" Look what I get yesterday," Majeed said when he came up to me. He dug into his bulging pants pocket and came up with a shining tagga which was actually one of those square washers used on telegraph poles. We used it to play tagga - a game similar to marbles.
" Where you get it from?" I asked and looked at the thing with genuine surprise.
" Me uncle give me last night when he stopped by us," he said as he threw his head back proudly and brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. Majeed's uncle drove a bus. My uncle was something called an accountant. Whatever that was he didn't get washers at work. When I grew up I wanted to be a bus driver.
Majeed and I were close. We were both on our second year in the same class; second standard. We were also repeaters in the last class. We both had a passion for tagga and slingshots. And we both hated girls, except Mala. We both thought Mala was the prettiest girl in our class. As a matter-of-fact, she was the prettiest in the whole school.
The bus came shortly after. It had been picking up school children all along and we all had to stand by the time it got to us. I recognized most of the children from our school in their white and green uniforms, including a bunch from my class. I gave them the 'cold shoulder' before they gave it to me. They looked upon me and Majeed as if we were miracles because we couldn't spell words like 'this', 'that' and 'when.'
I tucked in my shirt properly and tried to look more decent. I had spied Mala at the back. She usually got a drop to school in her daddy's rice truck as it went by school on its way to Mahaicony. When the truck did not go that way she used the bus. She was talking with Cindy Fiffe, her best friend. I nudged Majeed and eyed Mala. He looked in the same direction and smiled broadly at her. He had one of those round faces and full eyes. His teeth were small and spaced and his big jaws made his smile look goofy. Mala didn't pay attention to us. So we stood there waiting for her to make us happy with at least a glance.
The bus was approaching the village with the police station and we forgot about Mala for a while. Bhajandass Teelockdharry Jainarinesingh lived in this village. We called him Dracula. He was a stocky Indian lad with broad drooping shoulders and long arms with big hands dangling at the end. He thought Dracula was a cute name which was the kind of intelligence that got him kept back in our class - much to our displeasure - for a record third time. Mrs. Seecharran, our class teacher, referred to him as 'our resident student.' Dracula was a full-out bully. He squeezed, choked, knuckled, and pummeled us for minor reasons such as looking at Mala. He figured that we liked Mala and for some strange reason thought Mala was fond of boys who looked like gorillas and had fangs for teeth. If we stopped goggling at Mala then she would have a chance to notice and admire him. So anytime we were in the vicinity of Mala we were entitled to a knuckle each or a half-nelson if we're lucky.
Apart from the fact that Dracula was dead from the teeth upward the only advantage that we had was that he had all that bulk to carry around, the result being he could not run well, at least not enough to catch us. The problem was that most of the time we were in close quarters with him and if we did run today he would catch us tomorrow.
I remembered Ms. Harripersaud telling Miss Griffith, "... The dunce ones are never absent." This held true for Dracula ( and come to think of it, it also held true for me and Majeed.) As the bus came up to a group of students at the side of the road he stood out like a sore toe. He had his three books - two exercise books that had more dog ears than a congested city kennel, and a text book that was used primarily for resting his lunch when he sat on the playfield to eat in the midday. He wore the same formerly white shirt with it's seven curry and two jamoon stains. His pants showed signs of expansion at the sides, and buttocks. He stood there gaping at the windows, apparently looking for Mala. Instead he made eye contact with us. He smiled; at least he thought he did. To us it was more like that little thing Dracula does before he jumps on a well blooded neck. I could feel my head aching already and my throat muscles began flexing as though preparing for the choke hold.
They all came on the bus and I tried to stay to the front to distance myself from Mala. On came Dracula. He had his tall lunch carrier in one hand and his books in the other. I began to smile at him, thinking his hands were filled and he couldn't hurt us. He continued grinning, passed an armpit that smelled slightly better than my mattress over my head and the next thing I knew I was in the midst of a half-nelson. He squeezed while Majeed patiently awaited his turn. I pretended to gag and I could see his lunch carrier right before me. I took aim and planted a solid kick at it while gagging loudly as if I was suffocating. My foot connected solidly with the container and I winced a bit. The pain was drowned out by the satisfaction of seeing his lunch canister bang against the metal cover of the engine by the driver. Curry crab spilled all over the steps of the bus and anyone who was there.
Dracula let go of my neck in surprise and I dropped to the floor grabbing my throat and gasping, pretending to be in great distress.
" Is what the hell..." began the middle-aged indian driver.
" He was choking him," Majeed quickly pointed out and stabbed an accusing finger at Dracula.
" What the hell you choking the li'l boy for," said the irate driver.
" He always doing it," said Majeed. " He does choke we for nothing."
" He was troubling me," Dracula mumbled.
" You just come on the bus. I didn't see that boy tell you nothing," said the driver. " I ain't want no rats on me bus. Clean up that mess." He reached under his driver's seat then threw a dirty rag at Dracula. The monster slowly picked up the rag from the floor and began working on 'de-curry crabbing' the man's bus.
I made a quick recovery as the bus moved off. The driver continued fretting under his breath. I turned and sniggered with Majeed now that our tormentor was in trouble. Mala was looking in our direction. I gave a little wave to her and she smiled broadly. Then me and Majeed began arguing about to which of us the smile was directed.