Tom Murphy Chapter 19

Gustav and I, in our sartorial best, waited outside the Cosmopolitan Club. A throng of working men and a few women milled outside the hotel across the street. Late drinkers had just been thrown out and the doors bolted. Guffaws and shouts and a low indistinct murmuring disturbed the crisp air. Men were clutching brown paper bags. A few more respectable looking were trying to hide the brown bags under their coats. Tiny flames of matches and fag‑ends cast illuminations in the gloom.

If I drop this, all my landlady will supply is water.
I thought she had sweeter juices than that!

Guffaws rent the air. Men tripped, lurched and swore. Some stumbled onto bicycles and weaved home. A Salvation Army officer, distributing pamphlets, worked soberly among them.

A bunch of Maori men were unabashedly guzzling bottles around a truck. They threw up their heads and the brown ale was spouting down their throats. Maori Jack was among them. One began to urinate copiously on the back wheel. Children waited patiently on the back of the truck. A couple of women cajoled the men for a swig.

The Pakeha won't let us wahine into the pubs. It's stink eh,
one women said loudly to no one.

I was used to all this. I glanced at Gustav and saw he was looking revolted. I felt quite ashamed. To my relief, then the mayoral car drew up. The Mayor dressed up, as if he was going to an important reception, got out. Maybe he was, I thought.

He greeted us boys with the gravity that matched his suit. We saluted him with equal solemnity.

As we walked towards the club door, I noticed that the hotel drinkers recognised the Mayor. He put his head down and carefully ignored them. They seemed equally loath to acknowledge him.

As Dad said – ‘The Mayor works hard for the town, the moneyed half.’

When we entered, the Mayor closed the door with the alacrity of a trapper sheltering from bears. Then his face brightened into his familiar leonine smile.

The great unwashed, you know, have to be appeased but not embraced. How are you boys this evening?

We assured him we were very well.

Good, good, murmured the Mayor.

We followed this kindly gentleman into the dining room. The other diners were well into their meals. The Mayor went to each table and greeted the patrons. The chandelier sparkled. The table linen shone a snowy white. The guests' faces shone too as they greeted the Mayor. A bonhomie of mutual regard flowed like a filling lake over the dining room. The Mayor knew most of the guests' names and took careful note of the others.

The manageress came from the kitchen and ushered us three to a vacant table under the chandelier. She was as thin as a rake and she too appeared delighted.
She and the Mayor exchanged little familiar jokes as she took down the orders. Gustav was as as composed as the Mayor. But I was tongue tied and clumsy in this novel setting. I slavishly followed Gustav's meal orders.

The manageress departed to the kitchen. The Mayor took out of his waistcoat pocket a cigar box. He offered cigars to us. Gustav took one. I declined. I pulled out of my pocket my packet of cigarette papers and baccy. I saw the Mayor and Gustav blanch. I hurriedly put them back. The Mayor lit the cigars with a shiny lighter. The two adults leaned back and puffed importantly. Then I noticed that every grand gesture of the Mayor was being slavishly mimicked by Gustav. I was suddenly reminded of Groucho and Harpo Marx.

A smiling waitress brought in our plates steaming with roast meats and vegetables. Then I was awestruck when she entered again with a bottle filled with a red liquid and two crystal goblets.

The Mayor beamed at her. She passed him a metallic object. He twirled it and a screw-like blade sprung out of it. With dexterous fingers he screwed this into a cork inside the bottle. Then with a sharp tug and a pop he wrenched the cork out of the bottle.

I was wide eyed. All other eyes in the room were fixed, less awed but knowledgeably impressed. The Mayor nonchalantly poured the red liquid into the two goblets. The liquid filled the goblets as swiftly and silently as Moses filled the Red Sea valley, I imagined.

The Mayor sipped his goblet. He beamed again and nodded at the waitress. She smiled and departed. The Mayor turned to me.

You are too young, Tom, to share a bottle of Dally wine. Order a soft beverage if you wish.

I quickly agreed but was too shy to do anything other than stare at my table companions. They both then promptly ignored me for the rest of the evening. That didn't bother me in the least.

As Gustav raised the wine to his lips, the Mayor leaned back and chuckled.

The mayoral office is mostly a thankless task. The citizens take it for granted when you help them, and when you have to frustrate their unrealistic dreams, they do nothing but curse you as if you are Lucifer. But the one saving grace is, no citizen ever accosts you and says, ‘Hey Mister, you can't break this wowser law’.

I took it that the Mayor was alluding to the wine served to Gustav. Indeed, no voice in this room brought the roof down upon my companions although every eye was fixed thoughtfully upon them.

The Mayor sipped and chewed as if it was Holy Communion. But Gustav seemed to forget his meal and took long draughts.

When Gustav's glass was half empty, his face was red and his movements clumsy like the drunkards outside. Then he made a big sigh and suddenly said loudly and boldly to the Mayor.

Mr McLean, why have you invited me to this dinner?

The Mayor, a little bit put out, smiled.

I have big plans for you, Gustav. After you left my office, I put in a special call to Doctor Dow, Rector of Petrie Collegiate.

Oh, that two faced hypocrite fascist! snapped Gustav.

The Mayor's face fell. He raised a finger to Gustav.

Now now, Gustav. Doctor Dow is a man of vast education and experience with boys.

Gustav did not look in the least impressed and hastily swallowed another draught. The Mayor resumed his leonine smile.

Doctor Dow has agreed that next year you may return to the college and study for a University scholarship.

