by William Lane
‘Leave him alone,’ shouted David, stepping towards the group. The little boys looked up in surprise, and slowly dispersed, muttering hideous threats. The naked boy dressed slowly, taking several attempts to get into each article of clothing, while continually pleading, ‘Don’t tell anyone, please don’t tell anyone –’
‘But then they’ll get away with it.’
‘I don’t want anyone to know. Please don’t tell.’
‘What’s your name?’
But the boy shook his head. Dressed at last, he scurried away.
At lunchtime, David met Gregory in the hall to discuss the play. They talked at the foot of the stage. The master seemed to be in poor shape, sweating and gaunt. David saw that his infected hand had cramped up, and the master was using it as a kind of pincer to hold onto the script.
‘You have to beg the gods for forgiveness in this scene,’ Gregory said to David. ‘How are you going to beg?’
David fell to his knees, and set himself to speak the lines.
‘I thought I’d find you in here,’ said a disembodied voice. The footsteps gained volume and weight, and Val appeared on the stage above them, a stormy Val. He crossed the stage with an angry strut.
‘I’m very disappointed in you, Gregory. First you wouldn’t sign the petition. You were too frightened. You wouldn’t stand up for what you believe in. Talk about ingratitude. After all I did for you.’
‘Can we talk about this somewhere else, Val? This isn’t the place.’
‘It’s as good a place as any.’
‘In front of a student?’
‘It’s about the boy that I’m most offended. You are trying to take this boy from me.’
‘What on earth?’
‘He’s more interested in this play than in the football team. Isn’t that true, David? Football is the reason he is at this school, in case you’ve forgotten. And in case he’s forgotten. He should be in the gym working out with the team at this moment. We’ve got a big game coming up.’
‘I’d say there’s time enough on top of football for –’
‘I’d say you should keep out of it, young Gregory. David’s been coming to football practice with his head in the clouds, if he comes to practice at all. Where were you yesterday afternoon?’ Val suddenly demanded, fixing the full force of his voice and gaze upon David.
‘Everything seemed over. I went home.’
‘Home? You can’t just go home when you feel like it. And, Gregory, I hear you’ve scheduled a play practice this afternoon – despite our chat the other night. Well, it’s not going to happen. He’s coming to training this afternoon. Remember, David, it was me who got you to this place, it’s thanks to me that you are with us at all. I stood up and fought for you – I still am fighting for you, truth be told. Is this how you plan to repay me? Your performance on the football field in the last fortnight has left a lot to be desired, let me tell you. We’re carrying you out there. First fifteen football is no jog in the park.’
‘You’re deliberately playing with him, Val,’ said Gregory, clutching his cramped hand. ‘You’re forcing him to make a choice, which is not right.’
‘There is no choice, Gregory,’ said Val, and left the stage.
18
Val went looking for Capon. He had been trying to talk to the headmaster for days now, but he was hard to find, and when he was spotted – strutting across the parade ground, ducking into the dining hall – Wiley was always at his side. Val wanted to speak to the headmaster alone. Finally he got him after football practice that evening, just as Capon was leaving his office to join one of Mistress Capon’s celebrated soirées.
‘Have you come to look at my portrait?’ asked the headmaster.
‘I actually wanted to have a chat, Capon.’
‘Oh.’ Capon fussed about his desk. He had been standing when Val entered, and did not sit; nor did he offer Val a seat.
‘It’s about young Gregory.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid he’s turning out to be rather a disappointment.’
‘How’s that?’
‘He’s not a team player. He’s got it into his head to pursue this play. But he’s not up for it. It’s not going to come off. He’s wasting the boys’ time, I’m afraid. And – and I hesitate to say this – but I believe he’s too close to some of the pupils.’
‘Oh yes? Anyone in particular, Val?’
‘David, for example. He’s always with him. I think it’s unprofessional. I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but my conscience tells me I can’t keep quiet about it any longer. Perhaps it’s simply inexperience on Gregory’s part. A lack of appropriate boundaries. He is young; it’s one of the pitfalls of the profession.’
