The Wanton Troopers Read Free Page A

sounded idiotic. The children used a peculiar tone when they spoke in school, an undulating croon with the emphasis falling in unexpected places. It was as if they were reading words in a language they could not understand.
    â€œClass, stand,” said Miss Roache.
    With a clatter, the children got to their feet. They all of them derived a bit of sly excitement from this business of getting up and sitting down. The boys rattled the metal parts of their desks, the cotton dresses of the girls rustled like a windswept grain field.
    O Canada
    Our home and native land,
    True patriot love,
    In all thy sons command!
    With glowing hearts, we see thee rise,
    The true north, strong and free,
    And stand on guard, O Canada!
    We stand on guard for thee!
    The older girls did most of the singing. Their voices, a little spiteful with self-conscious assurance, rang out above the drone of the younger children. The older boys grinned and were silent.
    â€œWe will bow our heads in prayer.”
    Again the mindless, undulating croon:
    Our Father, which art in heaven,
    hallowed be Thy name,
    Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done,
    on earth, as it is in heaven.
    Give us this day our daily bread
    and forgive us our trespasses
    as we forgive those who trespass against us,
    and lead us not into temptation,
    but deliver us from evil,
    for Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory,
    forever and ever. Amen.
    â€œClass, be seated.”
    There was another clatter and rustle, another little thrill of excitement and derision, as they resumed their seats.
    â€œNow we shall take our Testaments and have our morning Bible reading.”
    Kevin took the small black book from the niche in his desk.
    His paralysis was lifting now. He was settling into the inertia of the school day.
    Sunlight poured through the eastern windows, changing the crayon animals on the glass into grotesque abstractions. Miss Roache read aloud while the children stared with unfocussed eyes at the books that lay open before them.
    Follow after charity and desire spiritual gifts, but rather that ye may prophesy. For he that speaketh in an unknown tongue speaketh not unto man, but unto God, for no man under-standth him; howbeit in the spirit, he speaketh mysteries . . .
    The voice droned on. Kevin’s body became a vegetable. The children might have been so many carrots and turnips, propped up in their seats.
    Therefore, if I know not the meaning of the voice, I shall be unto him that speaketh a barbarian, and he that speaketh shall be a barbarian unto me. Therefore, let him that speaketh in an unknown tongue pray that he may interpret . . .
    He stared at Miss Roache, observing that she nodded as she read, her head bobbing up and down. She reminded him of a dog eating: the little, furtive sideways glances she cast when she raised her head. He remembered how she had wept the previous winter when some of the big boys, led by Harold and Riff, threw snowballs through the open door and onto the stove. The steam had swirled up like fog, and Miss Roache had wept and sent the children home. That day, Kevin had wanted to weep with her. He had wanted to go to her and say that it didn’t matter, that Riff and Harold were fools, that she should not let them hurt her. But, of course, he had done nothing of the kind. And the next day, she had beaten little Normie Fenton, the smallest and shyest boy in the school, until his hands were red with blood . . .
    Brethren, be not children in understanding; howbeit in malice ye be children, but in understanding be men . . . But if there be no interpreter let him keep silence in the church; and let him speak to himself and to God . . .
    She shut the book with a gesture of relief and finality. A little ripple of movement swept from child to child, like a ripple on the surface of water.
    â€œCurrent events,” Miss Roache said, as she dropped the book in the drawer of her desk.
    Every morning, Miss Roache talked for fifteen minutes on world