Gustav grimaced. I have three objections. First, you should have consulted me before discussing me with Doctor Dow. Second, I have no desire to return to that zoo. Third, I have no money to pay for the college fees.

The Mayor sipped his glass. His face only had the slightest tinge of the red wine.

I have three answers. First, you came to me for help, so you are my client. Second, the desires of sixteen year old youths are not paramount to their guardians. Third, and this is a charitable offer you may never benefit from again, I will pay the fees.

Gustav was astonished.

You refused to lend my family money to seek our fortunes in the city of most opportunities. Why do you make this offer to give us this money to go on living in a land that offers us nothing?

The Mayor leaned back and gave his condescending laugh.

Dear boy, New York is a sea of quick sand, genius or not. This land is the land of opportunity for every boy whatever his class or race if he well educates himself.

Gustav was not convinced.

What education? Hours of learning dead languages, dead British history, double-dutch maths, learning to be ‘King Kong’ on the sports field. Learning how to remain a dutiful little boy when I am seventeen, almost a man.

It was the Mayor's turn to be astonished. Gustav's outburst about the college was plainly unexpected. The Mayor sipped again and appeared to be uniquely struggling for words. Then his composure returned.

Your sentiments are strong but misguided. If you graduated from the college with a scholarship in how to read Humpty Dumpty in hieroglyphics, the value would be the same. British education trains young men to be gentlemen, not geniuses. German education does that and behold the results.

When I was your age, by being dutiful I was already a scholarship boy and University undergraduate. I had built up old boy loyalties with some of the richest and most influential families in the Dominion. Year after year, I continued to spin these webs. When I graduated with a Bachelor of Arts and a degree in law, I held every powerful family in the Dominion somehow obligated to me. I was still a poor young man. I took a train to this city. Five years later, I was a rich man and Mayor of the city.

If I had been allowed to share the red wine, I might have asked the Mayor where did he trade in his cat. I suddenly remembered that when I was a very little boy, there had been a hugely popular Christmas pantomime of Dick Whittington.

At last, Gustav was drinking in not only the wine. He nodded above his glass.

Yes, Mr Mayor, I will return to Petrie Collegiate next year and study for a scholarship.

The Mayor beamed. Then his face became deeply solemn. He held up a finger.

Your sudden eagerness is good but perhaps a little too boyish for the gravity of the moment. I am not going to be a Father Christmas. I will expect a return as I expect from everyone of my endeavours. You must sign a legal document that should you leave this Dominion to live overseas, or fail the scholarship, you must return the money that I have given you.

I will not fail the scholarship, said Gustav stoutly. But I cannot understand why I must stay in this land.

I saw that his heart had sunk as if staying in the Dominion was tantamount to staying for the rest of his life in prison.

The Mayor seemed to raise his bearing. He pointed his finger as if he was not sitting in a chair but standing in a pulpit.

Young man, this Dominion needs you.

Gustav flushed a deeper redder hue.

Why – why?

I too was startled.

The Mayor too flushed a deeper redder hue

Young man, you bring to this worthy but dull Dominion excitement.

You really think that? Gustav asked modestly.

Young man, civilisation may rest in this land on your youthful shoulders. We need your energy and your culture. One day, all the roads that can be built and paved will be so, all the hydroelectric power that can be dammed will be so. Machines will do almost all the necessary work. Then what will this worthy but dull population do to bring purpose to their little lives? Culture is the answer, Herr Rosenblum. Otherwise, we will turn into patients of Doctor Freud.

I saw a shadow of doubt pass over Gustav at this mayoral proclamation. Then he brightened up.

There is only one thing I ask from the College, Mr Mayor.

Speak up.

The masters must not beat me.

The Mayor spluttered in his wine.

What an extraordinary request! The entire leadership of this Dominion was thrashed at school.

Gustav suddenly bashed his fist on the table and his eyes flashed.

If I am ever told to bend over a chair, I will walk out of the college and that that will be the last it will see of me.

I too was taken aback at his strong feeling on this matter. I had taken physical punishment as natural to life as bread.
Gustav calmed down.

In Germany the Nazis beat people but everyone knows they are barbaric. In this country everyone thinks beatings are right. When I attended Petrie Collegiate, everyone beat up on everyone else. That was how the school ran. I walked out of the college when I witnessed the worst case.

Tell me about it, said the Mayor.

A third form boy was throwing his books from a balcony onto the ground. Unluckily, he threw his music book at the feet of Doctor Dow. Doctor Dow looked up and shouted, ‘Boy! go to my office!‘ I didn''t think anymore about it. But later, when I was walking past Doctor Dow's office, I saw him inside with the boy and in his hand was a long stick.Tears sprang in Gustav's eyes. The poor boy was shaking in his shoes. Then I heard blow after blow and cries from the boy. I was so disgusted I walked out of the college.

We table companions were both silent at this shocking story.
Then the Mayor cleared his throat.

Let me tell you a true story, Gustav. When I was in the fifth form at Wellington College, we studied Anabis by the Greek author Xenophon. You told me classical Greek is a dead language, but there is a story in that text that I have never forgotten.

The general Xenophon was charged by his fellow Greeks to return ten thousand fighting men from the wastes of Asia to their homes in Greece. In the steppes of northern Asia the army was caught by a snow storm. Many, maybe most of the soldiers wanted nothing more but to rest their weary bones in the snow. Xenophon knew if they did not get up, they would all die. He walked among them and struck them with his staff to force them to return to the march.