‘You think so?’
‘We can help Gregory, I think, guide him. A quiet word from you – to back off David, put the play on the shelf – would help young Gregory no end. He needs that kind of support at this point, Capon. It’s timely.’
‘I see. I’ll think about it.’
‘Good. Oh – I believe the bishop had something to say concerning me the other night?’
‘He did? When?’
‘At the last council meeting. I’ve been waiting to hear about what was said. I’ve been trying to catch a minute with you.’
‘Yes, well – well, you know I admire you greatly, Val –’
‘But?’
‘Please don’t take this the wrong way. You’re doing excellent work with the first fifteen, and I know Mistress Capon’s expecting you at our soirée this afternoon, and she expects you to sing a song –’
‘Have I done something wrong?’
‘No, no! Well, not exactly.’ Capon stopped fiddling. He took a deep breath, then finally sat behind his desk. ‘Listen, Val, I’ve had quite some experience now of being a headmaster, I think you’ll agree. I’ve been here eight years. And I know what a complicated, ever-growing organisation a large school such as ours is.’ Capon cleared his throat and looked at the telephone – he would rather be talking to anyone else, it seemed. ‘And I know you can’t please everyone –’
‘I don’t expect to please everyone. My pursuit of excellence has always offended some. I make no apologies for it. It goes with the territory.’
‘Hear me out! Hear me out! I have always had full faith in your abilities, Val, and you have proved to me I am under no illusion there – the boys have thrived under your tutelage. Look at that Bishop Gray. What a fine young fellow. And you’ve been the guiding hand there, Val, as with so, so many of the other fine young men we are producing. But our school, although a splendidly united community, is – as its traditions bear out – a complicated entity; there are several voices, in short, that must be heard – heard, and accommodated. See it as a choir, if you will. Yes, picture us as a choir.’
Val had his hands in his hair. He began pulling.
‘There are – what shall I say? – differing expectations within our community. I’ve learnt this as headmaster. The Rurals, for example –’
‘The Rurals, I’ve offended a Rural? What did Cato say about me? Of course he’s naturally disappointed about Thomas –’
‘The Rurals, to whom our school owes so very much, sometimes go about things a little differently to some of the others in our school choir –’
‘So – so what are you saying?’
‘One aspect of the school is its religious life; religious life –’
‘Ah. That’s where I’ve offended. But how?’
‘Well – yes. Your perceived attitude towards some aspects of the school ethos has been noted.’
‘And the bishop was saying … what exactly?’
‘Well, we – the school, I mean – fall under the auspices of the Church of England. We are a church school. I’m not sure you’ve appreciated that fully, Val.’
‘Oh, it’s all rubbish! But if we must pander to fairy tales –’
‘I don’t wish to hear your personal view on that matter, Val.’
>
Val coloured, cleared his throat. ‘I apologise. I can temper my outspokenness, rest assured –’
‘I expect you will. Another thing. There have been complaints from parents, Val. There’s a perception you lean on boys, that you intimidate them.’
‘What? Who said this? Intimidate? Who? Who?’
‘Hear me out. I don’t doubt you attempt to inspire boys from the very best of motives, I know your love of excellence. But not all boys can take it. And your methods have been brought into question.’ Capon looked at his watch. ‘I don’t propose to go into that here and now. I trust you fully in this area. But perhaps it would be best if you were a little more – how can I put it delicately – distant from some of the boys. I wouldn’t recommend inviting them back to your lodgings, for instance. Especially after dark. It’s simply a matter of perception, Val. It pains me to say it.’
Val stared at Capon’s desk. The headmaster rather protectively rearranged some items – his quill pen, his sharp little letter opener, and his heavy crystal paperweight.
‘Appearances are very important, Val,’ he offered.
Still Val said nothing.
‘You don’t wish to say anything for yourself?’
‘I’ve nothing to explain.’
