J. Coetzee: The Childhood of Jesus

‘Bolívar,’ says the young man. ‘That’s an unusual name. And what is your name?’

‘I haven’t got a name. I’ve still got to get my name.’

‘Then I’ll call you señor Anónimo,’ says the young man. ‘Greetings, señor Anónimo, I am Juan.’ He holds out a hand, which the boy ignores. ‘Why are you wearing a cloak?’

‘It’s magic. It makes me invisible. I’m invisible.’

He interrupts. ‘David has had an accident, and we are taking him to a doctor. I am afraid we can give you a ride only as far as Nueva Esperanza.’

‘That’s OK.’

‘I burned my hand,’ says the boy. ‘We are going to get medicine.’

‘Is it sore?’

‘Yes.’

‘I like your glasses. I wish I had glasses like that.’

‘You can have them.’

After a chilly early-morning ride on the back of a truck carrying timber, their passenger is glad of the warmth and comfort of the car. From his chatter it emerges that he is in the printing trade, and is making his way to Estrellita, where he has friends and where, if rumour is to be believed, there is plenty of work to be had.

At the turn-off to Nueva Esperanza he stops to let the newcomer off.

‘Are we at the doctor?’ asks the boy.

‘Not yet. This is where we part company with our friend. He is going to continue his journey northward.’

‘No! He must stay with us!’

He addresses Juan. ‘We can drop you here or else you can come into the town with us. The choice is yours.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

They find the surgery without difficulty. Dr García is out on a house call, the nurse informs them, but they are welcome to wait.

‘I’ll go and look for breakfast,’ says Juan.

‘No, you mustn’t go,’ says the boy. ‘You will get lost.’

‘I won’t get lost,’ says Juan. His hand is on the doorknob.

‘Stay, I command you!’ the boy barks out.

‘David!’ he, Simón, reproves the child. ‘What has got into you this morning? You don’t speak to a stranger like that!’

‘He is not a stranger. And don’t call me David.’

‘What must I call you then?’

‘You must call me by my real name.’

‘And what may that be?’

The boy is silent.

He addresses Juan. ‘Feel free to go exploring. We will meet you here.’

‘No, I think I’ll stay,’ says Juan.

The doctor makes his appearance, a short, burly man with an energetic air and a mass of silvery hair. He gazes upon them with mock alarm. ‘What is this? And a dog too! What can I do for all of you?’

‘I burned my hand,’ says the boy. ‘The lady put butter on it, but it is still sore.’

‘Let me look. . Yes, yes. . It must be painful. Come into the surgery and we will see what we can do.’

‘Doctor, the hand is not why we are here,’ says Inés. ‘We had an accident last night with a fire, and now my son can’t see properly. Will you examine his eyes?’

‘No!’ cries the boy, rising to confront Inés. The dog rouses himself too, pads across the room, and takes his place at the boy’s side. ‘I keep telling you, I can see, only you can’t see me because of the magic cloak of invisibility. It makes me invisible.’

‘Can I have a look?’ says Dr García. ‘Will your guardian let me?’

The boy lays a restraining hand on the dog’s collar.

The doctor lifts the dark glasses off the boy’s nose. ‘Can you see me now?’ he asks.

‘You are tiny, tiny, like an ant, and you are waving your arms and saying, Can you see me now? ’

‘Aha, I get the picture. You are invisible and none of us can see you. But you also have a sore hand, which happens not to be invisible. So shall you and I go into my surgery, and will you let me look at the hand — look at the visible part of you?’

‘All right.’

‘Shall I come too?’ says Inés.

‘In a little while,’ says the doctor. ‘First the young man and I must have a private word.’

‘Bolívar must come with me,’ says the boy.

‘Bolívar may come with you as long as he behaves himself,’ says the doctor.

‘What actually happened to your son?’ asks Juan, when they are alone.

‘His name is David. He was playing with magnesium, and it caught fire and the flash blinded him.’

‘He says his name isn’t David.’

‘He says many things. He has a fertile imagination. David is the name he was given in Belstar. If he wants to take on some other name, let him do so.’

‘You came through Belstar? I came through Belstar too.’

‘Then you know how the system works. The names we use are the names we were given there, but we might just as well have been given numbers. Numbers, names — they are equally arbitrary, equally random, equally unimportant.’

‘Actually, there are no random numbers,’ says Juan. ‘You say, “Think of a random number,” and I say, “96513,” because that is the first number that comes into my head, but it isn’t really random, it’s my Asistencia number or my old telephone number or something like that. There is always a reason behind a number.’

‘So you are another of the number mystics! You and David should set up a school together. You can teach the secret causes behind numbers and he can teach people how to get from one number to the next without falling down a volcano. Of course there are no random numbers under the eye of God . But we don’t live under the eye of God. In the world we live in there are random numbers and random names and random events, like being picked up at random by a car containing a man and a woman and a child named David. And a dog. What was the secret cause behind that event, do you think?’

Before Juan can reply to his rant the door to the surgery is thrown open. ‘Please come in,’ says Dr García.

He and Inés enter. Juan hesitates, but the clear young voice of the boy rises from inside: ‘He is my brother, he must come too.’

The boy is sitting on the edge of the doctor’s couch, a smile of serene confidence on his lips, the dark glasses perched on top of his head.

‘We had a good, long talk, our young friend and I,’ says Dr García. ‘He explained to me how it comes about that he is invisible to us, and I explained to him why it is that we look to him like insects waving our feelers in the air while he flies high above. I have told him that we would prefer it if he would see us as we really are, not as insects, and in return he has told me that when he returns to visibility he would like us to see him as he really is. Is that a fair account, young man, of our conversation?’

The boy nods.

‘Our young friend says furthermore that you’ — he looks meaningfully at him, Simón — ‘are not his real father, and you’ — he turns to Inés — ‘are not his real mother. I do not ask you to defend yourselves. I have a family of my own, I know children can say wild things. Nonetheless, is there anything you would like to tell me?’

‘I am his true mother,’ says Inés, ‘and we are saving him from being sent to a reformatory school where he will be turned into a criminal.’

Having said her say, she shuts her lips and glares defiantly.

‘And his eyes, Doctor?’ he, Simón, inquires.

‘There is nothing wrong with his eyes. I have conducted a physical examination and I have tested his vision. As organs of sight his eyes are perfectly normal. As for his hand, I have put on a dressing. The burn is not serious, it will show improvement in a day or two. Now let me ask: Should I be concerned about the story this young man tells me?’

He glances at Inés. ‘You should pay due heed to whatever the boy says. If he says he wants to be taken away from us and returned to Novilla, return him to Novilla. He is your patient, in your care.’ He turns to the boy. ‘Is that what you want, David?’