Months later, when they were safe in Greece, some of the struck soldiers accused Xenophon of striking free men. Xenophon said in his defence. ‘I struck you men because, as with a father or a school master, I cared most about your safety.’ When his soldiers heard him, they forgave him.

That third-former may one day be called upon to fight the King's enemies. Doctor Dow struck him because the boy had to learn to respect the authority of men and of the laws above him. Without that beating, that boy might have thought authority was something you sneaked out of. With the moral cowardice of that boy, may go a regiment, a country, in the end an Empire.

I thought they were very grand words, but I felt too great a burden lay on that boy's shoulders. I glanced at Gustav and saw he too was not convinced. Then I felt the Mayor's eyes bearing down suspiciously, even fearfully upon me. Until this moment, he had entirely forgotten my presence. I remembered his own moral condition and my face burnt with his and my shame.

We were now all lost in our thoughts. Our left‑over meals and the wine lay forgotten around us. At last, the Mayor spoke quietly.

I will inform Doctor Dow that you have a problem with corporal punishment. I am sure he will understand the strange thinking of foreigners and inform the masters. Your experiences have made you more mature than the other boys. So that would not present a difficulty. If you ever hear the blows of the cane, just think of the march of the ten thousand and bear on bravely.

Gustav nodded. I could see he was choked at the beneficence and wisdom of the Mayor. I too swallowed a lump and thought of the Mayor as the father neither of us now had.

As the Mayor and Gustav had talked, we three had disregarded a running commentary in the dining room. A man of senior years had prattled on, with only a brief interruption when the Mayor greeted the other guests. By the late hour of his dinner, he had mellowed himself on a little bottle tucked away at the side of his plate. He had got up and treated each table with a cheery anecdote. His face got ruddier by the moment and he swayed. The men had smiled beneficently, the women had looked slightly shocked, their children had giggled delightedly. Then in the middle of the room, the gentleman had become silent for several moments and held a handkerchief to his steaming eyes. Now he accosted our table.

Saka bono, he saluted us.

Both Gustav and I looked poker-faced at him. But the Mayor whipped out his hand and grasped the gentleman's hand.

Saka bono, replied the Mayor.

The best race in the world, exclaimed the gentleman. The best horseman, the best fighters, the bravest. Tommy Atkins wasn't so bad, but his officers were dunderheads to a man. Watch that Boer in the shadow of the rock on the kopje. When the bugle calls to battle, you will prove your breed and blood. In the rattle of the rifles on the veldt. Ta ta ta ta. I took the Queen's shilling, boys, but she didn't want a donnybrooker. So I paid my fare to Cape Town and joined the Rough Riders. The land and sun of Africa were hell. But our boys were angels. The swells would call them swearing troopers but they were Michael and Gabriel. As dusty as lizards and with guns as lethal as rattle snakes. They rode their mounts like the north wind.

The gentleman's eyes moistened. Their blue brightness shone like the sky over Africa. Then he hastened to the lavatory.

The Mayor leaned back and smiled at our boyish pleasure at such a delightful gentleman.

That's old Johnny Thompson. He is as meek as a mouse in his shop. But every Friday night, he has his dinner at the Club and relives the Boer war. But he will never call it that. His enemies were the sun, the dry veldt and the dunderhead British officers. He gets lonely. His wife died last year in the Church pew.

We all contemplated such sudden spiritual mortality. Then the Mayor got up and paid the bill in the kitchen. We were farewelled by the manageress in the now empty dining room. As we walked down the stairs, the Mayor said nonchalantly.

I have arranged an appointment for you Gustav to see Doctor Dow at the college sports tournament at two o'clock tomorrow. Tom, you go with him. You will be there, Gustav.

Yes, said Gustav already sounding like a meek schoolboy.

On the following afternoon, Gustav and I met each other outside the college gates. Inside the gates, boys, in their college blazes and short pants, ran about, or strolled, or lounged in the huge manicured college grounds. Men and women also strolled about with the proprietorial air of squires and sheriffs. I had shared several tight spots with Gustav. Only this time did his nerves seem to overcome him. I too was afraid some boy would give cheek to my friend. But if they remembered him, they politely disdained him.

Let's go in, I said firmly.

With Gustav several paces behind me, we marched into these hallowed grounds. That's how I, a working class boy, felt. From under the eaves of a palatial building covered over with climbing ivy, a man started to walk determinedly towards us. He was enveloped in a black gown, and his pointed nose and glasses glinted in the sunlight.

That's Doctor Dow, said Gustav, his voice trembling.
The boys call him Spider. We boys are the flies.

He has to run a school and if he is soft, everyone will take advantage of him, I said helpfully. I was quoting Dad. But I trembled too.

Doctor Dow approached us and clasped Gustav's hand.

Welcome, Gustav, back to our school.
And he smiled as reassuringly as the sun on a Summer morning.
And who is your companion?

This is Tom Murphy.

Any relation to Sergeant Murphy?

He is my Dad.

I was astonished that even with this great man, I noticed a quiver of fear.

Come with me and watch the junior rugby teams play. ‘Petrie Collegiate’ is playing ‘Te Aute College’.

We accompanied the Rector to the rugby field. We stood beside him and other distinguished people, and watched two teams of small boys slog each other on the rugby ground.

Run run! Get em behind! Ruck, ruck the ball! manly and boyish voices called from the side lines.

The boys played furiously and raggedly. I glanced at Gustav. His bottom lip was pouting. I knew he was saying to himself, ‘Why am I watching this?’

The Rector then said so quietly to Gustav that only I overheard,

There was fault on both sides.

Gustav did not look convinced.

