Chapter Two
In a Leaky Tub
I’m furious as first years show signs of sorting themselves for the worse as emerging leaders fight over the mess of the feeble. I search for explanations, the repressed grievance of one origin finding a target elsewhere to ignite persecution. Always on the weaker. I’m expecting trouble, an unsettling inability to concentrate on immediate tasks. Closed worlds of students’ corridor talk excluding staff begins its chatter. Charged unconscious anger threatens to ruin whatever plans I have. I’m sailing the Straits of Magellan in a leaky wooden tub whilst the navigator gets blind drunk.
Sunil’s asleep in the science lab, great heaving sighs of bored indifference after offering excuses for the non-arrival of work he’d promised. Max, the self-proclaimed martial arts expert, with great prompting, stumbles over simple questions, spiels about fitness and the heart which he identifies on the right of his chest. I notice Lee’s being wound up as aggression is poured like oil, over him. A physically weak young man, with the heart of a lion who’s attempting to enjoy life with exuberance, despite his headaches. Attending hospital regularly because of club feet, his innocent doe eyes attract both positive attention and contemptuous violence from those denied his charm and kindness.
It’s warm so we go outside to the college car park and learn how to use the pulsometre and sphygmomanometer, taking readings before and after exercise - in this instance running around cars. Tricia and Paul scoot their chairs at breakneck speed, much to the amusement of onlookers. There are surprising results. Tricia’s pulse rate actually decreases after exertion, I’m flummoxed to know why. Max, after his short run, looks the unfittest. The group keeps together, but only just. Sunil attempts to slope off with Dean, but I summon them back.
One of the caretakers joins us, “You enjoy doing this?”, he says, then offers himself as a volunteer for testing. I can’t get a reading for his blood pressure, and, amidst great laughter, declare him dead. Lee falls whilst running, but quickly picks himself up, thinking nothing more of it. I tell the group to take their results to their numeracy tutor to bar chart them, after which they can word process a report of what they did and why.
I visit Hamish in the bakery to cadge some delicious student baked produce, and to check how they’re getting on: restively it transpires. Max hasn’t turned up, Lee’s been the butt of aggression and Chung threw flour into Sunil’s face. These two have been at each others throats since induction, but are reluctant to tell me what’s going on. I suspect it’s on the lines of Sunil making racist remarks against Chung and mocking Tricia’s disability. Sunil’s a habit of touching Paul’s neck, pinching him, but he’s too pleasant and forgiving to complain. Chung feels he’s a duty to protect the weaker members of the group, and informs me Sunil messes with Tricia’s wheelchair. Lee likewise accuses Sunil of being “unkind”. After hearing these points I tell them to report anything bad that happens, “Don’t”, I implore, “try and sort it out yourself.”
Dean’s deteriorating under the influence of his fantasy figure, Jacky, otherwise Max, who imagines himself Jacky Chan, world famous kung-fu exponent. There’s always some money disagreement between them; Max saying Dean owes him, Dean denying it. Dean blows with the wind becoming apologetic if he’s wrong or challenged. I saw his parents a number of times last year when the conversation ran as, “sit still, do as you’re told. Shut up. Listen will ‘ya.”. Barriers making it difficult to make inroads into Dean’s thoughts and motivations. He never takes work home and college, in reality, a friendly and sociable respite for him. Two sides are taking shape. On one side, the workers, the motivated and willing, Paddy, the bright one, forever apologising and needing to relieve himself so often I lose count each lesson. Lee, the one with gusto, Paul, quiet, astute, wanting to become a computer programmer. Chung who talks about his feelings and is fast becoming the group’s protector. Finally, Tricia, Chung’s girlfriend, depressed, unable to achieve what her ambitions demand and always talking, always inquiring.
On the other side Sunil, Dean and Max. The former two irritants, the latter problematic and dangerous. Max is showing little interest in the course, and his aggression hasn’t abated over the summer vacation. I don’t feel happy about the lack of support last year when his violence was intolerable, nor the lack of clarity over the policy to adopt in the face of it. He acts as if he shares some secret, some inside knowledge about the group I’m not party too. I’m sure, though, that fear motivates him, fear of embarrassment, of expressing feelings, of standing up to his family. Life’s a bad mixture of mummies’ and daddies’ unmet needs, and their offspring being chewed up by them.
Sunil’s the most complained about. When Sunil left the class room during our ‘positive statements’ exercise nobody would say anything positive about him. Paul was deliberately silent, as were the others. Ever vocal Dean shouted he was a “prat and a nutcase”. I had to make the running, prompting comments, though I shouldn’t. When Sunil was invited back to hear the comments, Dean, being consistent if nothing else, screamed at the top of his voice, “you’re a prat!” I change the subject matter asking, “How will you know when the right partner comes along?”, I get the usual answers.
