The Indian in the Cupboard Complete Collection. Lynne Banks Reid

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       Chapter Eleven SCHOOL

      HE BROUGHT THEM a low type of egg-cup full of hot water and a corner of soap cut off a big cake, to wash with. They stood one on each side of it. Little Bull, already naked to the waist, lost no time in plunging his arms in and began energetically rubbing the whole of the top part of his body with his wet hands, throwing water everywhere. He made a lot of noise about it and seemed to be enjoying himself, though he ignored the soap.

      Boone was a different matter. Omri had already noticed that Boone was none too fussy about being clean, and in fact didn’t look as if he’d washed or shaved for weeks. Now he approached the hot water gingerly, eyeing Omri as if to see how little washing he could actually get away with.

      “Come on, Boone! Off with that shirt, you can’t wash your neck with a shirt on,” said Omri briskly, echoing his mother.

      With extreme reluctance, shivering theatrically, Boone dragged off his plaid shirt, keeping his hat on.

      “I should think your hair could do with a wash too,” said Omri.

      Boone stared at him.

      “Wash mah hair?” he asked incredulously. “Washin’ hair’s fur wimmin, ’tain’t fer men!” But he did consent to rub his hands lightly over the piece of soap, although grimacing hideously as if it were some slimy dead thing. Then he rinsed them hastily, smeared some water on his face, and reached for his shirt without even drying himself.

      “Boone!” said Omri sternly. “Just look at Little Bull! You called him dirty, but at least he’s washing himself thoroughly! Now you just do something about your neck and – well, under your arms.”

      Boone’s look was now one of stark horror.

      “Under mah arms!”

      “And your chest I should think. I’m not taking you to school all sweaty.”

      “Hell! Don’t you go runnin’ down sweat! It’s sweat that keeps a man clean!”

      After a lot of bullying, Omri managed to get him to wash at least a few more bits of himself.

      “You’ll have to wash your clothes some time, too,” he said.

      But this was too much for Boone.

      “Ain’t nobody gonna touch muh duds, and that’s final,” he said. “Ain’t bin washed since ah bought ’em. Water takes all the stuffin’ outa good cloth. Without all the dust ’n’ sweat they don’t keep ya warm no more.”

      At last they were ready, and Omri pocketed them and ran down to breakfast. He felt tense with excitement. He’d never carried them around the house before. It was risky, but not so risky as taking them to school – he felt that having family breakfast with them secretly in his pocket was like a training for taking them to school.

      Breakfast in his house was often a dicey meal anyway, with everybody more or less bad-tempered. Today, for instance, Adiel had lost his football shorts and was blaming everybody in turn, and their mother had just discovered that Gillon, contrary to his assurances the night before when he had wanted to watch television, had not finished his homework. Their father was grumpy because he had wanted to do some gardening and it was raining yet again.

      “I know I put them in the laundry basket,” Adiel was saying fretfully.

      “If you did, I washed them, in which case they’re back in your top drawer,” said his mother. “But you didn’t, because I didn’t, and they’re not! Now listen to me, Gillon—”

      “It’s only a tiny bit of history, one mini little castle to draw and a mouldy paragraph on mottes and bailies to write,” said Gillon. “I can do it at school.”

      “Stinking climate,” muttered their father. “Those onion sets will rot if I don’t get them in soon.”

      “Gillon, did you borrow them?” put in Adiel.

      “I’ve got my own.”

      “You actually told me a lie last night—” said his mother.

      “I did not! I said I’d nearly finished.”

      “There was no mention of ‘nearly’!”

      “You probably didn’t hear.”

      “Probably not,” retorted their mother. “With the row going on from The Water Margin.”

      Omri ate his cereal in silence, grinning to himself, hugging his secret. He slipped a couple of cornflakes in his pockets.

      “I bet Omri took them!” said Adiel suddenly.

      Omri looked up. “Took what?”

      “My shorts.”

      “What on earth would I want your shorts for?”

      “It might be your idea of a joke to hide them,” Adiel retorted.

      This was not as outrageous as it sounds. It had, until very recently, been a common form of revenge, when Adiel or Gillon had been specially unbearable, for Omri to sneak some СКАЧАТЬ