There were always dishes that needed washing. Mostly pie plates and green plastic mixing bowls. Cortnée wasn't allowed to touch anything hot or work the dishwasher, so once again he scoured the burnt pastry off the metal with scraps of steel wool and freezing water. He was lucky today; Rebekah was wiping and Mad Max had retired behind a locked door with a brandy bottle. Only God knew what he'd be like in the morning. Maxwell was a man couldn't hold his liquor for very long.
"Mom?"
"Yes sweet?"
"I . . . um . . . no, never mind," why was it so hard for him to talk to his mother? Other than the fact that she always scared him with talk of her Wall. He didn't quite understand why she was so obsessed with it, what was the point in building some big wall? Rebekah had explained it to him, on numerous occasions, but the boy still couldn't grasp why it was so vital to the survival of humankind. What was a wall going to do except keep brickies and their labourers busy for a long time?
"Are you sure Cortnée love?" it was a rare event when he was called ‘Cortnée love'. His mother must have been in one of her good moods. Maybe she'd stolen some of Mad Max's brandy. It wouldn't last long, but it had to be taken advantage of.
"Um . . . Mom? If you knew this person, and he was doing . . . he was being mean and nasty to a lot of people, and . . . and you want to tell someone, but the person says they're going to be even more mean and nasty if you tell, what would you do?"
The look Rebekah turned on him made him cringe and nearly fall off the chair he was standing on.
"Cortnée who's been bullying you? I want names!"
"I . . . no-one!"
"Then why did you ask?! Who's been harassing my boy, by the Wall, I'll have their arses whipped from here to --"
"I just wanted to know Mom, please don't be angry!" for the first time in what was more than likely a long time, Mrs. Floyd actually saw her young son. Saw the rumpled ginger hair and the wet grey eyes, the dirty clothes and the trembling fear. Without any hesitation, she lifted the boy off the chair and into her arms. No protest came from Cortnée's throat, what he needed was the catharsis of tears that refused to come. Maternal comfort was the next best thing, even if it did come from a woman he feared.
"If I was in a situation like that love, I'd tell someone and ask them to keep whoever was being mean and nasty away from me,"

- - -
"Hey Cortnée! Where are your pigtails, little girl?"
"Yeah, didn't your Mommy braid your hair for you?"
"You can't play cricket with us, girly. Go play with your dolls!"
"Go to hell Esau!"
"Ooh! Big words for a little girly!"
"I said shut up!"
"Shut up yourself Cortnée-girl!"
"If you call me a girl again, I'll --"
"You'll what? Tell the teacher? He'd just cane you instead! He hates you as much as we do!"
"Look, the girly's crying!"
"Oh come on, don't cry little girl!"
"We promise we won't hurt your dollies!"
"Shut the fuck up!!"
"Whoa!"
"Stop it Cortnée-girl, you're scaring us!"

". . . .And then he started swearing at them really bad,"
"Did he now? What kind of swearing?"
"Really bad swearing sir. He said the F-word!"
"The F-word was it? Well we can't have that can we?"
"No sir,"
"Thank-you for telling me Ashlynn, I shall see to it that those involved are punished for their behaviour,"
"You're welcome sir,"

"Did you tell him Ash?"
"Everything you told me to. Can I have my two-dollars back now?"
"Well. . . ."
"Esau!"
"Okay, okay, here's your stupid two-dollars back!"
"Thank-you Esau,"

The class was strangely quiet as it filtered back in. Maybe they could sense the scene that was to come. The last person inside was the pretty little Ashlynn. Even at eight, it was easy to see that she would be a belle; blonde curls and cornflower blue eyes stood out in an age of browns.
"Thank-you for gracing us with your presence Ashlynn,"
"You're welco--"
"Sit down!" Mad Max slammed the door so hard the windows rattled. Running, the model-to-be found her seat, but not without finding time to poke her dainty tongue in Cortnée's direction. The only reason he really noticed was because his eyes always followed Ashlynn wherever her honey hair happened to bounce. It was a little hard for him to get his head around sometimes, that Ash could be so pretty and at the same time be so cruel. She wasn't like Esau, making his life a misery, not at all. What she did made him feel ten times worse, looking at him as if he were a slimy insect crawling across her perfectly polished shoe; Ashlynn's disdain was the hardest thing he'd had to live with in all of his nine years.

