The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [106]
“Uhm, that’s just our janitor working on the ceiling in the oratory,” ventured Pollock.
Loughlin nodded his agreement and cranked his face into a carefree smile.
“But isn’t the oratory that way?” asked Mr. Nolan, pointing in the opposite direction to the seeming origin of the thump.
“Mr. McDermott is doing some very extensive work on the joists,” explained Brother Loughlin with an air of great patience while the sweat ran freely down the fleshy folds of his back.
“Is he indeed?” remarked Mr. Nolan, and made another note in his file.
Finbar and Scully crept carefully into the entrance hallway of the monastery. To their left the bellrope swung gently in a tiny arc beside the staircase. Ahead of them the refectory door stood open.
“Let’s try in there first,” suggested Finbar.
“Smalley? You there?” hissed Scully as loudly as he dared.
There came in response the sound of hurried feet on the stairs above them.
“Quick! In here! Might not be him,” whispered Finbar, and pulled Scully into the alcove under the stairs.
From their hiding place they heard the footsteps accelerate and approach and then saw Brother Boland flash by, waving his arms distractedly and shaking his head.
“Asunder! Corruption! Breached! It’s a weakening! Ruptures! Fissures everywhere! A rent in the fabric! Decomposition! Crispations through everything! A horrible yielding!” Boland ran into the refectory and darted from one side to the other as if searching for something. He stopped and stared at the plastic sheeting that covered the broken main window and quickly blessed himself. He took one more look round the refectory and ran back past where Finbar and Scully hid in the shadows. “CA-TAS-TRO-PHE!” The man’s footsteps stopped momentarily and then they heard him rattle back up the stairs.
“He’s completely cracked now,” said Scully. “Come on!” He led Finbar back toward the school.
“Wait! I thought we were looking for Smalley.”
“We will, but we need to get the word out. This is it. This is the big one. We are going to fuck their inspection up.”
They rounded the corner and ran straight into the rest of their classmates.
“What the fuck?”
“Moody sent us to look for McRae.”
“All of ye?”
“Well, sort of.”
“Right. Forget that. Listen. Split up and go round the whole school. Make noise. Break things. Get yerselves caught. Go mad. Ye’ll get leathered but it’ll be worth it. This is the big blackout! Spread the word. Right?”
“What’re youse going to do?” asked Lynch.
“We’re going to find Smalley.”
“What about me? Why can’t I come?” asked Lynch icily.
“Lynch, you need to get everyone to act the bollix and get leathered. This inspection is fucked! Biggest blackout ever! Whole school! Okay? You’re running it.”
Lynch stared at Scully and his eyes slowly narrowed to two points of brittle energy. “Fucking deadly,” he said softly, and ran out into the yard pulling a none-too-reluctant Brian Egan after him. There was some shouting and then the sound of breaking glass.
“Sorry, Bollix Loughlinnnnnnn. Me hand slipped,” rang Lynch’s voice round the yard.
“Go!” shouted Scully to the rest of them, and they scattered off to spread the action.
37
Brother Boland stood rooted to the spot in the oratory. Sweat was running down his face and he struggled to catch his breath. The two bulky radiators on the side wall were shaking and rattling violently.
“Stop! Stop! No!” he pleaded. The shaking and rattling intensified and a piercing hiss filled the room. Boland turned and ran, slamming the oratory door shut behind him.
“… And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade …”
“Very good! Very good! Thank you! You can stop now! You can all sit down again,” Mr. Nolan hastily told 3-B. In the few brief moments of listening to the jog-trot class recitation of The Lake Isle of Innisfree he fully grasped why W.B. Yeats couldn’t bear hearing it read in unison by three thousand boy scouts. Had Mr. Nolan stopped it a line