The Paradise Stain. Nick Glade-Wright

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СКАЧАТЬ character, Yetta, and most are shameless when expressing themselves. A bit like our Lippy next door! One lad’s in a wheel chair as he has cerebral palsy. Mason he works the chair with one withered claw of a hand controlling the steering knob. I kid you not but the other day I was setting the kiln temperatures, the rest of the class had gone to a break, and bold as brass he wheeled alongside the drying bench and with his other hand managed to swipe two or three drying pieces of work belonging to other students onto the floor.’

      ‘Mm, that seems shameless enough. How do you discipline that?’

      Melinda shrugged. ‘No idea really. Most people treat him as if he’s invisible because they don’t want to feel uncomfortable communicating with him.’ She smiled naughtily. ‘He can sound a bit like a mating whale. So the other kids make empty platitudes, then move away. It’s not easy, and can be very frustrating, but he’s had a lifetime of being alienated simply because of other people’s social embarrassment. It doesn’t seem fair to be born with that sort of life sentence.’

      ‘Possibly his special need is to get the rage out of his system, hence the pot smashing.’

      ‘For sure. The depressing thing is that it’s hard to tell who’s neediest sometimes. Autism, Asperger’s, Down syndrome, they all require specific ways of interaction, but it’s the so called normal mainstream ones, real deadshits some of them, excuse my French, who have no physical or mental disability that cause the most trouble and are hardest to deal with. And we teachers are the jugglers trying to keep all their different needs airborne at the same time.’

      ‘For you I should sew one of those pointy hats with bells on!’ Yetta laughed. ‘But maybe all they need is an old fashioned firm hand and some motherly bosoms to be cuddled in.’

      ‘You’re not far off the mark. The mother of one of my students is in Risdon Prison, but unfortunately for the lad his father’s firm hand is a lot more than just that.’

      Melinda suddenly shuddered at the thought of Tony Macey cuddling up to Yetta. A six foot lump of a boy, volcanic acne, and self esteem lower than his pitiful IQ, who thinks that wiping wet clay into girls’ hair is hilarious, even a possible career option.

      ‘Yetta, I’ll be back around four thirty. Stay safe.’

      ‘Off you go now. You have no need for worry.’

      Of course I have no need to worry. Melinda picked up her keys and left the room.

      Chapter Seven

      Kiwi Janine, who was wearing a smart shirt with jacket and slacks, knocked and entered Kant’s office. Kant looked up from a share prospectus Maxwell had advised him to study. Phew, Dorothy’s had a word in her ear, Kant thought as she ushered John Sturges in.

      ‘Here’s Muster Sturges, Muster Kant.’

      ‘Ah, welcome John. Please sit down. Can I offer you a coffee?’ Kant said, standing up and shaking his hand.

      ‘I’m pretty right, thanks. The lass ’ere just made us one.’

      Janine lingered at the door. Kant suspected the girl had aspirations to be more involved with the proceedings at the station. Television stations often brought out romantic notions of fame with some of the younger employees.

      Kant nodded at her. ‘Thanks, Janine.’

      She swivelled and disappeared.

      ‘Nice lass,’ John Sturges said warmly.

      ‘Yes, very pleasant.’

      ‘Told me she come from Christchurch. Real bad about that earthquake.’

      ‘Yes, it was terrible. Please John, have a seat.’

      Kant sat in the other armchair, crossed his legs and leaned a little towards his guest, who had perched himself near to falling on the edge of the chair holding his knees.

      ‘So. Vince has had a preliminary chat with you at home.’

      ‘Well yes, he did. He come round, brought some little cakes too. Nice fella.’

      Kant smiled. ‘That’s why we employ him. And I have to say, John, he must have really liked you.’

      ‘Oh? How’s that?’

      ‘Well he’s never brought me any cake before.’

      John grinned with pride. ‘Sorry about that.’

      ‘It’s okay really. Now … ’

      ‘I don’t know what ’e told you but it’s hard to just remember everything off the top of me ’ead. Dunno why I agreed really. But he made me feel kinda easy, you know, to tell stuff.’

      ‘Sure. All right, well how about you start at the beginning, and if we decide that your story is suitable then we’ll go through how the interview will be carried out on air so there are no surprises for you. The program is not live so we always have plenty of time in which to edit things that don’t work well for you, or indeed us. Think of this as just a chat between two mates … in a pub, very relaxed. How does that sound?’

      ‘Righteo then, sounds fine.’

      John Sturges looked about seventy years of age but he had told Vince he was sixty four. It had not been a compassionate life that had embraced him. The gritty lines, parallel furrows in arid soil, had long been ploughed across his forehead, signs of life’s brutal grip. His wiry unkempt grey hair was in need of basic grooming and his clothes were op shop specials. But it wasn’t so much his appearance that gave the man a washed up look but the way he carried himself. This was not an assertive man with straight back, looking assuredly into a bright future, no. This man’s whole demeanour was weighted down as if merely keeping his body together, his arms, his shoulders, his head, was an effort.

      But to get on the show there would have to be more than just feeling sorry for yet another down trodden old fella fallen on hard times.

      ‘I told the other bloke about how I was treated real bad when I were in State care. Like, you know, Wyborough Hall up Mangalore, ’n’ Ashley Boys’ Home, ’n’ that.’

      ‘Ashley Boys’ Home?’

      ‘Yeah. I also spent some time earlier with the Salvos too. That was real bad too. Then when I was at Brighton Area School this kid died of a brain tumour; they reckoned it were me what killed him. I’s called murderer ’n’ stuff. The psychiatrist, he said there was nothin’ wrong with me. The kids and even summa the teachers said I bashed ’is ’ead on the concrete. I never did. Even in Ashley they bashed the guts outa ya.’

      ‘The boys’ home?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      Kant was already losing the continuity of the man’s nervous ramble. Things that had happened to John Sturges forty or fifty years ago had fused together into a cluttered medley.

      ‘John, you mentioned the Salvation Army. Surely they would have provided a safe haven for you?’

      ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? There was Major Finlay and Captain Sullivan; СКАЧАТЬ