The other boys should not have ragged you and you should not have cultivated so superior an air.

I suppressed a smile. Gustav's superior air was when he was being natural.

There is more to life than cleverness, there is fitting in, being one of the boys, said the Rector. In a few more years, and they pass so quickly, you will be a man. Enjoy your youth where and when you can.

I have not been a boy since Daddy was murdered, replied Gustav. I have had to be the head of our house

I know, said the Rector. Your family are now safe in this smiling land. Reclaim your youth.

Smiles were rare in our neighbourhood. But I said nothing. We were in the world of the educated and the posh, and the likes of me must stay mute.

I have instructed the sports master to put you in the second fifteen as a winger, said the Rector.

Gustav looked astonished, and I picked a secret thrill inside him.

I watched your running and your co-ordination. You have supple movements and sturdy legs. If you play well, and the Dominion's milk and meat fattens you, the next year might find you in the first fifteen.

At the Rector's words second fifteen, I was reminded of the worshippers genuflecting and praying to the Lord at Mass. I looked at Gustav. He too wore on his face that mark of awe. Doctor Dow was indeed delivering a sermon.

When you are in a rugby team of the college, you are no longer a single individual. You carry the weight of the traditions of the college. Each boy uses selflessly all his talents to contribute to his team and school. With the props it is mostly brawn, with the wingers it is speed and intelligence.

Think of that moment, Gustav. The ball is yours. Fifteen boys and their supporters wish for nothing else than to stop you. In the distance, there is the score line. Your intelligence and speed take you to that score line. At that moment, in the cheers of the crowd, your race, your class, you yourself as a person are forgotten. You have scored. Nothing else can surpass that moment.

But your fellow players, unlike the vulgar soccer players, do nothing more than shake your hand as a gentleman and a worthy fellow.

The Rector choked at that moment. I saw Gustav swallow. I too felt a tear spring in my eye.

Then the junior game was over. The first fifteen of the two colleges entered the rugby grounds. A roar of applause must have resounded through the town. Gustav clapped wildly too. I felt my heart go thump thump for the Petrie Collegiate team that now represented my town.

The Maori boys stood in a line in front of us. They were as straight and imposing as an infantry line. A boy, – he might have been six feet tall – marched to the front of the Te Aute college line. Suddenly, the line bent forward, one hand reached for each crotch, the other hand half clenched and shook above each head. A thunderous chanting chorus rent the air. The chanters jerked and bobbed. They stamped the ground. If there had been a thousand chanters, the ground would have shook.

Their captain swayed himself across the line. Their eye balls rolled menacingly and flashed in the sun light. I felt my own blood stir and glanced at the bystanders. They too were stirred and intent.

Then I glanced at Gustav. His mouth was hanging open and he was staring in amazement at the spectacle. Then I saw that his eyes were scared.

Then with a final shout the boys leapt into the air. They moved sternly to their team positions. Gustav grabbed me.

Let's go, he whispered. He was in a panicky state.

I said a hurried farewell to the bemused Doctor Dow and we fled out of the college as if we were being hunted by wild animals.

Once out of the college, Gustav settled down to a steady walk back into town. I tried to educate him.

That was a Maori haka, they only do that at the start of sports games and at ceremonies, I explained.

Gustav remained silent. I could see he was still shaken up. Then he shrugged his shoulders.

We have finished today's business at the college. On Thursday night, I have another meal at the Club with the Mayor and Mummy and Maria to discuss my future, he said calmly.

I was relieved. The town's charitable plan for Gustav was still on track. I pondered why the haka had so disturbed him. That I could not understand.

At four o'clock on Friday afternoon, I met Gustav in the Council Chambers foyer. He told me he was waiting for the Mayor. The Mayor had invited him to a private viewing of the art gallery. Everyone in the town knew the art gallery was the Mayor's most special baby. However everyone thought the Mayor's views on art were eccentric, even a bit subversive. Since the gallery had been opened early this year, the Mayor had lost his nickname, Dick Whittington. The smart alecs now called him Cubism.

I asked Gustav how was the Club meal. Gustav shrugged nonchalantly.

We did ok. The Mayor arranged with Mummy about college fees for next year. We weren't interrupted by that army bore. The only bad thing was, Maria suddenly jumped up and shrieked, ‘What about me?’

The Mayor was shocked at her bad manners. Mummy and I were furious. We made her go outside and wait for us. When we had got back home, we both gave her a piece of our minds. She cried, and promised us not to be rude to important people again.

I too was shocked and angry at Maria. I put it down to her being still a bad-tempered child. The Mayor appeared. Without so much as a nod, he and Gustav got into the hearse and they drove away. I was used to that invisibility when important matters were taking place. But deep down, I hated the Mayor as I had briefly hated Wormwood. Yet I was very glad for Gustav that good things would happen to him again at last.

On Saturday morning, our household telephone rang. I answered it. I was astonished to hear the Mayor's voice. It sounded strangely agitated and confused, not at all what I was accustomed with my boss.

Tom, th-this is the Mayor, ah ah Mr McLean, speaking. Are you there?

Yes, Sir,

My heart sank. I had an instant premonition of ill tidings.

I have bad news for you. You are hitherto no longer in my employment.

Why, Sir?

The room misted over.

That is my prerogative as an employer. Go to the Council Chambers office on Monday morning and collect your final wages.

The telephone clicked off. I put down the receiver. I went to the boys bedroom and sat down on my bed. A motorbus revved outside the bedroom window. I felt its giant weight crush over my shoulders.

Suddenly I was no longer the Mayor's boy but a squashed morsel on the street.

