Season of Hate Read Online Free PDF Page A

grandmother and grandfather," I corrected.
    "Good, we don't use baby talk in this class. Proceed." I quickly gathered my thoughts.
    "We used to visit our grandparents each Christmas school holidays. Then when our grandfather died, we moved here for good – to help Nan." As soon as the word 'Nan' left my lips I froze and went red. I could feel even my ears were burning. Sister squinted at me through her blue lenses. She was not amused. Doug came quickly to the rescue.
    "Our Dad is a doctor and he's opening a …" he pulled at his pants again as he looked at me to rescue him, but I hesitated for just a split second too long. Sister pounced in with the answer and now we both felt small and silly.
    "He's opening what we call a 'practice', class. We also call it a 'doctor's surgery'. Isn't that good, class? We'll have our own doctor, rather than having to travel miles when we're sick." Of course it was a surgery. It was only our nerves that blocked our brains.
    "You didn't mention your mother."
    "Our mother's gone to Heaven," I added softly. Her face softened as she remained looking at us for a second before making her way back to the front of the room.
    "Thank you boys. You may take your seats. And Doug …" she added in an aside, "the next time I see you rearranging your boy's bits, I'll cut them off."
    "Yes Sister."
    "Thank Doug and Pat, class." The class gave a little clap. With great relief, we took our seats.
    "Second class, take out your writing books, and third class, prepare for a spelling test."
    Doug looked at me and crossed his eyes, signalling his fear of imminent disaster, while we all opened up our desks and took out books and pencils. I was a better speller than him, only because I studied. Even so, I felt that this was going to be a long, long day for the both of us. And it was. The text books were the same but they had different ways of setting out work to the way we did it at Our Lady of Lourdes.
    At lunchtime we kept our eyes open for Steve and his mates. Several of our classmates joined us in the shade on the seats around the big rubber tree. We checked out each other's lunches and swapped them around. When the old nun who was doing playground duty fell asleep while sitting under a tree, Steve and his gang came over our way. Just as they got about six feet away, they diverted their attention to the only Chinese boy in the school. He was sitting by himself.
    "Ching chong Chinaman," they all repeated menacingly over and over as they pulled on the corners of their eyes to make them appear Asian. The boy was sacred and looking for a way to escape. Steve looked over in our direction.
    "Ching chong Chinaman," I joined in and encouraged Doug to do the same with a sly whisper and a jab to his ribs with my elbow. "Say it. Otherwise he's gonna come over here and pick on us again."
    "Ching chong Chinaman," all of us on the seat chorused.
    Steve smirked at us then turned his attentions back to the Chinese boy. Just as he did, the old nun woke up, checked her watch then started to ring the handbell laying beside her for the resumption of school work. As we scurried back to class I couldn't help but feel relieved at how lucky we were to have escaped Steve and his gang's attention.
     

     
    Keeping the news of the fight to ourselves and away from Dad wasn't likely to happen. By the end of the day, a small but noticeable bruise near the inside corner of Doug's right eye had formed. We thought our best course of action was to tell Dad ourselves and get it over with. He'd told us repeatedly not to get into fights, even with each other, and that "it was the better man who chose to walk away." We reckoned the only way Dad could say this was because he never had someone pick a fight with him. He said a lot of smart things, but not saying it was okay to fight if someone else started it, to us seemed like you were scared. Walking away only made it worse. They'd end up calling you a 'yeller belly'.
    We decided we'd walk into town to