J. Coetzee - The Schooldays of Jesus

‘We are sometimes called on when we least expect it,’ he says.

‘I understand what you are saying,’ she says, ‘but it is too much for me.’

He takes the three pages from her hand and stows them in his bag. ‘Goodbye,’ he says. ‘Thank you again.’

There are two things that can happen now. One is that nothing will happen. The other is that señora Martina will have a change of heart and track him down to his room, where he will be lying on his bed of an afternoon listening to the radio, and say, Very well, Simón, enlighten me: say what it is that you want from me. He gives her three days.

Three days pass. Señora Martina does not knock at his door. Clearly it is the first thing that has happened: nothing.

His room, which was painted long ago in a depressing egg-yolk colour, has never grown to become a home to him. The aged couple from whom he rents it keep their distance, for which he is grateful, but there are nights when, through the flimsy walls, he can hear the man, who has something wrong with him, coughing and coughing.

He haunts the corridors of the Institute. He attends a short course on cooking, looking for ways to enrich his dull diet; but the dishes the instructor discusses require an oven, and he does not have an oven. He emerges with nothing to show but the little tray of spices that all the students are given: cumin, ginger, cinnamon, turmeric, red pepper, black pepper.

He drops in on a class in astrology. Discussion turns to the Spheres: whether the stars belong to the Spheres or on the contrary follow trajectories of their own; whether the Spheres are finite or infinite in number. The lecturer believes the number of Spheres is finite — finite but unknown and unknowable, as she puts it.

‘If the number of Spheres is finite, then what lies beyond them?’ asks a student.

‘There is no beyond,’ replies the lecturer. The student looks nonplussed. ‘There is no beyond,’ she repeats.

He is not interested in the Spheres, or even in the stars, which as far as he is concerned are lumps of insensate matter moving through empty space in obedience to laws of mysterious origin. What he wants to know is what the stars have to do with the numbers, what the numbers have to do with music, and how an intelligent person like Juan Sebastián Arroyo can talk about stars, numbers, and music in the same breath. But the lecturer shows no interest in numbers or music. Her subject is the configurations assumed by the stars, and how those configurations influence human destiny.

There is no beyond . How can the woman be so sure of herself? His own opinion is that, whether or not there is a beyond, one would drown in despair were there not an idea of a beyond to cling to.

From the sisters Inés receives a summons: a matter of urgency has arisen, will she and he, Simón, come out to the farm.

They are welcomed with tea and freshly baked chocolate cake. At the sisters’ urging, Davíd wolfs down two large slices.

‘Davíd,’ says Alma, when he has finished, ‘I have something that might interest you — a family of marionettes Roberta came across in the attic, that we used to play with when we were young. Do you know what a marionette is? Yes? Would you like to see them?’

Alma conducts the boy out of the room; they can get down to business.

‘We have had a visit from señor Arroyo,’ says Valentina. ‘He brought along those two nice boys of his. He wants to know whether we would consider helping to put his Academy back on its feet again. He has lost many students as a result of this tragic affair, but he is hopeful that, if the Academy reopens soon, some will come back. What is your opinion, Inés, Simón? You are the ones with direct experience of the Academy.’

‘Let me begin,’ says he, Simón. ‘It is all very well for señor Arroyo to declare his Academy reopened, but who is going to do the teaching? And who will take care of the administration? Señora Arroyo used to carry the entire burden. Where in Estrella will he find someone to fill her place, someone who shares his outlook, his philosophy?’

‘He tells us that his sister-in-law will be coming to help out,’ says Valentina. ‘He also speaks highly of a young man named Alyosha. He feels that Alyosha will be able to take over some of the workload. But essentially the Academy will become an academy of music rather than an academy of dance, and señor Arroyo himself will do the teaching.’

Inés now speaks, and loses no time in making her position clear. ‘When we first sent Davíd to the Arroyos, it was promised to us — promised, mind you — that besides the dancing he would be getting a normal education. We were told he would learn to read and write and handle numbers as children do in normal schools. He got none of that. Señor Arroyo is a nice man, I am sure, but he is not a proper teacher. I would be very reluctant to put Davíd back in his care.’

‘What do you mean when you say he is not a proper teacher?’ asks Valentina.

‘I mean his head is in the clouds. I mean he doesn’t know what is going on under his nose.’

Glances pass among the sisters. He, Simón, leans over to Inés. ‘Is this the best time?’ he murmurs.

‘Yes, this is the best time,’ says Inés. ‘It is always best to be frank. We are talking about a child’s future, a young child whose education thus far has been a calamity, who is falling further and further behind. I am very reluctant to submit him to yet another experiment.’

‘Well, that settles the matter,’ says Consuelo. ‘You are Davíd’s mother, you have the right to decide what is best for him. Are we to understand then that you consider the Academy to be a bad investment?’

‘Yes,’ says Inés.

‘And you, Simón?’

‘That depends.’ He turns to Inés. ‘If the Academy of Dance closes for good, Inés, and if there is no place for Davíd in the Academy of Singing, which may well be the case, and if the public schools are out of bounds, what are you proposing we should do with him? Where is he to get an education?’

Before Inés can reply, Alma returns with the boy, who bears a battered-looking plywood box. ‘Alma says I can have them,’ he announces.

‘It’s the marionettes,’ says Alma. ‘We have no use for them, I thought Davíd might like to take them over.’

‘Of course,’ says Consuelo. ‘I hope you will enjoy playing with them.’

Inés is not to be diverted. ‘Where is Davíd going to get an education? I told you. We should hire a private teacher, someone who is properly qualified with a proper diploma, someone who doesn’t have outlandish beliefs about where children come from or how a child’s mind works, someone who will sit down with Davíd and cover the syllabus that normal schools cover and help him to make up the ground he has lost. That is what I think we should do.’

‘What do you think, Davíd?’ says he, Simón. ‘Shall we get you a private teacher?’

Davíd seats himself with the box on his lap. ‘I want to be with señor Arroyo,’ he says.

‘You only want to go to señor Arroyo because you can twist him around your finger,’ says Inés.

‘If you make me go to another school I’ll run away.’

‘We won’t make you go anywhere. We will hire a teacher who will come and teach you at home.’

‘I want to go to señor Arroyo. Señor Arroyo knows who I am. You don’t know who I am.’

Inés gives a snort of exasperation. Though his heart is not in it, he, Simón, takes up the baton. ‘It doesn’t matter how special we are, Davíd, there are certain things we all have to sit down and learn. We have to learn to read — and I don’t mean read just one book — otherwise we won’t know what is going on in the world. We have to be able to do sums, otherwise we won’t be able to handle money. I think Inés also has it in mind — correct me if I am wrong, Inés — that we need to learn good habits like self-discipline and respect for the opinions of others.’