J. Coetzee - The Schooldays of Jesus

‘As I said, I was unworthy of her, of Ana Magdalena. That’s what it comes down to in the end. I should not have been there, sharing her bed. It was wrong. It was an offence — against the stars, against something or other, I don’t know what. That was the feeling I had, the obscure feeling, the feeling that wouldn’t go away. Can you understand? Do you have any glimmering?’

‘I am completely incurious about your feelings, Dmitri, past and present. You don’t have to tell me any of this. I am not encouraging you.’

‘Of course you are not encouraging me! No one could be more respectful of my right to privacy. You are a decent fellow, Simón, one of the rare breed of truly decent men. But I don’t want to be private! I want to be human, and to be human is to be a speaking animal. That is why I am telling you these things: so that I can be human again, hear a human voice issuing again from this breast of mine, Dmitri’s breast! And if I can’t tell them to you, who can I tell them to? Who is left? So let me tell you: we used to do it, make love, she and I, whenever we could, whenever there was an hour to spare, or even a minute or two or three. I can be frank about these things, can’t I? Because I have no secrets from you, Simón — not since you read those letters you were not supposed to read.

‘Ana Magdalena. You saw her, Simón, you must agree, she was a beauty, a true beauty, the real thing, flawless from top to toe. I should have been proud to have a beauty like that in my arms, but I wasn’t. No, I was ashamed. Because she deserved better, better than an ugly, hairy, ignorant nobody like me. I think of those cool arms of hers, cool as marble, clasped around me, drawing me into her — me! me! — and I shake my head. Something wrong there, Simón, something deeply wrong. Beauty and the beast. That is why I used the word cosmological . Some mistake among the stars or the planets, some mix-up.

‘You don’t want to encourage me, and I appreciate that, I really do. It’s respectful on your part. Still, you must be wondering about Ana Magdalena’s side of the question. Because if I was indeed unworthy of her, as I am sure I was, what was she doing in bed with me? The answer, Simón, is: I truly don’t know . What did she see in me when she had a husband a thousand times worthier of her, a husband who loved her and proved his love for her, or so she said anyhow?

‘No doubt the word appetite occurs to you: Ana Magdalena must have had an appetite for whatever it was I offered. But it wasn’t so! The appetite was all on my side. On her side, nothing but grace and sweetness, as if a goddess were stepping down to grace a mortal man with a taste of immortal being. I should have worshipped her, and I did, I truly did, until the fateful day when it all went bad. That’s why I am off to the salt mines, Simón: because of my ingratitude. It’s a terrible sin, ingratitude, perhaps the worst of the lot. Where did it come from, that ingratitude of mine? Who knows. The heart of man is a dark forest, as they say. I was grateful to Ana Magdalena until one day — boom! — I turned ungrateful, just like that.

‘And why? Why did I do the last thing to her — the ultimate thing? I beat my head — why, you dolt, why, why? — but I get no answer. Because I regret it, there’s no doubt about that. If I could bring her back from wherever she is, from her hole in the ground or scattered like dust on the waves, I would do so in a flash. I would grovel before her, A thousand regrets, my angel , I would say (that’s what I used to call her sometimes, my angel ), I won’t do it again . But regret doesn’t work, does it — regret, contrition. Time’s arrow: you can’t reverse it. No going back.

‘They don’t understand these things in the hospital. Beauty, grace, gratitude — it’s all a closed book to them. They peer into my head with their lamps and their microscopes and their telescopes, searching for the crossed wire or the switch that is on when it is supposed to be off. The fault is not in my head, it’s in my soul! I tell them, but of course they ignore me. Or they give me pills. Swallow this , they say, see if it puts you right. — Pills don’t work on me , I tell them, only the lash will work! Give me the lash!

‘Only the lash will work on me, Simón, the lash and the salt mines. End of story. Thank you for hearing me out. From now on, I promise, my lips will be sealed. Never again will the sacred name of Ana Magdalena cross them. Year after year I will labour in silence, digging up salt for the good folk of the land, until one day I can no more. My heart, my faithful old bear’s heart, will give in. And as I breathe my last, the blessed Ana Magdalena will descend, cool and lovely as ever, and put a finger to my lips. Come, Dmitri , she will say, join me in the next life, where the past is forgiven and forgotten. That’s how I imagine it.’

As he speaks the words forgiven and forgotten, Dmitri’s voice chokes. His eyes glisten with tears. Despite himself he, Simón, is moved. Then Dmitri recovers himself. ‘I come to the point,’ he says. ‘Can I stay the night? Can I sleep here and gather my forces? Because tomorrow will be a long, hard day.’

‘If you promise to be gone in the morning, and if you swear that I will never see you again, never never, yes, you can sleep here.’

‘I swear! Never again! On the head of my mother I swear! Thank you, Simón. You are a real sport. Who would have guessed that you, the most correct, most upright man in town, would end up aiding and abetting a criminal. Another favour. Can you lend me some clothes? I would offer to buy them, but I don’t have any money, they took it away from me in the hospital.’

‘I will give you clothes, I will give you money, I will give whatever it takes to be rid of you.’

‘Your generosity puts me to shame. Truly. I have done you a wrong, Simón. I used to make jokes about you behind your back. You didn’t know that, did you?’

‘Lots of people make jokes about me. I am used to it. They slide off me.’

‘You know what Ana Magdalena said about you? She said you pretend to be an estimable citizen and a man of reason, but really you are just a lost child. Those were her words: a child who doesn’t know where he lives or what he wants. An insightful woman, don’t you think? Whereas you, she said, meaning me, Dmitri — at least you know what you want, at least one can say that about you. And it’s true! I always knew what I wanted, and she loved me for it. Women love a man who knows what he wants, who doesn’t beat about the bush.

‘One last thing, Simón. How about something to eat, to fortify me for the journey ahead?’

‘Take whatever there is in the cupboard. I am going for a walk. I need fresh air. I will be away for quite a while.’

When he returns an hour later, Dmitri is asleep in his bed. During the night he is woken by the man’s snoring. He gets up from the sofa and gives him a shake. ‘You are snoring,’ he says. With a great heave Dmitri turns over. A minute later the snoring resumes.

The next thing he knows the birds in the trees have begun to cheep. It is bitterly cold. Dmitri is padding restlessly about the room. ‘I need to be off,’ he whispers. ‘You said something about money and clothes.’

He gets up, switches on the light, finds a shirt and trousers for Dmitri. They are of the same height, but Dmitri has broader shoulders, a bigger chest, a thicker waist: the shirt will barely button closed. He gives Dmitri a hundred reales out of his wallet. ‘Take my coat,’ he says. ‘It is behind the door.’

‘I am eternally grateful,’ says Dmitri. ‘And now I must sally forth to meet my fate. Say goodbye to the youngster for me. If anyone comes nosing around, tell them I caught the train to Novilla.’ He pauses. ‘Simón, I told you I left the hospital by myself. That is not strictly true. In fact it was a downright fib. Your boy helped me. How? I gave him a call. Dmitri cries out for freedom , I said. Can you help? An hour later he was there, and walked me out, just like the first time. Clean as a whistle. No one noticed us. Uncanny. As if we were invisible. That’s all. I thought I would tell you, so that the slate can be clean between us.’