The Brothers' Lot - Kevin Holohan [63]
“Ah, for Christ sake!” Spud couldn’t help smiling a little. He knew they weren’t stupid boys. They just didn’t want to learn. Somewhere in their heads, learning had become inextricably tied up with what the Brothers wanted to force them to do, and as such it had to be resisted. At least they paid him the courtesy of making up amusing answers for his tests.
“Five D?” asked Laverty from the windowsill where he sat reading the paper.
“Yeah.”
“Bunch of baboons!”
“Don’t be such a harsh bastard. They’re all right. It’s just hard to go in after the gestapo and expect them to want to learn anything.”
“I suppose you’re right,” conceded Laverty sheepishly. “But they could make an effort. I mean, you know what I’m saying. If they don’t get some kind of a decent Leaving Cert, they’re always going to be working for ignorant bastards not much better than the Brothers.”
“I know and you know, but have you tried to explain that? Would you have listened when you were their age?”
“Nah. I mean, I don’t know, but, you know, they’re only damaging themselves.”
“Yeah, but I think they see it as trying to avoid damage.”
“But it doesn’t work. Look at that stupid eejit Maher. What did he think he was at, messing at confession like that? He’ll be locked up in a loony bin or something.”
“He’s not the kind of kid to mess like that. I’d love to know what he said though. Fury threw a fit.”
“Oh, I’m sure ‘Broader’ Loughlin will tell us all about it.”
Spud smiled wanly. “Oh yeah, right. Just before Hell freezes over and the flying pigs learn to ice skate.” Considering how much he had disliked Laverty when he first arrived, the man was now the closest thing to human company he had at the school. The rest of the lay teachers were just short of blessing themselves every time they passed a Brother in the hall, and as for Mr. Pollock, he was so thick with the Brothers that it was almost unholy.
Spud turned back to his tests. “Ah, for God sake, would you listen to this. What was the Hanseatic League? An old version of the World Cup. You have to laugh, I suppose.”
“Well, it’s that or turn out like the rest of them,” sighed Laverty, as he stared out the window where Mr. Hourican and Mr. Pollock were having a confab in the yard.
“Now there’s a horrible thought,” shuddered Spud.
“And now with that stupid ceiling falling in and locking the gates and their miracle investigation, they’ve gone completely mad. I had to park down on Danegild Street. There’ll be nothing left of me car when I get back.”
“I know. It’s worse this place is getting.”
The bell for small break rang out and Spud stuffed the tests into his bag. “Can’t wait to get back to them,” he joked.
“Are you on yard duty this week?”
“Yeah.”
“Take it easy.”
“I’ll try. Thank God it’s Christmas next week.”
Spud stashed his bag in his cubbyhole and headed out into the yard.
23
In the IRA shop Finbar stood back and let a couple of third years go in front of him. He had to make sure how this was done. He had to look like he’d been doing it for years. He did not want to end up appearing foolish. He wanted to have the exact change in his hand like he knew exactly what he was doing. Ideally he would have liked the shop to be empty, but that was not going to happen at this hour of the morning.
He hadn’t smoked again since Christmas Eve when he’d stolen one of Uncle Francie’s and smoked it out the bathroom window. He’d only inhaled a couple of drags and had somewhat enjoyed the light-headedness. But since the miserable Christmas Day he’d been dreaming of another one. His mother had insisted on badgering Declan about getting a job all through dinner and his father had got snarlingly drunk after the meal and argued with Francie, who’d driven straight back to Cork that afternoon even though he was