Benjamin Wood - The Ecliptic

He looked at me, his good eye half on the rain. ‘I said I wouldn’t discuss specifics.’ He rose quickly, carrying his cup. ‘Come on, Naz.’ The dog stayed where she was.

‘Word gets around this place, you know.’

‘MacKinney’s case is an anomaly. That’s all I can tell you.’ He slapped the side of his shoe with his cane. ‘Nazar, come on now. Breakfast.’ The dog followed. ‘Please make an appointment next time,’ he told me.

Customarily, a notice was pinned to the bulletin board outside the mess hall to announce a resident’s departure. The provost would often include a quote to inflect the notice with a degree of sentiment (something like, ‘His high endeavours are an inward light that makes the path before him always bright’) but some guests left without any such kindnesses.

DEPARTURE OF TENGALLON

ON THURSDAY WE MUST SAY FAREWELL TO THE POET, TENGALLON, WHO HAS COMPLETED HIS PROJECT AND RETURNS TO THE MAINLAND WITH OUR BEST WISHES. A POETRY READING IN THE LOUNGE WILL FOLLOW THIS EVENING’S DINNER. CONGRATULATIONS, TENGALLON!

— PROVOST

The four of us paid no attention to arrivals, but departures were a different matter. It could be depressing to watch guests leaving while our own work remained unfinished. So we took a particular interest in the provost’s notices when they sprang up, because they kept us attuned to the prospect (however distant) of our own departures. We imagined how our announcements might be worded when the time finally came:

[. .] SHE LEAVES HAVING DEDICTATED HER LONG TENURE TO PERFECTING A WORK OF RESONANCE AND PROFUNDITY. THAT SHE OVERCAME A DEVASTATING CRISIS OF FAITH TO ACHIEVE THIS IS A TESTAMENT TO HER RESOLVE AND INDUSTRY. IF, AS RUSKIN SAID, ‘ALL GREAT AND BEAUTIFUL WORK HAS COME OF FIRST GAZING WITHOUT SHRINKING INTO THE DARKNESS,’ THEN SHE HAS GAZED LONG ENOUGH AND NEED GAZE NO MORE. A FIREWORKS DISPLAY WILL FOLLOW THIS EVENING’S DINNER.

— PROVOST

We held these dreamed-up notices in our minds, tinkered with the phrasing daily, sharing them in moments of self-doubt. Like our jetons , they were gestures to the future. They kept us striving, grafting, exploring, when no end was in sight. We worked hard every day to ensure that the truth would reflect our fantasies by the time we came to leave. So finding MacKinney’s actual notice on the bulletin board that morning felt like sabotage.

DEPARTURE OF MACKINNEY

IT IS WITH GREAT JOY THAT I ANNOUNCE THE DEPARTURE OF A TRUE FRIEND OF PORTMANTLE: THE PLAYWRIGHT MACKINNEY. SHE LEAVES US FOR THE MAINLAND TOMORROW, HAVING BROUGHT TO TERM HER NEW STAGE PLAY: ‘ALL THINGS AT ONCE’. MACKINNEY HAS OPTED TO FORGO HER READING IN THE LOUNGE THIS EVENING, BUT I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU ALL AT DINNER TO WISH HER BON VOYAGE. ‘SINCE FATE INSISTS ON SECRECY, I HAVE NO ARGUMENTS TO BRING — I QUARREL NOT WITH DESTINY. .’ CONGRATULATIONS, MACKINNEY!

— PROVOST

A few of the short-termers were huddled around it, in discussion. I nudged them aside to get a closer look. I read it four times, stunned by the phrasing of it at first, then nauseated by it. I thought of the provost in his study, winding the paper into his typewriter, arching his fingers to punch out every last untruthful letter. There was no mention of Mac’s sponsor, no hint of anything irregular.

‘Is it Matthew Arnold?’ said Gluck, behind me.

‘What?’

‘The quote. I think it’s Matthew Arnold.’

