The Vice Principal and other stories

The Vice Principal and other stories

by

John G. Paterson

North Door Books

St. Catharines, Ontario, Canada

Published by John G. Paterson at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 John G. Paterson

This book is available in print. First published in 2008.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

contents

Greenfield Village

The Vice Principal

The Delay

West City Rocks

The Chinese Claimant

Public Skating

The March Singularity

The Eye of the Fomorian

Measles Parrot and Ev@rgreen

Robert Phippes

Popper

THE VICE PRINCIPAL AND OTHER STORIES

for Thomas Sartens

O, wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,

That has such people in't!

~ Shakespeare

He shall lean upon this house, but it will not stand.

~ from Job 8:15.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath

Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

~ Keats

It was late evening when K. arrived. The village lay under deep snow. There was no sign of the Castle hill, fog and darkness surrounded it, not even the faintest gleam of light suggested the large Castle. K. stood a long time on the wooden bridge that leads from the main road to the village, gazing upward into the seeming emptiness...

~Franz Kafka

He who walks carelessly into the night....

~ Ardelle Caswell

Klaatu barada nikto.

~ from The Day the Earth Stood Still

GREENFIELD VILLAGE

The back wheel bounced behind him as he guided his bicycle down the stairs to the basement. He pushed the bike along the hallway past the swimming pool, the sauna, the recreation room, the elevators, and the laundry. Then he locked it in one of the unused wire cages in Tenants Storage. Outside the janitor's room, he waited for Nick and Marco to arrive.

For ten cents above the minimum hourly wage for students, his job that summer was to assist the janitors in Greenfield Village. He was not enthusiastic about working in this complex of nine high-rise apartment buildings, each thirty stories high, giants from another planet. He felt intimidated every morning as he rode his bike through this misnamed village. But Donny Mullin could not quite say what bothered him about the place; he was still searching for a way to describe how he felt about working there.

Mr. Fernadez, the supervisor for all the Greenfield janitors, had assigned the boy a few weeks ago to work with Nicholas Thalassino, a head janitor in one of the apartment buildings. Everyone called him Nick. Marco Perez was Nick's assistant and was known as the second janitor.

Donny did not have to wait long before Nick came down the hallway and greeted him.

How's it going, Donny?

Nick unlocked the door to the janitor's room, and then pocketed his large chain of keys.

About five years ago, as a teenager, Nick came to Canada from Greece. He was now trying to save enough money to open a restaurant with his brothers. Nick had the kind of personality that would be good in the restaurant business. Donny could imagine him greeting customers with his easy-going manner.

Everything is fine, said Donny, without conviction.

Nick sat down in his large, well-worn swivel chair and put his feet up on the kitchen table that he used as his desk. Donny seated himself on a tottering basket chair. Mr. Fernadez had a whole storage room full of such furniture, abandoned by tenants when they moved out of their apartments. After a reasonable time, he would resell the furniture to his employees and friends, many of them new arrivals from Portugal. Marco bought a double bed from the supervisor at a very reasonable price.

Look at that, said Nick, pointing to his Bulova. After eight! Marco is late again, and the big boss is coming today!

I know, said Donny.

There were too many bosses. Donny was not certain if this one was Mr. White's or Mr. Fernadez's boss. Mr. White was the building's superintendent.

Marco should know it, too!

Nick reached for a Mad Magazine. He was leafing through the comics when Marco entered the janitor's room.

Hi, he said to Donny.

You're late! said Nick.

I know!

Marco came to Canada from Argentina just a few months ago, and had been miserable ever since. The Greek and Argentine, although about the same age, did not get along together at all. They had difficulty saying a few words to each other without shouting. But lately Marco was able to restrain his anger against Nick's provocations. Donny knew he was looking for another job, although without much luck so far. However, Marco was hoping to find one soon.

So your mother comes tomorrow? said Nick with a smile.

Yes, said Marco. Many problems. My mother doesn't know I'm married, and the baby comes next month.

You should have done what I did. Save your money, and then get married.

He was getting married next month to a seventeen-year-old Greek girl.

And I told too many lies in my letters.

Yeah? What lies did you tell?

