J. Coetzee: The Childhood of Jesus

After crossing oceans, a man and a boy arrive in a new land. Here they are each assigned a name and an age, and held in a camp in the desert while they learn Spanish, the language of their new country. As Simón and David they make their way to the relocation centre in the city of Novilla, where officialdom treats them politely but not necessarily helpfully.

Simón finds a job in a grain wharf. The work is unfamiliar and backbreaking, but he soon warms to his stevedore comrades, who during breaks conduct philosophical dialogues on the dignity of labour, and generally take him to their hearts.

Now he must set about his task of locating the boy’s mother. Though like everyone else who arrives in this new country he seems to be washed clean of all traces of memory, he is convinced he will know her when he sees her. And indeed, while walking with the boy in the countryside Simón catches sight of a woman he is certain is the mother, and persuades her to assume the role.

David’s new mother comes to realise that he is an exceptional child, a bright, dreamy boy with highly unusual ideas about the world. But the school authorities detect a rebellious streak in him and insist he be sent to a special school far away. His mother refuses to yield him up, and it is Simón who must drive the car as the trio flees across the mountains.

The Childhood of Jesus is a profound, beautiful and continually surprising novel from a very great writer.

J.M. Coetzee’s work includes Waiting For the Barbarians, Life & Times of Michael K, Boyhood, Youth, Summertime, Disgrace and Diary of a Bad Year . He was the first author to win the Booker Prize twice and was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2003.

The man at the gate points them towards a low, sprawling building in the middle distance. ‘If you hurry,’ he says, ‘you can check in before they close their doors for the day.’

They hurry. Centro de Reubicación Novilla , says the sign. Reubicación : what does that mean? Not a word he has learned.

The office is large and empty. Hot too — even hotter than outside. At the far end a wooden counter runs the width of the room, partitioned by panes of frosted glass. Against the wall is an array of filing drawers in varnished wood.

Suspended over one of the partitions is a sign: Recién Llegados , the words stencilled in black on a rectangle of cardboard. The clerk behind the counter, a young woman, greets him with a smile.

‘Good day,’ he says. ‘We are new arrivals.’ He articulates the words slowly, in the Spanish he has worked hard to master. ‘I am looking for employment, also for a place to live.’ He grips the boy under the armpits and lifts him so that she can see him properly. ‘I have a child with me.’

The girl reaches out to take the boy’s hand. ‘Hello, young man!’ she says. ‘He is your grandson?’

‘Not my grandson, not my son, but I am responsible for him.’

‘A place to live.’ She glances at her papers. ‘We have a room free here at the Centre that you can use while you look for something better. It won’t be luxurious, but perhaps you won’t mind that. As for employment, let us explore that in the morning — you look tired, I am sure you want to rest. Have you travelled far?’

‘We have been on the road all week. We have come from Belstar, from the camp. Are you familiar with Belstar?’

‘Yes, I know Belstar well. I came through Belstar myself. Is that where you learned your Spanish?’

‘We had lessons every day for six weeks.’

‘Six weeks? You are lucky. I was in Belstar for three months. I almost perished of boredom. The only thing that kept me going was the Spanish lessons. Did you by any chance have señora Piñera as a teacher?’

‘No, our teacher was a man.’ He hesitates. ‘May I raise a different matter? My boy’ — he glances at the child — ‘is not well. Partly it is because he is upset, confused and upset, and hasn’t been eating properly. He found the food in the camp strange, didn’t like it. Is there anywhere we can get a proper meal?’

‘How old is he?’

‘Five. That is the age he was given.’

‘And you say he is not your grandson.’

‘Not my grandson, not my son. We are not related. Here’ — he takes the two passbooks from his pocket and proffers them.

She inspects the passbooks. ‘These were issued in Belstar?’

‘Yes. That is where they gave us our names, our Spanish names.’

She leans over the counter. ‘David — that’s a nice name,’ she says. ‘Do you like your name, young man?’

The boy regards her levelly but does not reply. What does she see? A slim, pale-faced child wearing a woollen coat buttoned to the throat, grey shorts covering his knees, black lace-up boots over woollen socks, and a cloth cap at a slant.

‘Don’t you find those clothes very hot? Would you like to take off your coat?’

The boy shakes his head.

He intervenes. ‘The clothes are from Belstar. He chose them himself, from what they had to offer. He has become quite attached to them.’

‘I understand. I asked because he seemed a bit warmly dressed for a day like today. Let me mention: we have a depository here at the Centre where people donate clothing that their children have outgrown. It is open every morning on weekdays. You are welcome to help yourself. You will find more variety than at Belstar.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Also, once you have filled in all the necessary forms you can draw money on your passbook. You have a settlement allowance of four hundred reals. The boy too. Four hundred each.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Now let me show you to your room.’ She leans across and whispers to the woman at the next counter, the counter labelled Trabajos . The woman pulls open a drawer, rummages in it, shakes her head.

‘A slight hitch,’ says the girl. ‘We don’t seem to have the key to your room. It must be with the building supervisor. The supervisor’s name is señora Weiss. Go to Building C. I will draw you a map. When you find señora Weiss, ask her to give you the key to C-55. Tell her that Ana from the main office sent you.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier to give us another room?’

‘Unfortunately C-55 is the only room that is free.’

‘And food?’

‘Food?’

‘Yes. Is there somewhere we can eat?’

‘Again, speak to señora Weiss. She should be able to help you.’

‘Thank you. One last question: Are there organizations here that specialize in bringing people together?’

‘Bringing people together?’

‘Yes. There must surely be many people searching for family members. Are there organizations that help to bring families together — families, friends, lovers?’

‘No, I’ve never heard of such an organization.’

Partly because he is tired and disoriented, partly because the map the girl has sketched for him is not clear, partly because there are no signposts, it takes him a long time to find Building C and the office of señora Weiss. The door is closed. He knocks. There is no reply.

He stops a passer-by, a tiny woman with a pointy, mouse-like face wearing the chocolate-coloured uniform of the Centre. ‘I am looking for señora Weiss,’ he says.

‘She’s off,’ says the young woman, and when he does not understand: ‘Off for the day. Come back in the morning.’

‘Then perhaps you can help us. We are looking for the key to room C-55.’