Chook and I were living on borrowed time and needed to make some pretty urgent escape plans. I was in despair. Even if I did know how to get home, which I didnât, how far could a little kid and a chicken travel without being spotted by the enemy?
That afternoon in class, Miss du Plessis, who seemed even more upset than usual, rapped my knuckles sharply on two occasions with her eighteen-inch ruler. In the end she grew totally exasperated when, deep into my escape plans, I simply didnât hear her ask what three times four came to.
âDomkopf You will have to stay in after school!â The idea was impossible. Granpa Chook and I had to escape before the council of war met behind the shithouses.
âPlease, miss! Iâm sorry, miss. It wonât happen again, miss,â I begged. In a desperate attempt to make amends, I blew my camouflage. I recited the nine times table, then the ten, eleven, and twelve. I had carefully concealed my knowledge of anything beyond the four times table and, whatâs more, we hadnât even reached the eleven and twelve times tables in class. The effect was profound. By the time I had almost completed the twelve times table, which Iâd learned from the back of the Judgeâs arithmetic book, Miss du Plessis was consumed by anger.
âTwelve times twelve is, ah... one hundred and... er, forty-four,â I announced, my voice faltering as I perceived the extent of her indignation.
âYou wicked, rotten, lying, cheating child!â she screamed, raising her steel-edged ruler. The blows rained down on me, though, in her agitation, her aim was wild and I took most of them on my arms and shoulders. One swipe got through my guard and the thin metal strip in the ruler sliced into the top of my ear. I dropped my guard and grabbed at my ear, which was stinging like billyho. The warm blood started to run through my fingers and down my arm.
The sight of the blood snapped Miss du Plessis out of her frenzy. She looked down at me and brought her hand to her mouth. Then she screamed and fell dead at my feet.
The shock of seeing Miss du Plessis drop dead at my feet was so great that I was unable to move. The blood dripped from my ear onto her spotless white blouse until a crimson blot the size of my fist stained the area just above her heart.
âShit! Youâve broken her heart and killed her,â I heard Flap-lips de Jaager say as he ran from the classroom. All the others followed, screaming as they fought each other to vacate the scene of the crime. I just stood there, unable to think, the blood leaking from my head.
I was unaware of anyone entering the room until a huge hand lifted me and hurled me across the classroom, where I landed against the wall. I was too stunned to hurt and sat there propped up by the wall like a discarded rag doll. Mr. Stoffel, the master who taught the Judgeâs class, was on his knees bending over Miss du Plessis and shaking her by the shoulder. His eyes grew wide as he observed the blood on her blouse. âShit, heâs killed her!â I heard him say.
Just then Miss du Plessis opened her eyes and sat up like Lazarus. Then she looked down and saw her bloodstained blouse and with a soft sigh she passed out again. Mr. Stoffel slapped her cheeks and she opened her eyes and sat up. âOh, oh, what have I done!â she sobbed.
Quite suddenly the classroom grew very still and dark, like a cloud passing over the sun. I could dimly see Mr. Stoffel coming toward me, his long, hairy arms flapping at his sides as though in slow motion, his shape wavy at the edges. I tried to cover my face but my arms refused to lift from my lap.
âLook what happens when you forget your camouflage, Pisskop,â I observed to myself. Then I must have passed out.
I awoke in my bed in the small kidsâ dormitory, but before Iâd opened my eyes I could smell Mevrou at my side. She must have seen the flicker of my eyelids. âAre you
That afternoon in class, Miss du Plessis, who seemed even more upset than usual, rapped my knuckles sharply on two occasions with her eighteen-inch ruler. In the end she grew totally exasperated when, deep into my escape plans, I simply didnât hear her ask what three times four came to.
âDomkopf You will have to stay in after school!â The idea was impossible. Granpa Chook and I had to escape before the council of war met behind the shithouses.
âPlease, miss! Iâm sorry, miss. It wonât happen again, miss,â I begged. In a desperate attempt to make amends, I blew my camouflage. I recited the nine times table, then the ten, eleven, and twelve. I had carefully concealed my knowledge of anything beyond the four times table and, whatâs more, we hadnât even reached the eleven and twelve times tables in class. The effect was profound. By the time I had almost completed the twelve times table, which Iâd learned from the back of the Judgeâs arithmetic book, Miss du Plessis was consumed by anger.
âTwelve times twelve is, ah... one hundred and... er, forty-four,â I announced, my voice faltering as I perceived the extent of her indignation.
âYou wicked, rotten, lying, cheating child!â she screamed, raising her steel-edged ruler. The blows rained down on me, though, in her agitation, her aim was wild and I took most of them on my arms and shoulders. One swipe got through my guard and the thin metal strip in the ruler sliced into the top of my ear. I dropped my guard and grabbed at my ear, which was stinging like billyho. The warm blood started to run through my fingers and down my arm.
The sight of the blood snapped Miss du Plessis out of her frenzy. She looked down at me and brought her hand to her mouth. Then she screamed and fell dead at my feet.
The shock of seeing Miss du Plessis drop dead at my feet was so great that I was unable to move. The blood dripped from my ear onto her spotless white blouse until a crimson blot the size of my fist stained the area just above her heart.
âShit! Youâve broken her heart and killed her,â I heard Flap-lips de Jaager say as he ran from the classroom. All the others followed, screaming as they fought each other to vacate the scene of the crime. I just stood there, unable to think, the blood leaking from my head.
I was unaware of anyone entering the room until a huge hand lifted me and hurled me across the classroom, where I landed against the wall. I was too stunned to hurt and sat there propped up by the wall like a discarded rag doll. Mr. Stoffel, the master who taught the Judgeâs class, was on his knees bending over Miss du Plessis and shaking her by the shoulder. His eyes grew wide as he observed the blood on her blouse. âShit, heâs killed her!â I heard him say.
Just then Miss du Plessis opened her eyes and sat up like Lazarus. Then she looked down and saw her bloodstained blouse and with a soft sigh she passed out again. Mr. Stoffel slapped her cheeks and she opened her eyes and sat up. âOh, oh, what have I done!â she sobbed.
Quite suddenly the classroom grew very still and dark, like a cloud passing over the sun. I could dimly see Mr. Stoffel coming toward me, his long, hairy arms flapping at his sides as though in slow motion, his shape wavy at the edges. I tried to cover my face but my arms refused to lift from my lap.
âLook what happens when you forget your camouflage, Pisskop,â I observed to myself. Then I must have passed out.
I awoke in my bed in the small kidsâ dormitory, but before Iâd opened my eyes I could smell Mevrou at my side. She must have seen the flicker of my eyelids. âAre you
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