historical fiction

[axiom_of_stripe]

this is based on a true story about benton fraser's probable school in 1979.

it's not a pretty story. you can check the notes at the end of this post for some impersonal news articles if you prefer.

caveat lector.

*****

1630 words about 1979: Boys Will Be....

*****

"...And then Gran's like, 'Oh, George, you know little Ben's going to be a Mountie just like his daaaaaddy.'" Ben drew the word "daddy" out into a nasal whine. "And then I'm like, 'Fuck that, Gran, you think I'm still five years old and playing horsie or something?' Only of course I couldn't say it like that."

"Hey!" Al said, "gimme another beer before you start another all-night rant, asshole."

Ben twisted a can out of the pile of six-packs at his feet, shook it up, and threw it at Al.

"Asshole!" Al said, a little louder.

"Yeah, next time say please, you fucker," Ben said. He tilted his head back and finished off his beer, idly crushing the can against the ground and grabbing another. At this time of year it was dark enough after dinner to sit out back and drink without teachers or anyone seeing. "What the hell's wrong with Steve, anyway?"

All the guys swivelled around to face Steve, who was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest. He looked up through his hair, flipped them off, and went back to his workmanlike beer drinking.

Ben looked at the cans already littering the bare ground around Steve. "You're going to pass out in two more beers," he said.

"Good," Steve snarled. He tossed his empty can aside. "Gimme another one."

"Jeez," said Al, "you drink more than your old man and your mum put together."

Steve flipped them off again, but Ben said, "Come on, seriously, Steve."

Steve wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "My brother's at one of Leroux's parties tonight."

The boys looked at one another. "Your little brother just turned fourteen," Al said nervously. "He wouldn't."

Ben twisted his hands around the beer can until the aluminum buckled and warm beer foamed out over his lap. "Shit, Steve. I'm sorry," he said. His hand bled where he had cut it on the sharp metal points.

Jeremy looked from Ben to Steve. "So it's a party," he said. "Leroux bought our beer, didn't he? What's the big deal?"

"Shut the fuck up, Jeremy," Ben said. "Your parents live in town. You don't know what it's like in the halls so shut your fucking mouth, okay?"

"You should go to the police or something," Al said, "shouldn't you?"

"Don't be a moron," Ben said. "The RCMP doesn't give a shit about us. We're nothing but juvie delinquents and eskimos. I mean, I get in fights every week and ran away to Moosejaw last summer. Steve hit a teacher--"

"I did not!" Steve insisted without looking up.

"--and hasn't passed a math test, like, ever, plus his parents are Inuit and live all the way out past Tuk. Don't even start on what Al said to Sister Florence at Christmas." Ben waved his beer for bitter emphasis of this litany. "Leroux never gets his real favors from the good students."

"So that's why you've been studying so hard!" Al said with a little laugh, and Ben punched him in the mouth. Al hit him back, and they rolled around wrestling for a while until Steve started puking and the subject changed.

***

Steve's little brother was crying in the hallways on Friday. Ben's hangover, which hadn't been terribly bad, picked that moment to turn his stomach over, and he barely got himself cleaned up in time to grab his weekend bag and meet his grandfather outside of the school after classes.

"Good news, Ben!" Gramps said heartily as he got into the car. "Guess who's coming to visit?"

'Dad!' Ben thought with delight, and then, 'I am such a fucking loser.' "Dunno," he muttered, and slouched in the car seat.

"Your father's old partner Brendan Gerrard is in town," Gramps said, and Ben sat up a little.

"Uncle Gerrard? Really?"

Gramps nodded happily. "You should get some career advice from him, you know. I'm sure he'd love to talk about the Academy."

Ben rolled his eyes and slouched down again, and, sure enough, there came the lecture on keeping his grades up and not cutting class. It filled the entire three-hour drive out to where Gramps and Gran lived. Ben grabbed his bag and leapt out of the car as soon as it rolled to a stop in front of the cabin.

"Ben!" said a familiar voice, and Ben bounded up to the porch where Gerrard was sitting with Gran. "Benton Fraser, my God! What are they feeding him at that school?" he said to Gran. "I swear he's taller than me."

At the mention of school, Ben's stomach knotted again. "Uncle Gerrard?" he said. "Can I talk to you? About, um, Mountie stuff?"

"Of course!" Gerrard said, beaming. "Your grandmother was just telling me about your plans to apply to the Academy next year. Wonderful, my boy!"

