The Horses

by William Lane

  Mr C nodded.

  ‘The sum of it is we now have a situation where parents are ringing me threatening to withdraw their boys from the school because of this man.’

  ‘First I’ve heard of it!’ cried Capon.

  ‘To be frank, they’re bypassing you, Capon, because you’re seen to be Mr Val’s man.’

  ‘What? What twaddle!’

  ‘That’s the perception. I’m only repeating the perception, Capon. The parents who call me are having their sons ringing them in tears, tears – because Mr Val’s dropped them from the team, or Mr Val’s ignoring them, or Mr Val’s done this, or Mr Val’s said that. Some of the pressure on the boys is subtle, and they have trouble verbalising it, being only boys, and being respectful of the masters. Yet Mr Val has a way, it seems, of bringing things to a head. And let me add this. Several of the parents I have spoken to do not wish their boys to visit Mr Val at his lodgings. Particularly after dark. They do not trust him. Is that clear enough?’

  Capon gulped. ‘I was unaware of any such insinuations concerning Val.’

  ‘He has favourites, everyone has told me so.’

  ‘I must disagree,’ said Capon, ‘Val is most professional, I can’t imagine these allegations against him have any foundation. Who said this?’

  ‘No matter who said it. I just thought I should let you know – let the council know – what I am being told,’ said the bishop. ‘This school’s reputation is on the line here. Do we jeopardise that because of one man? Is Mr Val so important to us? Oh, one last thing. It seems the man detests Christianity. Is that true?’

  ‘I’ve no doubt Val’s a fine Christian man,’ said Capon.

  ‘Well, why don’t we ask him?’ proposed the bishop. ‘You wanted to ask him in earlier. Now let’s do it.’

  ‘And if he isn’t?’ said Black. ‘Is that a crime? Is it to be held against him? What exactly is going on here?’

  ‘Well, I’m curious to see how he answers,’ replied the bishop.

  ‘I’d like to say something at this point,’ said Cato Butter-Finch, clearing his throat.

  Everyone looked at him.

  Cato took his time to even begin. Those who had not heard him before might have thought him impaired – his sentences were full of agonising pauses – but for the slowly emerging content of what he said. ‘Do not think I’m … embittered … because of what happened to my son, Thomas – Thomas being dropped from the first fifteen – although I believe that was wrong, wrong. And unjustified. I believe I am speaking … on behalf … of all those … parents … who have raised their concerns with me over the past, oh, how long has it been? Eighteen months? No, two years now … or so. The man, it seems to me, is splitting the school.’

  Mr C nodded.

  ‘The man is ambitious, as the bishop here says. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose … except he’s dividing us, setting us against one another, I believe … to further his own ambitions, perhaps. Whatever they might be. He acts, one might say, as a kind of … parasite upon us. We are his … host. It seems he understands us … very well. Oh yes. He knows how to play us off against … one another. I’ve seen his type once or twice before.’

  ‘Come, come, he’s not the devil!’ cried Capon, and tried to raise a laugh.

  ‘I don’t know who he is, nor care.’ Cato cleared his throat. ‘I do know this school is bigger than any one man or his … career. I don’t care if he’s coached the first fifteen … to five victories. Sorry, I really couldn’t … care less. What I’m worried about is the community … the school … community.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said the bishop.

  ‘And the boys, what about them? For in the end – isn’t the school for them? It appears this is a … man who treats those who disagree with him with … contempt, whether it be matters of judgement or matters of … belief. I don’t doubt, and I don’t say this … lightly, I don’t doubt he is at odds with the school’s underlying … values.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ repeated the bishop, joined now by Mr C. Others, however, began raising their voices in opposition.

  ‘Hear me out,’ intoned Cato, raising the stub of one of his fingers. ‘What unites our school community, I believe, is our hard work and our desire … our wish that our boys are to have a good future, a future, that is, of … opportunity. The same, or better, opportunities than we … ever had. It’s not to be taken lightly. It’s to be guarded … stringently. That, at any rate, is what I work for. And why I pay my fees, which I might say, are rather … high!’

