J. Coetzee - The Schooldays of Jesus

‘I don’t know. I don’t yet know what I want to be.’

‘You don’t want to be a fireman or a train driver like other little boys?’

‘No. I wanted to be a lifesaver but they wouldn’t let me.’

‘Who wouldn’t let you?’

‘Simón.’

‘And why is Simón opposed to you being a lifesaver?’

He, Simón, speaks. ‘I am not opposed to him being a lifesaver. I am not opposed to any of his plans or dreams. As far as I am concerned — his mother may feel differently — he can be a lifesaver or a fireman or a singer or the man in the moon, as he chooses. I do not direct his life, I no longer even pretend to advise him. The truth is, he has tired us out with his wilfulness, his mother and me. He is like a bulldozer. He has flattened us. We have been flattened. We have no more resistance.’

Inés gapes at him in astonishment. Davíd smiles to himself.

‘What a strange outburst!’ says Valentina. ‘I haven’t heard an outburst like that in years. Have you, Consuelo?’

‘Not in years,’ says Consuelo. ‘Quite dramatic! Thank you, Simón. Now, what do you say to our proposal that young Davíd should be enrolled at the Academy of Dance?’

‘Where is this academy?’ says Inés.

‘In the city, in the heart of the city, in the same building as the art museum. You would not be able to stay here on the farm, unfortunately. It is too far. The travel would be too much. You would have to find accommodation in the city. But you wouldn’t want to stay on the farm anyway, now that harvest time is over. You would find it too lonely, too boring.’

‘We haven’t found it boring at all,’ says he, Simón. ‘On the contrary, we have flourished. We have enjoyed every minute of our time here. In fact I have come to an agreement with Roberta to help with odd jobs while we stay on in the barracks. There are always odd jobs to be done, even in the off season. Pruning, for example. Cleaning.’

He looks to Roberta for support. She gazes steadily into the distance.

‘By the barracks you mean the dormitories,’ says Valentina. ‘The dormitories will be closed during the winter, so you can’t stay there. But Roberta can advise you on where to look for lodgings. And if all else fails there is the Asistencia.’

Inés rises. He follows suit.

‘You haven’t given us your answer,’ says Consuelo. ‘Do you need time to discuss the matter? How do you feel, young man? Wouldn’t you like to go to the Academy of Dance? You would meet other children there.’

‘I want to stay here,’ says the boy. ‘I don’t like dancing.’

‘Unfortunately,’ says señora Valentina, ‘you cannot stay here. Furthermore, since you are very young and have no knowledge of the world, only prejudices, you are in no position to make decisions about your future. My suggestion’ — she reaches out, hooks a finger under his chin, raises his head so that he has to look directly at her — ‘my suggestion is that you allow your parents Inés and Simón to discuss our offer, and then conform to whatever decision they reach, in a spirit of filial obedience. Understood?’

Davíd meets her gaze evenly. ‘What is filial obedience?’ he asks.

Fronted by a long sandstone colonnade, the art museum lies on the north side of the main square in Estrella. As instructed, they pass by the main entrance and make for a narrow doorway on a side street over which there is a sign in florid gold characters — Academia de la Danza — and an arrow pointing to a stairway. They ascend to the second floor, pass through swing doors, and find themselves in a large, well-lit studio, empty save for an upright piano in a corner.

A woman enters, tall, slim, dressed all in black. ‘Can I help you?’ she asks.

‘I would like to speak to someone about enrolling my son,’ says Inés.

‘Enrolling your son in. .?’

‘Enrolling him in your Academy. I believe that señora Valentina has spoken to your director about it. Davíd is my son’s name. She assured us that children who enrol in your Academy get a general education. I mean, they don’t just dance.’ She utters the word dance with some disdain. ‘It is the general education we are interested in — not so much the dancing.’

‘Señora Valentina has indeed spoken to us about your son. But I made it clear to her and I should make it clear to you, señora: this is not a regular school or a substitute for a regular school. It is an academy devoted to the training of the soul through music and dance. If you are looking for a regular education for your child, you will be better served by the public school system.’

The training of the soul. He touches Inés’ arm. ‘If I may,’ he says, addressing this pale young woman, so pale as to seem bloodless — alabastra is the word that occurs to him — but beautiful nonetheless, strikingly beautiful — perhaps that is what has provoked Inés’ hostility, the beauty, as if of a statue that has come to life and wandered in from the museum — ‘if I may. . We are strangers in Estrella, new arrivals. We have been working on the farm owned by señora Valentina and her sisters, temporarily, while we find our feet here. The sisters have kindly taken an interest in Davíd and have offered financial assistance for him to attend your Academy. They speak very highly of the Academy. They say that you are known to provide an excellent all-round education, that your director, señor Arroyo, is a respected educator. May we make an appointment to see señor Arroyo?’

‘Señor Arroyo, my husband, is not available. We are not in session this week. Classes resume on Monday, after the break. But if you want to discuss practical matters you can discuss them with me. First, will your son be coming to us as a boarder?’

‘A boarder? We were not told you took in boarders.’

‘We have a limited number of places for boarders.’

‘No, Davíd will be living at home, will he not, Inés?’

Inés nods.

‘Very well. Next, footwear. Does your son have dancing slippers? No? He will need dancing slippers. I will write down the address of the shop where you can buy them. Also lighter, more comfortable clothing. It is important that the body be free.’

‘Dancing slippers. We will attend to that. You spoke a moment ago of the soul, the training of the soul. In what direction do you train the soul?’

‘In the direction of the good. Of obedience to the good. Why do you ask?’

‘For no particular reason. And the rest of the curriculum, besides the dancing? Are there books we need to buy?’

There is something disquieting about the woman’s appearance, something he has not been able to put a finger on. Now he recognizes what it is. She has no eyebrows. Her eyebrows have been plucked out or shaved off; or perhaps they have never grown. Below her fair, rather sparse hair, pulled back tightly on her scalp, is an expanse of naked forehead as broad as his hand. The eyes, a blue darker than sky blue, meet his gaze calmly, assuredly. She sees through me , he thinks, through all this talk . Not as young as he had at first thought. Thirty? Thirty-five?

‘Books?’ She waves a dismissive hand. ‘Books will come later. Everything in its time.’

‘And the classrooms,’ says Inés. ‘Can I see the classrooms?’

‘This is our only classroom.’ Her gaze sweeps the studio. ‘This is where the children dance.’ Stepping closer, she takes Inés by the hand. ‘Señora, you must understand, this is an academy of dance. First comes the dance. All else is secondary. All else follows later.’

At her touch Inés visibly stiffens. He knows only too well how Inés resists, indeed flinches from, the human touch.