Naomi Alderman - The Lessons

Time passed. At 3 p.m. Dr Strong knocked on the door, half-smiled and held out his hand for my script. As I stood to leave, he cleared his throat.

‘How is your, ahem?’ he said.

‘My …’

He motioned to my leg.

‘How is it these days?’

‘Oh!’ I was startled that Dr Strong had taken any notice of me. ‘It’s, um, it’s sort of settled down. I sometimes have to use my stick, but often it’s all right. At least it doesn’t hurt all the time any more. Only if I knock it.’

‘Ahhh-aa,’ said Dr Strong.

He beamed at me and we stood in silence for a few moments. I was unsure whether I was meant to respond any further or leave quietly.

At last I said, ‘Well, I should be off.’

Dr Strong nodded.

‘Mind out with your, ahm, your, ahm, mind out on the stairs. They’re steep,’ he said.

Downstairs, still slightly dazed from the exam, I went to the lodge to check my pigeonhole. Next to the glass-panelled room where the porters sat doing their crosswords was the tiled antechamber lined from floor to ceiling with dark-wood pigeonholes. The room smelled, for some reason, unpleasantly of sweat. I riffled through the Sr — St section, pulling out the few letters addressed to me. Among them was a pale green envelope with the St Benet’s crest. It was a note from Father Hugh.

Dear James,

I have a small matter I hope to discuss with you. Nothing that need be in the least alarming. Do pop by for a sherry — I should be in any weekday from 4 p.m. to 6 p.m.

My very best wishes,

Fr Hugh

I had nothing else to do so I walked over. Father Hugh appeared entirely delighted with my presence, gave me sherry and offered me a seat. I sat. I drank. The sherry was very good. Father Hugh sat down, spreading his legs a little wider than I was entirely comfortable with, although nothing untoward was visible.

‘I’m so glad you could come,’ he said. ‘How are things?’

‘Oh,’ I said, ‘not too bad.’

I suddenly wondered if he was going to make a pass at me. One did hear things, even then, about Catholic priests.

‘My girlfriend,’ I continued swiftly, ‘is in the University Orchestra. She was rehearsing a lot last term, but …’ I struggled to think of a way to finish this sentence that didn’t alert Father Hugh to my having had no reason to start it, ‘not so much this term,’ I concluded.

‘Mmm, girlfriend,’ said Father Hugh, ‘I sometimes wonder if you students settle down too early, but I suppose —’ he took a sip of sherry — ‘better too early than too late.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ I said.

‘Well, James,’ said Father Hugh, ‘I wonder how you think things are with our mutual friend.’

I pushed my lips out noncommittally.

‘I suppose you should ask him that,’ I said.

‘Yes, yes, quite,’ said Father Hugh, leaning forward, ‘but you know I always say: one gets the best reflection from still water.’

‘Is it Mark’s mother who wants to know?’ I said. I did not like this way of handling things.

Father Hugh steepled his fingertips.

‘We’re all concerned about Mark, James. All of us here at Benet’s, Mark’s family … I sometimes think … well —’ he leaned forward confidentially — ‘I sometimes think it was a mistake to take him out of Ampleforth. I met him several times when he was a young boy, you know. Such a happy child, and of course his family have so many friends. You know it was my predecessor, Father Anthony, who arranged his parents’ annulment. So sad. It affected Mark, of course it would. But I wonder if he would have been better left where he was instead of being dragged off across the world. He needs stability, James.’

‘He has stability,’ I said. ‘We’re stable. We’re his friends.’

‘Ah yes, friends,’ said Father Hugh, ‘but you can’t, forgive me, live in that house with him forever, can you? And then where will he go?’

I shrugged. The question seemed ridiculous to me. Where would any of us go? We’d get jobs and rent flats and hope that we could find someone to love us forever and raise a family or at least pursue our careers. Nothing was certain, everything was possible.

‘I shouldn’t think Mark would ever have trouble making friends,’ I said.

Father Hugh drank a little more sherry.

‘Yes, I suspect you are correct there, James. He is a very charming young man. He has certainly made an impression here at Benet’s. I suppose you know, though, that he is not quite stable?’

He spoke the last words quickly, fixing me with his gaze to give me to understand that they were not lightly spoken. It was certainly more than I’d ever heard anyone else in Mark’s life say.

I looked around the room. Over the cold marble fireplace hung another of those graphic and discomfiting figures of the dying Jesus. The limbs were tortured, straining to get away from the nails, the mangled hands curled around the wounds. Again and again, this same loving attention to the lineaments of suffering and the life lived, the death attained, only for others.

Father Hugh stirred in his chair. I could feign ignorance and probably be met with pretended ignorance in return. But what, I thought, if it would be better for Mark if I were to know more than he was willing to tell me? What then?

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘he told me a little about that.’

Father Hugh leaned back in his chair, magnanimous.

‘Ah, I am pleased to hear,’ he said, ‘pleased indeed to hear that he is sharing his worries. No one, of course, would want him to return to the care of a clinic, but for his own protection we must know if his behaviour becomes truly erratic. You understand? High spirits are one thing, but several years ago he became …’ Father Hugh paused, staring past me out of the window to the leaf-blown quad beyond, ‘he became violent, aggressive. We feared he would do damage to himself. And his behaviour was often … inappropriate. Do you understand?’

I said nothing.

‘Can I trust you to be a friend to Mark, James?’

‘I am his friend,’ I said.

‘Good,’ said Father Hugh, ‘then we can pass to the second order of business. Isabella has sent me a gift for you.’

He leapt to his feet, bounded over to the bookcase and retrieved a large brown-paper-wrapped parcel which he deposited in my lap.

‘Oh!’ I said. ‘Shall I …?’

‘Yes, yes, go on. Open it. I understand you had a rather clumsy incident last year, but the damage has been fully repaired. Isabella has decided to make you a gift of it.’

I tore open the brown paper, already half knowing what was inside. It was the music box, gold and glass and glint, restored to pristine working order. There was a small white card inside with Isabella’s name, her address and her numbers in Rome and Los Angeles.

‘I can’t take this,’ I said.

‘Oh, but you must,’ said Father Hugh. ‘After all, you’re a friend of Mark’s, just as we said.’

At home, in the privacy of my bedroom, I opened the music box and heard it play again the familiar twanging chords of ‘Au Clair de la Lune’. The little gears turned, the tiny raised bumps pulled up the metal teeth and let them fall back. I shut the lid, quieting the sound. It seemed miraculous that the thing could have been made whole. It must have taken months of work to repair it. I removed the card and put it into my desk drawer.

I knocked on the door of Mark’s room. He was in, sleeping off a hangover. He answered the door in pyjama bottoms, topless. I held out the parcel to him.

‘Father Hugh gave me this,’ I said. ‘It’s from your mother. I think it’s meant for you — a late birthday present, I expect.’

He looked at the music box. I don’t know what I’d expected. A histrionic outburst perhaps, a repetition. Instead his lip curled.