A Serving of Justice - A Short Story

We are pleased to feature a hilarious story by Abraham Atatwodi. Do you write? Send your short stories, book reviews, opinion pieces, poems and NYSC experience to editorial@zodml.org for a chance to be featured on the blog!.
Henry was your classic bummer with a college degree. He was definitely not the ladies’ man, voted least likely to succeed in college, and the perfect definition of dishevelled and uncouth. He was an unparalleled walking, talking disaster with a chip on his shoulder. And he did a great job of living up to expectation, frankly. How Henry managed to land a job teaching secondary school children remained to be understood. Even he had not believed he would be taken. But then, this was a government-owned community school, and with all things the government owned and managed, it would have been ridiculous to think that anybody would care to go through the rigours of seeking and picking the best. Any unemployed graduate with no important dreams for the future who was hungry enough, would suffice. Can you speak good English? We don't pay much but are you willing? Answer yes to questions like these and you were good to go. At least that was how they did it in Arume Community Secondary School.
Three years after he had been hired, Henry still hadn’t learned much. He wasn’t required to, really. He still came in late everyday, he still sometimes forgot to brush his teeth and comb his mane, and most importantly he still hadn’t learned that one of the foremost duties of a diligent school teacher is to spend some time over the weekend preparing for a long week of feisty encounters with mischievous, inquisitive JSS 1 children like his spicy pack of thirty-three, who had more time and interest for Twitter than algebra. He had instead spent the entire weekend musing about how Stephen Keshi was no more “The Big Boss” and how Amodu shouldn’t have been picked to replace him in the interim, and forgotten that in the new week he was to begin teaching his flock how to balance simple mathematical equations. He didn’t remember how to “find x.” Today, however, he would be forced to set his arrogance aside.
It was only 8:07am but Ruth was bored already, and the pap she had for breakfast was making it almost impossible to keep her eyes open. She yawned like a flower in bloom and made no attempt whatsoever to cover her mouth. She wanted her lack of interest to spread like an epidemic, to enclose the entire class in an infectious bubble until they were too subdued to pay their teacher any attention. She gazed at him as he stood before them, utterly wasted from his lack of spirit, and shook her head. It would be a long, boring school year, and she could almost taste her misery.
“Tear out a sheet of paper. Write your name on it. We are having a test now.” Henry's voice sounded like the grating squeak of metal scratching metal.
Ruth shook her head again and reached for a notebook she could tear from. She wasn’t at all surprised. Wasn’t that what all the teachers did? Wake up late on a Monday morning, put on your clothes as you try to negotiate traffic, forget what it was you were supposed to teach next, gasp in horror as you suddenly remembered, turn around to meet the expectant gaze of your youngsters, and rain on their parade by uttering the most decimating words an unprepared student can ever hear. And the teachers loved to seal the deal with their favourite clincher, “I told you people I could bring a test anytime.” Of course, all the students knew the drill. More importantly, they knew the stripes that were sure to follow if they flunked the test. And there was plenty of flunking going on around, Ruth could tell.
Mysteriously, Henry breezed through the entire classwork in fifteen minutes and promptly proceeded to mete out what he fondly referred to as “a timely serving of justice.” It seemed Henry just gravitated towards disaster and tragedy, and because his life wasn’t working out he didn’t want anybody else’s to work out. He wanted to see people shriek in pain, it seemed to give him strength and urge him on in his journey to nowhere.
After receiving her five stripes, Ruth reclaimed her chair at the back of the class. She looked around and smiled to herself. It was interesting and very pleasant to partake in this shared persecution with her classmates. At least nobody would call her proud and rude today for choosing to read her Mills and Boon novels at break time instead of gossiping with the girls. They were too distracted by their own pain.
You see, a teacher must maintain decorum and control in his ship at all times, even if it is a sinking ship. He doesn’t need to know how to use a clipper or how to use cotton buds, but he must know how to use a cane. And he must know how to turn anything into a cane, even toilet paper. Only then will his authority and significance be permanently etched in the minds of his disciples, and consistent throughout the ranks.
