Love Over Scotland 4ss-3

by Alexander McCall Smith

  “He can act a stinky part,” said Tofu. “He’d do that well.”

  “Tofu, dear,” said Miss Harmony. “That is not very kind, is it? How would you like it if somebody said that about you.”

  “But my socks don’t stink,” said Tofu. “So they wouldn’t say it.”

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  Miss Harmony sighed. This was not an avenue of discussion down which she cared to go. It was certainly true that Hiawatha appeared to wear his socks for rather longer than might be desir-able, but that was no excuse for the awful Tofu to say things like that. Tofu was a problem; she had to admit. But he would not be helped to develop by disparaging him, tempting though that might be. Love and attention would do its work eventually.

  “Now then,” she said brightly. “I have been thinking about what play we should do. And do you know, I think I’ve found just the thing. I’ve decided that we shall do The Sound of Music.

  What do you think of that, boys and girls? Don’t you think that will be fun?”

  The children looked at one another. They knew The Sound of Music and they knew that it would be fun. But the real issue, as they also knew, was this: who would be Maria? There were seven girls in the class and only one of them wanted Olive to be Maria. That one was Olive herself. And as for the boys, and the roles available to them, every girl in the class, but especially Olive, hoped that Tofu would not be Captain von Trapp. And yet that was the role that Tofu now set his heart on. He would do anything to get it, he decided. Anything.

  53. The Sybils of Edinburgh

  The effect of Miss Harmony’s announcement that Bertie’s class was to perform The Sound of Music was, in the first place, the descent of silence on the room. If the teacher had expected a buzz of excitement, then she must have been surprised, for no such reaction occurred. Nobody, in fact, spoke until a good two minutes had elapsed, but during that time a number of glances were exchanged.

  Bertie, whose desk was next to Tofu’s, looked sideways at his neighbour, trying to gauge his reaction. He knew that Tofu wished to dominate everything, and that the class play would be no exception. In the last play that they had performed, a truncated version The Sybils of Edinburgh 165

  of Amahl and the Night-Visitors, for which the music had been provided by the school orchestra, Tofu had resented being cast as a mere extra and had made several unscripted interventions in an attempt to raise the profile of the character whom he was playing (a sheep). This had caused even Miss Harmony, normally so mild, to raise her voice and threaten to write to Mr Menotti himself and inform him that the performance had been ruined by the misplaced ambition of one of the sheep.

  When Bertie glanced at him, he saw that Tofu’s expression gave everything away. He was smiling, his lips pressed tight together in what could only be pleasure at the thought of the dramatic triumphs that lay ahead. Bertie looked down at his desk. There was something else for him to think about now.

  Whereas all the other children had seen the film of The Sound of Music, he had not been allowed to do so by his mother, who disapproved of it on principle.

  “Pure schmalz,” she had explained to Bertie, when he had asked if they might borrow a tape of it and watch it one Saturday afternoon, after yoga. “Singing nuns and all the rest. I ask you, Bertie! Have you ever encountered a singing nun? And all those ghastly songs about lonely goatherds and raindrops on roses and the rest of it! No, Bertie, we don’t want any of that, do we?”

  It occurred to Bertie that it might be rather fun to listen to songs about goatherds, and that anyway his mother appeared to know rather a lot about the film. Had she seen it herself? In which case, was it fair that she should prevent him from seeing it? That, to his mind, sounded rather like hypocrisy, the definition of which he had recently looked up in Chambers Dictionary.

  “But you must have seen it yourself, Mummy,” he said. “If you know all that much about it, you must have seen it yourself.”

  Irene hesitated. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I did see it. I saw it at the Dominion Cinema.”

  Bertie thought for a moment. “So you must have walked out,”

  he said.

  “Walked out? Why do you ask me whether I walked out, Bertie?”

  166 The Sybils of Edinburgh

  “Because you disapproved of it so much,” said Bertie. “If you hated it, then why did you stay to the end?”