  Some laughed. Capon poured himself a third – or was it a fourth? – whisky.

  ‘I’ve been around long enough to realise this school is not only about the … country boys and the country folk, I don’t speak only for them … certainly others have asked me to speak to you all tonight, people from many different backgrounds. We are a … coalition, we of this school, a coalition of … conservative folk, city and country, sometimes odd … bedfellows. We need one another, come what may. Our … values are … similar. Don’t let this man Val divide us.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Butter-Finch, that was never Val’s intention!’ cried Capon, ‘he only wants the best from the boys, the very best –’

  ‘I question that,’ said Cato. ‘On my way about I’ve spoken to seven, no, eight, fathers who are thinking of … withdrawing their sons from this school, all because of this Mr Val … joker. They’re not only … country folk, mind you. And each of those eight knew others contemplating the … same course.’

  ‘That’s thousands of dollars,’ whispered Tait.

  ‘It’s much more than money, Mr Tait,’ said Cato. ‘It’s what we stand for. What we are. On this point this … joker is not with us. He is not … one of us.’

  ‘I’m obliged to agree,’ said Mr C emphatically. ‘And on the point of Mr Val and Christianity I think we have an issue of extreme concern. The man dislikes Christian boys, this is an issue –’

  ‘Come, come,’ said Capon. ‘I am a churchman myself, and Val has never been anything less than a fine friend to me. Fine friend. He attends chapel every morning along with the rest of the school. Let’s not get carried away against one of our own –’

  The bishop was standing. ‘Well, I’ll let the council deal with what’s been said as they think fit. Very interesting meeting. I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Capon. And by the way, you have a fine fellow here in your minister, Mr C. Oh, what’s this Mr Val fellow’s background? Is he a Jew?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Capon. ‘Don’t think that ill of us!’

  ‘I wouldn’t have,’ said the bishop crisply. He almost smiled. ‘Well, I’ll leave you now. Oh yes, and I expect the school will be funding that confirmation camp?’

  At last the bishop did smile.

  15

  Val had not waited for the meeting to finish. He walked through the rain and thunder to his lodgings, made himself sit in his favourite chair before the fire, read some Seneca. Several times he read aloud, ‘“If you have the strength to tackle any one aspect of misfortune, you have the strength to tackle all”.’

  But he found no peace, and he paced his lodgings, muttering: to think, that at the very moment he had felt most wanted, most needed by these people, at the very moment he served them best – they were plotting against him! The ingratitude! It was implacable ingratitude on their part, implacable. You could never really become one of this lot.

  He placed one of his beloved records on the turntable, but continued to pace about without hearing it. Was his reputation to be tarnished? Val feared that. At the moment the situation was beyond his control. He hated that. He had tried to hear through the door what was being said in the meeting, but the wood was too thick. Then, when the bell kept ringing for the maid, he had sweet-talked, cajoled, and finally threatened the woman to tell him at least something of what was being said in there. But she turned out to be a stubborn simpleton, a wretch of a woman, and she refused. After that he had left.

  At last – a knock a
t his door. Val strode to open it, then slowed, gathering himself.

  It was Tait.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ said Val, his voice strangely high.

  ‘I won’t, Val. I only wanted to say I’m sorry for the way things happened back there in the meeting. You know you have my full support, Val.’

  ‘It’s the Christians, isn’t it?’

  Tait pulled a wry face.

  ‘What can I expect?’ asked Val. ‘Do I still have a job?’

  ‘Of course you do. I expect a little chat with Capon will iron out any misunderstandings.’

  ‘What did the bishop say about me?’

  ‘I can’t repeat what the bishop said.’

  Headlights were turning in the night, brushing over a wall into darkness, passing over phosphorescent retinas, sweeping up the hill towards the gate. A second set of headlights followed.

  ‘And Black? What does he think?’ asked Val.