Belying the fury that Cortnée knew was about to explode, Mad Max calmly walked over toward his desk. The boy was already familiar with the routine.
Sit down, open bottom drawer, take out thin cane switch, close bottom drawer, lay cane switch delicately across desk, fold hands over cane switch, glare at class.
The only thing left to wonder, who was the unlucky winner?
"Now class, before we continue with our lessons, there is a little matter that has been brought to my attention, which needs to be addressed," the voice was smooth and deceptively composed. This was Mad Max at his most dangerous, "It seems that several students in this room have been indulging in highly inappropriate behaviour. Now, in case it has yet to sink into some of your extremely thick skulls, if there is one thing I cannot and will not stand for, it's inappropriate behaviour. I have given you all sufficient warnings, but obviously none of you think I'm serious. This afternoon's incident is the tip of the iceberg, and it appears I must punish those involved as an example to the rest of you. I will not tolerate inappropriate behaviour in my class," Cortnée could see the confusion on some of his classmates' faces; Mad Max loved to use big words that only he understood. Oh, here it came, Mad Max was standing up, cane switch in hand. He didn't move from his desk.
Bad sign.
"Cortnée Floyd, please stand up," he couldn't help rolling his eyes as he pushed out his chair and got to his feet. Was it the third or fourth time this month that Max had called him up for a caning? The glare his step-father directed at him was malicious, and . . . was that, gloating underneath?
"Floyd, your lack of respect for class rules is getting both annoying and tiresome and I'm sick of having to deal with you,"
"What have I done?"
"Your foul mouth has gotten the better of you this time Floyd. Your continual use of bad language is an embarrassment and I refuse to put up with it any longer. Since you won't listen to me, maybe you will listen to the cane. Come here Mr. Floyd,"
Two deep breaths gave the boy enough time to brace himself; Mad Max's canings were harder and more painful each time around. But he wouldn't cry. He'd seen half his class take the cane, and almost all of them had ended in tears. But not him. He wouldn't cry, he refused to give Mad Max anything more to gloat over. Stoic, Cortnée approached the board, his grey eyes level with the hated Maxwell's.
"Put out your hand,"
He did.

thwack

thwack

thwack

thwack

Not once did his dispassionate expression waver. The same couldn't be said for Mad Max, whose smug malice had very quickly turned to frustrated almost- disbelief. Neither said a word. Cortnée turned to go back to his seat.

thwack

The cane switch cracked across his shoulders, perfectly positioned. Unprepared, the boy winced and let a pained gasp slip from his throat, but gave away nothing more. He'd be feeling the welts for days afterwards.
"Strangely enough, Floyd was not alone in this afternoon's misdemeanours. Esau Macquarie, please stand up,"

The tears that trickled from Esau's eyes as he stumbled back to his seat should have given Cortnée some sense of vindication. Coupled with the blood dripping slowly from a lacerated hand, the boy felt nothing but empathy. He knew how painful a first caning could be, before the palms calloused and hardened.
"I trust that I shall not have to deal with you again Macquarie,"
Esau said nothing, trying not to let Mad Max see his ineffectual mopping at the blood with note-book paper.
"There is one more person involved, who I wish to make an example of," one more person? Cortnée couldn't remember anyone else except for Esau's friends; surely Max wasn't going to cane one of them without caning all of them? "Ashlynn Murray, please stand up," a collective murmur of shocked surprise echoed around the classroom; if Mad Max was going to cane Ash, then God whose turn would it be next?
"What?! What did I do?"
"I don't recall asking you to speak Miss Murray," visibly trembling, Ashlynn stood up. Even her curls seemed subdued. "After seeing the results of Mr. Floyd and Mr Macquarie's indiscretions, all of you should now realise what will happen if anyone in this class is caught behaving in a highly inappropriate manner. But there is something else that I cannot stand, and that's a tattle-tale," the look of horror on Ashlynn's face was blatant, and for Cortnée, heart-wrenching. "It was Miss Murray who brought this afternoon's incident to my attention, and I tell you all right now that it is not your responsibility nor your place to rat on classmates in some misguided attempt to worm your way into my good books. That is exactly what you tried to do today Murray, and I must say that whilst I'm absolutely disgusted, I can't say I'm surprised that it came from you. Maybe next time you'll think twice. Come here Miss Murray," anybody who would have protested Mad Max's caning a girl was far too cowed to speak. Already inaudibly sobbing, Ashlynn slowly, fearfully, made her way to the front desk.
"But sir --"
"Put out your hand,"
Moisture-wet eyes pleading, she did

thwack
gasp

thwack
sob

thwack
cry

thwack
bitten off shriek

"Now kindly return to your seat Murray, and stop that infernal blubbering,"
Ashlynn went back to her desk, but didn't stop sobbing. Her palm wasn't bleeding, but even from across the room, Cortnée could see the enormous stinging welts. His hatred of Maxwell grew tenfold.

"And as you can see –" sob, "– if you take the number in each group –" sob, "– which in our case is twelve, and then take the –" sob, "– number of groups, you have the numbers –" sob, "Murray, I told you to quit whining, you're disrupting my class!" sob. Quarter of an hour and Ashlynn still hadn't been able to stifle her tears; this was third time Mad Max had told her to, in much harsher language, be quiet. Fed up, Max grabbed the cane that still rested on his desk. The entire class fell silent, except Ashlynn.
"Dammit Murray if you don't can it, I'll cane you again!" all that did was increase the terrified girl's crying. "Did you hear me Murray, you spoilt little brat?!"
Cortnée had had enough. It was one thing to deride him in front of the class – he was strong, he could take it – but to pick on Ashlynn Murray who had no defences at all was another. Completely ignoring the class, and the throbbing reminders on his right hand, he marched over to Ashlynn's desk, and urged the tearful little girl to her feet.
"Come on Ash," not even the astonished, outraged look on Mad Max's face was enough to move him. His iron spine would see him through.
"And just where do you think you're going Floyd?"
He didn't even dignify the man with an answer.

