Initiation

The house mother had called lights out only half an hour ago when the older boys came knocking on the door. Mark and his roommate, Michael, had not been asleep; both country boys, their first night away from home, they had been making tentative conversation about the farms they had grown up on, the small primary schools they had gone to, the younger siblings left behind. The conversation halted as they looked at the door.

“Who is it?” Mark asked.

“This is your unofficial, official welcome to Rochester Grammar,” came a deep voice, accompanied by muffled chuckles outside the door.

Mark opened the door. He recognised John Reed, one of the prefects who had been tour guide to the new boarders that morning. There were several other older boys with him. They smirked at the younger boys.

“Follow us,” John commanded.

Mark and Michael glanced at each other. It was not a question. They slipped thongs on and followed after John and the older boys. 

John led them through the dark boarding house, using his phone as a torchlight. They came to the kitchen. One of the older boys opened a door at the back and grinned. “After you, ladies.”

They stepped out into the night. The late January air was warm and still but Mark felt a chill spread through his insides. John stood in front of the group, jaw jutting forward.

“Right,” said John. “Welcome to Rochester. New boarders have to prove themselves. Consider this your initiation. It’s treasure hunt time. First stop - the caravan park. You have to collect a souvenir from the povvos down there. We’ll be watching and filming. Don’t get caught.”

Michael cleared his throat. “What do you mean, a souvenir? Where’s the caravan park?”

“Whatever you can lift. We’ll show you where the caravan park is. This way, boys.”

John and the older boys took off over the sports field, Mark and Michael behind them. They had to run to keep up with the older boys. They would have been sixteen or seventeen, but they looked like men, with their broad rower’s shoulders and muscular chests. Mark and Michael panted as they tried not to get left behind. 

They crossed the sports field, then zig-zagged down to the rowing shed. There was a path along the river there and they started upon it, heading inland. Things rustled in the paperbark trees. The trees were dense and dark along the river path, so different from the dry, flat farmland that Mark was used to. After a while, Mark was not sure how long, they came to the edge of the caravan park. There were a few lights visible in trailers and caravans. John motioned to them to stop.

“Ok,” he hissed. “These losers hate us, reckon we’re snobs. They’re just jealous because they’re povvo and we’re better than them. You two go in and bring back a souvenir. We’ll be waiting here.”

Mark and Michael looked at each other, then back at the group. 

Mark swallowed hard. “So,” he asked, “You want us to go in there and steal something? And then bring it back to you? And then after that...?” He trailed off.

The older boys loomed over them. “You got it, sunshine,” one of them said. “Off you go, lads.”

Mark looked at Michael once more. His jaw was clenched tight and a slight sheen of sweat glistened along his hairline. Mark had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Not once had he stolen from another person. He wondered if his parents were asleep or if they were still awake, thinking about him. They would have arrived back at their property late in the afternoon. Mark closed his eyes briefly and pictured his old bedroom with its cricket and football posters on the walls. It seemed a world away from where he was now.

Mark squared his shoulders and the two boys set off along the outside of the caravan park. Michael fell in behind him. He tapped Mark on the shoulder and pointed at an ancient station wagon, the windows down. There was a swag set up on the ground next to it, snoring rumbling upwards from its inhabitant. The boys crept towards the passenger side window. The snoring seemed as loud as an alarm. Mark held his breath as he inched up to look inside the car.

As Mark placed his fingertips on the car’s window, running footsteps and shouting reverberated through the caravan park. He and Michael nearly fell over backwards, their hearts racing.

“Oi! Come here! We saw ya…”

A pair of dark figures raced past the swag, breathing hard. Mark and Michael ducked down behind the station wagon. Two policemen pursued the dark runners. Their boot steps thundered away after them. The figure in the swag grunted and stirred. Mark and Michael dashed back to their group without looking behind them. They could still hear the police shouting and the sound of boots crashing about in the paperback trees. 

“Back to the boarding house,” John mouthed. “Keep down low.”

They started moving back along the path in the direction of the school. The sound of splashing and yelling drifted through the night air. The police were shouting again. The yelling took on a desperate tone. The splashing increased. And increased. And then, then there was no more splashing. 

“Come on,” one of the older boys hissed. Mark looked up at him. He was surprised to see that they had made it back to the kitchen door. Inside again, John stood over them. “You don’t mention this to anyone, ok? No teachers, no one else. Got it?”

They nodded assent. 

“Ok. Now, back to your room. We’ll see you boys again later.”

 …..

Shirt collar and tie adjusted, Mark ran to the school hall for the morning assembly. He had slept a bit better last night than the previous night, following the incident at the caravan park. It had been hours before the adrenalin had worn off. The following day had passed in a fog of fatigue and anxiety, but there had been no sign of John or the other older boys. The first school day had only been the boarders and the day boys from the junior school, and that had mostly been tours and getting to know you type activities. Today was the first day with the whole school, and so there was an assembly to welcome everyone back for the beginning of the new academic year.

Mark found his form teacher and stood in line. His form group was almost at the front of the hall. On the dais before him stood the principal, the vice-principal, and the prefects. Mark could see John, posture upright, holding the school crest with another athletic-looking boy. 

The assembly started with the national anthem, sung half-heartedly by the boys. The hall was already heating up with the summer sun. Some of the female teachers fanned themselves with their papers. The singing of the anthem concluded, the boys were given the signal to sit. The principal began his speech. It was full of rousing sentiments about Rochester’s history and traditions and academic achievements, the sort of stuff that you read in school prospectuses. One of the previous year’s graduates who had made it into the Olympic rowing team was mentioned with enthusiastic acclaim. Then the prefects for this year were introduced and made their pledges to honour the school code. 

The principal paused, studying his cufflinks for a moment. He looked back up at the assembled students and started to speak.

“You may have heard in the news about an incident that happened two nights ago.” 

The principal paused again then slowly continued.

“A fatal incident. Two Indigenous boys, it is believed, allegedly caught stealing at the Riverslea caravan park. Unfortunately, the two boys were pursued and they subsequently drowned in the river. There is a police investigation so I must remind you all that you are to remain within the boundaries of the school property unless accompanied by a staff member or a parent. Members of the rowing squad may use the rowing facilities and river during scheduled training times only. Naturally, this sad incident has nothing to do with our Rochester community, and the caravan park is some distance from our grounds, but there may be some disruption while the police carry out their investigation.”

Mark felt the familiar chill spread through his stomach as the events of that night replayed in his head. He looked up at the dais. John was immobile, holding the school crest. He looked at Mark sitting below him momentarily then stared back out over the hall, still holding the crest with its logo, ‘Educating boys, making men’.