School - Costache

1

For my fifth school year I moved over to the mixed boys and girls school which was located closer to our street. It was the third year since the mix was allowed, and I didn't mind it at all, especially since the best pupil in my class and a direct competition to me was a beautiful beautiful beautiful girl named Tereza. I had absolutely no romantic inclinations at the time, girls were the absolute enemy to be battled on all fronts, and except for the fact that we played together after school till very late, and they brought beautiful presents to birthday parties, and our mothers were girls but of course of a different kind, and some other (quite a number of these other) reasons - all that girls were good for was for peeking underneath their skirts and seeing their panties. Most of which were pink colored. 2

My first day's visit to the new school was not any different than that of millions of other kids worldwide. Someone stole my food, someone stole my chair, and at the end of the first day the three bullies on duty from my class tried of course to bully me. They should have known better, though it did not come to a real "showdown". They were just kicking my books bag on the floor and pushing me aggressively into a corner and it was almost getting into a fist fight when a girlish voice sounded in the empty classroom from the doorway admonishing them...leave him alone, what are you doing?... There is some respect in those "circles" for good and successful pupils, and as they looked around and saw that the one admonishing them was Tereza they simply picked up their stuff and left. I was thankful. I was not afraid of kids but I was afraid of teachers, especially of teachers writing letters to my parents about "bad behavior". I faced already some similar events in my life in the previous school, very unpleasantly so, and my intentions were extremely honorable when it came to preventing similar occurrences from happening here. And on this specific occasion, this event left lingering in my mind a certain surprising respect for this specific girl. It was something new. I guess it was the first break through in my boyish attitude of us versus them though it took about two more years till it developed into a let's approach them attitude.3

I gained my suitable position in the class quite fast. I had a good head, loved literature and math's, hated music and biology, a normal kid but better at most subjects than the others. And this was respected at those times in these places. My nose was never high, though I took pride in the fact that my picture was always high up on the "wall of honor" in the school, and I didn't mind other's envy either. After all - this was my personal worth. 4

As always, the class was a mix of various characters from various backgrounds. Mostly Christian kids, a small number of Jewish kids, a few gypsies. The class included as well the inevitable "repeaters", mostly kids from an extremely poor background, fathers usually drunkards, broken families, and some simply just plain weak students. There were about five of those in my class, two or three years older than the rest of us "normal" kids, most of them big strong wild oxen, not necessarily undisciplined in class but outside of class they were to be feared and avoided. They were feared an avoided by me as well, even though I was on good terms with most of them. Especially with one of them, a kid called Constantin. Big, strong, lowest grades in class. We had nothing in common actually, we did not play together, we did not meet outside of school, he was quiet, keeping to himself most of the time, and I had the impression that he was really trying to catch up with the others however before too long he became the teachers' favorite scapegoat. And especially so when after a few months his sister (older than him) joined the class as well and started making his life miserable. I could not stand her, big mouthed, treacherous, nasty. A dislike that changed to hate on this one occasion when their father came to school and she told him something nasty about her brother, and the father slapped him in view of all. I felt like dying in shame for him. And I decided that my best revenge would be to try to help him. I don't remember exactly how it began. We started staying after school together, trying to prepare the homework, trying to understand the material. I discovered an intelligent head, eager to learn and succeed, willing to get off the end of the queue, industrious, and above all and surprisingly so for such a giant... a sensitive boy. We could not become friends, the big age difference, the fact that I was Jewish, the fact that I was always first in class and he mostly last, even in misery there are classes and my class of misery was one layer higher than his... but some kind of undefined affinity developed there against all expectations and surprising everybody around. Even the teachers decided to start giving him a chance, after all if the best pupil in class (well, sometimes second to Tereza) gave him this kind of attention, they had to respect it. Teachers were no less respectful of good pupils than colleagues were. 5

In native Romanian some name "diminutives" are considered nice, other are considered nasty, derogatory, not allowed. Depending on circumstance of usage, of course. A nice one for him would have been Costica. A derogatory diminutive of Constantin was Costache. Meaning ignorant, low class, rough. I was the only one in the school allowed to call him Costache. He proposed it himself, unexpectedly. And I considered it a great privilege, a favor he was allowing me in his own cumbersome way, a mental hand offered for a handshake breaking any artificial barriers. Some kind of a link was developing here, not a friendship but a powerful link leading... nowhere, yet always present. 6

One of the classes I loved most was "crafts", and this year we were into wood, each pupil having to build a chair's leg. Never knew how difficult it was to build a chair' wooden leg till I had to do it myself. This type of schooling took part in another, far away school where they had a workshop, so one day each week we had to go there. On foot of course, busses were not yet "invented" in my home town at that time. 7