  ‘I can’t speak for Black,’ said Tait. ‘Val, you know ours is a very old-fashioned establishment. It’s hard to change anything here. You’re trying to change things. You’re an idealist, in your way. Something in me respects that. You understand that the world out there is only getting tougher, and that the boys must compete in a changing world. That they can’t rest on the laurels of others, that they must perform. You are a perfectionist. I respect that. And I wish you well.’

  Val had begun gushing back at the accountant’s words, when the squelching of shoes made them turn. Gregory entered the light.

  ‘I’ll let you go,’ said Tait rather hurriedly, looking back and forth between the two masters.

  ‘I appreciate so much what you’ve said, Tait!’ called Val. ‘Goodbye! And thank you! Hello, Gregory. This is a nice surprise. What’s up?’

  ‘You asked me to drop by.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘To pick up your copy of Sophocles.’

  ‘Oh yes! Come in! Wet enough for you? How is the play going?’

  ‘Oh, a bit of a nightmare,’ admitted Gregory, crossing the doorstep, then pausing. The rain was suddenly heavy.

  ‘Well, come in, young Gregory. Tell me about the play.’

  ‘None of the boys can act, I’m afraid. They seem so sluggish and uninspired, so wooden. They don’t seem to understand the stage, the freedom it gives. They have no imaginations. I’ve never struck it before. The girls at my last school just loved this sort of thing. I don’t know why these boys even want to be part of the play. Maybe they’re just very tired all the time. Such a long term. Except for David, of course: he’s a natural.’

  ‘Ah, David. He’s turning out to be a highly talented boy. Come in, come right in.’

  ‘Val, I don’t think I’ll stay. To be honest I’m not feeling a hundred per cent. But I was going to ask you a small favour.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want David to attend a special play rehearsal on Tuesday after school.’

  ‘No, he can’t. You know that would clash with his football training.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s only a one-off rehearsal. It’s so hard to get all the cast together at once.’

  Val did not answer this. He had been standing near the door close to Gregory. Now he found his visitor a chair, placed it before the low burning fire, and offered him a whisky. Gregory declined. Val insisted. (Val himself never touched alcohol.) ‘Sit down, sit down,’ he repeated.

  Gregory reluctantly sat. He became aware of a symphony in the background, swelling, subsiding, rumbling towards conclusion. And then the rain.

  Val seated himself with a sigh. ‘Oh, I’ve had a night, Gregory. I’ve had quite a night.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Oh, a bit battered and bruised, to be frank.’

  ‘You were being fêted after the game.’

  ‘That seems a lifetime ago. Tell me, Gregory, frankly, what do you really think of this Mr C fellow?’

  Gregory regarded Val rather coolly. He was beginning to tire of this man’s tricks.

  Yet Val seemed not to sense it. There was an urgency about him tonight.

  ‘A well-intentioned man, Val, from what I’ve seen.’

  ‘He is. You’re right. A zealous man. He’s preaching to the boys, I’ve seen him, and he’s converting them. And he’s turning them against me. You may hear ill things spoken of me over the next few days, Gregory. A time is approaching when no one will be able to sit on the fence. No one will be able to remain neutral by doing nothing or by having no opinion. Whose side will you be on, Gregory, that’s what I wonder. I wonder.’

  Gregory had envisaged and feared a scene like this.

  Val laughed. ‘I have run ahead. I apologise. I’m letting my own concerns cloud your mood, aren’t I? Actually, Gregory, I’ve taken a real beating tonight – but that’s not your concern, is it. Now, you were talking about the play – isn’t David a beautiful boy?’

  Gregory agreed he was a talented boy, a likeable boy.

  ‘He has no parents, you know,’ said Val. ‘I like that. He’s an open slate. Amazing, children are amazing. So beautiful.’

  Val scrutinised Gregory for some time. Then he stood abruptly and stoked the fire, threw on another log. He offered Gregory a second drink. Gregory said no, but Val did not seem to hear, and filled his glass anyway. Then Val stared into the fire, his back to Gregory. ‘You know, Gregory,’ he said, still looking in the fire, ‘it’s not really up to you to ask me to lend you David for an afternoon.’

