Authors: Kevin Holohan
In the cupola of the bell tower two resting pigeons raised their heads off their breasts and looked up suddenly. There was a disturbance somewhere within the air. They roused themselves and flew out of the tower into the light southwest wind that would take them to the canal.
As Brother Moody rubbed Smalley Mullen’s face in his own snot, an accelerated shudder ran through the whole school. In one tremulous instant the sense memory of a hundred years relieved itself in every brick and lintel, vibrated through every cracked course of mortar, hummed through every pipe, tap, and cistern, fizzled simultaneously along every copper wire and into every clunky Bakelite switch and socket, tiptoed along every beam and rafter, and finally sighed itself out through every plughole, urinal, toilet bowl, and drain into the sewers below the school and out to sea. In that bewildering instant the school reverberated to the lofty words of Thomas Breen as he laid the foundation stone one hundred years before:
We are gathered together on this auspicious day to lay not just the foundation stone of one school but the cornerstone of a network of schools throughout this land. This State, with the able help of the men of the cloth, will cherish each and every child and provide them with an education that will be the envy of the world. We are embarking on a noble endeavor. We have set our sights high and we will not fail. We will not fail those who toiled and sacrificed to make this endeavor possible, nor will we fail those to come whose future formation has been entrusted to us. We will be tireless in our work to produce good citizens, good scholars, and good servants of the Lord Our God.
With a lurch of tired despair the school settled heavily on its foundations, and the foundation stone bearing Breen’s words cracked right down the middle and scowled at the world with its shattered visage.
The inner tremors of the school were replaced by a silence new and absolute. The institution had given up its central governing spirit. The will to endure had left it. It stood like a house of cards, held up only by bad workmanship, the haphazard arrangement of substandard building materials, and a kind of rigor mortis. Every weakness, every crack and fissure, every stress point and loose shingle had only to will itself and it could put an end to its sorry lot of bearing witness to the daily enactment of a vision twisted and thwarted that now blighted everyone and everything in its ambit.
There was an imperceptible shift within the tower and the ornamental rosette that adorned the top of the four-sided cupola let go of its hold and dropped. It hit the beam supporting the bell, and broke into two pieces, each of which crashed against the bell, bringing forth two jagged staccato peals before falling on down to smash into powder at the bottom of the spiral stairs.
The humming of the bell died down and was replaced by a gentle but constant pitter-patter as first tiny then slightly more substantial flakes of paint and plaster drifted onto the bell. The tower was softly filled with each of these sounds blending and swirling like so much glass being smashed in the distance.
“That stupid Boland, ringing the bell like that for no reason,” muttered Moody under his breath. “Should have had him committed years ago.” He turned his attention back to Smalley Mullen, whose drool and blood were now mixed with his snot on the parquet floor. “Go and get a mop and clean up your mess, you disgusting little bastard!” He released Smalley’s hair and the boy slowly picked himself up. He stood facing the Brother.
From where he was polishing Finbar looked up to see what was going to happen next in this grotesque dance of power and punishment.
“What are ye looking at? Get back to yer polishing!” snapped Moody.
Smalley’s lower lip was cut and trembling, and his eyes welled with tears that he struggled to fight back. He took one deep breath and his eyes seemed to glaze over. He hopped awkwardly onto his left foot and with surprising agility managed to pivot himself in midair to put all the weight of his body and anger behind his right foot as he swung it hard into Brother Moody’s crotch. “Fucking bollix!” he shouted as his foot made contact.
Moody took a second to comprehend what had just happened before he buckled in pain and clasped one hand to his testicles and one to his knee to keep himself upright. Smalley stared around him at the strange new world he had just created for himself. The Brother groaned and then vomited noisily on his boots.
“Go!” Scully hissed to Smalley.
Smalley stood for a moment as if trying to grasp what he had just done. He peered down at Moody and drew his foot back once more and swung it again at the man’s hands covering his crotch. Moody buckled and groaned again and Smalley turned and ran, first hesitantly, then with more decision.
Sensing that Brother Moody’s vomiting was over, the boys backed out of striking distance and waited. This was a strange and wonderful moment, the like of which they had never in their wildest dreams thought they would see, but they knew one thing: someone was going to pay for it.
“And this is our Biology laboratory. The Chemistry laboratory is above us on the second floor and Physics on the third.”
“Indeed. You seem to be very low on equipment despite spending,” Mr. Nolan consulted his file, “three hundred pounds on laboratory supplies last summer. Of course, considering the number of boys you have sent off to industrial schools over the last couple of years, you probably don’t need so much equipment,” observed Mr. Nolan acidly.
“Uhm, there was a slight accident.”
“Was there now?” Mr. Nolan made a quick note in his file.
Brother Loughlin did his best to ignore the man’s hostile tone and directed himself as much as possible to Mr. DePaor and Miss Moloney. “Shall we move on and begin our tour of the classrooms? We have three-quarters of an hour before lunchtime.”
