JackG@killerschool Read online

JackG@Killerschool

  By Pauline Gerber

  Illustrations by Elmarie van der Merwe and Hanli Kellerman

  Copyright in Text by Amelia Kellerman

  First published in 2011

  ISBN 978-0-620-52425-4

  Prologue

  I, Jack Gullible, am a skateboarder. Some of my friends call me Jack G, but Damien doesn’t. I must be accepted first, I guess.

  Everybody should experience the kick you get out of free-flying on wheels. Some say it’s dangerous and there are laws and rules. Who cares? What do they know anyway? There is nothing like it. So, if you bend a rule or two, it’s not that hectic. You should check it out, and maybe someday you’ll hang out with me on the Table Mountain Road. That’d be just awesome!

  The result of a shift; 4 000 years ago

  (which was the origin of all schools)

  It’s a woman behind the wheel. At first it looks like a shooting star, but as it approaches the showcase of the establishment, it shows that it is nothing but a run-down, souped up and heavily backfiring car. The rattletrap swoops down from the dark sky and bursts through the seventh floor of the prehistoric UNISA building, sending a fireworks display of glowing clay writing-tablets into the air.

  When the wreck stops its bouncing trajectory down the Muckleneuk hill, the woman gets out, removing an ancient crash helmet with leather straps. On its one side the words: Future Lady Macbeth are engraved.

  “Excuse me,” she addresses one of the astonished, shaken professors who was working late, marking students’ assignments.

  “Is this Table Mountain?”

  In the Age of 4000 plus

  I, Jack G, the skateboarder, have decided to go do Damian’s dare. It won’t be just the Table Mountain Road; I’m taking on Kloof Nek as well, all the way to the Waterfront.

  A strange woman came through the woods today and knocked at our door. She wanted to see my father.

  “Who’s asking for him?” I asked.

  “Salmonella, ” she said. “I bring him a message. You will bring me to him, if you know what is good for you.” A bacterium that causes food poisoning. https://www.answers.com/topic/salmonella-enterica

  I just laughed and noted the butterfly tattoo on her forearm.

  “Dad, some salmonella is here to see you!” I yelled and then left with my skateboard under my arm.

  Threats and banishments

  The butterfly woman speaks to Mr. Gullible. A heated argument begins. She gesticulates and the bangles rattle over the butterfly tattoo.

  “The lawyers say you are banished from that part of the wood. You will get killed if you go there!”

  “This is criminal! They are supposed to be respectable!” protests Apatheto Gullible.

  “Whatever, old man! If you try to remove the boy – we have ways and means. And the woman stays. She cannot even pay – so she will work to earn her keep – and pay her debts.” Salmonella spits on the ground. “I have met your son. I don’t like his sense of humour. Goodbye.”

  She turns and leaves.

  “I won’t be intimidated by some gypsy,” mumbles Apatheto Gullible.

  But fear strikes at his heart.

  Gullible foolishness

  It starts on Table Mountain Road, but not too near the cable car station. There are too many officials around there who will stop and chase you. It is the dusk of what was a beautiful, sunny day in middle May. Signal hill is still aglow from the last rays of the sun setting over the sea behind it, but Jack has other business to think of. This is a good time, because all those parked cars of the silly tourists who want to go up the Mountain have taken their pampered, narrow-minded passengers down the road and away. The road is beautiful and clear.

  To his left is the mountain; in front of him the road that will take him down. Way down below to his right, he can see the ships in Table Bay and still further away, the outline of Robben Island. When he reaches the intersection, about two kilometres from his starting point, he will have to go right. Will there be cars? He will have to negotiate. If necessary, he can go left around the traffic island that links the Camps Bay road with Kloof Nek, but that will slow him down. Damien will try to stay behind him, or so Jack hopes. Damien’s got his father’s old battered brown Mercedes, but the hazards don’t work anymore. He said he’ll use the left flicker instead. That is about all that is still working on the car. And Damien and his crowd will be satisfied that Jack is good enough; if he makes it. He will be regarded and declared master of the skateboard. He will be accepted – and maybe they will also call him Jack G.

