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.The Brothers forgot all about their grudge when I started lobbing points over the bar in the inter-college league.And when Ball shot his comments at me on his way past, they began to bounce off me like skinny fullbacks.That could have been it.But I got cocky.One thing fate can’t tolerate.I was heading down to the lockers one afternoon, hopping a ball on my foot.You can guess who was coming up the hall against me.Ball and Co.A few recent wins had given the old confidence a boost.So I didn’t sidle over to the wall, and I didn’t lower my gaze.I gave the lot of them my best grin, spinning the leather football in my hands.Ball didn’t like it.To him, it was like a hound rearing up on its master.He wasn’t sure what to do, but with the lapdogs panting at his heels, he had no option but to pass his tired comment.‘Two down, farmer boy,’ he said.‘Two down and one to go.’I realized at that moment that Ball was uncertain.I’d seen the look before on the sports field.In the eyes of goalkeepers who don’t know whether to come out or stick on the line.So I pretended to throw the ball at him.The sort of thing you do a million times a day with your friends.But Ball was no friend of mine.I pretended to throw the ball.And he flinched.So what? Big deal you might think.And you’d be right.But not for Ball.This was a huge deal.In his short, pampered life, this was probably the worst thing that had ever happened to him.Being caught off guard by a culchie.I’d say it took about two days for the fire on his cheeks to turn to ice.Then he started plotting.I, like an eejit, thought that I’d stood up to the bully and he’d never bother me again.Stupid.Stupid.Stupid.The Westgate College grounds stretched down past the football fields, through a wide meadow and down to the Liffey.Every summer a farmer came in with a bailer and for a modest sum was allowed to cart off the hay.Of course it was forbidden to venture down to the river after dark.Except for one week after exams in June.For those few days, it was an unwritten law that the seniors could convene on the riverbank for a twilight smoke.Seniors only.Technically illegal.But overlooked.I should never have ventured down.My only allies, the football team, were overnighting in Roscommon after a friendly.I should have stayed in the dorm, nursing the torn shoulder ligaments that had kept me off the pitch, and counted the hours to home.But it would only be boarders down at the bank, I reasoned.Ball and his bunch would be safe at home with their mummies.So, I tightened the bandage around my shoulder, gave my hair a lick of the brush and strolled down across the meadow.I tramped down in shirtsleeves, a thick Aran sweater knotted about my waist.The knot was as big as a football.I remember that jumper.It was a target for the townies.According to them my mother had cornered some innocent sheep and dragged it out of its coat by the hooves.The boys were flaked out on the bank, blowing smoke into the blue night, or firing stones into the middle of the river.I settled in with the bunch raking a handful of pebbles from the riverbank.It seems tame enough these days, with all the entertainment young people have.But to us, sitting on a riverbank, with rock ‘n’ roll music floating across from the city, and no work to do - it was the height of luxury.Then Ball arrived.And, of course, Brendan never travelled alone.His fawning hyenas were hovering like planets around the sun.They shouldn’t have been here.Day boys sneaking in was as illegal as boarders sneaking out.But Ball had a score to settle, and so they had forged the river at an upstream dam.I put my head in my hands and hoped.Maybe they had another reason for returning to the grounds.After all, what had I done? Nothing.Just pretended to throw a ball.I felt them stop before me.Their sniggers petered out as they waited for the festivities to begin.Whatever was going to happen, it would be big.Ball didn’t get his shoes wet for just any old bullying session.Brendan, of course, broke the silence.‘Good evening, Mr McCall.And how are things among the farming community?’Boys didn’t often use words like ‘community’.They felt strange in our mouths.But Ball did.He spoke like one of those fellows reading the news at the pictures.I didn’t answer.It wasn’t a real question.I knew that whatever I said would give him an excuse to start on me.He kicked my foot.‘Well? How’s life in your squalid little cave?’I didn’t even know what squalid meant.But I remember the word all the same.‘Has your mother stripped any more sheep?’That got a good giggle all round.Stripping sheep.Har de har har.Still, I had to speak then.A chap can’t have anyone going on about his mam.I decided to stand up to give me a better chance of escape, or attack.‘I’m not a farmer, Ball.We don’t live in a cave, and my mother does not strip sheep.’‘Oh really? Is that a fact now?’‘Yes.’They were gathered in a semicircle.Eyes bright, even in the shadow of the trees.I realized then that they’d been drinking.I’d seen this look before, at home in Newford.We had a town drunk, the same as every other village in Ireland.Our particular version always decided to settle old scores when he’d had a few.It looked like the same idea had a hold on Ball.‘The thing is, McCall, that I don’t care about your exact circumstances.A culchie is a culchie is a culchie.’I was supposed to reply to that, even though it wasn’t a question.Trading insults is like a game of tennis, and Brendan had whacked the ball into my side of the court.The thing was, I didn’t want to play.I decided to try the staring-out tactic that was so effective on the football pitch.The thing about that tactic is that on the field, things are more or less even.Here, I was outnumbered ten to one.Me giving Ball the evil eye just made him angrier.‘What’s wrong, farmer? Cat got your tongue? Or a sheep maybe, or a cow?’I ground my teeth.Whatever I said, he would just twist it to make melook stupid.‘Thing is, McCall, you’ve been getting a bit cheeky lately.Uppity.Not as subservient as you should be.’Subservient? What self-respecting teenager would use a word like that?A group of girls had assembled at the opposite bank.They were hanging over the railing, giggling and waving.Ball waved back jauntily.Another wing of his fan club.Here to witness the humiliation of the scholarship boy.‘So from now on,’ he continued in a slightly louder voice, so his words would carry, ‘I would like you to call me Sir.’A disbelieving snort shot down my nose.I’d been concentrating so hard on the mouth that I’d forgotten about the nose.Ball’s face burned.‘Is there a problem, bucko?’I didn’t move a muscle.Not even an eyelid.‘I said, is there a problem?’I chanced a shrug.Neither yes nor no.Brendan chose to take it as a yes.‘Good.Let’s hear it, then.’I blinked.This had gone far enough.‘Just say: That’s fine by me, Sir.’Stupidly, I chose that moment to speak.‘There’s no need for you to call me Sir, Brendan [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]