‘Great. That makes everything so much better. Excuse me—’ I pushed past him.

‘It’s going to be strange for you,’ he said as I went by. ‘You’re the only woman left. There’s Gülcan, I suppose, but she doesn’t really count. And Nazar.’ He tried to grab my arm, or I thought he did — I swung round to glare at him, but he was only reaching inside his sleeve for a handkerchief. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said, wiping his nose.

‘Gülcan’s been here longer than most of us. Watch your tone.’

‘Yes, of course. I didn’t mean any disrespect.’

‘Then you should try speaking less.’

He blenched, mopping his brow.

Everything was normal about the mess hall except for the fact that MacKinney was not there. Our table by the window was empty. The foil was still wrapped around the milk jug spout. The cutlery lay unmoved. Ender was preparing the juices near the serving pass. I asked if he had seen her but he stroked his moustache and shook his head. ‘I don’t think she has come yet. See, nobody touches the muesli.’

I went back out to the landing. Gluck was still there, studying the provost’s note. He did not apologise for his earlier remark. ‘I’ve been thinking more about this quote. Not Matthew Arnold. I think it’s part of an old villanelle, but I can’t recall the author. I’ll look it up for you.’

‘Don’t bother,’ I said.

‘It’s no trouble.’

‘If you really want to help me, tear it down.’ I could not stand the thought of Quickman and Pettifer discovering the news on a bulletin board — no warning, no context. The shock of it would play hell with Tif’s old heart. And the more I was forced to stare at it, the more it had the look of some crass letter of eviction.

‘I can’t,’ said Gluck. ‘That wouldn’t be right.’

‘Then get out of the way.’

I ripped the message from the board and hurried off along the corridor.

‘But how will I check the quote!’ Gluck called after me. ‘I haven’t written it down!’

Mac’s door was either stuck or locked when I got to her room. At first, she did not respond to my knocking, but soon her voice came through, muffled by the oak: ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Knell. Open up.’

‘I’m sleeping. Come back tomorrow.’

‘You’ll be gone by then. Let me in.’ I slid the provost’s notice under the door and waited.

Footsteps approached. I heard the locks turn and the door hinged back. MacKinney peered out at me. Without her glasses, her face seemed flatter, older, and there was an abraded quality to the skin about her eyes and cheeks, a dull red tension. There was a cigarette fuming in her mouth, and the ashy scent of it was wondrous. It belonged to faraway places: the front steps of buildings in Paddington, the grandstand at Kempton, the snug at The State Bar, my parents’ bedroom — everywhere I had known in my life beyond Portmantle. She blew the smoke brazenly through the doorway. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘Did I save any for Quickman, right? Well, let’s just see how well he behaves today.’ She moved her hair to show a couple more tucked behind her ears on each side. ‘He’s going to wet himself.’

‘How long’ve you been sitting on those?’

‘Ages,’ she said, dragging, exhaling. ‘I was waiting for a special occasion, but there’s not much point in that now, is there? They’re a bit stale.’ She bent to pick up the notice, scanned it for an instant, then stepped aside, holding the door open. ‘I wish he hadn’t mentioned the title of the play. I’m still undecided. What do you think of it? All Things at Once. ’

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, really — be honest.’ She locked us in.

‘I said it was fine.’

Her room was shadowed and airless. The curtains were shut, the bed unmade. Her wardrobe was gutted and her suitcase packed. On the bureau, her typewriter was stowed in its brown leather box with the label: PROPERTY OF PORTMANTLE. ‘Oh, I get it,’ she said. ‘You’re mad at me for not being mad.’ She perched tiredly on the foot of the bed. ‘Well, I thought it was quite sweet, what he wrote about me.’

‘Even if it isn’t true.’

‘There are some true bits. And what did you expect? A ten-page explanation?’ She drew on her cigarette, rubbing her fingertips. ‘At least he’s sending me off with some poetry. I quarrel not with destiny. Rather poignant, I’d say.’