Dad was chewing through the last morsels of his breakfast when I walked into the kitchen and stood in front of him. He stopped chewing and looked solemnly at me over his spectacles.

Have you lost your job?

I nodded and my bottom lip pouted.

Dad sighed.

They take you in, they chew you up, and when it suits them, they spit you out.

I did not need to be reminded who they were.

And you can wipe that sulk off your face for a start, said Dad.

I made my face dead-pan.

Did he give a reason or can you think of one?

I shook my head. I felt too confused and upset to contemplate that point. Now I started to think about that. I quickly gave up. In my upbringing, bosses were as unfathomable and treacherous as snakes. No one needed to warn me that when they struck, they might be as deadly too.

I never understood what you did for the Mayor but you served him loyally, said Dad.

He chewed through another helping. I took that as Dad's solace and my lip resumed its pout in self-pity.

Dad looked crossly at me again.

You're sixteen now, you're starting to sprout, if you don't need your old dad, pack your bags and go now. This time I won't come looking for you.

Those words shook me perhaps even more than the Mayor's. I had always assumed Dad's home would be mine for ever. Now I recalled that all my brothers and sisters had flown the nest. I too now wore feathers and the wide world would expect me to earn my keep. I stood before my father, already almost as tall as he, with wide shoulders, and my once piping voice sunk to my boots.

I had turned sixteen a month ago. As I had feared, no one remembered my birthday. But when I lay self-pityingly in the bath that night, I saw my only present. It was more precious to me than a thousand pounds and a bicycle. As Dad had promised me, when puberty came, it came in a rush.

Well, what are you going to do now? asked Dad.

I don't know, I said. I wasn't being self-pitying and pretending to be stupid. I really was at a loss.

Dad crunched and swallowed his breakfast. As he spat his hard words out of his mouth, his breakfast juices accompanied them and spilled down his chin. I put my head down not out of shame, but so as not to see this disgusting sight.

Let's face it, son, for gainful employment you are completely useless. It's not your fault. Like your poor mother and your sister Jean, you inherited all the bad blood of the Sullivans. Your brothers and other sisters got all the Murphies, unfortunately the outlaw blood. They are all now in trouble with the law. At least, you've spared your old dad that. I forget Pat. In old Ireland, a Bishop must of sinned with a wench and bred Pat generations later.

I felt strongly tempted to reply that Dad must have inherited the booze blood of the Murphies.

Your mother and sister could save themselves from penury by marrying practical men. You should of been born a girl. With your robust health and house-keeping, you would of made a good missus.

Maybe I could be a cook, I remonstrated.

Dad shook his head. You haven't got brains like your brother Pat to be a school teacher or a priest and you're cack-handed. Therefore you are useless.

I felt my body shrinking away before him. If there had been a hole in the floor, I might have crawled into it.

You can go and try your fortune, but there's nothing out there even for able-bodied men and boys. My advice is stay here and be my housekeeper until you are twenty. You are good at that and you keep me away from the sheilas. They've never done me any good. I will give you a weekly allowance of five shillings for baccy and beer. That's how much they pay relief workers. When you're twenty, you'll be too old to be under the thumb of your old dad. Then you'll have to join a relief camp.

Panic seized me. I thought of the relief workers in the camps outside the town. Scarecrows and guys could never be men.

Dad saw my panic. He swallowed the last morsel and his voice became kindly.

Perhaps by then there will be a workers' government who will find the workers real jobs and wages. I don't know how they can. That would tax the wisdom of Solomon. It's an elephant's arse, son, and we're all poking it with sticks. When I was last in Wellington, I went to Parliament. For all the good they were doing, they might as well of been playing ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush’. Sometimes when I patrol those relief camps, I wonder why they don't march into town and seize the rich men's property. They've got the numbers. That must be why they keep them permanently famished. But I would slam them down hard, if those poor bastards tried it on. If they succeeded, they would hang me at the nearest lamp post. If they failed after a fight with the Govern't, I would lose my pension. So I live for the pension and do what I can for working people each day.

Having explained his philosophy, Dad helped himself to a second glass of home-brew and then left for the police station.

I returned to the boys' room and flung myself on my bed. I stared up at the ceiling. Even the resident spider had more a place in the world than I had. I picked up the Biggles magazine beside me and wondered how Biggles would have met this challenge. I quickly concluded his courage and ingenuity would have made him overcome being shot down by a German aeroplane. He would at least have died with a bold challenge on his lips. But his dismissal from the squadron by his commanding officer would have shrunk him quickly and permanently to less than a man.

There was a knock at the door. I was drowsy and my eyes ached and watered. I had felt the same when Mum died. Blinking in the sun light, I went to the door. I was surprised to see Gustav. He was full of life and I was in no mood for it.
I let him into the boys bedroom and we sat down on the beds.

I've just lost my job, I said plaintively.

I expected sympathy but Gustav was too full of himself to take interest.

Just as well you're out of his clutches. You won't have to do any more of his burglaries now, said Gustav.

That brightened me. But I was annoyed that Gustav spoke of the Mayor's habits so baldly.

How did you and the Mayor get on together at the art galley yesterday? I asked in order to change the subject.

Gustav looked very solemn.

It was like being in a Synagogue. He led me to one corner and genuflected at a cubist painting. Councillor MacDonald had hit the roof when the Mayor proposed the council exhibit it. Councillor MacDonald said it was only fit for the council tip. The council should only exhibit art that represents the heroic life of the workers. The Mayor had to fight hard to persuade this philistine council to exhibit one cubist painting. But the Mayor has been proved right. The public now accept cubism as art.

