David Storey - Saville

‘How many pennies in a pound, then, Stephens?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Stephens said and shook his head.

‘You don’t know, boy? For God’s sake, how did you get into this school? A five-year-old child could tell me that.’

Stephens bowed his head; he began to cry.

‘Don’t blub , Stephens,’ Hodges said. ‘I’m asking you a reasonable question. There’s not one person in this class who couldn’t answer it.’

Several hands went up.

‘Saville: can I have your record book?’ he said.

He got out the book from his inside pocket, saw that Hodges expected him to walk down to his desk, and stepped out in the aisle.

‘In your own time, Saville, of course. I can hardly expect your efforts to be directed to the convenience of someone else.’ He glanced at Stephens. ‘While I’m inscribing Saville’s record for impertinence it will give you, Stephens, several vital seconds in which to work out a suitable answer. And by suitable I mean of course, since our subject, I believe, is mathematics, a correct one. Have you understood that, Stephens?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Stephens said. He bowed his head.

‘The principle of learning, Saville, isn’t that one should learn on behalf of someone else, but that one should do such learning as is required, in this establishment at least, on a wholly personal basis. How is one to learn anything if there is someone sitting behind you who is content to do it for you?’ He opened the book. ‘I see you have a good record here. Geography, from Mr Hepworth. That’s hardly a creditable first term’s work.’ He wrote in red in the opposite column, the gesture exaggerated slightly to demonstrate his displeasure to the class. He blotted the book and then, not glancing at him but holding it out sideways and gazing absorbedly at Stephens, added, ‘And what conclusion have you come to, Stephens?’

Only after a moment was Hodges aware of the book still in his hand.

Stephens gave his answer, repeated it louder at Hodges’s insistence, then the master said, ‘You may have your book back now, Saville.’

‘Thank you sir,’ he said.

‘Saville: would you come back here, boy,’ Hodges said.

Colin turned in the aisle, saw the redness rising, slowly, round Hodges’s eyes, and went back to the desk.

‘I’ve noticed my blandishments, Saville, carry very little weight. I detect an insolence in your manner which, the more I attempt to accommodate it, grows, it seems to me, from day to day. I shall ask the headmaster to speak to you. For one day at least I’ve had enough of your face. You’ll put your work away and go and stand outside the door.’

He replaced his books inside his desk, closed the lid and, without glancing at the others, crossed to the classroom door, opened it and stepped outside. The corridor was empty. He closed the door behind him.

He leant against the wall. An older boy went past. He glanced back at him down the length of the corridor, then, still gazing back, went on up the stairs at the opposite end.

The drone of a master’s voice came from the classroom opposite. He could hear Hodges’s voice coming quietly from the room behind, the occasional voice of a boy answering a question, the scraping of a chair, a desk. Other voices drifted down from adjacent rooms. He could hear the roar of a lorry passing in the road outside.

The door to the office opened; the secretary came out: her face reddened, almost cheerful, she started down the corridor past him. She carried several papers beneath her arm.

‘Have you been sent out?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Is that Mr Hodges’s class?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

She nodded, adjusted the papers beneath her arm, and went on down the corridor to the masters’ common-room at the opposite end.

She re-appeared a few moments later, walking past without a gesture, her shoes echoing on the stone-flagged floor.

She went back inside her room and closed the door.

The school was silent. He could hear, from the farthest distance, the sound of a master’s voice raised in anger, the calling of a name.

Laughter came from the room behind, then the sharp, hissing call of, ‘Sir, sir!’ as Hodges waited for an answer.

Some further laughter came a moment later.

The door opened; a boy came out, glanced across, then went on down the corridor and out of the school door.

He came back a few moments later and went back in.

Colin waited. He tapped his feet slowly against the stone-flagged floor; he pushed himself gently against the wall.

The sound of footsteps descending came from the stairs at the nearest end.

A tall, gowned figure appeared in the corridor, silhouetted for a moment against the light. A face came into view, thickboned, large-featured; the hair above was short and dark: it stood on end and projected forwards over a massive brow. A heavy, broad-knuckled hand gripped several books.

Colin moved back to the door and stood beside it, his hands behind his back.

‘What are you doing here?’ the master said. He smelled of tobacco; his teeth were large and irregularly set inside his mouth.

‘I’ve been sent out. For insolence,’ he said.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Saville.’

‘What class is it?’

‘Arithmetic,’ he said.

‘That’s Mr Hodges’s, I suppose,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

The man had paused.

‘And what insolence is it, Saville?’

‘For telling someone else an answer.’

The master gazed down at him for a while, then shook his head.

‘We don’t care for insolence here,’ he said. ‘It gets you nowhere, and if you’re missing a class you’re missing out on work as well.’

‘Yes.’

The man had frowned.

‘Stand up from that wall,’ he said.

He stepped past him quickly and opened the door.

Hodges, caught in the midst of some appeal, had paused.

‘There’s a boy out here who says he’s been sent out for insolence,’ he said. There was silence in the room beyond.

‘That’s perfectly correct, Mr Gannen,’ Hodges said, his voice instructional, as if he were speaking on behalf of everyone in the room as well.

‘I’d like to add to that, Mr Hodges, loutish behaviour,’ the master said. ‘I find him standing here as if he’d been sent out specifically to prop up the building.’ He turned to Colin. ‘Shoulders back, chin in, hands behind your back,’ he called.

‘I expect one or two people are going to see him standing there, Mr Gannen,’ Hodges said. ‘I’m glad you’ve brought an additonal impertinence to my notice.’

‘I’ll be passing along again in one or two seconds,’ the master said. ‘I’ll keep my eye on him and anyone else, for that matter, who thinks it’s for wholly recreational purposes that he’s sent outside.’

He closed the door.

A murmur came from the room behind.

‘One foot from the wall,’ the master said.

He adjusted the books beneath his arm and, without glancing back, went down to the common-room at the opposite end. The door was closed.

The room behind fell silent; faintly came the drone of Hodges’s voice.

The door to the office suddenly opened.

The headmaster came out, glanced down the corridor, then went out of the door at the nearest end.

The door slammed shut.

Another boy went past.

A desk lid was banged in the room behind.

His shoulders ached.

A boy came out of the classroom opposite the office, went into the office, then came out with a bell.

He came along the corridor to ring it.

There was a shuffling of feet in the room behind. A door down the corridor suddenly opened: figures hurried out.

Hodges appeared at the door behind.