Rabbit

Chapter 2

The groundskeeper's shed was too small for its purpose. Inside it was lined with cracked pine boards hastily put up as shelving. There was not enough room to move about comfortably, in part because of the shelves, and because of the small table and two stools placed in the middle. Regardless, Martin made it work for its intended purposes and more. Martin, you see, was not just the groundskeeper. If he was to be believed Martin was janitor, maintenance man, facilities manager and single handily responsible for keeping Norely in shape. There were other staff who did a remarkably good job blending in due in large part to the dark jumpsuits. While not a perfect match for the wainscoting found throughout the place, they were close enough to act as a sort of camouflage. The other indication of the existence of the maintenance staff was the relative cleanliness of the place (outside certain floors of the residence), a job I personally believe was too big for one person, even one who took to his job as ardently as Martin did. Martin, like the students he despised, never acknowledged the others existed.

It was a few months into my stay at Norley when Martin caught me smoking. His anger wasn't out of concern for my health, or the rules, but because he thought me a thief. I happened to be smoking his brand.

"You think you're slick you dumb shit?"

I was taken aback. I was used to such language from my peers but not from any of the adults.

"Give me back my cigs. You shouldn't take what's not yours."

He grabbed the pack out of my hands. My own went up in surrender. He continued to lambast me as the thief he thought I was, while placing one of the purloined cigs inside his mouth. That's when I explained to him that I had bought the pack for $4 dollar thinking it was mostly full, only to discover after that it contained a paltry four cigs. It was the truth but I did not expect Martin to believe that. To my surprise he did, his stance and demeanour instantly softening.

"Don't let these spoiled rotten bastards get you down. They're shits like their parents. They have everything yet they feel the need to take even more. Fuck 'em, that's what I say. One of them got into my shed. Not sure how. Must have left it unlocked for a sec or two and he snuck in. Won't do that again. Gonna lock it up even if I plan on being right back. Little fucker ain't going to steal shit from me again."

He handed me a cigarette then walked off.

I got busted smoking by a prefect about a month later in the same spot, having been misled that it was allowed so long as you did it outside the school. My punishment was to act as helper to Martin, much to his chagrin as well as my own. I am not one for the outdoors. I do like walking, as movement and a good coat can keep one warm, but I hate the cold, and especially the rain. Martin at first was acutely aware of these defects, pointing to them as general conditions amongst us pupils. We were lazy, entitled, and other invectives of his own making such as porcelain dolls, fancy lads, lady's maids and so forth. He would often say this in full view of the dirty, sweaty players on the field, bashing into one another over and over again.

I would eventually come to know the shed very well, but while I was completing my penance, entering the hallowed ground was off limits. I saw the heaps of stuff that lay on the shelves that I imagine made it a herculean effort to find anything. You would think the items would all have some relation to his work as a groundskeeper, and many did, but I would learn Martin stored many a treasured items in the shed. Some of these were for comfort, such as a hot plate, a chipped mug and bowl, a few pieces of cutlery, a space heater, the aforementioned stool and small table. Of the items that had value, these included a baseball I did not know the origin of, a golfing trophy for worst golfer depicting a man breaking a club over his knee. There was a bear trap, hidden below other junk. Martin had found it in the forest surrounding the school, all old and rusted. "An antique" he insisted. Then there were the small found items like watches, rings, and other lost things left through the school by students. Martin held onto until he felt an appropriate time had elapsed in which to sell them. But arguably the most valuable object of them all, at least to Martin, was the chessboard. The board itself was nothing special, just cheap wood with painted brown and white squares, and a pale wooden button subbing in for a pawn. But Martin was a great lover of chess. I cannot tell you his skill level at the game, though if his teaching ability is any indication, it's poor. But I can say he was desperate for someone to play with, because when he eventually let me into the shed it was for this reason. I knew the basics of the game, but not much else. Under his tutelage I was able to improve only marginally, which I think disappointed him greatly. But as he had no other option, I was tolerated. A part of him must have continued to hope I would improve, because while eventually my formal instruction stopped, occasionally he still tried to teach me, mostly by pointing out my mistakes and making suggestions on what move I should have made instead.