‘Good. I’m very, very glad to hear it. Now, we’re in the middle of the longest term, and the school’s misfortunes have taken a toll on all of us – all of us. It’s most difficult, in stressful times, to maintain a balanced, healthy approach. I’m not saying you’ve lost perspective, Val. But perhaps you’ve been working too hard, throwing yourself in body and soul. Take a small step back. Relax a little.’
‘I don’t need a holiday.’
‘No, I wasn’t going to suggest it. But let’s pace ourselves a little better. Still quite a few weeks to go, old chap, before the holidays. So let’s all take a step back, take a deep breath, and have a little look at ourselves. Mmm?’
Val finally let go of his hair, letting his hands flop by his sides, leaving his hair standing up in tufts.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ shrieked Capon abruptly. ‘Answer me!’
‘I’ve heard what you’ve said, I assure you, headmaster, and I’ll think it over.’
‘You’re in no position to threaten me, Val.’
‘I’m not doing that.’
Capon’s red face subsided to an uneven patchwork of purple and pink. ‘Very well. We understand one another. Do we?’
‘We do.’
‘You need to help me here, Val. I’ve trusted you. Tell me now if there is anything – anything – I should know.’
‘There is nothing, headmaster.’
Capon stared one moment more – then became brisk. ‘Good. Now, we have a party to attend. I hope you’re in fine voice this afternoon, Val. Valerie would never forgive me if I delayed you any longer. Come along, old chap.’
The party was already assembled in the drawing room. Two oil studies in reds and pinks and greys, one of Capon, one of Mistress Capon, hung on the wall behind the piano. Pink and white flowers were arranged in long-necked vases underneath each likeness. Festus had donned a strange yellow and green harlequin suit for the occasion, and was clapped wherever he went. In a spasm of fun he even briefly performed a little dance in his suit, before settling, crimson as a cherub, behind his gleaming black instrument. He lived for these occasions. In general, however, the tone was rather muted, for Mistress Capon, always the life of the party, was somewhat off-colour. ‘Indisposed’, was the word she offered. No, she had not brought along her powdered brown understudy. Couldn’t face any extra effort. And no, she wasn’t able to stand, sorry. When Val approached she looked up at him with heavy low lids and a drawn mouth, even a pout, while lying on a cream chaise longue that set off her pearl dress.
‘Ah, you’ve been hearing bad things about me, I fear,’ said Val suavely, bending to kiss her hanging hand.
‘Oh, I’m staying completely mum,’ replied Mistress Capon.
‘Don’t believe a word of it.’
‘Oh, you are a naughty boy.’
Staff were accustomed to seeing Mistress Capon prostrate. She liked ‘slumming it’ – which for her meant appearing déshabillé in the staffroom at unexpected moments, and arranging herself on a couch by the door. She never even blinked at the pornography on the magazine table, her character being too refined to notice. Mistress Capon enjoyed the challenge of drawing a compliment or an attempted witticism from even the dullest, most cloddish master, and there was no lack of opportunity in the staffroom. She didn’t mind dancing with two left feet, as she herself chuckled. She specialised in ‘discovering’ men, in helping barren, constricted souls send forth a little flower, if only once. There was a wit in every soul, she maintained boldly, even if none but she could discover it.
‘Now, Mr Val is going to redeem himself by singing us a song,’ announced Mistress Capon loudly from where she lay.
‘But the boys have been waiting for you,’ said Capon, ‘we must first see the first fifteen, they’re here especially for you –’
‘Let them wait. Come on, Val. We’ve waited long enough.’
‘Allow me to have a drink first,’ said Val, ‘I’ve only just arrived.’
‘Oh, very well,’ sighed Mistress Capon. ‘Do I have to look at the lads? I’m indisposed.’
‘They’ve got especially dressed up for you, dear, in the new blazers you yourself sketched – don’t disappoint them. They love their blazers so. The colours will match your dress.’