I said I have a good job in Canada and make much money.

What do you mean? You make two dollars and forty cents an hour. That's good money.

Yes, but not enough.—Oh me! And I said I would pay for my mother's airplane ticket! he said, and turned his head away from Nick to the far corner of the room. Problems indeed, thought Donny.

Then Marco's eyes opened up wide. Look, an animal! he said, pointing to a cockroach that had just scurried under a pile of boxes. Cockroaches infested all the buildings of Greenfield Village, which had been constructed on land where a vermin-infested slum had been demolished. The cockroaches survived the demolition to claim better accommodations than their old site.

That's not an animal, said Nick with an exaggerated laugh. It's an insect!

Marco frowned. With Nick's help, the English language was becoming a source of frustration. Nick found Marco's mistakes amusing and would not let him forget his blunders.

Nick picked up a flyswatter near his chair and motioned to Donny and Marco to follow him over to the boxes under which Marco had seen the cockroach run. Hunting roaches had become a game with them.

Marco, you lift up the box, and Donny, if I miss, you hit it with this book.

Nick handed him the Mad Magazine.

Okay? he said. Okay.—Now?

Marco raised the box in one quick movement, but nothing was underneath it.

Where did it go? said Donny.

You sure you saw it go under there?

Sure. I seen it.

You're crazy. You're seeing things, said Nick.

Marco kicked another box, and the cockroach ran out from under it towards a third box. Both Donny and Nick dove at the insect, missed it, and clobbered each other instead.

Ouch!

Hey! cried Nick. What you doing?

Marco tried to suppress a smile as he watched them get to their feet.

What are you laughing at? Nick demanded.

Nothing, said Marco, still smiling.

Nick frowned and reached for his clothes brush.

Come on, we've got work to do, he said. Get the pails ready while I change my clothes.

Nick always changed his clothes before he started work. Clothes were important to him. His work clothes were almost as good as those he wore on the street.

After changing, Nick took his broom, dustpan, pails, and mops to the elevator to clean the main lobby. It was the most important job in the building, he had assured Marco, and it was necessary to take the time and care to do a good job. Marco didn't believe Nick: he told Donny that Nick knew how to appear very busy doing nothing.

For their part, Marco and Donny had to sweep and mop the basement halls, the subbasement halls, the laundry rooms, the recreation room, the saunas, the four washrooms, and the stairways, in addition to cleaning and polishing the elevator doors. Nick sometimes helped with the elevator doors—if he was in the right mood.

About 9:30, as Donny pushed his mop and pail into the laundry room, he noticed Mr. White, the building superintendent, talking in a high-pitched, anxious voice to Mr. Rank, the big boss Nick had referred to earlier.

Is that Nick? Mr. Rank asked the superintendent. He was pointing his finger at Donny.

No, he's just—, began Mr. White. His boss did not let him finish.

Hey, you, wait there, he called to Donny. I want to show you something.

The man walked up the hallway, then led Donny into the laundry washroom.

Do you see this stain here? said Mr. Rank, pointing to the floor by the toilet bowl. Piss!

Pardon me, said Donny, who heard the word clearly. It was a trick his mother used: pretend not to hear and get the creep to repeat his words.

Rank was not easily stopped.

Piss. I want you to clean that piss stain from the floor, every bit of it; and I'll be checking it next week. I want this washroom spotless.

Donny looked down at the stain, a slight discolouring on the tile floor. The stain had never come clean, although the first couple of days on the job he had given it a good scrubbing. Donny looked up at Mr. Rank, but said nothing. The lenses on the man's glasses were so thick his eyes appeared to be deep inside his skull.

Now I want to inspect the laundry, he said.

Donny remembered the confusion Nick had created the day before when he took charge of the job cleaning the laundry room. They pulled all the machines to the centre of the room, and Nick threw wax stripper over the whole floor. The suds flew in all directions as the polisher, a special pad on its wheel, removed everything, including in some places the tiles themselves. With the whole floor covered in soapsuds, Nick—who wanted this distasteful job finished as soon as possible—attached a hose to one of the basin taps and flooded the laundry with water. All three of them were squeezing mops for the next hour and fending off angry tenants who wanted to wash their laundry.

