The angular hallway leading to the classroom echoed with collective
laughter. It was peculiar for that time of day, as in between school hours, one
could seldom hear the voice of a living soul except for the occasional gardener
yelling instructions to his co-workers in the summer heat or a security guard
sharing a boisterous joke over an afternoon game of cards. Sam wondered what it
could be. Maybe someone drew an unflattering sketch of poor Mrs. Rosario with
her pet parrot on the blackboard, while the rest chuckled in anticipation of how
flushed her face would get when she saw it. Maybe the sycophants seated up
front were being harassed with tiny paper balls from all sides, made from
scrunched up notebook pages. Whatever it
was, Sam was dying to find out. Footsteps quickened. Heartbeat raced. He did
not intend to waste one more minute being excluded from the joke that had
everyone rolling on the floor in a fit. He felt the need to laugh with the rest
and not be the reason for it. Just this once.
Sam stood at the doorway trying to figure out what the
ruckus was all about. The boys were all huddled up in the centre, peering over
something inexplicably amusing. Some of them were laughing so hard, that they’re
eyes were watering while others were holding their bursting stomachs in an effort
to contain them. What were they all
looking at? No one in class had noticed him yet. Sam gathered the courage
to pat on someone’s back and ask. The unsuspecting boy turned around. He stopped
laughing almost instantly; as if he had seen a ghost. He called out to a few
others in a sort of urgency. They all turned to stare at him, their faces
pallid with guilt. The laughter died down momentarily, giving rise to an eerie
silence. Sam never wielded that kind of power over anyone before, and he didn’t
know what to make of it. Curious, he asked in a jocular tone, “What’s going on?”
A derisive faceless voice answered him from amidst the crowd.
“Do you still miss Mommy? I bet she’s coming over right now with a box of candies!”
In that second, the wave of laughter erupted again, flooding
all corners of the classroom, making it impossible for Sam to breathe. Sam had
never talked about his mother with anyone in school before and he was left
grappling for answers in the dark. How
did they know about his mom? He stared blankly at the boys around him
looking to make sense of it all. They didn’t look like virginal school kids
anymore. A cloud of darkness had shrouded their faces. Their lips had a cruel
curl to them; their voices had a discordant ring - much like peasants clamoring
for the blood of a gladiator, their eyes hungry for dismembered limbs. Sam
wanted to run away that very instant, but his adolescent ego fastened his feet
to the ground, making it impossible for him to move. He stood there paralyzed,
befuddled; tears blurring his vision. Then he noticed something familiar in the
midst of all the mockery. His leather bound journal was lying open on the desk.
A boy was reciting passages out of it exaggeratedly; like he was reading
Shakespeare. Sam’s tiny world of imagination lay prostrate on the floor, naked, while
the savages in uniform stomped on it in a sort of frenzy.
And suddenly it all made sense. He remembered having
scribbled some random thoughts in his journal the night before, leaving it out
on the bed in a hurry instead of locking it in his trunk – a perfect bait for
idle, uninspired school children. In fact he knew who it was. It was the boy
sitting there reading it out loud in the midst of this circus, unfazed, with
his pressed white shirt and perfectly parted hair. His name was Rishi. Rishi Vimani. Rich, spoilt, popular, arrogant,
manipulative. Boys worshipped him. His wishes were worth more than gold. He
would walk around school in a cloud, his cloak being borne by human pillars
lest it gathered dust. He treated most like vermin deciding their fate with the
flick of his finger. And from the day he laid eyes on Sam, he dubbed him the
jester, calling upon him for entertainment when there was nothing left to
capture his imagination. He would make him gyrate in a skirt. He would hide his
toothbrush and threaten everyone else with dire consequences if they helped
him. He would dump muddy water on his bed on a wintry night. He would hand him
with pompoms during a game of football. He made sure that Sam was living his
worst nightmare. The rest simply followed him without question, in a cowardly trance.
Sam clung to his journal, praying every night for this ordeal to end. And now
he even had that torn away from him. But strangely, he felt relieved, for he
had nothing else left to lose. He looked at Rishi with pity. Rishi did not
understand why Sam wasn’t bawling his heart out like a child. But he couldn’t look
at him anymore, and turned his face away. Rishi knew that he somehow lost this
battle and it made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t laugh with the rest, nor come
up with an apt witticism. He got up from his bench and left the room. Sam
proceeded to his seat quietly, as if nothing had happened and when no one was
looking, he flicked Rishi’s metal watch from his desk and stuffed it in
his pocket.
