Kathy Stinson - King of the Castle

KING OF THE CASTLE

by

Kathy Stinson

illustrated by Kasia Charko

CANADIAN CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION DATA

Stinson, Kathy
King of the castle

ISBN 1-896764-35-5

I. Charko, Kasia, 1949- . II. Title.

PS8587.T56K56 2000 jC813.54 C00-932103-9

PZ7.S74Ki 2000

Text copyright 2000 Kathy Stinson
Illustrations copyright 2000 Kasia Charko

Fourth Printing 2005

Edited by Shaun Oakey
Design by Emily Schultz

Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the assistance of the Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities.

Printed and bound in Canada

Published by
SECOND STORY PRESS
20 Maud Street, Suite 401
Toronto, Ontario Canada
M5V2M5

www.secondstorypress.ca

Dedicated to Elijah Allen,
whose story inspired me

MR. ELLIOT LIKED being a caretaker. Every day he hoisted the flag in front of Jessie Lucas Public School as proud as could be. He pushed his broom through classrooms and hallways, gathering paper scraps, stray erasers and schoolyard dirt. The clean smell of sawdust and lemons followed wherever he swept.

To a boy standing outside the principals office looking like he was probably in trouble, Mr. Elliot said, Good morning, Derek. To a student in the library bent over her paper, he said, Youre working hard, Sal.

I have to write the capital cities of a bunch of countries on my map. Sal pointed to her atlas. Im not sure which of these cities is the capital of Canada.

Hmm, Mr. Elliot said. Nice job of colouring your map youve done there.

He pushed his broom into the hall and past a group of kids painting a mural full of things that live in a pond. Youll wipe up any spills, eh, fellas?

At coffee break, someone knocked on the door of the caretakers room. Mr. Elliot, Mario said, could you come and get our ball down off the roof?

Sure thing. Mr. Elliot poured the rest of his coffee down the sink. He followed Mario and his friends out to the playground with his ladder.

Up there. Mario pointed to the roof of the library.

There was a nip in the fall air but sun enough to keep it from being too sharp. Up on the roof Mr. Elliot felt like singing, Im the king of the castle and youre the dirty rascal.

Mr. Elliot didnt always feel so much like King of the Castle.

All kinds of balls dotted the gravel-covered roof tennis balls, a hackey sack, a volleyball, a soccer ball. The rubber balls bounced as Mr. Elliot threw them down to the ground.

Can you play soccer with us now, Mr. Elliot? one of the kids asked.

Mr. Elliot dribbled the ball out to the field and around one player after another, until Derek snuck in from the side and gave the ball a walloping kick.

The ball sailed over the fence into a backyard.

Way to go, Derek! Mario shouted.

Ill get it. Mr. Elliot jogged to the fence. People dont yell at grownups like they do kids.

But Mr. Elliot! the kids shouted as he scrambled over the fence. The sign!

From behind a garage leaped a large black dog, barking and showing its sharp teeth. Mr. Elliot grabbed the ball and hurled it back to the playground. He made it to the fence just as the dog got hold of his pant leg. A man stormed out of the house. Idiot! Cant you read?!

Mr. Elliot pulled himself free of the dogs teeth but left a scrap of brown caretaker pants behind. He jumped down from the fence into the schoolyard.

Derek hollered back at the neighbour, Youre an idiot. Of course he can read.

Dont be rude, Mr. Elliot said. He tucked his shirt back into his torn pants and returned to the caretakers room with his ladder.

EVEN MORE THAN being a caretaker, Mr. Elliot liked being a grandfather. He played net whenever Jason wanted to practise his shots on goal and made music for Jemma on his harmonica.

Ever since Jemma was a baby, Mr. Elliot played his music and sang to her at bedtime. Hush, little baby, dont say a word... Jemma loved this song even though she wasnt a baby anymore, but one night when her grandfather was singing it to her, she slipped off her bed and brought him a book. Read to me, Grampa, she said.

Mr. Elliot kept on singing, Mamas going to buy you...

Stop singing, Jemma insisted. Read.

Ill have to let your mother read you your book, Mr. Elliot said, because I dont have my glasses. He turned away from Jemmas big brown eyes, ashamed of telling her a lie.

Oh, why did Jemma have to bother him with her book anyway? Jason had never asked him to read. Neither had his own daughter when she was little.

After Jason and Jemma had gone to bed Mr. Elliots daughter said, Is something bothering you, Dad?

Not really. Mr. Elliot banged his coffee mug down on the counter harder than hed meant to.

THE NEXT DAY at school a Kindergarten student stopped Mr. Elliot in the hall. Can you tell me which of these papers is for the principal and which is for the nurse? she asked. My teacher told me but I forgot.

Sorry, Naomi, my glasses are broken. I cant see what the papers say.

If I could read, Mr. Elliot thought, I could stop telling so many lies.

Mr. Elliot pushed his broom around the corner past more classrooms. In Grade One, the kids were singing a song about autumn leaves. The kids in Grade Two were busy writing. Someone in Grade Three was giving a speech. The Grade Four teacher was reading a story to his class. Their laughter drifted into the hallway.

Mr. Elliot stopped sweeping for a moment. He fiddled with a sticker one of the kids had stuck to his broom as the teacher continued to read. My noses name is Norbert. No, thats not right. Norbert lives in my nose. Hes from Jupiter originally but, for the past little while, hes been staying with me. And the kids in Grade Four laughed some more.

If I could read, Mr. Elliot thought, I could read to Jemma and Jason, and make them laugh.

At coffee break Mr. Elliot went to the caretakers room. Mr. Caracas was writing up an order from the supply catalogue. Ive been thinking, he said. You know Im retiring next year.

Well miss you here. Mr. Elliot tucked his broom behind the door.

I think you should apply for my job. Mr. Caracas handed Mr. Elliot a form. Youd make a fine head custodian.

Thanks. Mr. Elliot knew that to do Mr. Caracass job to order equipment and supplies from the catalogue and make up work schedules for all the caretakers in the neighbourhood he could not get away with just pretending to be able to read. But he looked at the paper Mr. Caracas had given him anyway, until Mr. Caracas left the room.