A Malign Injunction

In grade three I sat next to David Starcevich, whose mother was the class teacher. I have no idea how experienced a teacher she was, but she gave the impression of being somewhat naïve, and you got the feeling that, had you wanted to, you could have got away with murder in her class. Some in fact did, but for whatever reason or reasons – perhaps, at least in part, because I sat beside her son – I was never inclined to wage war on her.

David Starcevich was an immense, lumbering boy with all the grace and facility of movement of a giant sloth, and a personality to match. Hardly surprisingly, we did not exactly hit it off. As far as David was concerned, I was a goody-goody, while he to me was just about the dullest human being I had ever come across. He was exceptionally intelligent, however, at least in the narrow sense acknowledged by the school authorities, and frequently vied with Mary Winterbottom and Katie Bowyer for the dubious honour of being named dux of the class. (It was a dubious honour in that most of the boys, and quite a few of the girls, were chary about being labelled a swot.)

David’s older brother, Martin, who was in grade seven, was, physically, the biggest boy at the school. He boasted the same levels of personal charm and grace as his younger sibling, but they were combined in his case with a demeanour that exuded real menace and malevolence, making him a source of genuine fear to boys of my age and younger. By all accounts, he was not averse to throwing his weight around, and the acknowledged most sensible policy when dealing with him was to remain as invisible as you could.

Consequently, when both of the Starcevich brothers sauntered out of an alleyway just in front of me as I was on my way from the bus-stop to school one morning, the first thing I sought was a place to hide. I was too late, however, for instead of walking on, the brothers had come to a halt, and turned to face me, almost as though they had actually been awaiting my arrival.

Caught between the urges to brazen it out and flee, I merely stood there, watching.

“This him?” said Martin to his brother.

David nodded.

Martin then addressed me. “Davey reckons you’re a goody-goody,” he said. “Are yer?”

Too scared to think of a cheeky riposte, I merely muttered “No”.

Martin harrumphed. “Dead naughty then, are yer?”

I looked away.

“Tell us what yerv done that’s naughty,” Martin persisted.

(Attempted train derailment, perhaps?)

“Well?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

Suddenly grabbing hold of me, Martin twisted me ‘round to face him, and then stooped down so that he was at my level, eyeballing me. “Bein’ good’s sissy,” he said, “and I don’t like sissies.” He shook me briefly, but hard. “Understand?”

When I said nothing, he shook me again, more vigorously. “I said understand?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Good. I’ll be gett’n regular reports off Davey, and if I don’t find out yerv been naughty soon, we’ll be having another talk, OK?”

“How will David know I’ve been naughty?” The words were out of my mouth almost before I was aware of it.

“What?”

“How will he know? He’ll only know if I get caught, and why would I want to do that?”

Martin looked momentarily flummoxed, a reaction I fully expected him to attempt to camouflage by giving me another shake. Instead, however, he said, “Do someth’n sneaky, yer mean?”

I nodded.

He thought about this for a moment, but then said, “Nah, yerv gotter get caught, and punished. Bein’ sneaky’s no different than bein’ good really. It only goes ter show yer a coward.”

“So I’ve got to be stupid, then, and get caught?” I replied (and nearly added, “like David”). “What’s the use of that? Half the fun’s in getting away with stuff.”

David, who so far had not said a word, chipped in then with, “This ain’t a discussion, Devaney – yer’ll do as yer told.”

Martin added, “Just be naughty, OK, and things’ll be fine.”

They sauntered off.

I pondered this superficially glib parting shot, and as time went on it began to seem more and more beguiling. By ‘being naughty’ I would be imposing my will on the world, rather than being brow-beaten and shaped by it. However, I was still convinced that it was only worth doing if you took measures to prevent yourself from being caught.