Village Squire, 1979-12, Page 25left for him. Dougall and the other boys had acknowledged his
existence, then ignored him. One other person was at the pond:
the McCrimmon girl, Janet. The kids at school said that her
father had had a stroke and was all twisty; that her grandmother
who kept house was kind of crazy; that they were poorer than
anybody else anywhere. Angry at Dougall, Jim lumbered over to
where Janet was fussing with one boot.
"Those skates must have been your grandmother's!" he
jeered. "Or the ones Noah took in the ark in case the flood froze
over." He laughed loudly at his own joke. Janet said nothing.
She turned her back and ran across the frozen barnyard, her
ankles turning at every step on the rusty skates.
"Hey!" he yelled after her, "I'm thirsty! Got anything fit to
drink?" He followed her across the yard, not in the least thirsty,
but inquisitive about the twisty father, the crazy old woman, the
inside of the poorest house in the community. He heard Dougall
say, "I better see what he's up to now." The two boys reached
the house together.
"You can't go in. You're not invited." Dougall's voice was
tight.
"I'm thirsty!" Jim pounded on the door. It swung wide and
he almost fell in. Dougall was inside, too. The room was dark,
dingy, cluttered. On a sofa by the stove was the shape of a
person lying face to the wall. An old woman was peeling turnips.
The room had a smell that he didn't like. Janet filled a cup from a
pail and brought him the water. He peered superciliously into
the cup.
"What's that crawly thing in the bottom? I think I'll keep my
thirst, thank you all the same." He chortled loudly, delighted to
have an audience for his humour.
"Jim!" Dougall's voice was stern, but Jim let on he didn't
hear. Janet was standing there looking dazed, holding the
rejected cup of water. Jim extended his fat arm displaying the
gleaming wristwatch.
"Look what I got for Christmas," he said. "And I got this pure
virgin wool sweater, and this parka with a fur collar, and these
new skates." He pulled a wallet from his pocket, took out a bill
and waved it. "I got this wallet and this twenty -dollar bill, too.
Now show me what you got!"
"1 put them away," said Janet. "Upstairs in my room. Locked
in my chest because they're --they're very valuable." Jim raised
his eyebrows and pondered his next move. Then he spied the
McCrimmons' Christmas tree in a dark corner. It was a white
cedar, sparsely strewn with paper chains, and with a star cut
from silver tea -foil. On a table beside it lay two blue lead pencils,
the 2 for 5c kind. They were tied together with a ribbon. A tag
was attached. He picked up the card and read aloud into the
silent room: "To Janet. Merry Christmas from your father and
grandma." Jim chortled again.
"Ha! I bet this is all you got for Christmas! Some Christmas
present!" Janet snatched the blue pencils and ran up the stairs.
He heard a door bang, and he shrugged. Then he saw his
cousin's face. The expression on it scared him. He ducked out
the door and made for home, the new skates bouncing against
his fat shoulder as he ran. At the Lowe gate Dougall overtook
him and strode past without a glance. Then, suddenly, Dougall
turned in his track and waited for him. Beneath the furious
disgust in his cousin's eyes Jim cowered like a dog. He felt
himself lifted bodily by his fur collar and the seat of his pants. He
felt himself being shaken till he flailed the air with arms and
legs, like a windmill, and howled. Then Dougall set him down
hard, on his feet. He said: "Look at me, you repulsive little pest!
You spoiled brat! You ignorant, stupid, worthless smart -aleck!
You HURT that girl! You hurt her in a way that she'll never
forget, you selfish, self-centred, blubbering infant!" Then
Dougall picked him up again, swung him around and let him fly
head -first into the soft snowbank. But in the snow was a piece of
frozen clay, and Jim's nose struck it. He struggled out of the
snowbank, bawling, with blood from his nose reddening the
snow. A broken -off front tooth fell into the bloody snow and
disappeared.
Dougall had to pay for the gold crown which repaired the
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December 1979, Village Squire 23