  Irene looked out of the window. Now that she came to think about it, she had seen The Sound of Music twice, but she could not possibly tell Bertie that, as he would hardly understand that one might see such a film in a spirit of irony. So the subject was dropped, and The Sound of Music was not mentioned again. Irene had, of course, attended the production of Amahl and had been very critical, both of the choice of the opera and the production itself. “I don’t know why schools insist on choosing the same old thing time after time,” she observed to Stuart as they drove back along Bruntsfield Place.

  “I thought it was rather touching,” said Stuart, but then added:

  “Or maybe not.”

  “Definitely not,” said Irene. “Young children are perfectly capable of doing more taxing drama.”

  “Such as?” asked Stuart.

  “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? ” said Irene lightly. “I’ve always liked Albee.”

  The Sybils of Edinburgh 167

  In the back seat, Bertie listened intently. He had heard his mother talk about Virginia Woolf before and he had looked her up in a book he had found on her shelves. Mrs Woolf, he read, had been married to Mr Woolf, and had written a number of books. Then she had filled her pockets with stones and had jumped into a river, which Bertie thought was very sad. He was not sure if he would enjoy a play about a person like that, and he was worried that his mother would suggest it to Miss Harmony. But then he had gone on to think what one should do if one saw a person with stones in his pockets jump into a river. Bertie was sure that he would try to rescue such a person, and that would raise the question of whether one should take the stones out of the pockets before trying to drag him or her to the shore. Perhaps it would depend on the depth of the river.

  If somebody filled his pockets with stones and jumped into the Water of Leith, it would be easy to save him, as the Water of Leith was a very shallow river and one would probably not sink very far, even with stones in one’s pockets. One would just sit in the mud until help arrived.

  Bertie knew about the Water of Leith because Irene had taken him for a walk along the river one day, after yoga, and they had stopped to look at the Temple of St Bernard’s Well.

  “That, Bertie,” said Irene, “is a Doric temple. Nasmyth designed it after the Temple of the Sybil in Tivoli.”

  Bertie had looked at the stone columns and the statue of the woman within. “Who were the Sybils, Mummy?” he asked.

  Irene smiled. “We’d call them pundits today,” she said. “They were prophetesses who were associated with particular shrines.

  There was the Sybil of Delphi. She sat on a tripod over a sacred rock. Rather uncomfortable, I would have thought. And the Romans wanted their own Sybil – they were very envious of the Greeks, Bertie – so they appointed one at Tivoli. The Sybil of Tibur. They made pronouncements. On everything.”

  Bertie listened carefully. So a Sybil was a woman who made pronouncements on everything. A disturbing thought occurred.

  His mother was a Sybil!

  It was yet another blow.

  54. Political Truths

  It was Olive who broke the silence in the classroom. Like Bertie, she had been staring at Tofu and had discerned, almost immediately, the look of determination that meant that he intended to play Captain von Trapp.

  This conclusion required some quick thinking on her part. It would be intolerable for Tofu to be Captain von Trapp if, as she planned, she was going to play the part of Maria. She was confident about her acting ability, but it would surely test her talent to its absolute limit – and indeed beyond – if she had to pretend
to be enchanted by Tofu. She could always close her eyes, of course, as actresses did in the films when they had to kiss somebody, but it would be difficult to act the entire play with her eyes closed. No, it would be impossible for her to be Maria and for Tofu to be Captain von Trapp in the same production.

  It would be better, even, to have Hiawatha in the role; by a supreme effort of will she could probably ignore the problem of his socks. Yet it was unlikely that Hiawatha would be chosen, given the strange accent with which he spoke and which rendered him almost unintelligible, even to Miss Harmony. Nobody knew why Hiawatha spoke as he did – he was not foreign; he was not even from London, where they spoke in a very strange way. One of the other girls, Pansy, had suggested that it was something physical, and had put her fingers into his mouth to investigate it one morning while Miss Harmony was out of the room, but with inconclusive results.

  Olive decided that the only possible strategy would be to claim the role of Maria before anybody else might ask for it.