Ben forced a grin. He hung his bag on the railing and stuck his hands in his pockets before leading Gerrard out into the yard. From the corner of his eye he could see his grandparents smiling in approval. He bit his lip and kicked at the melting patches of dirty snow with the side of his boot. This wasn't explaining how he'd mixed up his homework assignment or how he was just carrying this beer for someone else; this had to be perfect. Ben took a deep breath. "So, you see, I'm a little worried about starting so late," he said.

"So late?" Gerrard looked confused.

Ben nodded. "Mr Leroux, he's the boy's supervisor in my residential hall, he advises us on careers," he said. "But he talks to the younger boys mostly. You don't get invited up to his room after your freshman year."

"This Mr Leroux," Gerrard said, "what are his qualifications?"

"Oh, he knows all sorts of stuff!" Ben thought fast. "I mean, he doesn't treat us like kids. He says we're growing up fast now."

He couldn't tell if he was laying on the innocent act too thick or not. "So he gives you advice on careers," Gerrard said. "And about other things?"

Ben rubbed his forehead to hid his grin. "You won't tell Gramps and Gran, will you?" When Gerrard shook his head, he said, "Because we're not really supposed to tell our families." Actually, they weren't supposed to tell anyone; Ben picked through his words for ways to tell without actually telling. "Mr Leroux does all sorts of things for us, especially the younger boys. Especially if you go up to his room alone to talk to him." He reviewed that in his mind. Good, maybe that would get Gerrard to -- to what? Bring the might of the RCMP smashing down on the school to get Leroux in trouble with the school board? He sighed. Like anyone was going to take his word against Mr Leroux's.

Gerrard looked at him for a long time without saying anything, then patted him on the shoulder. "Well, then I should get you some information on the RCMP immediately, shouldn't I? I have to go back into town tonight, but hopefully I'll see you next weekend. Or sooner, even. Maybe I can drop by the school sometime. How'd you like that, Ben?"

"Oh, that would be great, Uncle Gerrard," Ben said politely.

***

When Ben got back to school after Sunday dinner, Grollier was very, very quiet. Mr Franz, the biology teacher, met him at the door of the hall. "Just go up to bed quickly, Benton," he said. "There's a school meeting tomorrow morning."

"Where's Mr Leroux?" Ben asked.

Mr Franz made little tut-tutting noises, as if Ben had lit his lab experiment on fire again. "He was called away yesterday," Mr Franz said. "Now get on with you."

Ben shouldered his bag and marched up the stairs to the older boys' sleeping room. Inside, the lights were off and everyone was breathing quietly. Steve's bed was empty. Ben sat down on the edge of his bed and unlaced his boots, disappointed. Steve usually knew what was going on, since half the Inuit in the school were related to him somehow. White boys like Ben were always the last to get information from anyone except the teachers, and Ben usually got what he needed out of Leroux. Maybe in the morning he'd be able to find out what had happened.

In the morning, though, the boys were rousted out of bed earlier than usual and told to assemble in the dining room. Ben straddled the bench and looked around with a grin as Steve elbowed in next to him. "Steve!" he whispered. "What's going on? Where were you?"

"Mr Leroux is in jail," Steve whispered back.

"What?" Ben whispered, but the boys around them shushed him as the headmaster, Father Abrams, started talking.

Ben listened with increasing incredulity. Leroux had been arrested, charges of misconduct, pornographic pictures, investigation of the school, cooperation with RCMP officers, classes continuing.... "Gerrard," he whispered under his breath, realizing that he'd never really expected it to work. Kids who had been graduating when he arrived in the school used to pass out on whiskey and cry in their sleep over Leroux; he was an indelible part of the school. It was as if the RCMP had arrested the front door.

Ben stared down at the table. He'd done that. No more free beer. No more homework answers. No more extra pocket money to spend in town.

No more earning that extra pocket money, or watching increasingly younger kids earn it.

"My dad hit me," Steve whispered, and Ben could see the bruise on Steve's jaw, "but I told the Mounties everything."

"I'm going to be a Mountie when I graduate," Ben said. He said it too loudly and was shushed again, but he didn't care.

END

this fiction is based off of a true story, one that apparently had even happened more than once, with at least four people convicted. for more information, a search on "grollier hall" turns up a lot of horror.

many thanks to ces for the beta and support.