The Potential Punishment
(For Mrs H - Much love.)
“It’s all over WhatsApp, Instagram. Everywhere. I’m getting messages non-stop. I think you’ve let the discipline of our school slip through your fingers, Mrs Karim.” The man behind the desk leaned forward, his jaw set. “When you find out who did this, we need to send a strong message to the student body and parents. That Starlight Primary School has high standards for behaviour.”
The tall woman seated before him blinked. Caning. He wants the child to be caned. Her face was impassive as she spoke, “Neither vandalism nor vulgarities warrant corporal punishment by the Ministry of Education’s guidelines for discipline, Mr Tan.”
“Principals have the authority to adapt MOE’s guidelines as we see fit. That will be all.”
As she walked out of his office, Mrs Karim’s thoughts went back to that recruitment ad in the Singapore Times oh so long ago.
Nurture the most precious resource.
Potential.
A cliché, yes, but it had spoken to the fledgling her - yearning to make a difference, leave a legacy.
She sighed. She should examine the scene of the crime again before the custodian cleans up.
Recess had just begun, children thronging the halls. Postures straightened as she swept past.
“Good morning, Mrs Karim.”
“Mrs Karim, I painted this. Is it nice?”
“Mrs Karim, Junjie is cutting the queue at the canteen!”
A quick detour to shoo the errant Junjie to the back of the line as she enthused over the artwork.
“Oi Mrs Karim, you got a haircut?”
She paused. Only he would dare. Fights, bullying, theft - things had a tendency to loop back to Zachary, the 6th grade gangster of Starlight Primary.
She turned to see him lounging against the wall, collar popped, a drumstick twirling between his fingers - the pinnacle of preteen cool. All of the attitude, none of the puberty. A little boy making himself bigger.
“I did, Zachary, thank you for noticing. Today is Tuesday, by the way. Remember to stay after school for Drum practice. Did your father give you money for lunch?”
A beat.
“Ya.”
A chin jutting out as though in challenge. So what if he didn’t, it said.
Nodding, she moved on. So the dad was going off the rails again. She would stop by the canteen later and tell the lunch-lady - free meals for Zachary the next two weeks. Should contact his social worker as well.
Nurture the most precious resource.
Potential.
And here she was now, twenty years on, short black hair dusted with silver, sensible shoes in place - the Head of Discipline at Starlight Primary School.
Staring at a six foot high penis painted on the back facade of the school. Next to which were giant, looping words that announced to everyone who drove past on the road behind -
MR TAN SUCKS COCK
Years of practice kept the amusement from touching her lips as she took in the desecration.
“Mrs Karim?”
She turned. Sarah, the new teacher in her department, was rushing over.
“I saw you coming here and thought it might be a good chance to learn how you investigate these things.”
Eager beaver. Gunning for her job? She smiled. “Of course, Ms Sarah. Let’s start with the easy stuff - boy or girl?” She gestured towards the wall.
“Umm, a boy did it? Because of the language and the private parts. I don’t think our age-group of girls would do this. Seven to twelve is too young. Maybe in Western countries, but not in Singapore.”
Eyebrows raised. “I’m not sure the Western countries would appreciate our tarring their girls like that, Ms Sarah, but broadly I agree. What else?”
“Umm, an older boy?”
“Agreed. Look at the ground below the wall. The grass looks fine, right? No sign that something was dragged here or pressed down as someone stood on it to reach the higher sections of this... masterpiece. One of the older, taller kids then - 5th or 6th grade. What else?”
“Is it Zachary?”
Mrs Karim’s jaw tightened. “We don’t accuse a child without firm evidence, Ms Sarah.”
“Oh. I thought he... umm... sorry.”
She sighed. “You’re not the first person to make this assumption and you won’t be the last. But in our department, we must take care to be fair to all children.” A breath. “Anyway, let’s continue. This is oil paint, see? The Art Department’s lesson plans have the 5th graders using watercolours, the 6th graders doing oils. Not proof, but something to consider.”
“Wow.”
“And then there’s handwriting. ‘K’ is a distinctive letter. Our English teachers might be able to identify the child.”
“I can talk to them for you.”
So hungry. Had she been like this once? Probably. Smile graciously. “That would be helpful, thank you.” She would ask Sarah to assist with questioning some students later. Would be good for her to get the experience.
As the young teacher withdrew, excited about her mission, Mr Tan’s words rang in Mrs Karim’s ears - “send a strong message”.
It would undo any progress they had made.
She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer upwards.
****************
That afternoon in the Staff Room, she commiserated with Sarah. No students had seen anything, admitted to anything. None of the teachers recognised the handwriting.
It happens, she murmured to the younger teacher. Sometimes we just can’t catch the culprit. You still did a thorough job, took initiative. Pleasantries. Platitudes.
When Sarah had left, Mrs Karim pulled a thick file from her cupboard. Incident reports, parent emails, eyewitness statements, records of disciplinary actions taken - paperwork that went with being the school cop. A lot of it generated for - by - this one child.
She examined an apology note, filed just two days ago. Scribbled on a scrap of paper, the handwriting looping and childish.
“Sorry, Mrs Karim. I won’t hit Kaixiang again. I don’t want to always be bad. I will try to do better.”
How would the English teachers recognise the handwriting, she mused. It's not like he ever turns in any work. Her fingers gently brushed over the K’s, over the last sentence in the note. That last sentence.
Nurture the most precious resource.
Closing the file, she started grading her class’s worksheets.
(NYCMidnight 2022 Flash Fiction Round 1 Entry)
