Just last week, nearly 17,000 people took the Spanish National Police qualification examination. After the exam, most candidates called the word spelling test “too difficult.”
Spain’s “Abbeza” reported on the 9th that this year’s test papers are more difficult than last year. The teachers of the local training institutions even gave the “hardest in history” evaluation, and believed that most candidates would be taken during the word spelling test. Eliminated. The Spanish newspaper “Pioneer” “published” the test paper on the 8th and asked “Can you pass the spelling test of the national police?” The report stated that as one of the special tests of the police examination, candidates must judge 100 within 8 minutes. The spelling of each word is correct or incorrect. In addition, candidates have to accept knowledge, spelling, personality, psychological quality and other aspects of the examination, of course, physical fitness tests are also indispensable.
“I want to know where the boy is now. You – Tom! ”
The old lady pulled her glasses down against the tip of her nose and stared across the room, then quickly pushed them up again and peered down below in all directions. Well and never would she have desecrated it in such a way that she would have looked through the hallowed glasses for such insignificant objects as a little boy is. If it was her state glasses, the pride of her heart, which she only put on for the sake of adornment and dignity, by no means for use – she could just as easily have seen through a couple of rings. For a moment she seemed stunned since she could not discover anything, her voice came up again, not exactly angry, but loud enough to be heard by the surroundings, namely the room device: “Wait, when I get you, I – -”
She didn’t finish the sentence, because in the meantime she had approached the bed, under which she vigorously rummaged around with the broom, which took all of her strength, all of her breath. In spite of the exertion, however, nothing came to light except the old cat, who seemed very indignant at the disturbance.
“There’s no such thing as boys again!”
She stepped under the open front door and let her gaze wander over the tomatoes and potatoes that represented the garden. No Tom to be seen! Now her voice rose to a sound calculated for a rather considerable distance:
“Holla – you – To – om!”
A faint noise behind her made her turn around and in time to catch a small, lanky boy with a quick grip on the tip of his jacket and prevent an evidently planned escape.
“Of course! I should have thought of the pantry! What did you do inside again? ”
“Nothing? Well, look! Look at your hands, hey, and what’s sticking around your mouth? ”
” I don’t know, aunt!”
“So, but I know. It’s jam, you rascal, and nothing else. Have I not a hundred times if you give me the didst not leave alone, I wished to tanning yourself properly? What? Did you forget Hand me that stick! ”
The crop was already floating in the air, the danger was urgent.
“Heavens, look behind you, aunt!”
The old lady spun around as if stung by a tarantula and instinctively grabbed her skirts to get her to safety. At the same time the boy was out of her range with one jump, climbed like a squirrel over the high wooden fence and was gone the next moment. Aunt Polly watched him go after him for a moment, puzzled, and then burst out laughing.
“Get the boy this and that! Can I never get clever? Hasn’t he already played tricks on me enough that I could finally watch out for him! But, it is true, old fools are the worst there are, and an old poodle learns no more tricks, as the saying goes. But how should you know what the boy is up to when it’s different every day! The kid knows exactly how far he can go with me until I go wild, and he knows just as well that if he can get me through some trick, a minute To hesitate before I hit, or if I even have to laugh, the beating is over and over. God knows, I am not doing my duty to the boy. ‘He who loves his child chastises it,’ says the Bible. But I, I – sin and shame will come upon us, my Tom and me, I foresee it, Lord, you my God, I see it coming! He’s full of satanic antics, but, dear God, he’s my dead sister’s only boy, and I don’t have the heart to beat him. Every time I let it through, my conscience pinches me very grimly, and once I’ve done it properly, then – yes, then my old, stupid heart almost wants to break. Yes, yes, the man born of women is poor and weak, briefly only during his days and are full of toil and tribulation, says St. Scripture and truthful, it is so! Today the kid will probably not show up anymore, will skip school, I think, and I will probably have to give him some detention for tomorrow. Him on Saturday to leave when all the boys have released, work is terribly hard, especially for Tom, who shuns the work more than any thing else, but I have my duty do to the boy, at least to some extent, I must , otherwise I I will be ruined! ”
In America, as in England, Saturday is always a day off from school.