That had been yesterday. Today Mr. Rank bent over, wiped a tile with his finger, and declared the floor clean. Just as he was puffing to get his heavy body upright again, a cockroach ran across the clean tiles and underneath the washing machine next to him. Nobody said a word. Then Donny saw Mr. Rank walking out of the laundry.

When Mr. Rank had departed, Donny gave the stain another good scrubbing after letting some cleaning solution soak on it for about fifteen minutes. He then noticed a couple of other tiles by the washroom door also stained in the same way. These tiles aren't stained with pee, thought Donny, they're just yellow with age! He threw his mop into the pail, then went looking for Marco.

At this time in the morning, they did the garbage together. Donny found Marco outside at the back of the building where they had to change the garbage container. They rolled a full container out and attached an empty one to the garbage compactor. They then put an elevator into service and went down to the janitor's room to get the pail, mop, broom, dustpan, and disinfectant.

As Donny was filling the pail with hot water, Nick came into the janitor's room and busied himself at the shelves where the supplies were kept.

What you doing? Marco asked him.

I'm going to be changing light bulbs, said Nick, who walked out of the room with a stepladder and about two dozen light bulbs in a pail.

Always changing light bulbs! Marco said to the bottle he had just filled with disinfectant. The job involved going from floor to floor to see if any light bulbs had burnt out in the hallways. Nick must have liked the job because he was always doing it. It needed his personal attention.

Donny and Marco took the elevator to the thirtieth floor to clean the first garbage disposal room, a closet (next to the elevator) with a chute for the tenants to drop their garbage to the ground-floor container. However, it was the practice in this building for the tenants to throw all their garbage to the disposal-room floor whether it fit down the garbage chute of not. So the two weren't surprised to find the penthouse disposal room with its usual mess of newspapers, pop bottles, plastic jugs, and other garbage, including a grocery bag slit open and leaking potato peelings and leftover pasta.

Crazy people! said Marco as he and Donny gazed down at the mess. Then Marco discovered something interesting in a corner piled high with magazines and cardboard boxes. It was a folder of prints. He closed the disposal-room door and sat down on the hallway rug by the elevators to examine his find. One advantage to cleaning the disposal rooms was that the interesting items could be found there now and then, anything from Playboy magazines (which Nick insisted be added to his collection in the janitor's room) to pieces of discarded furniture (lamps, old radios, chairs, etc.)

Inside the folder were Van Gogh prints. Marco was himself a painter. Donny had been impressed by Marco's talent in the one painting he had managed to complete since coming to Canada; but his many problems had put a stop to his art.

Sitting down beside Marco, Donny watched as he turned over each print in the folder: Road with Cypress and Stars, Plain near Auvers, Dr Gachet, Wheat Field with Crows, Church at Auvers, and Self-Portrait with Pipe and Bandaged Ear.

These are beautiful, no? said Marco.

Yeah.

Donny examined the self-portrait and wondered why the painter's ear was bandaged and why his blue eyes stared so desperately from the painting.

Hey! What's going on here?

The voice startled Donny.

Nick had just stepped out of the elevator.

Go away! said Marco when Nick bent over to look at the prints.

What crazy stuff is this?

It's not crazy, said Marco.

It looks crazy to me.

Nick walked over to the disposal room and gazed inside for a few seconds, then closed the door.

Oh, I just remembered, your wife wants you, Nick announced to Marco.

What?

She's down in the lobby now.

Why you not say so?

Nick shrugged his shoulders. Marco, angry, walked into the elevator with the folder of prints under his arm and went down to meet his wife.

As the elevator doors closed, Nick walked again into the disposal room and quickly threw the garbage down the chute. After Nick completed this task, Donny mopped the floor and sprayed disinfectant into the corners. On the next seven floors, however, Donny threw the garbage down the chutes and Nick mopped and sprayed the floors. When they reached the twenty-second floor, Nick sat down on the rug of the hallway and said:

There's no hurry.

Donny sat down too.

Are you going back to Greece some day? asked Donny.

Sure. Next year to take my new wife to see my mother and father.

But not to stay.

