J. Coetzee - The Schooldays of Jesus

Joaquín and Damian have made friends with two girls from the boarding house. We invited them along to the beach today. The water was icy cold, but they all dived in and didn’t seem to mind. We were a happy family among lots of other happy families, but in truth I wasn’t really there. I was absent. I was with you, as I am with you in my heart every minute of every day. Juan Sebastián senses it. I do all I can to make him feel loved, but he is aware that something has altered between us. My Dmitri, how I long for you, how I shiver when I think of you! Ten whole days! Will the time ever pass?. .

I lie awake at night thinking of you, impatient for the time to pass, longing to be naked in your arms again. .

Do you believe in telepathy? I stood on the cliffs, looking out over the sea, concentrating all my energies on you, and a moment came when I can swear I heard your voice. You spoke my name, and I spoke back. This happened yesterday, Tuesday; it must have been ten o’clock in the morning. Was it so for you too? Did you hear me? Can we speak to each other across space? Tell me it is true!. .

I yearn for you, my darling, yearn apasionadamente ! Only two more days!

He folds the letters, puts them back in their envelope. He would like to believe they are forgeries penned by Dmitri himself, but that is not true. They are what they say they are: the words of a woman in love. He keeps warning the child against Dmitri. If you want a model in life, look to me, he says: look to Simón, the exemplary stepfather, the man of reason, the dullard; or, if not me, then to that harmless old madman Don Quixote. But if the child really wants an education, who better is there to study than the man who could inspire such an unsuitable, such an incomprehensible love?

From her handbag Inés produces a crumpled letter. ‘I meant to show this to you but I forgot,’ she says.

Addressed jointly to señor Simón and señora Inés, written on Academy of Dance notepaper on which the Academy’s crest has been scored through with a stroke of the pen, signed by Juan Sebastián Arroyo, the letter invites them to a reception in honour of the distinguished philosopher Javier Moreno Gutiérrez, to be held on the premises of the Museum of Fine Arts. ‘Follow signs to entrance on Calle Hugo, ascend to second floor.’ Light refreshments will be served.

‘It’s this evening,’ says Inés. ‘I can’t go, I’m too busy. And on top of that there is the census business. When we scheduled the show we forgot completely about it, and by the time we remembered it was too late, the notices had already gone out. The show starts at three tomorrow afternoon, and by six o’clock all commercial premises have to be closed and employees sent home. I don’t know how we are going to manage. You go to the reception. Take Davíd with you.’

‘What is a reception? What is the census business?’ demands the boy.

‘A census is a count,’ he, Simón, explains. ‘Tomorrow night they are going to count all the people in Estrella and make a list of their names. Inés and I have decided to keep you hidden from the census officers. You won’t be alone. Señor Arroyo will be hiding his sons too.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? For various reasons. Señor Arroyo believes that attaching numbers to people turns them into ants. We want to keep you off the official lists. As for the reception, a reception is a party for grown-ups. You can come along. There will be stuff to eat. If you find it too boring you can go and visit Alyosha’s animal menagerie. You haven’t visited them in a long while.’

‘If they count me in the census will they recognize me?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t want to take the risk.’

‘But are you going to hide me forever?’

‘Of course not — just during the census. We don’t want to give them a reason to pack you off to that dreary school of theirs at Punta Arenas. Once you are past school age you can relax and be your own master.’

‘And I can have a beard too, can’t I?’

‘You can wear a beard, you can change your name, you can do all kinds of things to avoid being recognized.’

‘But I want to be recognized!’

‘No, you don’t want to be recognized, not yet, you don’t want to take that risk. Davíd, I don’t think you understand what it means to recognize or be recognized. But let us not argue about it. When you are grown up you can be whoever you wish, do whatever you like. Until then, Inés and I would like you to do as you are told.’

He and the boy arrive late at the reception. He is surprised at how many guests there are. The distinguished philosopher and guest of honour must have quite a following.

They greet the three sisters.

‘We heard maestro Moreno speak during his last visit,’ says Consuelo. ‘When was that, Valentina?’

‘Two years ago,’ says Valentina.

‘Two years ago,’ says Consuelo. ‘Such an interesting man. Good evening, Davíd, don’t we get a kiss?’

Dutifully the boy kisses each of the sisters on the cheek.

Arroyo joins them, accompanied by his sister-in-law Mercedes, who wears a grey silk dress with a striking scarlet mantilla, and by maestro Moreno himself, a short, squat little man with flowing locks, pockmarked skin, and wide, thin lips like a frog’s.

‘Javier, you know señora Consuelo and her sisters, but let me introduce you to señor Simón. Señor Simón is a philosopher in his own right. He is also the father of this excellent young man, whose name is Davíd.’

‘Davíd is not my real name,’ says the boy.

‘Davíd is not his real name, I should have mentioned that,’ says señor Arroyo, ‘but it is the name under which he passes while he is in our midst. Simón, I believe you have already met my sister-in-law Mercedes, who is visiting from Novilla.’

He bows to Mercedes, who gives him a smile in return. Her aspect has softened since they last spoke. A handsome woman, in her rather fierce way. He wonders what the other sister was like, the dead one.

‘And what brings you to Estrella, señor Moreno?’ he asks, making conversation.

‘I do a lot of travelling, señor. My profession makes of me an itinerant, a peripatetic. I give talks all over the country, at the various Institutes. But, to tell the truth, I am in Estrella to see my old friend Juan Sebastián. He and I share a long history. In the old days we ran a clock-repair business together. We also played in a quartet.’

‘Javier is a first-rate violinist,’ says Arroyo. ‘First-rate.’

Moreno shrugs. ‘Perhaps, but an amateur nevertheless. As I said, the two of us ran a business, but then Juan Sebastián began to have doubts about it, so, to cut a long story short, we closed down. He created his Academy of Dance while I went my own way. But we remain in contact. We have our disagreements, but broadly speaking we see the world in the same way. If we didn’t, how would we have been able to work together all those years?’

It comes back to him. ‘Ah, you must be the señor Moreno who gave the lecture on land surveying! We saw the advertisement, Davíd and I.’

‘Land surveying?’ says Moreno.

‘Topographical measurement.’

‘ Man the Measure of All Things ,’ says Moreno. ‘That is the title of the talk I will be giving tonight. It will not be about land surveying at all. It will be about Metros and his intellectual legacy. I thought that was clear.’

‘My apologies. The confusion is mine. We are looking forward to hearing you. But Man the Measurer was definitely the title under which the lecture was advertised — I know because I distributed the leaflets myself, that is my business. Who is Metros?’