J. Coetzee - The Schooldays of Jesus

‘Nor I,’ says Valentina. Alma is silent.

‘Aren’t you going to thank señora Consuelo and señora Valentina and señora Alma?’ says Inés.

‘Thank you,’ says the boy.

The next morning, instead of going to Modas Modernas, Inés accompanies them to the Academy. ‘Davíd says he wants to become a boarder here,’ she tells Ana Magdalena. ‘I don’t know who put the idea in his head, and I’m not asking you to tell. I just want to know: Do you have room for him?’

‘Is this true, Davíd? You want to board with us?’

‘Yes,’ says the boy.

‘And you are opposed, señora?’ says Ana Magdalena. ‘If you are opposed to the idea, why not simply say so?’

She is addressing Inés, but he, Simón, is the one who replies. ‘We don’t oppose this latest desire of his for the simple reason that we don’t have the strength,’ he says. ‘With us Davíd always gets his way, in the end. That is the kind of family we are: one master and two servants.’

Inés does not find this amusing. Nor does Ana Magdalena. But Davíd smiles serenely.

‘Girls like security,’ says Ana Magdalena, ‘but for boys it is different. For boys, some boys, leaving home is a great adventure. However, Davíd, I must warn you, if you come and live with us you won’t be master any longer. In our home señor Arroyo is the master and the boys and girls listen to what he says. Do you accept that?’

‘Yes,’ says the boy.

‘But just during the week,’ says Inés. ‘At weekends he comes home.’

‘I will write down a list of the things you should pack for him,’ says Ana Magdalena. ‘Don’t worry. If I see he is lonely and pining for his parents I will give you a call. Alyosha will keep an eye on him too. Alyosha is sensitive to such things.’

‘Alyosha,’ says he, Simón. ‘Who is Alyosha?’

‘Alyosha is the man who takes care of the boarders,’ says Inés. ‘I told you. Weren’t you listening?’

‘Alyosha is the young man who helps us,’ says Ana Magdalena. ‘He is a product of the Academy, so he knows our way of doing things. The boarders are his special responsibility. He takes his meals with them and has a room of his own off the dormitory. He is very sensitive, very good-natured, very sympathetic. I will introduce you to him.’

The transition from day student to boarder proves to be the simplest of matters. Inés buys a little suitcase into which they pack a few toiletries and changes of clothing. The boy adds Don Quixote . The next morning he matter-of-factly kisses Inés goodbye and marches off down the street with him, Simón, trailing behind carrying the suitcase.

Dmitri is, as usual, waiting at the door. ‘Aha, so the young master is coming to assume residence,’ says Dmitri, taking over the suitcase. ‘A great day, to be sure. A day for singing and dancing and killing the fatted calf.’

‘Goodbye, my boy,’ says he, Simón. ‘Be good, and I will see you on Friday.’

‘I am good,’ says the boy. ‘I am always good.’

He watches as Dmitri and the boy disappear up the staircase. Then, on an impulse, he follows. He arrives in the studio in time to catch a glimpse of the boy trotting off to the interior reaches of the apartment, holding Ana Magdalena’s hand. A feeling of loss rolls through him like a fog. Tears come, which he tries in vain to hide.

Dmitri puts a consoling arm around his shoulder. ‘Be calm,’ says Dmitri.

Instead of being calm he bursts into sobs. Dmitri draws him to his breast; he offers no resistance. He allows himself a huge sob, another, a third, inhaling with deep, shuddering breaths the smells of tobacco smoke and serge. Letting go , he thinks: I am letting go. It is excusable, in a father.

Then the time for tears is over. He pulls himself free, clears his throat, whispers a word that is meant to be a word of gratitude but comes forth as a kind of gargle, and rushes down the stairs.

At home, that evening, he tells Inés of the episode, an episode that in retrospect seems stranger and stranger — more than strange, bizarre.

‘I don’t know what got into me,’ he says. ‘After all, it is not as if the child is being taken away and locked up in a prison. If he feels lonely, if he doesn’t get along with this Alyosha man, he can, as Ana Magdalena says, be home in half an hour. So why was I so heartbroken? And in front of Dmitri, of all people! Dmitri!’

But Inés’ mind is elsewhere. ‘I should have packed his warm pyjamas,’ she says. ‘If I give them to you, will you take them tomorrow?’

Next morning he hands over to Dmitri the pyjamas in a brown paper packet with Davíd’s name written on it. ‘Warm clothing, from Inés,’ he says. ‘Don’t give it to Davíd himself, he is too scatterbrained. Give it to Ana Magdalena, or better, give it to the young man who looks after the boarders.’

‘Alyosha. I will give it to him without fail.’

‘Inés frets that Davíd might be cold at night. That is her nature — to fret. By the way, let me apologize for the spectacle I made of myself yesterday. I don’t know what got into me.’

‘It was love,’ says Dmitri. ‘You love the boy. It broke your heart to see him turn his back on you like that.’

‘Turn his back? You misunderstand. Davíd is not turning his back on us. Far from it. Boarding at the Academy is just temporary, a whim of his, an experiment. When he gets bored with it, or unhappy, he will come home again.’

‘Parents always feel heartsore when their young flee the nest,’ says Dmitri. ‘It’s natural. You have a soft heart, I can see that. I have a soft heart too, despite the rough exterior. No need to be ashamed. It is our nature, yours and mine. It is how we were born. We are softies.’ He grins. ‘Not like that Inés of yours. Un corazón de cuero .’

‘You have no idea what you are talking about,’ he says stiffly. ‘There has never been a more devoted mother than Inés.’

‘ Un corazón de cuero ,’ repeats Dmitri. ‘A heart of leather. If you don’t believe me, wait and see.’

He stretches out the day’s bicycle round for as long as he can, pedalling slowly, dawdling on street corners. The evening yawns before him like a desert. He finds a bar and orders a vino de paja , the rough wine he acquired a taste for on the farm. By the time he leaves he is feeling pleasantly befuddled. But before long the oppressive gloom returns. I must find something to do! he tells himself. One cannot live like this, killing time!

Un corazón de cuero . If anyone is hard of heart it is Davíd, not Inés. Of Inés’ love for the child, and his own, there can be no doubt. But is it good for the child that, out of love, they give in so easily to his wishes? Maybe in the institutions of society there resides a blind wisdom. Maybe, instead of treating the boy like a little prince, they should return him to the public schools and let his teachers tame him, turn him into a social animal.

His head aching, he returns to the apartment, shuts himself in his room, and falls asleep. When he wakes it is evening and Inés is home.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I was exhausted, I haven’t made supper.’

‘I have already eaten,’ says Inés.

In the weeks that follow, the fragility of their domestic set-up becomes more and more apparent. Simply put, with the child gone there is no reason why Inés and he should be living together. They have nothing to say to each other; they have next to nothing in common. Inés fills in the silences with chatter about Modas Modernas to which he barely listens. When he is not on his bicycle rounds he keeps to his room, reading the newspaper or dozing. He does not shop, does not cook. Inés begins staying out late, he presumes with Claudia, though she offers no information. Only during the boy’s weekend visits is there any semblance of family life.