“Big tits!”
“Nice legs!”
“Smart clothes!”
“Sexy!”
“Intelligent!”
Going a little deeper Chung suggests he’d do a blood test and investigate the potential partner’s family history, then “take her to bed!” Dean argues being in bed with a partner is “Dirty!” The group jump on him.
“Why?”
“It just is. It’s dirty.”
In eyes of the group Chung’s and Tricia’s feelings are evident. Chung takes much ribbing.
“When’s the wedding?”
“You’re jealous,” came the simple and direct reply.
No one mentions feelings and love. I broach the words and ask, “What does love
mean to you?”
“Do you love your family?”
“How do you describe love?”
“Do you feel good?”
“What happens when no one loves you?”
“You get violent”, Chung replies.
“That’s right”, adds Max, “you get angry.” Well, well, I think to myself. Chung tells the group that he can remember his earliest schooldays, but refuses to be drawn to say more. Paul adds a note of maturity when he suggests, “You can get angry with somebody and still love them.”
Sunil sees a photograph in a magazine I’d used to help introduce the subject.
“That’s what I fancy”, he says spotting an advert for exotic lingerie; no head, no legs, all torso. A few pages on an advert for Givenchy of a naked hunk of a man shouldering a woman in grainy black and white, all machismo and veiny muscle. I wonder aloud what would happen if all women wanted men like this. “You’re far from hunky Sunil, like most of us”, adding, “Do you think it’s real?”, to end our session.
Later in the day a colleague informs me Lee’s been beaten by Sunil, Max and Dean. “I knew something had to happen”, I tell her. Elaborating she tells me Lee’s head was banged against the wall and was in floods of tears. But I haven’t eaten yet, nor had a break since nine. I go to the canteen where Lee approaches me, red eyed, deeply unhappy. “What’s happened?”, I ask.
“Nothing, it’s o.k. now, I’ve apologised to Sunil.”
“Pardon?”
“He wants his pencil case back.”
“You mean the one I picked up from the lab yesterday?”
I see Sunil by the swing door, at the other side of the canteen, peeping over.
“Lee, Sunil knows who I am, what I look like, and where I am. You’re neither his winged messenger, or courier. If he wants his case he can walk over and ask me.” Lee walks away to return a few minutes later with the same request, additionally talking about the incident. I tell him how serious the incident is and that I’ll have to discuss it with my manager. Lee nods his head and shuffles his club footed walk across to where Sunil’s watching the proceedings like some deranged wing manager in a failing panto.
“Give me rest”, I think.
Lee returns. We talk on the same theme, discuss the same subject.
“We’re friends now. Don’t do anything about it, please.”
“Lee it was a serious incident. You might have required hospitalisation. I have to do something about it.”
He walks off and finally I enjoy my food in peace.
I see Chung and ask him what he knows of the fight. It’s the same old story emerging; Sunil ganging up with Dean and Max to insult and abuse others. Chung says he only held back from hitting them because Tricia restrained him - otherwise all hell would have been let loose. All these problems were discussed last year, especially Max’s violence and his throwing a punch at me, but nothing was done. I go looking for the perpetrators and find them in the computer room. Dean apologies to me, “It won’t happen again”, he reassures me.
“That’s not the point. You’ve a choice to get involved or not.”
“I'll bring my friends to college.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No it isn’t.”
“Thanks.”
Max tells him to shut up, then laughs. Everything’s a joke to him. Nothing institutionally happened last year, and he knows, or thinks, he can do anything with impunity. Later, when Sunil’s sitting next to Lee word processing the science lesson where Lee fell, he writes, “Lee fell and ran to Richard crying”. I tell him that’s cruel, feeling beneath his callousness.
I ponder where my responsibility lies: to students who want to work, have a good experience at college because they choose to do so. Or to those who’ve no interest whatsoever in college or to the opportunities made available? Is my job to constantly break up fights, maintain order, correct their emotional dysfunctions or assist students educate themselves, discover about life and take opportunities surrounding them? What am I to do about keen and willing students who see negative behaviour unpunished? Will they become as apathetic and demoralised as last year’s group? Is the message do nothing, it’s o.k., college is a doss, do what you like, nothing will happen. Already the group’s divided. There’s bullying, and I don’t see why keener students should have their college education laid waste by immature stupidity. I leave college reflecting the day’s events.