------------------------------------
Sam couldn’t sleep a wink that night, tossing and turning,
thinking about what happened in class that day. He wanted to write in his
journal but somehow it felt tainted. He sat up in bed and
looked out the window. The sky was beautiful with a smattering of twinkling
stars; tranquil and listless. He decided to go to the terrace and absorb a
moment of solitude. He tiptoed upstairs in his pajamas, leaving his slippers
behind, lest they woke someone up. Cautiously, he pushed the wooden door and
walked out into the open. The speckled concrete beneath his feet felt cold.
There was a mild breeze from the west that ran through his hair, bringing in
the scent of dew and the song of crickets. He closed his eyes for a moment and
felt the pulse of the night. There was an invisible rhythm to it; slow and
sustained, almost dragging. He looked over to the ledge and noticed a light
from the end of a cigarette. It was like a prick of brilliant orange in a pitch black bubble. There was someone else there.
“Who is it?” he called out.
“Who do you think it is?” the shadow answered.
The voice sounded oddly familiar; one that often robbed him
off his sleep. What was Rishi doing here?
“I’m having a smoke”, he said, as if he read his mind.
“I was just leaving,” said Sam hurriedly. He didn’t want to
spend a moment more with his tormentor. Not that night.
“No you weren’t. Why don’t you come sit with me? I won’t push
you off the ledge. I promise.” he laughed, sensing fear in his voice.
Sam didn’t have a good feeling about this. But somehow he
didn’t want to flee like he always did. He walked over to the ledge and sat
next to Rishi.
“Smoke?”
“No thanks.”
“Of course. I forgot you were a model citizen of the
country.”
“I’m not scared okay? I just choose not to.”
“Then why make such a stupid choice? You don’t know what you’re
missing.”
Sam wanted to prove that he was as much a man as Rishi. And
in that moment, he dropped his guards, snatched the cigarette from him, and breathed
it in. The smoke burned the insides of his windpipe down to his lungs and made
his eyes water. He coughed it all out in disgust, while the cigarette slipped
out from between his fingers and lost its way amidst the trees below.
“Well done sir!” said Rishi, his words dripping with
sarcasm. Sam looked away without saying anything.
“So,” Rishi continued, “I’m sorry about today. I didn’t know
what I was thinking.”
Sam couldn’t believe his ears. Is Rishi truly apologizing? This must be a joke. He did not know how
to respond.
“It’s okay. It’s over.”
“No, I mean it. I’m terribly sorry. I did not intend it to
be that way. I just got carried away.”
There was a brief moment of silence. “Also,” he said, “I
know you took my watch.”
Sam wanted to jump off the terrace right that second. He
knew what he did was wrong, but he wanted to punish Rishi for what he did that day. Embarrassed, ashamed, and almost choking, he managed a meek apology.
“I’m sorry. It was not intentional. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay. I guess I had it coming. I sort of deserved it” he
laughed.
Seeing Rishi so calm, understanding, and almost amicable, he
had an urge to confess. He wanted to tell him about all the other objects he
had stolen in the past in an act of silent retribution. But he couldn’t bring
himself to explain why. He simply needed to tell.
“I want to show you something.”
Rishi nodded and followed him downstairs to his room. Sam
dragged his trunk from underneath his bed, careful not to wake the others up.
He opened the lid of the trunk and took out a box, and held his flashlight over
it for Rishi to see. He noticed quite a few of his things in it, some of which he didn’t even know were missing; a pencil box, a pair of gloves, a miniature
Eiffel Tower that his father got him from Paris when he was a kid, a wooden
chess set and his watch. Sam showed him some other objects that belonged to
kids who harassed him no less – a ping pong ball, a blue striped muffler, and
some twisted action figures. Sam looked away. He didn’t have the courage to
face Rishi, half expecting him to change his tone, and report him to the
Headmaster first thing in the morning.
“I have an idea.” he said instead.
Sam stared at Rishi; half-guilty, half-curious. What did he have in mind?
“Come with me. And get that damn box!”
Sam followed Rishi without question. He had resigned himself
to his fate and was ready to face the consequences. He just wanted to stop but he
didn’t know how. They walked down a flight of stairs, down the hallway and
towards the playground. There was a clump of trees by the edge of it. It was
rumoured to be haunted. They walked past a few bordering bushes until no one
could see them anymore. Rishi took the box from Sam and placed it on the
ground.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, not knowing what to
expect.
Rishi took out a matchbox from his pocket. He lit a couple
of matches with fast, swift strokes, revealing years of practice, and flung them towards
the box. The arid wood crackled in the night, sending tiny flakes of glowing
cinder hurtling through the air. The boys watched intently as the ascending
flames devoured their childish failings, reducing them to nothing but an obscure, nameless stain
on the ground.
“And this will be our
secret,” he said.