Even I had heard about this controversy. Dad said the public accepted this rubbish because they were sick of being ear-bashed about art by the Mayor.

Gustav suddenly smiled.

It was a great struggle about the meaning of art. The transcending power of art against realism. The Mayor on the side of the avant garde young artists, the Councillor on the side of the workers. The only fault is; the artists who discovered Cubism are today even older than the Mayor. I call it all the battle of the frogs.

I was too upset to appreciate Gustav's cleverness. I stayed silent.

Gustav glanced at his watch.

I have to see the Mayor again at his law office this morning. If I am not back here by twelve o'clock, call your father and tell him to go to the Mayor's law office.

I was too sorry about myself to pay attention to these odd words of Gustav. I murmured assent. As Gustav was going out the door, I remarked,

Now that you are going back to school, you might be able to marry Vicky McLean.

Gustav snorted.

What would that alabaster blue-eyed doll want with a Yid?

I next heard his slamming the back door.

I lay back on my bed and it seemed the walls were closing in upon me. The spider above me spun and spun with the sagacity of a sage.
I thought about Gustav. Even he, despite his huge obstacles, had by his talents won himself a place in the world. As the Mayor's boy, I had taken a proprietorial interest in the town. Now the Mayor's whims, as they had risen me to witness his affairs, had cast me down to the fag-end of the town. I now felt a mounting anger. Who decreed that I should be the Mayors' – or anyone else's cipher? I remembered my brothers' defiant words and contemplated a life of crime to get even with the world.

My thoughts wandered to the Mayor and Gustav. I thought how at each point they crisscrossed my life. What were they planning together at this moment. How to run the town between them? Then my thoughts drifted to the final words of Gustav in this room. Why did he instruct me to call in Dad if he had not returned here by midday? Why had such an optimist about his own fortunes so unexpectedly given up on any chance on matrimonial bliss with Vicky?

At last like an explosion of light inside my own head, I knew at once what secret plan Gustav was hatching out of his dealings with the Mayor. I bolted up from the bed and clasped my mouth to stop my shouting it out. I jumped off the bed and rushed out of the house. I must warn both before disaster struck. I knew them both better than I knew myself. No obstacle was too big and dangerous for Gustav once he had set out a goal. No challenge was too perilous for the Mayor once he felt his position and dignity challenged.

I ran past higgledy-piggledy cottages, past the big house where the Rosenblums sparkled, past the silent rotunda in the park, into the main street. It was a sunny late Saturday morning and the people had come out to bask. On Monday to Friday, the business people in their starched aprons, collars and ties waited hopefully in their shops for customers who never came. The unemployed in their washed-out suits or dungarees and sugarbags stood at street corners and waited hopefully for jobs that never came.

On those days, no one shopped because they were either working or unemployed with no money. A man going about town in a prosperous suit and not at work was stared at as if he was a visiting angel. On Sunday, there was brass music and people promenading in the park, Church bells and the smiles of Church people. Everything else was closed. Only on Saturday from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., did shop keeper, worker, and customer come together and trade flourish.

Through the main street I ran and my sturdy legs flew and my chest heaved. People looked aghast at me as I pushed my way through them. Several working men looked around as if they suspected the police were in pursuit. The familiar tea rooms, the big drapery store, petrol station, the Church spire in the distance, rushed past me. I felt the salvation of the entire city and its citizens rested on my thin shoulders.

The Commercial Mutual Life Building towered over the main street. Inside its brick maze on its third floor, was the Mayor's law office. Inside the office the Mayor and Gustav were waging at this moment a deadly game. I mouthed a silent Prody prayer and gave a Hail Mary as the Mutual Life Building rushed towards me.
Then – "BANG!"

The explosion was inside the Mutual Life Building. The din resounded through the city. I stopped. My legs were suddenly like lead and I gasped for breath. It was too late. I could now only join the spectators.

People looked idly around. I stared up at the third floor window of the law office. Everyone except me resumed their business. I waited for the next event. It wasn't long. With a sharp crack, a chair shot through the window and crashed on the pavement. It was accompanied by the crinkle of falling glass. Then the street was full of shouting, running and staring people. Then Gustav's face appeared through the smashed window.

Help! I have been shot! he shouted.

Now the street was in bedlam.

That was a gun! someone shouted.

Then some women began to scream and clutch their children, and bend down over them on the pavement. Everyone else ran to shop shelters. I ducked behind a shop pillar and continued to watch. Inside the gloomy office, I detected the Mayor and Gustav were wrestling. Soon the manly strength of the man held the boy in a vice grip and was bashing his head against the broken window sill.

I began to run again to the building. Then I dived to the pavement and covered over my face. A chain of explosions shook the windows of the third floor. Everywhere, people were screaming and crouching on the street and pavement. I looked up again through my fingers. The Mayor had disappeared. I saw Gustav waving a pistol. His brilliant eyes flashed wildly. His tousled black ringlets were bouncing over his forehead. A hoarse voice was shouting wildly in German.

Then I saw Johnny Thompson run out of his shop towards the building. I got up and followed him. We ran into the building and up the stair case. We reached the third floor landing at the top of the stairs when Gustav came reeling out of the door of the Mayor's office. I gasped with relief. He was deathly pale but there was no sign of a wound. He was still holding in his hand the pistol.

He smiled at me bashfully. He spoke calmly.

Mr McLean has shot me, get a car and take me to a doctor.