The walk home wasn't pleasant, but at least it was a bit more bearable than it could have been.
Ashlynn hated him because she thought Mad Max was his father. She hated Mad Max, so it naturally followed that she had to hate Cortnée as well. They'd run their stinging hands under water from the bubblers whilst having that conversation. After convincing Ash that the books she'd left on her desk would be okay overnight when they'd sneaked their bags from the cloak room, Cortnée had explained to her that Mad Max wasn't his real father, only his step-father. Ash had let him walk her home – a big step forward as far as he was concerned – and had asked what'd happened to his real father. He'd only replied that Bartholomew was dead. She'd then gone off on a tangent about Heaven and Jesus Christ, the religion the Utopians had tried, and failed, to forbid, until they'd reached her driveway. Waving goodbye, she'd run up the stairs and let herself in with the key under the mat.
Come class tomorrow, she would treat him the same way she always had. Because nothing had really changed.
His thoughts had jetted from one topic to the next on the way back to his mother's new acreage. But he knew exactly what to do when he would step into the kitchen and see her labouring over tonight's shepherd's pie
"Mom!" the door shut loudly behind him.
"Cortnée?" the call came from the kitchen, "What are you doing home so early?"
"Mom, I need to talk to you for a second,"

- - -
Even through the blankets pulled tight over his ears, he heard it. Even through the closed door, he heard it. Even through the shouts and screams and crashes and bangs of Rebekah throwing out her second husband of only a few months, he heard it.
The unmistakeable shrill ring of the phone.
It took a large pooling of courage for Cortnée to creep from underneath the covers and listen at the door. Their answering machine had taken the call.

You've reached the Floyd household. Unfortunately no-one is available to take your call. If you have a message for Rebekah, Cortnée or Maxwell, please leave it with your name and phone-number after the tone. Thank-you.

"Hello, this is Annette Murray. I was calling to see just who the hell you think you are Maxwell, for caning my little girl! Ashlynn has informed me of what happened today and of everything you've done to terrorise her class, and I'm absolutely appalled! How dare you do things like this to our children! As president of the P&C and secretary of the Community Union, I swear, not only will you be fired from the school, I'll have you run out of town! I suggest you start packing your bags."

CLICK! Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. . . .

It was several seconds before Cortnée found the energy to crawl back under the blankets, so great was his relief.

- - -
A loud bang and shaking walls wrested sleep from the boy's grasp. Light flooded the room, blinding his dilated eyes.
"Why didn't you tell me?" the words were hissed, barely recognisable.
"Wha–?"
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!?" the silhouette of his mother blocked the light from the hall. Her voice was crazed, her hands grasping his shoulders, pinning him to the bed. The smell of brandy near-choked his senses. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?! I could have stopped him!! No-one will ever hurt my boy!! Do you hear me?! NO-ONE WILL HURT MY PRECIOUS CHILD!!! NO-ONE WILL STOP THE WALL!!!"
"MOM LET ME GO!!!" he struggled violently, but she only slapped his cheeks and forced him down; the full pillow pushed his neck forward so hard he thought it might break.
"He is why we need the Wall!! We must build the Wall to save humanity from Max!! From Bartholomew!! The Wall will save us!! YOU WILL BUILD THE WALL!! DO YOU HEAR ME CORTNÉE?!? YOU WILL BUILD THE WALL!! YOU WILL SAVE US!!!"
"NO!!!"
"YOU WILL!!! YOU MUST!!!" her face pushed him back, surrounded him, cut off any road of escape.
You will build the Wall . . . You will save humanity . . . You . . . You. . . .
Voices whispered in his ears. Thousands of voices, telling him Rebekah was right. Rebekah was a visionary. Rebekah was a genius. She could see mankind's future, where no-one else dared to look.
You will save us Cortnée.
‘Who are you?'
I am you.
‘What should I call you then?'
Pink. I'm here to help you.
‘How can you save me from Mom?!'
Oh no, Cortnée, your mother is blessed. She has given birth to our saviour.
‘No! No, I'm not a saviour! I'm just a kid!'
You will build your mother's Wall, and I will help you do it.
‘I don't want to build her stupid Wall!'
You think you have a choice? Consenting or not, either way, you will.
"DO YOU KNOW WHAT WILL YOU DO CORTNÉE?!?"
"I know Mom," and he did. Pink was showing him. He saw the Wall, and its sheer brilliance. It would save them.
"TELL ME!!"
"I will build the Wall," the hands left his shoulders, the silhouette left his vision. Softly the door closed and footsteps walked away.
Cortnée rolled over and closed his eyes.