Tom, who, as Aunt Polly guessed very correctly, skipped school, no longer showed up in the afternoon, but hung around outside and enjoyed himself like a king. In the evening he reappeared, barely in time before dinner, to help Jim, the little nigger boy, cut down the wood he needed for the next day. There was enough time to tell Jim about his adventure while he was doing nine-tenths of the work. Toms younger brother, or better half-brother, Sid,  had already taken care of his part in the work, the gathering of the wood chips. He was a hardworking, quiet boy, not as wild and adventurous as Tom. While the latter was enjoying his supper and stealing bits of sugar in between when the opportunity was right, Aunt Polly stopped what she believed was extremely cunning and sharp cross-examination of him in order to lure him into ruinous confessions. Like so many other innocent and simple souls, she believed in her talent for the black, mysterious art of diplomacy. It was the proudest dream of her childlike heart, and the most transparent little tricks she used seemed to her true miracles of cunning and cunning. So she asked now:
Abbreviation for Sidney.
“Tom, it was pretty warm at school?”
“Very warm, isn’t it?”
“Didn’t you feel like going for a swim?”
It flashed through Tom like a warning lightning – did she suspect? He tried to read her face, that betrayed nothing. So he said:
“N-no, aunt – that doesn’t mean much.”
The old lady reached out for Tom’s shirt collar, felt it and said:
“It’s not too warm for you now, is it?”
And in doing so she imagined, really and truly imagined, that she had discovered the dry state of said shirt without a human soul suspecting what it was aiming at. But Tom knew exactly where the wind was blowing from, so he anticipated what was supposed to be the next turn.
“A couple of us put our heads under the pump – mine is still wet, look!”
Aunt Polly found it very uncomfortable that she had overlooked this incriminating evidence and allowed herself to be knocked out of the field in advance. A new inspiration came to her.
“Tom, you didn’t have to take off your shirt collar that I sewed on to get pumped onto your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket! ”
Any trace of worry was gone from Tom’s face. He opened the jacket, the collar was sewn on firmly and securely.
“That you -! Well, get away. I would have taken poison on the fact that you went swimming this afternoon. Want to let it be good. This time you feel like the scalded cat, you are better than you look – but only this time, Tom, only this time! ”
She was half sorry that all her applied cunning was so completely in vain, and half was glad that Tom had stumbled into obedience at least once, as it were unexpectedly.
“Yes, but, aunt, did you sew the collar on with black thread?”
“Black? No, he was white, as far as I can remember, Tom! ”
But Tom did not wait for the conversation to end. Like the wind he was at the door, when Sid left, he called out a friendly “wait”, you shall pay for that, and was gone.
In a safe place he examined two threaded sewing needles that he carried tucked into the lining of his jacket, one with white thread, the other with black thread, and grumbled to himself:
“She would never have noticed if the stupid fellow, Sid, hadn’t revealed it. Heck! She uses white thread and black thread once, who can keep that? But Sid should get his wedges; just let him come to me! ”
Tom was by no means the model boy in his hometown – but there was one, and Tom knew and loathed him honestly.
Two minutes later, or in less time, he had forgotten all his worries. Not that they weighed less or weighed less on him than a man’s worries on a man’s shoulders, no, by no means, but a new powerful interest withdrew his thoughts, just like a man’s old burden and hardship amid the excitement of a new one Company can forget. This strong and powerful interest was a newly acquired method in whistling that a nigger friend had recently taught him and that he wanted to practice undisturbed. The trick was to try to produce a bright, thunderous bird’s trill by touching the palate with your tongue in short pauses while whistling. Anyone of the readers who have ever been a boy will know exactly what I mean. Tom, diligently and attentively, had made the thing his own as soon as possible and was now walking down the main street, his mouth full of resounding good-sounding, his soul full of proud satisfaction. He felt like an astronomer who has discovered a new star, but I hardly believe that the joy of the happy discoverer equals his in size, depth, and unadulterated purity.
The summer evenings were long. It wasn’t dark yet. Tom’s whistling suddenly stopped. A stranger stood before him, a boy, only perhaps an inch taller than himself. The appearance of a stranger of any age or sex was an event in the poor little town of St. Petersburg. And this boy was also neatly dressed – neatly dressed on a weekday! That was just downright incredible, overwhelming! His hat was a cute, delicate thing, his dark blue, tightly buttoned cloth jacket was nice and flawless: the trousers were also without stains. He had shoes on, shoes, and it was only Friday today, two whole days until Sunday! He wore a silk scarf around his neck. There was something civilized about him, something urban that cut into Tom’s innermost soul. The more he stared at this wonder of elegance, the more he wrinkled his nose at the “pathetic dizziness,” as he internally put it, the shabbier and rougher his own outfit seemed to him. None of the boys spoke. When one moved, the other moved too, but only sideways in a circle. So they stood face to face, face to face. Finally Tom said:
“I can get you down!”