  ‘Val –’

  ‘But you might twist my arm.’

  ‘I should go,’ said Gregory.

  Val turned, and changed tack, saying quickly, ‘Your hand’s still sore?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Let me look.’

  Before Gregory knew what was happening, Val was kneeling beside him, looking at his hand. ‘This looks very sore, Gregory. It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is a bit.’

  ‘Can you move it?’

  ‘It’s stiff.’

  With one hand Val took Gregory’s injured hand. With the other hand he squeezed his bicep. ‘You’re quite well developed, aren’t you, Gregory. Let me feel your shoulder.’ A car passed close in the rain. Then Val felt Gregory’s thigh. ‘You’ve got a sportsman’s body, you know. I thought as much. You just haven’t developed it. I could help you with that. But that hand, that hand really worries me – let me put ointment on it. Did I get you that other drink?’

  A coal spat from the fire, a red tooth gnawing at the carpet. Gregory watched it, somehow unable to move, as Val dashed to the bathroom and returned with ointment and bandages.

  Yes, the heavy rain had definitely returned for another night, beating on the roof, always beating.

  Val began smoothing ointment on Gregory’s hand.

  ‘What do you think of Mistress Capon?’ he asked, smiling up at Gregory. ‘Come on, you can tell me. You don’t answer. You’re not tempted by the ladies? You must have women throwing themselves at you, Gregory, I bet.’

  Gregory laughed uncertainly.

  ‘You must get that. Do you get that? From the women?’

  ‘At my last job, at the girls’ school, yes, a little bit. Just the usual, you know.’

  ‘Plenty of opportunities there!’ When Gregory did not reply, Val hurried on: ‘I do believe Mistress Capon’s got something of a crush on you. And that’s understandable. I can’t imagine she’s been the first. So, Gregory, have you got a girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really? That surprises me, a good-looking young man like you.’

  ‘I’m busy, Val.’

  ‘Focusing on your career.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you need to have some fun, too. Fun needn’t be too time-consuming.’

  Gregory winced, withdrew his hand. But Val took it back, and began bandaging it. ‘No, no, you must let me help you. That’s not too tight, is it? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I was feeling very down when you arrived tonight, Gregory, I admi
t I was feeling rather confused. But I’m cheering up now. My mind is clearer. And your presence is partly to thank for that. I’m going to get up a petition, that’s what I’m going to do, in protest at the boys being pressured by that Mr C. Boys aren’t ready at fifteen to make so-called spiritual choices. They’re being pressured, bullied by that minister, permanently distorted. A kind of spiritual abuse. A boy should at least see the world and become a man before he ties himself to some vocation or path.’ Val began stroking Gregory’s forearm. ‘Does the pain shoot up here too? If I squeeze up here, does that hurt? No? Good. Yes, why ask boys at that age, the very age when they are most vulnerable, most confused about who they are, to choose what their purpose in life is? People like Mr C are forcing them to make such big decisions, and set them down some path before they even know what life’s about. It’s wrong, it’s criminal. Don’t you think? Rushing them like that, grabbing them while they can’t think for themselves. Making them set permanently into some shape chosen for them. Wicked. You wouldn’t do that, would you? Just roll up your sleeve a bit more –’

  ‘Val, please –’

  ‘Sshh! I’ll give it a little massage. There you go. Oooh!

  Your shoulders, they’re so tense! Relax a little, Gregory. I can call you Greg if you want – do you want me to? Or Mr G?’

  ‘No. I mean, no.’

  ‘What you need is another drink. It does help sometimes.’

  Gregory abruptly stood. ‘I’m sorry, Val, you’ve got the wrong idea. I must go.’

  ‘That was too hard, was it?’

  ‘Yes. No. But anyway, I don’t want you massaging me!’

  ‘What’s wrong, Gregory? What’s the problem?’

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable, that’s all. I mean, another man –’

  ‘Relax. I was enjoying having a chat, no harm in that. Offloading after a hard day.’