Then to our amazement, the office door opened and the Mayor came out. He too was deathly pale but as cool as I had ever seen him. He spoke calmly behind Gustav.

You are in shock, boy. Wait until your head is clear and then reflect upon this unfortunate occurrence. I was showing the boy my revolver when it accidentally went off and shot him, he then fell against the window and broke the glass.

Johnny and I each put our arm around a shoulder of Gustav. Gustav was still smiling.

It's just a glancing scratch, he whispered and then staggered.

We began to help him down the stairs. At each step, he seemed to become weaker and more uncertain on his legs. We walked out into the sunlight. The city had recovered from its fear but all were staring silently and blankly at us and the pistol. The Mayor followed silently behind us.

When we reached the footpath, Gustav seemed to address the crowd. I almost thought he was kind of enjoying himself.

McLean has shot me. Give my love to Mummy. I have discovered a scandal.

As he now seemed steady, we let him go. He tottered a few steps and then to the loud sigh of the crowd, fell to the pavement. His eyes rolled up and became glassy. His mouth opened up and a rivulet of blood flowed through it over his chin. I now was sure he was dead. The coursing blood instantly recalled to me the red wine served at the club.

Then the crowd began to shout again. People in ever growing numbers began to push and kick the front bystanders. They would not budge but were pushed forward until they were struggling not to kick Gustav. Johnny and I stood protectively over him.

Get back! Get back! Give him air! shouted Johnny.

Then the Mayor spoke coolly still to the angry crowd.

I have accidentally shot him while showing him my revolver.

Then two constables, scarcely older than myself, strode up. They looked down at Gustav and then stared at the Mayor.

Mr McLean spoke matter-of-factly to the constables.

I have accidentally shot the boy while showing him my revolver. I shot him through the chest and I believe he will die.

The constables glanced at each other and neither moved. Then one of them spoke quietly to the Mayor, and he followed the Mayor back into the building. Then we heard the siren and the ambulance drove up through the crowd. As the ambulance men placed Gustav on a stretcher, I glanced at the crowd. The people behind were still shouting and pushing. I was troubled by the faces of the front bystanders. They appeared elated and greedily taking in the scene. Then at last, Dad turned up on his bicycle. He instantly took charge as I had confidently expected.

There is nothing more to see! All of you go back to your business!

He outspread his arms like a great eagle stretching out its wings. His great deep chesty voice resounded through the crowd.

Everyone instantly began to disperse.

Last person, I would of thought of. Such a kind caring man, said one lady.

It was an accident, her lady companion replied sharply.

Always distrusted the man, you know what they say about Scotsmen on the make, spoke a well dressed man.

Would you trust a Mack before a Hun? a limbie muttered back.

A hunched grey haired man in a dirty coat and wild flighty eyes began to mutter cuss words. His rrrs rolled fiercely off his tongue. He seemed to be talking to no one except himself.

Dad recognised me. He sighed deeply.

Tom, run to the Rosenblums and tell them that Gustav has been shot and they must go immediately to the hospital emergency. Dad pulled out a half-crown from his pocket. When you get to the Rosenblums, hire a taxi.

I took the half-crown and rushed away through the milling crowd. Already, people were going about their normal business. But the only people who were my friends had just suffered a shocking misfortune. I felt my legs buckle beneath me and everything around me became blurred and watery.

I gasped up the stairs and bashed my fist on the garret door. Maria opened the door a crack and peered through. Her limpid eyes were wide in childish fear.

I must speak to your mother! I shouted.

Mrs Rosenblum rushed to the door.

Is he dead? she asked.

An unspeakable fear suddenly filled her eyes. She pushed her way through the door and flung her arms around my shoulders.

Yes, I know he has been a very naughty boy. Tell me how is he?

Gustav has been shot and is at the hospital, I blurted out.

Maria screamed wild rending sounds. Her spastic body jerked hideously.

Then he is alive, gasped Mrs Rosenblum.

I don't know', I said untruthfully.

I was sure he was already dead. I ran to their telephone and called a taxi.

While Maria continued to convulse in front of us, Mrs Rosenblum sunk into a chair. She now appeared to be in a trance-like state. Her once excitable voice suddenly appeared disembodied.

How could that happen in this town? No one here carries a gun. Ve came here to escape from guns. Who did it?

The Mayor did it, I replied.

She stared at me.

Then in this land too, the leaders are the murderers.

I saw a taxi drive up to the gate.

Come with me now, I ordered.

My manly tone amazed me.

We ran down the stairs and path to the gate. When the driver saw the stumbling of the Rosenblums, he jumped out and helped them into the back of the taxi. I jumped in the front and ordered the driver to take us to the hospital emergency ward.

As the driver sped away, he glanced at me.

Is this to do with the shooting? I heard gun shots and there is a rumour that a digger from the relief camp has shot the Mayor for sabotaging MacDonald's standing for the Mayoralty. Trust the nobs to use dirty tricks to sabotage a supporter of the workers.

I was in no mood for the intrigues of city politics. But the nugget of truth in the rumour mill disquieted me.

Get to the hospital as fast as you can, I snapped at the driver.

I was surprised again at my bold manly voice.

Do you want us to fly? snapped back the driver.

He took this as a challenge and drove like a racing driver up the hill to the grey walled hospital. We jumped out and I tossed the half-crown to the driver. Then we ran into the reception office. The lady at the office directed us to a waiting room.

We sat down and took each other's hands. A disinfected smell invaded our nostrils. The carpet and walls were old and stained. The springs of our chairs pierced our bottoms. I was instantly reminded of my previous visits to the hospital to have several of my teeth pulled by a bad-tempered clumsy dentist.

