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From: HMS Victor Victorian <victorvictorian@hushunomail.com>
Newsgroups: alt.fan.prettyboy
Subject: Innocence Chapter 3 Evil
Date: Mon, 19 Dec 2011 11:05:19 -0700
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Chapter 3
Nigel Learns About Evil
When Nigel started off to school that misty Tuesday morning, he
decided to stop by the Ethridge home to see how Evan was getting on.
After all, it had been Mrs. Ethridge's idea. So he stepped up to the
front door and tapped insistently. When Mrs. Ethridge finally opened
door, the boy immediately knew from her look that Evan would not be
going to school.
"Evan still isn't feeling well, Nigel," she said, "Go on to school.
Perhaps tomorrow."
She closed the door and Nigel went on to school feeling gloomy again.
And so it was on Wednesday morning, too.
"No, Nigel. Evan can't go to school today," Mrs. Ethridge said,
somewhat impatiently, "He's got a doctor's appointment."
But without another word, she firmly shut the door.
Nigel worried about his friend all day at school, so he was fairly
miserable. Still, the boy determined he'd once more stop by Evan's
house after dismissal. The sun was shining. Maybe Evan felt better.
On the chance that he didn't, Nigel decided to bring his friend
something to play with. So he took a box of coloured modeling clay
out of the art cabinet when Mrs. Farthley had her back turned and
tucked it in his bag, next to his Curious George book, thinking he
wasn't actually stealing, but only borrowing it for a good cause.
Once more he knocked and Mrs. Ethridge opened the door. When she saw
him, she looked exasperated.
"Nigel," she scolded, "I want you to stop knocking us up. Do you
understand? Evan will be better by and by, but not today."
Nigel held out the box of coloured clay.
But she immediately shut the door in an aggravated way. As Nigel
stepped back onto the pavement, he peered up at Evan's second story
bedroom window. Setting his bag down, he opened the box of coloured
clay, peeled back the wax wrapping on the bar of yellow, which he
thought would be the most visible, and pinched off a lump. He rolled
it into a small soft ball and, cautiously glancing first left then
right, hurled it. The ball of clay sailed up and struck the window,
flattening into a bright yellow oval.
Almost instantly, a face appeared through the glass. It was Evan. So
thrilled was Nigel that he forgot where he was.
"Evan!" he shouted out, madly waving up at him.
And Evan looked down at him with a blank expression and, without a
gesture or word of recognition, pulled the curtains and disappeared.
Downcast, Nigel trudged home, shoulders stooped.
"What's the matter, dear?" Mummy asked him when he came into the
kitchen, "You look as if you've lost your best friend."
"Evan's still sick," Nigel replied, "And he doesn't like me anymore."
"He'll come 'round. Maybe he's just feeling bad. You'll see."
"Do you think so?" Nigel asked doubtfully.
"Of course. I'll wager he'll be at school tomorrow, and you two will
be playing together like old chums. You just wait and see. Now, give
us a smile."
But Nigel couldn't give a smile. He only turned away and plodded
upstairs.
Then, on Thursday, as Mrs. Farthley was taking the attendance, a
miracle happened. Mrs. Ethridge and Evan appeared at the classroom
door. Mrs. Farthley and Mrs. Ethridge exchanged quiet words, then
Mrs. Ethridge left and Mrs. Farthley put a hand gently on Evan's
shoulder. That was strange because Nigel had never seen Mrs. Farthley
touch a student like that. Stranger still was the reaction of his
classmates.
The lively classroom suddenly turned quiet. The children stared at
Evan as he reluctantly shuffled his way to his seat. They looked at
him indirectly, with sideways glances. A few students whispered and
there was even a snigger. Mrs. Farthley's stern glare immediately
silenced them. It seemed to Nigel that everyone knew something that
Still, when Evan slipped into his seat, Nigel was so happy to see him
he flashed a smile and gave him a playful poke in the side. Rather
than poke back, Evan just sat there, as if he had been no more than a
sack of flour. Then very subtly, he pursed his lips in a pout and
scooted his desk away. Then he put his head down and gazed blankly
away out of the window.
Nigel was not only hurt, but a little angry at being treated so
coolly. Still, he said nothing to his friend as the class began the
morning lessons. Evan simply stared off into the distance, so
lifeless that he could have been mistaken for a piece of the
furniture. Then, after the morning break, Mrs. Farthley made a
surprising announcement.
"Children," she announced, "We have a treat today. We are going to
the Library for a special presentation by Mr. Patel. Now, when I call
your row, would you please line up at the door?"
Evan. When all the students lined up, Evan dragged himself to the
very back of the line, painfully self-conscious and uncomfortable.
Nigel was still peeved at Evan, and told himself he didn't care.
Mr. Patel was the school librarian. Nigel liked going to the library
and he particularly liked Mr. Patel, who was never too busy to help
him find books about either Christopher Robin or South American
Indians. In truth, nearly all of the children liked Mr. Patel,
because they enjoyed going to the library.
