The Fine Color of Rust by Paddy O'Reilly Page A

belly bouncing. I must remember to tell Helen I think he’s gay.
    â€œMinister, welcome to Gunapan Primary. We’ve prepared a tour for you, nothing too boring or too long. I understand you must see the same thing over and over again so we won’t keep you, but we want you to know that you won’t find a more dedicated staff or a better-run school than this. At theend of the day, what you’re getting here is value for money, Minister, value for money.”
    The minister nods. He’s still a little dazed, but back at the Neighbourhood House a brisk rub with a washcloth brought him back to reality. After I’d twisted the washcloth corner into a bud and cleaned out his ears he’d asked if he could go to the toilet.
    â€œYes, but hurry up, we haven’t got all day,” I told him. “And don’t forget to wash your hands.”
    The Basic Ed kids were coming out of the Neighbourhood House classroom and two Down syndrome boys rushed into the toilet after the minister. I knew they’d be staring at him in that unnerving intent way they have, but I could hardly follow them into the men’s toilet. Sure enough, after a few seconds I heard one boy shriek and giggle. Damien ran out of the toilet, his big flat feet slapping on the tiles and his hands flapping.
    â€œThe man farted!” he screamed, and laughed until he began to snort.
    Tina, the Basic Ed teacher, came and stood beside me. She draped her arm around her giggling son, for whom the funniest thing in the world always has been, and always will be, farting. “Shut up, Damien. Who’s in the toilet?” she asked.
    â€œThe Minister for Education, Elderly Care and Gaming,” I told her.
    â€œOh, ha ha. Come on, kids, let’s go,” she called, and the boys tumbled off after her. A few seconds later the minister walked out.
    â€œReady, Mr. Degugulo?” I asked.
    â€œYes, thank you,” he answered in a high-pitched voice, and walked unsteadily to the car.
    Now I’m following the grade-three teacher, who is usheringthe minister up the steps of the school and gabbling as if he’s snorted speed.
    â€œOne hundred and twenty-three children, four teachers, and three teachers’ aides, you can’t complain about that for efficiency, Minister. Productivity up eleven percent in the last two years. All local children. We have a need, oh yes, we have a real need in the community. Where would they go, you ask? They’d have to go to a school forty kilometers away, a one-hour bus ride with all the pickups along the way, that’s two hours’ travel a day, into a school that already has seven hundred children. We run a sports program, oh no, you won’t find an obesity problem in this school population . . .” He pauses, looks down, and pats his paunch. “Well, maybe the teachers could use a little work, but the children are fit and healthy and the grades they’re getting, Minister, we’re in the top twenty in the state for that even though . . .”
    I drop back discreetly as he leads the minister into the headmaster’s office, where the headmaster has appeared in a clean suit and spectacles, sitting behind his desk and shuffling papers.
    â€œWhere are you?” I ask Helen on the mobile. “I’m alone here with a traumatized member of parliament and a grade-three teacher who’s taken mind-altering drugs. Did I tell you I think he’s gay?”
    â€œFigures. I’m on my way. We had an emergency at the surgery and I had to stay an extra half-hour while the doc fixed the guy up. Some idiot from the abattoir with a bone splinter in his eye.”
    I’m standing on the school steps when she pulls up.
    â€œWhat do you want me to do?” she asks.
    â€œI don’t know. We’ve had a couple of hiccups. Heck dismembered a cow and spattered the minister with gore.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œAnd Kyleen told him