My Brilliant Career by Miles Franklin (book recommendations TXT) 📕

I know. Sure you’ve got no sense. You’d had him dead if I hadn’t come in.”

I walked straight to my room and shut myself in, and did not teach any more that afternoon. The children rattled on my door-handle and jeered:

“She thought she’d hit me, but ma settled her. Old poor Melvyn’s darter won’t try no more of her airs on us.”

I pretended not to hear. What was I to do? There was no one to whom I could turn for help. M’Swat would believe the story of his family, and my mother would blame me. She would think I had been in fault because I hated the place.

Mrs. M’Swat called me to tea, but I said I would not have any. I lay awake all night and got desperate. On the morrow I made up my mind to conquer or leave. I would stand no more. If in all the wide world and the whole of life this was the only use for me, then I would die⁠—take my own life if necessary.

Things progressed as usual next morning. I attended to my duties and marched my scholars into the schoolroom at the accustomed hour. There was no decided insubordination during the morning, but I felt Jimmy was waiting for an opportunity to defy me. It was a fearful day, possessed by a blasting wind laden with red dust from Riverina, which filled the air like a fog. The crockery ware became so hot in the kitchen that when taking it into the dining-room we had to handle it with cloths. During the dinner-hour I slipped away unnoticed to where some quince-trees were growing and procured a sharp rod, which I secreted among the flour-bags in the schoolroom. At half-past one I brought my scholars in and ordered them to their work with a confident air. Things went without a ripple until three o’clock, when the writing lesson began. Jimmy struck his pen on the bottom of the bottle every time he replenished it with ink.

“Jimmy,” I gently remonstrated, “don’t jab your pen like that⁠—it will spoil it. There is no necessity to shove it right to the bottom.”

Jab, jab, went Jimmy’s pen.

“Jimmy, did you hear me speak to you?”

Jab went the pen.

“James, I am speaking to you!”

Jab went the pen again.

“James,” I said sternly, “I give you one more chance.”

He deliberately defied me by stabbing into the ink-bottle with increased vigour. Liza giggled triumphantly, and the little ones strove to emulate her. I calmly produced my switch and brought it smartly over the shoulders of my refractory pupil in a way that sent the dust in a cloud from his dirty coat, knocked the pen from his fingers, and upset the ink.

He acted as before⁠—yelled eardrum-breakingly, letting the saliva from his distended mouth run on his copybook. His brothers and sisters also started to roar, but bringing the rod down on the table, I threatened to thrash every one of them if they so much as whimpered; and they were so dumbfounded that they sat silent in terrified surprise. Jimmy continued to bawl. I hit him again.

“Cease instantly, sir.”

Through the cracks Mrs. M’Swat could be seen approaching. Seeing her, Jimmy hollered anew. I expected her to attack me. She stood five feet nine inches, and weighed about sixteen stones; I measured five feet one inch, and turned the scale at eight stones⁠—scarcely a fair match; but my spirit was aroused, and instead of feeling afraid, I rejoiced at the encounter which was imminent, and had difficulty to refrain from shouting “Come on! I’m ready, physically and mentally, for you and a dozen others such.”

My curious ideas regarding human equality gave me confidence. My theory is that the cripple is equal to the giant, and the idiot to the genius. As, if on account of his want of strength the cripple is subservient to the giant, the latter, on account of that strength, is compelled to give in to the cripple. So with the dolt and the man of brain, so with Mrs. M’Swat and me.

The fact of not only my own but my family’s dependence on M’Swat⁠—sank into oblivion. I merely recognized that she was one human being and I another. Should I have been deferential to her by reason of her age and maternity, then from the vantage which this gave her, she should have been lenient to me on account of my chit-ship and inexperience. Thus we were equal.

Jimmy hollered with renewed energy to attract his mother, and I continued to rain blows across his shoulders. Mrs. M’Swat approached to within a foot of the door, and then, as though changing her mind, retraced her steps and entered the hot low-roofed kitchen. I knew I had won, and felt disappointed that the conquest had been so easy. Jimmy, seeing he was worsted, ceased his uproar, cleaned his copybook on his sleeve, and sheepishly went on with his writing.

Whether Mrs. M’Swat saw she had been in fault the day before I know not; certain it is that the children ever after that obeyed me, and I heard no more of the matter; neither, as far as I could ascertain, did the “ruction” reach the ears of M’Swat.

“How long, how long!” was my cry, as I walked out ankle-deep in the dust to see the sun, like a ball of blood, sink behind the hills on that February evening.

XXX Where Ignorance Is Bliss, ’Tis Folly to Be Wise

When by myself, I fretted so constantly that the traces it left upon me became evident even to the dull comprehension of Mrs. M’Swat.

“I don’t hold with too much pleasure and disherpation, but you ain’t had overmuch of it lately. You’ve stuck at home pretty constant, and ye and Lizer can have a little fly round. It’ll do yous good,” she said.

The dissipation, pleasure, and flying round allotted to “Lizer” and me were to visit some of the neighbours. Those, like the M’Swats, were sheep-farming selectors. They were very friendly and kind