And so, because he was so well-liked by all the students, and because
he knew all the students, he was chosen to make the special
presentation.
The children filed silently into the library and sat down on the floor
in the centre, where a display showing a picture of a boy and girl had
been set up. It was entitled, "You Can Say NO!" Once everyone
settled down, Mr. Patel sat on the floor beside the display. Nigel
immediately decided the presentation would certainly be a boring one.
No dinosaurs. No volcanoes. No cavemen or British soldiers or
Indians.
"Hello, children," Mr. Patel began with a full, wide grin, "Today
we'll talk about safety."
Nigel noticed Mr. Patel's smile. He usually had a silly somewhat
sideways grin that made Nigel giggle. But not that day, and Nigel
thought it peculiar.
So Mr. Patel droned on for some time about looking both ways at the
corner for taxis and not playing with matches in the wardrobe or
putting hair pins in electrical receptacles, and not smoking and so
on. But suddenly he got to the heart of the matter. And Nigel
suddenly took interest.
"There are good hugs and touches and perhaps hugs and touches that are
not good, touches that might make you feel uncomfortable," Mr. Patel
explained and pointed at the picture of the boy and girl, who were
coincidentally clothed in swimwear, "When someone hugs you, how do
they do it? Where do they put their hands and their arms?"
"Round your waist," one attentive girl said, and another said, "Round
your shoulders."
"Ace job! Do they put their arms around here?" Mr. Patel asked,
pointing at the chart, "Round their bum?"
And all the children burst out laughing. Nigel thought to look back
at Mrs. Farthley, who he was sure would be turning beet red, but Mrs.
Farthley was gone. And so was Evan.
Once the mirth died down Mr. Patel continued. The essence of the
just like swim suits, the private zone for girls was larger than for
boys. Children are not stupid, and every time the librarian referred
to the private zone, there was considerable sniggering. Still, Nigel
felt the need to verify his understanding. He raised his hand.
"Yes, Nigel," Mr. Patel smiled in that smile, "Have you an idea?"
"When you say private zone," the boy began in his best studious tone,
"Do you mean like the penis or vangina?"
At hearing the word penis, the class went into hysterics, though none
knew what a vagina was. Both surprised and offended, Nigel looked
around at his classmates as if they were complete idiots.
Mr. Patel turned several hues of red.
among your classmates or at school."
"Why?"
"Never mind, Nigel," the librarian said dismissively, waiting for the
laughter to subside, "Shall we go on then? Yes. Some adults you know
very well, such as your parents or a medical professional, might touch
your private zone, but it would be alright. Can anyone think of an
example?"
"The doctor."
"The school nurse."
"Mummy."
"Good! Yes! That's right!" Mr. Patel smiled as he nodded at each
child's response.
"The therapist," Nigel ventured somewhat uneasily.
Encouraged by that success, Nigel instantly offered another option.
"A gardener," the boy said, then qualified, "A professional gardener."
"A gardener?" Mr. Patel asked, giving him a startled look, "No, Nigel.
Not a gardener. It must be a parent or a medical professional."
"Why not?"
perhaps grownups you know very well, who might try to touch your
private zone. How would you feel if that happened?"
"Bad."
"Sad."
"Strange."
"Yes. You'd feel bad or sad or embarrassed, wouldn't you?" and Mr.
Patel paused for effect, "It is a very bad thing if a grownup touches
you in that way, but you stop it. You can say NO! You must shout it
count of three. Ready?"
Oh, and could they ever shout it! It seemed a jet plane roaring
through the library couldn't have made such a noise. Desperately, Mr.
Patel signaled the class to calm down. When at last they did, a hand
went up.
"Yes, Nigel," Mr. Patel asked impatiently, "What is it?"
"Why is it bad?" Nigel asked, now feeling quite self-conscious,
"Touching private zones, I mean."
Surprisingly, there was only a scattering of giggles as the children
waited to hear the librarian's answer. It was one that Mr. Patel had
to carefully formulate, since he'd never expected such a question.
"Let me explain," he at last replied, improvising, "First, it's
obscene. There are certain things you don't do in public, such as
touching other people's privates or taking off your clothes. Would
you be seen at school in only your smalls?"
And the class laughed, because they knew Nigel would. Mr. Patel then
elaborated.
"Touching a child like that is also against the law, and an adult who
does it is a bad person and is punished very severely. Children don't
they become afraid of adults or of hugs or of strangers and they can't
sleep, or have bad dreams, or have other problems. It can make them
very sick, as well. Sometimes, a child must go to a doctor or
therapist for a long time to get better. So, if someone touches a
child there, that child should shout NO and then right away tell
another adult about what happened."
"Oh," Nigel whispered, and then thought to ask, "But why does it make
a child sick?"
The librarian grimaced and ignored the boy.
say if someone touches you in your private zone?"
"NO!"
"What?" the librarian exhorted, "Again?"
"NO!" the children roared, "NO!"
HMSVV Christmas 2011
God Save the Queen.
God Bless the Prince of Wales.
God Preserve the Windsors.
Rule Britannia!
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