  This pre-emptive move might then deter Tofu from suggesting himself as Captain von Trapp, on the grounds that he would not wish to play opposite her. This result could not be guaran-teed, of course, but she felt that it was worth trying.

  “I’ll be Maria,” she burst out. “Miss Harmony, is that all right, then? I know all the songs – you can test me.”

  Every eye in the room turned to Olive. While Olive had been thinking about the means of obtaining the role, every other girl Political Truths 169

  in the class had been thinking similar thoughts, but each was consumed by her own version of despair when Olive volunteered herself. It was typical of Olive, thought Pansy: push, push, push.

  And Skye, who believed with utter conviction that she alone was qualified to play the role, felt a great surge of despair at the realisation that it might go to somebody else. For her part, Lakshmi, who was a quiet girl and rather given to defeatism, merely thought: Olive Oil, a soubriquet which she never openly uttered but which gave her great inner satisfaction and comfort.

  Tofu, taken by surprise, was able only to glare at Olive, who returned his look with interest. She was now sure that her tactic had succeeded. Tofu would not dare to volunteer as Captain von Trapp while she was looking at him like this.

  Miss Harmony, who believed in the innocence of children, pointedly ignored the undercurrents of ambition and hostility that flowed and eddied around the room. In her mind, Olive was not a suitable candidate for Maria because she had played a prominent role in the informal play they had performed in the classroom the previous week. She had also played a solo part in the class recorder consort’s benchmark performance of ‘Pease Pudding Hot’, and it was a principle of Steiner educational theory that every child should be given a chance. No, it was definitely not Olive’s turn.

  “That’s very kind of you, Olive,” she said. “But we mustn’t allow you to do all the work, must we? Your poor shoulders would buckle under the strain, wouldn’t they? No, don’t shake your head like that, Olive – they really would!” She looked around the class. “Now then, Skye. You haven’t had a big part in any of the plays yet. Would you like to be Maria?”

  Skye looked down at her desk. She had hardly dared hope, and yet it had happened. She began to cry.

  Tofu turned to Bertie and smirked. “What a girlie!” he whispered.

  Miss Harmony, who was comforting Skye, looked up sharply.

  “Did we say something, Tofu?”

  Tofu looked sullen.

  “I said: did we say something, Tofu?” repeated Miss Harmony.

  170 Political Truths

  “I said ‘What a girl’, Miss Harmony.”

  Miss Harmony smiled. “That’s kind of you, Tofu. And yes, it is good of Skye to accept the part of Maria. These big parts are a lot of work, as I’m sure you know.” She paused. “Now then, as you are all aware, boys and girls, the main part for a boy is Captain von Trapp. The Captain is a brave man, an Austrian patriot . . .”

  “Me,” said Tofu, raising his hand in the air.

  Miss Harmony drew a deep breath. She had expected this, of course, and was ready with her response.

  “Now then, Tofu,” she began, “we’re old enough to understand that we can’t have all the things that we want in this life.

  If that happened, then what would we have to look forward to?

  So it’s best to accept that we can’t all be Captain von Trapp, much as we would like to be. And I’m sure that Captain von Trapp himself was very good at sharing. Yes, I’m sure he was.

  That’s why they made him a captain. He knew when it was his turn and when it wasn’t. And it’s not your turn now, Tofu. So Captain von Trapp will be played by . . .”

  There was complete silence.

  “Bertie.”

  Domenica Settles In 171

  Bertie looked down at the floor. He did not dare look at Tofu, because he knew what expression would greet him if he did that.

  He looked up at Miss Harmony. “I’m not sure . . .” he began.

  “He’s not sure,” Tofu interjected. “Don’t force him, Miss Harmony. Please don’t force him.”

  “Bertie’s a useless actor, Miss Harmony,” said Larch.

  Tofu, aware now of the threat that Larch might claim the role, spun round and glared at the other boy.

  “And you’re useless too, Larch,” he said. “You know that you can’t act for toffee.”

  “Toffee yourself!” said Larch, and everybody laughed, except Tofu, who fumed. He wanted to hit Larch, but he understood that principle which everybody, but particularly politicians and statesmen understand very well: you only ever hit weaker people.

