Mallawindy by Joy Dettman

and he shook his head at the deep purple mark on her throat. ‘So,’ he said. ‘So, what is a weed, Burton?’
    â€˜Weed?’ she spelt, eyebrows raised in question.
    â€˜Yes, a weed. Give me the definition of “weed”.’
    â€˜Plant. Grow with no cultivate. No care, just grow. Accident,’ she signed.
    â€˜And despite adversaries, Burton. Very apt. An apt analogy. A weed, Burton, is the last plant to die in a drought and the first to show its head after the rain. A weed is a survivor. Australia is full of weeds. They are the sustainers of life.’ He sharpened two more pencils and she watched him, remembering the first day he attempted to imprison her in this same room. He had given her a new book and a sharp pencil that day. She had thrown the book at his head, and stabbed his wrist with the pencil.
    â€˜You have sat in my classroom for the best part of four years, Burton. Watching you, teaching you, became a challenge to me. I wanted to find out what went on behind those inscrutable eyes. I never did. Give me the definition of inscrutable.’
    â€˜Mysterious,’ she spelt with her fingers.
    â€˜Mysterious,’ he nodded. ‘You have made good use of our classroom dictionary. I have never taken you for a fool, Burton, so answer me a question and please don’t take me for a fool. How did you come by that ... that bruising?’
    â€˜Fell from tree. Very high tree.’
    â€˜You insult me, insult my intelligence. However, let us see if we can do any better with this one. You were in the library when the sniffer and I returned to the classroom after lunch. We were for the most part hidden from your view. Given the optimum conditions, I would consider him to be virtually impossible to lip read, yet you knew his decision.’
    â€˜No,’ her head denied.
    â€˜Then explain yourself,’ he bawled, and she sprang upright in her seat. ‘I warned you of the importance of today’s tests. I toldyou that your admittance to the high school next year may depend on your results. Your morning’s work was neat, exemplary. This afternoon’s is a protest in blots.’
    â€˜Answers still right,’ she defended.
    â€˜Answers scrawled by a spider after a swim in an inkwell. You knew the sniffer’s decision. Deny it you may until you are blue in the face, you frustrating, damnable child.’
    Ann slid to the side of her desk, one eye on the open door while the fat man poured himself a drink. He knew her too well, had spent too much time watching her.
    There was little she remembered of the years before this classroom, but the years since were clear. He had made them clear, refusing to allow her to let her yesterdays disappear into the dark place in her head.
    â€˜Why do you write your poems in my arithmetic classes, Burton? Why not in English or history?’
    â€˜Don’t know.’
    â€˜Do know. Open your mind to me. It’s a brilliant mind, locked inside a concrete cage. Set it free. Let it live. Why in arithmetic?’
    â€˜Word come. Head full with talk word. No good English. I must find right talk word for English. No good history. Same thing. Number different, different side. No think with talk word, only number. So words come from other one ... other side. I write down. So.’
    â€˜Words come from the other side and she writes them down amid the equations. A tall weed with its roots in the sand will one day bloom with a brilliance to eclipse the hothouse flowers.’ He slid the drawer of his desk open and started rummaging there, while she waited for the next burst. It was long in coming. ‘Do you have a dictionary at home?’
    â€˜Benjie have one time for high school. Mum tell him sell all book when he leave high school.’
    â€˜But you’d have open access to a Bible.’
    She nodded, her elbows on the desk, her chin resting on her palm.
    â€˜Have you read your Bible?’
    â€˜Big