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"Not to the Bomb, it isn't. He's sent off a letter to my teacher, it's got something about you in it." Cunning chap, Harsha. His plan was to make mean Moustache retrieve the letter for him.
Moustache's crime during his long school career were many and most were known to the Bomb. He didn't know which one the Bomb would have chosen for his exposé but he fancied that it would be the arrack bottle episode. A Mr. Witharnage (Wicky), a teacher whose love for the bottle was well known in student circles, had been carrying a fine full arrack bottle ( Arrack is a strong alcoholic beverage.) when he spotted the principal heading in his direction. Being a man of quick action when he was sober, which was not often, he had dropped the bottle into a nearby hedge and coolly accosted the principal. Moustache having witnessed the proceedings with much interest had decided to enter the story himself. He had managed to substitute a bottle of tap water for the one in the hedge without anyone being the wiser. Next day at school Wicky had been a cyclone. Moustache boasted about his accomplishments to the Bomb who felt outdone. That is why Moustache felt the Bomb would have related this story, decidedly exaggerated, in the letter. Had he known that the letter constituted no threat to him whatsoever, a tinned salmons prospects would have compared favourably with Harsha's existence.
Moustache's strategy was simple, it could not be anything else for there was only that much between his ears. Next morning he persuaded the boy on mail duty to exchange places with him. The only letter to Harsha's class teacher went unopened into his pocket. He delivered the letters to the members of the staff, the letters to students went into a dustbin which a student had labelled the Nehru Cup. If any student letter had been addressed in a girlish writing he would have immediately opened it read it through and passed it on to the Prefects' Guild whose members would also scan the letter to their satisfaction and then, in some cases, deliver it to the rightful owner. Harsha met Moustache whistling happily with the letter just showing in his top pocket.
"Oh! You got it back," Harsha was obviously delighted. He extended his hand.
"I'm going to display it in my room to show all seniors what a thug this Bomb chap really is," said Moustache ignoring both Harsha's begging hand and horrified face.
This was a drastic situation. Drastic situations demanded drastic actions. Saradiel, the Sri Lankan Robin Hood, when cornered by the English troops acted drastically. Harsha felt one with Saradiel on this occasion. He reached out grabbed the letter and broke into his best sprint. But Moustache was not the school's second fifteen winger for nothing. He quickly, and effortlessly, caught up and unlike a winger but typical to himself grabbed Harsha's hair and demanded to know what the big idea was. It was at this moment that the Bomb rounded a corner and saw one of his pet sheep molested.
"Hoy!" he shouted using his now familiar form of outburst, when juniors under his protection were threatened.
Moustache swung round, saw how the Bomb would perceive this hazardous position. He was touching a taboo junior for the second time, an unprecedented crime. The Bomb's first shiner still hurt and cognizant of the fact that one bad eye is better than two, Moustache fled the scene.
"Who's the letter for?" asked the Bomb, spying the envelope in Harsha's hand.
Harsha's brain reeled. It had not indulged much in the sport of fast thinking, the need never having arisen in the past. Surprisingly it accommodated itself well. Harsha found he could think deviously fast.
"Well it was like this," said Harsha piecing the loose strands of his story together, "The day I presented you the biscuits Moustache had ordered me to steal a picture of yours, though I don't know why, and then he posted it to my class teacher. I kind of felt guilty and tried to get it back as he was trying to deliver it. That's when he got wild and attempted to beat me up. Thank goodness you came."
"Why did'ee post it, he could have given it first hand?" demanded the bomb.
An unforeseen question. Harsha's inform brain came to the rescue.
"So you wouldn't know it was him."
"Say, t'was a square thing con-sider-ing I made'oo pay fees," proceeded the Bomb, "As for Moustache, I never thought a guy could sink so low. I know a thing or two 'bout 'im. And Wicky (Mr Witharnage to those who want teachers duly respected) will be interested. I saw him going to is quarters, you want to come with me?"
Next morning at Assembly it was announced that a certain Bala Kalansuriya(Moustache to us) had been suspended for two weeks. After Assembly a jubilant Harsha learned that Moustache would not be returning after his fortnights forced leave as he was sitting his Advanced Level examinations. After that College would be Moustache free. With the Bomb firmly established as an ally, thought a contended Harsha, school life would be much, much happier.
Original Short Story by
Rumey Jiffrey
76/1, Matale Road,
Akurana.
1997
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Copyright © 1999 Rumey Jiffrey