. "Hi everyone. You all know me. I have lived here all of my life,
and I guess that many of you knew my mother better than you do me."
He
pauses and looks around the room. I notice that the eyes of quite a few men
deliberately avoid Will's own. I can guess why. Even though he would have been
a lot younger back then, he might still recognise all of Lilly's `visitors'.
What on earth is he going to say?
"We,
the school children, are all very lucky that Mr Grant came to The Village as
our teacher. He's really good at everything that he does, and the kids all love
him. Don't we?" he addresses his question to the many cherubs in the room.
"Yeah!"
they all chorus, the little ones being the loudest, totally uninhibited.
He
continues, "From the very first day that I saw him at the weir, I knew that Mr
Grant was different to the other Schoolies that we've had in the past." He
pauses and, again, I feel a flush of nervousness. "This one looks just like me,
or, rather, I look like him." He takes a breath and adds, "He IS kinda
handsome, don't you think?"
OMG,
Will! Shut up!
Well,
that breaks everyone up and there is raucous laughter. I'm starting to perspire.
Where is he going with this?
When
calm is restored to the room, Will says, "Mr Grant helped Marty to look after
me every time that my mother got into one of her bad moods and did bad stuff to
me. I remember the day that he confronted her outside the pub and told her that
he was my guardian angel and that she would die if she ever abused me again.
She looked really scared because she couldn't tell us apart. That day he DID
become my guardian angel and protector."
There
are polite mutterings of support from around the room, together with looks of
incredulity on the faces of many, my cherubs especially.
"At
the end of the first term, Mr Grant even asked me whether I'd like to go to the
Gold Coast for a holiday, to stay with his parents. And, while I was there, my
whole life changed."
I
instantly recall the night that Will and I first enjoyed each other's body,
fully. I am no longer nervous. Now I'm shit-scared of what is still to come out
of his mouth.
He
goes on, "While I was there, I met a wonderful, generous and loving man. Mr
Grant had somehow put the pieces of a puzzle together from the few things which
I had told him, and he introduced me, for the first time in my life, to my
actual father."
While
he is wiping his eyes on his sleeve, there are gasps, mutterings and we even
hear a snide remark about `the guy who knocked up young Lilly', which draws an
immediate response from Will in defence of his dad. "AND I learned that my dad
is not the evil person that my mother always led me, and everyone else, to
believe that he was. Exactly the opposite, if anything! I have come to the
conclusion that he was actually the unsuspecting victim of my mother's snare.
Once a fly gets caught in a spider's web, it's hard to escape."
There
are men in the room who would agree, but not in front of their wives!
I
look at him. In a hushed voice I say, "Will..." My eyes plead with him to say no
more.
He
looks at me, shakes his head, then says, "I have to tell you all something."
There
is immediate silence. "My wonderful dad, who is here today, is also Mr Grant's
father. What are the odds of a teacher being posted to this place, many hundreds
of kilometres from his home, only to discover that he, had a brother, here? I
reckon that it must have been some kind of magic. And I am the luckiest guy in
The Village to be here with both the father and the brother that I never knew I
had. And I'm going to live out here with my brother, Tom, Mr Grant, in this
house, and I'm going to buy a horse or two and ride around in that grand
carriage downstairs."
There
is laughter at his focus on the Landau. Everyone knows his passion for horses.
In
one brief (well, almost-brief) statement, Will has put everything right - that
his father was not the one-night-stand predator that everyone had assumed, who
had gotten Lilly pregnant. He has thrown the culpability back onto her. He has
revealed the reason for his and my similar appearance and has cleared the air
about why we will be living together.
He
turns to Uncle Bill, our dad, and embraces him. I cannot remain seated and I
join them. Family hug! I reach for my trusty handkerchief, mop my face and then
give it to Will.
There
is nothing more to be said.
Davo
presides over the signing of the papers, and it's done!
I
am the owner of the `Jintabudjaree Station'.
There
is spontaneous applause and cheering and then we are all stunned by a blinding
flash of light, accompanied by the loud crash and lingering rumble of thunder.
After
the screams from the little kids and, I suspect, a few of their mothers, the
room falls silent and still, except for the diminishing reverberation from
outside.
There
is another bright flash and the loud boom re-animates everyone and re-ignites comments.
All heads turn to the windows along the length of the dining room wall.
"Look!
It's raining!" somebody calls, and everyone presses closer to the glass panes
to see the sight.
One
expletive is dropped, and the offender is reprimanded to be aware that children
are present. An apology is offered.
"It's
REAL rain," another exclaims. "Not just the pretend overnight stuff! Look! Look
at it!"
I
hear it. I see it. And, even from inside the house, I can smell it - a heady,
earthy wetness. I inhale deeply and enjoy the super-oxygenated air. It must be
absolutely and refreshingly intoxicating outside.
There is a parallel
version to this story, told through the eyes of Kurt.
Find it at https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/kurt-series/
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