Without waiting for an answer he walked out of the lab, leaving Pollock to take up the rear and usher the inspectors along.
Brother Moody retched and spat into the puddle of vomit at his feet. He stood up carefully and looked round him, searching for Smalley Mullen’s face.
“Cowardly little bastard,” he snarled. “You! You there! Go get a mop and a bucket and clean up this corridor.”
“Me, Brother?” asked Scully. “Yes, you.”
Scully’s mind raced. “But Brother, I don’t know where they do be keeping the mops,” he answered, while he gently nudged Finbar.
Before Finbar knew what he was saying, he blurted: “I’ll help him, Brother. I know where they are.”
Too pained to perceive or speculate about any ulterior motives Finbar might have, Moody nodded his permission and waved the two boys down the stairs. Then he returned his attention to the two most pressing matters at hand: “The rest of you, back to polishing that floor! Which way did that little bastard Mullen go?”
The boys leapt back to their polishing, all jostling for a spot as far away from Moody and his puddle of vomit as possible. Just as the Brother was about to pick one of them for interrogation about Smalley’s escape, there was a rumble from the bathroom at the end of the corridor followed by a loud screeching of metal.
“The stupid little bastard. He’s cornered himself,” laughed Moody, and strode down the corridor to the toilets leaving a trail of little vomit footprints on the newly polished floor. “I’m going to make you wish you’d never been born, Mullen.”
When he pushed open the toilet door, a thick jet of rusty water hammered him square in the face. He fell backward into the corridor with its force and the toilet door slammed shut again.
“One of you, run and get McWhatsisname, the janitor,” spluttered Moody, as he lay drenched and stunned on the floor.
A charge ran through the boys as each one independently decided this was a great opportunity to get away. Before Moody could react they were all clattering down the stairs and out of earshot.
“I said
one
of you!” he shouted weakly after them.
Smalley Mullen inched toward the door that led to the yard and peeped out cautiously. He was completely out of breath. He had to get away or they’d catch him and he’d be disappeared off to Drumgloom before anyone knew what was happening. He was about to make a break for it across the yard to the gate when he heard voices and saw Brother Loughlin, Mr. Pollock, and the inspectors emerge from the Biology lab and walk toward him. Without thinking he turned and burst through the next nearest door.
He stared in shock to find he had entered the staff room. He hesitated but, seeing no one, closed the door behind him and leaned against it trying to catch his breath. At that moment the exterior door to the yard opened. Smalley’s heart contracted to a walnut and he turned to open the connecting door again.
“I think we’ll proceed upstairs to the second year classes,” he heard Brother Loughlin’s voice announce outside.
Smalley froze with his hand on the doorknob.
“By the sounds of it, I don’t think you’d want to be going out there right now,” Spud Murphy’s voice advised him softly from the far side of the staff room. “They’re all a bit edgy right now.”
Smalley turned around to look at the teacher.
“Ah, for fuck sake! What did they do to you now?” exclaimed Spud when he saw the blood on Smalley’s face.
“Brother Moody … I sneezed … pushed me on the floor … kicked him in the bollix,” stammered Smalley before his chest tightened and he dissolved into tears.
“Shhh. Come here. It’s all right,” said Spud, and gently led the boy to one of the ratty armchairs by the window. “Just take deep breaths. That’s it. Let it out. You’ll be all right. Don’t worry. Take your time.” He handed Smalley his handkerchief.
Just then Mr. Laverty walked in. Spud motioned him to stay quiet. “Just keep watch and make sure no one comes in.” Laverty hesitated. “Just make sure no one comes in! It’s not hard!”
Laverty nodded nervously.
In the third-floor toilets one pipe after another gave way. The floor was awash; the trough urinal overflowed and the water began to seep out under the door. The cisterns gurgled painfully and the toilet bowls in the stalls churned and bubbled, then suddenly emptied with a heaving, choking sound.
The plaster in the ceiling, sodden by the upward spray of the broken pipes, flaked and fell. The ceiling bulged and creaked and then all the water stopped and there was nothing but an ominous dripping silence.
Drawn to the silence and still believing that Smalley Mullen was inside, Brother Moody carefully opened the toilet door. The farthest stall was closed.
“I’m going to give you a beating you will never forget,” Moody said calmly as he advanced toward it. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his leather just as the ceiling came down on top of him.
“What are we doing?” called Finbar.
“Looking for Smalley. We can hide him in McDermott’s shed.” Scully pushed open the door of the second-floor Chemistry lab. “Oh, sorry sir,” he said, and abruptly closed the door.
“Where could he go?” asked Finbar.
“Don’t know. The gates are locked and those inspectors are wandering around all over the place. Maybe the monastery.”
“Don’t be insane!”
“The main exports of West Germany are steel, coal, and cars,” parroted the second year, handpicked to display his learning for the inspectors.
Before Brother Loughlin could attempt to elicit any praise for this wonderful feat of rote learning, the classroom shook with a sudden thump.
“Merciful hour! What was that?” shrieked Miss Moloney.
“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.”