J. Coetzee - The Childhood of Jesus

‘There. I have said it. Please don’t answer at once. Reflect.’

In silence, in the gathering dusk, they turn back to the apartment. Inés strides ahead. She is clearly cross, or upset: she will not so much as look at him. He blames Elena for putting him up to it, blames himself too. What a crude way of offering oneself! As if he were offering to fix the plumbing!

He catches up with her, takes her by the arm, turns her to face him. ‘That was unforgiveable,’ he says. ‘I am sorry. Please forgive me.’

She does not speak. Like a thing carved in wood she stands, her arms at her sides, waiting for him to let go. He loosens his grip and she stumbles away.

From the window high above he hears the boy call: ‘Inés! Simón! Come! Señor Daga is here! Señor Daga is here!’

He curses under his breath. If she was expecting Daga, why did she not warn him? What does she see in the man anyhow, with his cocky swagger and his smell of pomade and his flat, nasal voice?

Señor Daga has not come alone. With him is his pretty girlfriend, wearing a white dress with flounces in startling red, and heavy earrings in the shape of chariot wheels that sway as she moves. Inés greets her with frosty reserve. As for Daga, he seems quite at home in the apartment, lounging on the bed, doing nothing to put the girl at ease.

‘Señor Daga wants us to go dancing,’ announces the boy. ‘Can we go dancing?’

‘We are due at La Residencia tonight. You know that.’

‘I don’t want to go to La Residencia! It’s boring! I want to go dancing!’

‘You can’t go dancing. You are too young.’

‘I can dance! I’m not too young! I’ll show you.’ And he whirls around the floor, stepping lightly and not without grace in his soft blue shoes. ‘There! Do you see?’

‘We are not going dancing,’ says Inés firmly. ‘Diego is coming to fetch us, and we are going with him to La Residencia.’

‘Then señor Daga and Frannie must come too!’

‘Señor Daga has plans of his own. You can’t expect him to abandon his plans and follow us.’ She speaks as if Daga were not in the room. ‘Besides, as you know only too well, they don’t allow visitors at La Residencia.’

‘I am a visitor,’ objects the boy. ‘They allow me.’

‘Yes, but you are different. You are my child. You are the light of my life.’

The light of my life . What a surprising thing to say in front of strangers!

Now Diego makes his appearance, and the other brother too, the one who never opens his mouth. Inés greets them with relief. ‘We are ready. David, fetch your things.’

‘No!’ says the boy. ‘I don’t want to go. I want to have a party. Can we have a party?’

‘There is no time for a party, and we don’t have anything to offer our guests.’

‘That’s not true! We’ve got wine! In the kitchen!’ And in a trice he has clambered onto the kitchen dresser and is reaching for the top shelf. ‘See!’ he shouts, displaying the bottle triumphantly. ‘We’ve got wine!’

Blushing scarlet, Inés tries to take the bottle from him — ‘It’s not wine, it’s sherry,’ she says — but he evades her. ‘Who wants wine? Who wants wine?’ he chants.

‘Me!’ says Diego; and ‘Me!’ says the silent brother. They are laughing, both of them, at their sister’s discomfiture. Señor Daga joins in. ‘And me!’

There are not enough drinking vessels for all six of them, so the boy goes around the circle with the bottle and a tumbler, pouring sherry for each of them and waiting solemnly for the tumbler to be drained.

He comes to Inés. With a frown she motions the glass away. ‘You must!’ commands the boy. ‘I am the king tonight, and I order that you must!’

Inés takes a ladylike sip.

‘Now me,’ announces the boy, and before anyone can stop him he raises the bottle to his lips and takes a hearty swig. For an instant he gazes triumphantly around the assembly. Then he chokes, coughs, splutters. ‘It’s horrible!’ he gasps. The bottle drops from his hand; deftly señor Daga rescues it.

Diego and his brother fall about laughing. ‘What ails thee, gentle King?’ cries Diego. ‘Canst thou not hold thy liquor?’

The boy recovers his breath. ‘More!’ he cries. ‘More wine!’

If Inés is not going to act, then it is time for him, Simón, to step in. ‘Enough of that!’ he says. ‘It is late, David, time for our guests to leave.’

‘No!’ says the boy. ‘It’s not late! I want to play a game. I want to play Who Am I?’

‘Who Am I?’ says Daga. ‘How do you play that?’

‘You have to pretend you are someone and then everyone has to guess who you are. Last time I pretended I was Bolívar and Diego guessed it at once, didn’t you, Diego?’

‘And what is the penalty?’ asks Daga. ‘What penalty do you pay if we guess right?’

The boy seems nonplussed.

‘The way we used to play in the old days,’ says Daga, ‘is if we guess right you have to tell a secret, your most cherished secret.’

The boy is silent.

‘We have to leave, there is no more time for games,’ says Inés feebly.

‘No!’ says the boy. ‘I want to play another game. I want to play Truth or Consequences.’

‘That sounds better,’ says Daga. ‘Tell us how you play Truth or Consequences.’

‘I ask a question and you have to answer and you can’t lie, you have to tell the truth. If you don’t tell the truth you have to pay a penalty. All right? I’ll start. Diego, is your bum clean?’

Silence falls. The second brother grows red in the face, then explodes in a great snort of laughter. The boy laughs delightedly, and whirls around in a dance. ‘Come on!’ he shouts. ‘Truth or Consequences!’

‘Just one round,’ concedes Inés. ‘And no more rude questions.’

‘No rude questions,’ agrees the boy. ‘It’s my turn again. My question goes’ — he looks around the room, from one face to another — ‘my question goes to. . Inés! Inés, who do you like most in the world?’

‘You. I like you most.’

‘No, not me! Which man do you like most in the world, to make a baby in your tummy?’

There is silence. Inés is tight-lipped.

‘Do you like him or him or him or him?’ the boy asks, pointing in turn at the four men in the room.

He, Simón, the fourth man, intervenes. ‘No rude questions,’ he says. ‘That was a rude question. A woman doesn’t make a baby with her brother.’

‘Why not?’

‘She just doesn’t. There is no why.’

‘There is a why! I can ask any question I like! It’s in the game. Do you want Diego to make a baby inside you, Inés? Or do you want Stefano?’

For Inés’s sake he intervenes again. ‘That’s enough!’

Diego stands up. ‘Let’s go,’ he says.

‘No!’ says the boy. ‘Truth or Consequences! Who do you like most, Inés?’

Diego turns to his sister. ‘Say something, say anything.’

Inés is silent.

‘Inés doesn’t want to have anything to do with men,’ says Diego. ‘There, you have your answer. She doesn’t want any of us. She wants to be free. Now let’s go.’

‘Is that true?’ says the boy to Inés. ‘It’s not true, is it? You promised I could have a brother.’

Once more he intervenes. ‘Only one question each, David. That is the rule. You asked your question, and you got your answer. As Diego says, Inés doesn’t want any of us.’

‘But I want a brother! I don’t want to be the only son! It’s boring!’

‘If you really want a brother, go out and find one yourself. Start with Fidel. Take Fidel as your brother. Brothers don’t all have to come out of the same womb. Start a brotherhood of your own.’

‘I don’t know what a brotherhood is.’