I now guiltily recalled my actions were the source of these dreadful events. Somehow, unwitting feeble I had tied the threads of the town's secrets, and its best citizens were going to be destroyed.

A nurse approached Mrs Rosenblum and said to her that Gustav was under the care of the medical superintendent. He would come and see us shortly. She disappeared. We waited while the wall clock made two revolutions.

A man with a white mask over his forehead walked into the room. He sat down beside us. We all trembled at this portentous vision. He turned to Mrs Rosenblum.

Gustav is out of danger. He is suffering from a bullet wound in the right side of his chest. The bullet has not so far been located. It is probably in the inside lining of the lungs. Restoratives have been ministered to him and he is improving rapidly.

I breathed again deep soothing breaths. Mrs Rosenblum and Maria closed their eyes and recited together a prayer in a language with alien sounds that disquieted me.

May we see him? asked Mrs Rosenblum.

The superintendent nodded. He is asleep and is receiving oxygen.

We followed the man through a door into an eerie sight. A pale figure, hooded and wired up in unearthly contraptions, breathed long shuddering breaths. Masked figures stood around him. The Rosenblums ran to the bed and knelt down at its side. I stared, then turned around and walked out. I had never felt so isolated.

As I strode through the corridor to the exit door, Wormwood came rushing in.

How is the boy? he gasped.

He is out of anger. How is your uncle? I replied.

Uncle? yes of course. He is in the clink on a charge of attempted murder.

I brushed past him and walked out into the glittering sunlight. I walked home. The streets were thronged with loafers of every sartorial fashion and age. I had never seen so large a city crowd. Everyone was now Mayor who could spread about a rumour, until the next rumour monger.

Aren't you the Mayor's boy? a voice shouted.

I recognised a regular suppliant at the Council Chambers. The entire street went silent and I felt five hundred eyes staring at me.

I am no longer, I muttered and ran off.

When I got home, Dad was sitting in the kitchen and smoking a cigarette. I quickly told him about Gustav.

Dad listened thoughtfully. When I finished, he stubbed out the cigarette and lit another. He was in a philosophical mood.

That's what happens when you bring in foreigners. A community is an apple cart, and foreigners upset it because they haven't learnt when to leave well alone. If the Mayor needed to kill the boy, he should of done it clean and proper. Now the boy will talk and bring down the Mayor and his own family.

I was shocked at Dad's cold-heartedness towards my only friends. Dad noticed my distress and suddenly meanly looked at me.

Come clean now, boy, what was your business with the Mayor? Rich men don't employ urchins to hang around them all day. I have been too busy at my job to think about it. But now I must know. You might be taking a high-jump with your former employer. You are my own flesh and blood and, believe it or not, I care about you even though you are a fool. Out with it or you might be explaining it to my boss and me at the station.

I hung my head. Dad lit another cigarette and smoked furiously.

The morning after the night burglary of the Eisler surgery, I noticed your trousers were sodden wet and you were supposed to of just got out of bed. I should of asked then but I had better things with my time. When I investigated the burglary, someone had pissed over the surgery floor. Then, a fortnight later, an envelope with five quid was slipped under the Eisler house door. Burglars don't do that. A kid might. Was that you?

Now I nodded.

Dad sighed deeply. There is a rumour going around the pubs and relief camps that MacDonald's candidacy for the Mayoralty was sabotaged by the big wigs. Was that what your breaking and entering was all about?

Again I nodded. Now I started to talk. The more I said, the wider Dad's mouth dropped.

While doing these burglaries for the Mayor, did you find out something immoral about him, and tell Gustav? Dad asked when I had finished.

I was astonished at Dad's question, and wondered what he knew or suspected.

We in the force all know McLean's a queer, we've been sheltering him from the law for years, said Dad.

I was shocked again. This time at the police complicity. But now I felt sanguine telling Dad about finding the Mayor and his nephew in bed together. I blurted out that I had told Gustav.

Wormwood is no nephew of McLean, snorted Dad. In the time that you worked for McLean, did you ever encounter working-men asking to see him?

I explained that yes, rough working men with sly faces, often with tattoos, approached me inside the billiard hall. That was a special place where I met these men to make secret night appointments at the mayoral office. Later, at night, I ushered each one through the annexe door to the mayoral office where the Mayor smilingly greeted them. Then I left them. I explained to Dad that the Mayor secretly gave them money out of the mayoral fund. These men were ashamed and secretive that they were receiving this charity.

The Mayor told me that he admired their pride and would help them out, I said piously to Dad.

Dad burst out laughing and shook his head to my mortification.

You were a pimp for the Mayor.

Shock and shame overwhelmed me. Dad sat before me as my judge of my folly and guilt. Then Dad stopped laughing.

Oh, go and fill two glasses from the keg.

I took two glasses out of the cupboard and filled them. Dad took one and it made him philosophical again.

Doing your duty is hellish at times. This booze is my Father Confessor. I take a glass or two and it gives me the courage and steady nerves to do things I could never do clean sober. I hope you never find that out. But you have been tricked by a rich powerful man who has taken advantage of your youth and foolishness, and you deserve the solace of the vapours of Father Booze.

I gratefully took a swallow. Already I felt its mellow warmth settle over me.

I think you've already tasted it, said Dad.

It seemed that Dad's cunning would find out everything.

That Eisler file, I will dump tomorrow. I wouldn't do that for any of the other children. You are the only one who still cares about your old Dad. Have another glass.