It was winter, dark, high snow, cold. I left home around six in the morning, wearing a thick coat, a furry hat, high shoes, and went on the way to pick up a friend. We were going together, it felt less lonely that early in the day with hardly one lamp post per street and nothing moving except us kids hurrying to school. The fresh snow crunched underneath our feet, the sparkling magic mixed up with the fear of the wolves ululating far in the distance. Wolves were frightening, yet there was some kind of magic to this sound, somehow making us feel more important as we faced all these terrible dangers just to get to school, hoping the teachers would appreciate the danger and the sacrifice. We got there quite early. It was freezing cold and the few kids already there were building a snow man just to warm up. Some more kids arrived. Snow balls started flying and it soon developed in a merry free for all. I wasn't really in the mood for a snow fight, I was frozen and waited for the school to open and hoping it was warmer inside than outside. Which was not always the case, of course. 8

I did not see it coming. One of those "repeaters", about two years older than me, not the biggest guy but known for his wild ways, sneaked behind me and suddenly I felt a bulk of snow being shoved deep down inside my shirt. I shuddered, I felt like dying, frozen, and most of all humiliated for allowing myself be caught in such "indecent" posture. I started crying, trying ineffectively to pull the snow out from my back, anger and frustration blinding my thought and logic. I was never supposed to interfere withthem, to fight with them, they were too strong and dangerous. I saw him laughing his head off in front of me, I lost my head. I bent down, scooped a big chunk of frozen ice in both hands, and as he watched me incredulously getting close to him, I hit him fully in the face. Then I ran away.9

I knew I was lost. I was going to get beaten like never before in my life, I was scarred to death yet a certain pride rode my chest as I kept running away knowing that he has no chance to get me today. But tomorrow at school, I knew what awaits me. He gave up his chase long before I stopped running. Then I returned to the workshop following some ways known only to me and waited for everybody else to get into class before I followed in. I felt his eyes fixed on me with a thirst of revenge that would not be satisfied until he gets me down and steps several times on my frozen and bloodied figure.10

Next day at school I arrived just in time to get in the class before the bell ring. It was a short respite. The first class hour was getting to its end, the bell was about to ring and my moment of truth was awaiting me in the courtyard. This time there was no running away. I was trapped and better it is over fast. The bell rang. I went out.11

I looked cautiously around before leaving the safety of the school's corridors, the courtyard, the playing grounds, he was nowhere to be seen. I stepped outside, moving towards the hand-ball field, lots of kids around there, some with sledges, some sliding on patches of ice, my big "enemy" was nowhere to be seen. I started feeling much better, actually within seconds I forgot all my fears and rushed over to the big patch of ice where everybody was sliding either on their feet or on their butt to sounds of shrieks and laughter. And I didn't sense anything happening till it was too late to do anything about it.12

Suddenly I was isolated. A bunch of about ten, twelve kids , all from the one grade lower, created a wide circle around me and now they were closing in slowly, faces smiling with determination and drive, looking at each other for gathering courage while approaching my "menacing" shape yet knowing that I stand no chance. They were all thickly clothed, hands loaded with ice balls, and steadily advancing. I did not see "him" around, he was probably wary of the school's reaction so he just organized the "party" for me and now was probably regarding it from somewhere remote and enjoying it. I could not run away neither, or lose my face forever in the face of all those looking at whatever was about to happen. The circle advanced, closing ranks steadily and stopped only when they were about two yards away from me, all around, and watching me intently ready to crush me in.13

I chose a first victim, one that looked a bit unsure of himself, jumped over him and threw him to the ground surprised to hear his wailing sounds, then jumped away to the middle again as he got up and returned to his place. I jumped a second one, same as the first. The power of the pack was clearly visible, unbreakable. It was clear they were hesitating but not for long. The rush was about to happen, it was a matter of seconds before the wolves would go for the kill and tear me to pieces, I saw it growing on their faces and hands... hey, what was that? One, two, three flew up in the air like popping balloons, another two got their faces slapped with a huge paw leaving bloody noses in its trail, the others didn't wait but just scattered away in random directions leaving me suddenly alone, frightened and panting in the middle of a non existing circle. I looked at him, he did not smile, he did not gloat, did not say anything, there was that look in his eyes, that look that didn't say anything to anyone, to anyone except me. I didn't thank him, didn't have to. There was a bond there, it acted, a bond so strong that nothing ordinary could break for as long as we stayed in each other's vicinity. Costache, my special, my sensitive, my unique friend. I did not thank him, I was thankful.14

*15

I returned to this place, my old town and old school, twenty years later. I wanted to find him, I asked about him. I found out he committed suicide a few years after the last time I've seen him. I knew he was a sensible soul, I did not know just how much so he was, and probably I would not have appreciated or understood it as a child. But I miss him. I miss you my special friend Costache, this is one special wound in my heart that will never heal.16