  From the right turn onwards there will be traffic and robots. If he is lucky, the lights will turn green for him all the way down, so he can make it right down to the Waterfront, with the wind in his face...

  Jack dons Damien’s helmet. He knows Damien is too afraid to try this himself; his only reason for all this great-heartedness with the gear. Jack does not care. All he wants is to be declared a master. The gloves are OK. They are too small for Damien, who is two years older than Jack, and who has outgrown them. Jack is unaware that envy is not outgrown that easily, and he is too much enamoured by his dream to go right down to the Waterfront, and by his naïve rebellion against the traffic authorities to pay any attention to this. He is old enough, not afraid and ready to be accepted by Damien and his gang.

  From behind the wheel, Damien is watching Jack’s preparations with silent disdain. This kid is good, maybe even talented. There must be a way to prove to everyone that it was just a little luck; to prove to them that he, Damien Foster is the better one. Maybe this time Jack will get hurt...

  So thirteen year-old, skinny little Jack Gullible, readjusts a knee guard, gives the thumbs up to Damien, then pushes off lightly. It is six o’ clock. In fifteen minutes it will be completely dark. Jack does not have a single reflector anywhere on his body. His long pale-green shirt turns him into a ghost-like figure coming down the road, silent, but for the soft, whirring noise of the rollers. If Damien does not stay behind him, he will be virtually invisible to the cars coming down Kloof Nek Road, as well as to the few which are still using Table Mountain Road.

  Jack has done the Table Mountain Road before. He knows the bends. Kloof Nek will be his first time, though. His speed is increasing. He bends forward slightly on the skateboard. Then, anticipating the first bend, he crouches and puts his hand out, but it never touches the road as he negotiates this, the first and very sharp toeside bend. [Jack is mostly regular, especially at high speeds. There are a few tricks though, where he prefers goofy. Not that he is into tricks, really. This, this is it!] A short straight follows, but it is steep. He goes into the heelside bend at a speed that will make a cheetah blush. Jack’s backside goes down low next to the heelside of the board. His left hand lightly grabs the toeside of his board, but his right hand remains comfortably on his right knee. Then he is through the S-bend. Behind him the brown Mercedes is following. Damien switches from parks to full headlights. It is a good thing that they did not encounter the approaching car in the S. Jack used the entire breadth of the road to get around those bends.

  The next kilometre is fairly straight, but there is one sharp incline – not much of a problem for someone like Jack and the level of control that he has over his board. He playfully carves a little before they reach the Kloof Nek intersection. Damien switches on the left hand flicker, but they are not going to turn left, of course. Anybody can see that. Left is uphill. Who wants to slow down now, while the running is so beautiful? The problem is, nobody can see them at all. It has become too dark.

  A car is entering the circle from the Camps Bay side, but there is no other traffic. Jack calculates his speed and
decides to cut in front of the car. He will make it safely, even if the driver does not notice him immediately, because the car is going slowly. Damien decides to follow directly behind Jack. The driver of the other car hoots angrily, but they are in. They are going down Kloof Nek road. Just keep your cool when someone hoots, Jack.

  Signal Hill is peeping over Jacks’ shoulder, casting its dark shadow over the road. To the front the houses of the Tamboerskloof are coming nearer. Jack keeps to the left hand side of the road. At this point there are no street lights. The few bends in the road are easily done and cool breeze of a perfect Capetonian day is in his face.

  “I’m alive!” is the shout of joy that goes through Jack’s mind. “This is what being alive means!”

  When he reaches the Tamboerskloof, the traffic becomes somewhat more congested. He negotiates between the cars, with the brown Mercedes following suit, the left flicker telling the other traffic to yield...

  Bellevue and Quarry Hill streets pass. The next robot is red. There is