“You students are very unserious!” Henry barked, as new power coursed through his veins. Yeah, yeah, whatever. The students had been repeatedly told that they were unserious and that their brains had atrophied from lack of proper use, as though un-seriousness was a pill that people swallowed, a drug that could be mixed into their morning oatmeal. Take two pills in the morning and two at night. Be sure to drink plenty of water, rest a lot, and be obsessed with your cyberspace “followers.” Was it even easy to be unserious? And how come this mysterious un-seriousness was a bug that got only young people dressed in bright, mismatched uniforms, their backs hunched from the weight of the many books they were forced to carry. Unserious indeed. Ruth wanted to spit in disgust but her teacher was looking her straight in the eye. She dropped her gaze, and dozed off a few moments later.
“Uncle, Uncle, look!” A girl in the front had seen an oddity, something that could quickly turn into a messy scene if not quickly arrested, and wondered whether or not to alert the iron man. In her mind she toggled back and forth, back and forth, until her hand shot upwards and her mouth decided for her. But the iron man was too busy to notice, having become presently fascinated by a girl who had defied him and fallen asleep so early in the morning. How could she not still be in pain after such a terrible beating? And to feel so comfortable as to doze off? His solution was a few quick stripes of his cane, slicing through the morning air in a blur. The way Ruth jolted out of her sleep, you would have thought she had accidentally grabbed a live wire.
“Uncle, look!”
Henry asked Ruth to stand up. He wanted to find out from her if she was pregnant. So she was no longer afraid of him? She now had a boyfriend who didn’t let her sleep at night anymore, right? Or she thought her father was president of the whole world and so she could do as she pleased? He would teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
“Stretch out your palm!” he barked, as Ruth shook like a leaf in the wind.
“Uncle...”
The girl in the front dropped her hand. It was no use trying to call the man’s attention. His eyes already had the ferocious glaze of a flesh-eater and no amount of “uncle-ing” would distract him from his campaign. The man really thought he was Voltron come in the flesh.
Ruth begged and shouted more than she normally did when punished, more than the harsh stripes demanded, but Henry did not give in. She even promised to never have pap and oatmeal for breakfast, but if the villain heard her he didn’t show it. His jungle justice finally let her off after the thirteenth stroke. She had enough bruises and welts to last her the remainder of her stay in secondary school. Breakfast had been served.
“Who was calling me?”
Nobody answered. They had seen the monstrous creature too and were too horrified to move, much less devise an intelligent answer or summon the courage to utter it.
“Foolish children,” he muttered, and hissed. “This morning, we will look at...”
And then it moved.
Henry felt the sudden movement and looked down. He let out a deafening scream, shaming even the most esteemed opera singers who clearly had nothing on him. As if on cue, the monster began to move this way and that, dancing in eager celebration of its triumph over the high-handed teacher. Henry went full throttle into panic mode. No, he would not touch it with his hand, God forbid!
It seemed the monster knew he would not do anything about it, so it began to climb Henry’s small frame. His screams became more desperate and animated. Henry jumped and shook from side to side hoping to dislodge his adversary but his efforts proved futile. The delirious teacher ran in the direction of his students, and they all skittered away like rabbits into their holes. He went this way and they went another, and rightly so, for it was he, cane in hand, who had trained them in the curious art of dodging and scampering, and now that he had met his waterloo he would dance to his tune alone.
His unearthly screams soon drew the attention of other teachers from nearby classrooms, and as they arrived, hot on the heels of one another, it was clear that for a moment they could not ascertain the cause of the rumpus. Henry did not do a good job in calling for their help or trying to explain his predicament. He was dancing feverishly, like a new masquerade, treating his spectators to a fanciful delight of superhuman twists and turns. Nobody had believed his body was remotely capable of such quick, agile movements. His students just gazed at him in awe. There was nothing like spontaneous entertainment on a Monday morning beset by inclement weather.
When Miss Rose saw the monster, she took a student’s notebook, folded it into a club, and struck the monster fair and square. She didn’t kill it, for real monsters cannot be killed, but she swiped it off the teacher’s tummy and it ran off, climbing out of the open window. Henry danced some more, until he fell to the floor, terribly exhausted. He stopped bawling about five seconds later.
The other teachers tried to calm him down as he sat on the ground, having been conquered by an innocent wall gecko. They sent for a bottle of water while their comrade breathed like a man newly returned from war. His green khaki trousers had an interesting dark patch below his belt, much to the pleasure and amusement of his flock. They hadn’t known their Power Ranger could be so easily flustered, and by a common half-lizard. They began to conceive hideous visions of drawing reptiles all over their exercise books, just for the fun of it. Lunch had been served, and it was a grand feast. Ruth smiled to herself. This school year was going to be a lot of fun.
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