  55. Domenica Settles In

  The arrival of a stranger in a remote village is usually something of an event. When Domenica Macdonald, though, arrived in the small pirate village on the coast of the Straits of Malacca, such interest as was shown by the villagers was discreet. As the party made its way down the path leading to Domenica’s bungalow, a group of women standing under a tree looked in its direction, but only for a few moments. A couple of children, bare to the waist and dragging a small puppy on a string, drifted over to the side of the path to get a better view of the new arrivals. But that was all; nobody came to greet them, nobody appeared to challenge the arrival of the anthropologist with Ling, her guide and mentor, and the teenage boy recruited to carry her suitcase.

  Ling led the way to Domenica’s house. The young man whom they had spotted from afar now stood at the top of the steps.

  He was wearing a pair of loose-fitting linen trousers and a white open-necked shirt. His feet were bare, and Domenica’s eyes were drawn to his toes. They were perfect, she thought. Perfect toes; 172 Domenica Settles In

  she had seen so many perfect toes in her times in the tropics –

  toes unrestrained by shoes, allowed to grow as nature intended them.

  The young man lowered his head, his hands held together in traditional greeting. “I am very happy,” he said.

  Domenica returned his greeting.

  Ling turned to Domenica. “He says he is happy,” he announced.

  “So I heard,” said Domenica. “And I am happy too.”

  These niceties over, Domenica went up the steps that led to the veranda. Behind her, Ling took the suitcase from the boy who had carried it from the village at the end of the track. The boy was sweating profusely; it had been a long walk and the suitcase was heavy. Ling rested the suitcase on a step and fished into his pocket for a few coins. These he tossed at the boy, who caught them in the palm of his hand, looked at them, and then stared imploringly at Ling.

  Domenica watched this, uncertain as to whether she should interfere. It was obvious to her that Ling had underpaid the boy.

  Of course, this is the East, she thought, and people work for very little, but it distressed her that she should be part of the process of exploitation. She looked at the boy; she had not paid much attention to his clothes, but now she saw them, as if for
the first time. His shirt had been repaired several times, and his trousers were frayed about the pockets. He was obviously poor, and she, whose suitcase he carried, was by his standards, impossibly rich.

  It would have been a simple matter for her to intervene. She had a pocketful of ringgits, and many more stashed away in her suitcase. It would have been easy for her to press a few notes into the boy’s hand to make up for Ling’s meanness, and she was on the point of doing this when she checked herself. One of the rules of anthropological fieldwork was: do not interfere.

  A well-meaning interference in the community which one was studying could change relationships and distort results. The anthropologist should be invisible, as far as possible; an observer.

  Of course, there were limits to this unobtrusiveness. One could Domenica Settles In 173

  not stand by in the face of an egregious crime if one could do something to help; this, though, was hardly that. The real bar to her intervention lay in the fact that if she now gave money to the boy, Ling would lose face. Her act would imply that he had acted meanly (which he had) and reveal her as the one who was really in charge (which she was), and that could amount to an unforgivable loss of face.

  Domenica looked at the boy. He was still staring at Ling and it seemed to her that he was on the brink of tears.

  She turned to Ling. “Such a helpful boy,” she said. “And he has such a charming smile.”

  Ling glanced at the boy. “He is just riff-raff,” he said. “The son of an assistant pirate.”

  “But such appealing riff-raff,” persisted Domenica. “In fact, I really must photograph him – for my records.”

  She had been carrying a small camera in her rucksack, and she now rummaged in the bag to retrieve it.

  “I do not think you should photograph him,” said Ling, shooing the boy away with a gesture of his hand. “He must go away now.”

  “But I must!” exclaimed Domenica. “I must have a complete record.”

  Ignoring Ling, she moved towards the boy and led him gently away from the side of the veranda. At first he was perplexed, but when he realised what was happening his face broke into a grin and he stood co-operatively in front of a tree while Domenica took the photograph.