“Try it once!”
“N – yes, I can.”
“No you can not.”
“And yet not!”
“I can do it.”
Uncomfortable break. Then Tom starts again:
“What’s your name?”
“Is none of your business.”
“I want to show you that it’s my business.”
“Well, show it.”
“If you say a lot, I’ll do it.”
“Much – much – much ! There! Now come on! ”
“Oh, you think you’re terribly clever, you think! You cleaning monkey! I could get you down with one hand tied behind my back – if only I wanted to! ”
“Well, why dost thou not it? You always just say it ! ”
“Wait, I’ll do it when you get mousy!”
“Yes, yes, anyone can say that, but doing – doing is different.”
“Aff ‘you! Do you think you are right? – Phew, what a hat! ”
“Look elsewhere if you don’t like it. Hit him down! But he who does it will see heaven for a bass violin! ”
“Muzzle! Valid, you want to spare your hands? ”
“O – go home!”
“Wait, if you screw up more of your nonsense, I’ll take a stone and throw it in two at your head.”
“Oh, of course – just throw it!”
“Yes, I’ll do it!”
“Well, why not right away? Why are you still waiting? Why do n’t you do it? Eh, you’re scared! ”
“I am not afraid.”
“No, I don’t have any.”
“You have some!”
Another pause, intensified stare and slow circling. Suddenly they stand shoulder to shoulder. Tom says:
“Get away from here!”
“Get rid of yourself!”
” Certainly not me !”
So now they stand tightly pressed against each other, each one bracing one leg at an angle against the floor in front of him, and pushing, pushing and pushing each other with all their might, staring at each other with furious, hate-filled eyes. But neither can gain an advantage from the other. After they wrestled so silently until they both got very hot and red-hot, they let up slowly and carefully, as if by appointment, and Tom says:
“You’re a coward and a monkey too. I’ll tell my big brother, he’ll knock you crooked and lame with his little finger, just wait! ”
“What do I care about your big brother! Mine is even bigger, if he just blows at him, he’ll fly over the fence without knowing how! “(Both brothers only existed in the imagination.)
“That’s a lie!”
“What do you know?”
Tom now draws a line in the dust with his big toe and says:
“Jump over there and I’ll hit you for not being able to tell your father from a church tower!”
The new boy immediately jumps over, without thinking, and shouts:
“Now come on and do it and hit, but don’t brag any longer!”
“Don’t irritate me, be careful!”
“Well, now do it, now I’m tired! Why are you not coming!”
“God knows, now I’ll do it for two pfennigs!”
The strange boy swiftly pulls two pfennigs out of his pocket and holds them challengingly under Tom’s nose.
Tom knocks her to the ground.
The next moment the boys roll around in the dust, tightly embraced, clawing each other like cats, tearing and tugging their hair and clothes, bluing and scratching their faces and noses and covering themselves with dirt and fame. After a few minutes or so, the rolling lump takes shape, and in the dust of the fight Tom becomes visible, sitting astride the new boy and working him with his fists.
“Scream ‘enough,’” he warns.
The boy just struggles silently to free himself, he cries with anger and rage.
“Scream ‘enough,'” Tom warns again and continues thrashing merrily.
Finally the stranger utters a half-choked “enough”, Tom immediately lets go of him and says: “Now you have it, next time watch out who you tie up with!”
The strange boy ran away howling, dusting off his clothes. Occasionally he looked around, clenched furiously raised his fist and threatened what he would do to Tom, “if he caught him again.” Tom only replied with a mockery of laughter and set off in the opposite direction, drunk with joy at the heroic deed he had accomplished. But as soon as he had turned his back, the defeated boy lifted a stone, hurled it after Tom and hit him between the shoulders, then gave him heel money and ran away like a hare. Tom turned and followed the traitor to his house, which gave him the place where he lived. He planted himself in front of the bars and asked the enemy to come out and take up the argument, but they refused and only grimaced at him through the window. Finally the mother of the enemy came out, scolded Tom an angry, naughty, common boys and bade him go away. So Tom trudged off, but grumbled that he was about to show the monkey.
He came home very late, and when he tried to climb carefully through the window, he came across an ambush in the form of his aunt. When she noticed the condition of his clothes, her decision to turn his Saturday off into a day of hard work in prison grew to iron firmness.