Me? Not me. I like Canada. All my brothers are here.

Donny asked him about the military junta that was then ruling Greece. Nick said it was a bad thing but now he was living in a truly free country with unlimited opportunities. Donny said that even Canada had its problems and gave the conflict between the French and English as an example. Nick did not seem to understand. Donny tried then to explain the history of prejudice against the native people in Canada as another example.

Ah, John Wayne! said Nick. Bang, bang!

Donny himself began to wonder what he was trying to say to Nick. In high school he had written a paper on prejudice in Canadian history for which he received an A plus; but now, talking to Nick, he wondered if he deserved that mark.

I'm talking about bigotry and intolerance.

What's that? said Nick.

Donny thought of a European example: Germany's persecution of the Jews, which led to the Holocaust. After Donny had finished talking, Nick nodded and then told him how evil the Jews in fact are: they kidnap and murder Christian babies and drink their blood. Donny's eyes widened in disbelief at what he was hearing.

You don't believe that, do you? asked Donny.

Sure, he said. Nick was serious.

But that's not so. The Jews don't kill babies and drink their blood. Where did you hear that?

Sure. It's true. I don't make it up, said Nick, who was puzzled by Donny's ignorance on such matters. My teacher at school said so. The Jews murdered Jesus, you know; it's a fact.

Donny was speechless.

The doors of the elevator opened and Marco stuck his head out to see if they were on that floor.

What took you so long? asked Nick.

We were talking.

Yeah? What were you talking about?

My mother. Her plane comes tonight at eight o'clock.

Can I come? asked Nick, stepping inside the elevator where his pail full of light bulbs was waiting for him. I would like to see your mother's face when she meets your new wife with her belly like a soccer ball!

He gave a big laugh as the elevator door closed.

He's crazy, crazy, crazy, said Marco after Donny told him what Nick had said about the Jews.

At noon hour, all three were sitting in the janitor's room, eating their lunch, when Mr. White entered with four cold bottles of beer in a grocery bag. He placed them one at a time on the vinyl tabletop.

Nick, where's your bottle opener?

Nick reached into a box that contained various odds and ends, and pulled out an opener. Mr. White opened the bottles and handed the first to Nick, then one each to Marco and Donny. He opened the last bottle for himself.

Mr. White sometimes came down to have a beer and a friendly chat with his janitors at noon. He had only recently become superintendent of the building, and he believed that to treat Nick to a beer was the best way to ensure the head janitor's loyalty. For the most part, Mr. White did the talking. Nick was happy with these visits and eager to agree with everything Mr. White said. Marco, however, was uncomfortable with the superintendent, who talked too fast for Marco's limited knowledge of English and insisted on directing a good share of his monologue at the Argentine. All Marco could do was to nod uncomfortably now and again. Mr. White never noticed he was not being understood.

Nick, there's a spare refrigerator in the storage room. You could put it in here. That way I wouldn't have to bring these beers down from my apartment every time I come for a visit, said Mr. White. And you'll have a place to keep your lunch fresh.

Nick brightened at this suggestion.

You're doing a good job here, Nick and Marco, he said. Donny guessed he did not count because he was just summer help. Mr. Rank seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. However, I would like to see this apartment building become a model for the other buildings. Right now, I'm working on a plan I want to present to management. All the janitors in Greenfield Village will be put through a cleaners' school, which I plan to run in the evenings. I'm certain you won't mind a few weeks of night school.—Of course not.—We may be able to raise your wages. You could become the best paid cleaners in the city, and the reason you'd be paid more is that you'll be using the supplies efficiently.

Donny twisted his bottle around and around on the table, hoping the superintendent would not stay too long this time. But it was a hope in vain.

"Yes. And I know exactly what I'm talking about. I didn't waste my time working four years in that small apartment building in the north end. I learned everything there is to know about cleaning, and a little more. The other day one of the contractors making repairs in the furnace room spilt some greasy substance on the floor, and then told me the stain could not be removed. It should be his business to know how to clean it up, but he tells me it's impossible! Well, I said just wait a minute, friend, and I pulled a bottle of my own special cleaner from my tool chest and that stain was gone in less than a second. He was astonished,