‘No. I said let them wait. Look at Festus.’ Festus was playing, with his bulbous eyes gummed shut. ‘Festus, little darling, you do love your Tchaikovsky!’ Festus ungummed his eyes a slit and grinned. ‘But we’ve already had enough Tchaikovsky. You’ve been tinkling away at it for the entirety. How about some Rachmaninoff, dearest? Just for a change – however slight.’ She chuckled, and Festus went pink, savouring her torments. Then Mistress Capon said, in a voice for all to hear, ‘Now, did you know, Mr Capon, that our minister of religion, our very own Mr C, has a very closely guarded secret, kept from us all this time? And I’ve only this minute found it out.’
‘What secret is that, darling?’ asked Capon.
‘Mr C can sing.’
‘Oh? He can sing?’
‘He can. And I’ve persuaded him to sing for us this evening. Well, let there be no further delay, I say. I’m sure he’ll be more obliging than our great tease, Mr Val.’
Mistress Capon, drink in hand, eyed Val as Mr C stepped forward. ‘A religious song, I expect, Mr C?’
‘I thought “Blow the Wind Southerly”,’ suggested Mr C.
‘Oh? But that’s one of Mr Val’s favourites. We’ll be able to afford a direct comparison. How entertaining! Best listen carefully, Mr Val. Might pick up a few tips.’
Mistress Capon winked at Val, poking out the tip of her tongue. His baleful look she clearly thought delicious.
Mr C began singing, Festus primly accompanying. To watch Festus, the most fastidious of critics, relax and swoon, was to appreciate the quality of the performance. Mr C really had an expressive, golden-toned voice, of which he was in full command. The room was reduced to attentive silence by the first phrase.
‘Beautiful! Haunting! Superb!’ cried Mistress Capon after a few beats of genuinely astonished silence following the song. She leapt to her feet, entirely forgetting her indisposition. ‘You’ve topped the bill! There’s something ancient in his voice, don’t you think? Something unfathomable – something haunting, beautiful, spiritual. He’s such a spiritual man! Oh, come over here and let me congratulate you, my dear Mr C! But what’s wrong, Val? Now, now, don’t be such a bad sport, Val – why, he’s leaving! I think we’ve offended him! Oh, and he’s broken a glass. How ill-mannered. People who always have to be the best at everything really are rather tedious, don’t you think? Well, you can’t please everyone. No, Mr Parsons, let him go, let him go – you, Mr C, are my new favourite.’ Oh, how delicious.
&n
bsp; 19
Over the next few weeks more and more boys became ill with boils, dislocations, pulled muscles, and the usual flu and colds. With the continuing rain, the buildings themselves appeared bruised, as moss and mould and rising damp discoloured them. The displaced boys from the two ruined houses turned up where they were least expected – in sports’ storerooms, abandoned sheds, the school graveyard, under the bridge – and they particularly disliked the sight of each other. With each passing week the coldness that had traditionally existed between eastern and western houses set deeper into open hostility. The problem could no longer be blamed on errant, ambitious individuals, or small bands of boys led astray by one big bad apple: no, the problem was now firmly entrenched. No one quite knew why relations were so rancorous, no one could remember what the original dispute had been between the eastern and western houses – if, in fact, there ever had been one – so no one could ever get to the root of the problem. The strength of east–west hostility could be judged by the fact that it cut across all other allegiances. Most houses were now well fortified.
Many of the displaced westerners had been taken under Mr C’s wing; he sought them out.
Things were also going badly with the horses. The free horses repeatedly attacked the domestics in the pastures. They even threatened boys who strayed into the bush. And an enormous image of a horse had emerged on the bank above the oval. Some claimed to have seen it emerging over the past few weeks, visible only from certain vantage points or at a particular time of day.
There were more little native animals and rats about than ever before, scampering close to the buildings, invading the roofs to stay dry. Continual blackouts resulted – rodents were always gnawing through wires. Now the nights were noisy in the boarding houses, the possums and other nocturnal animals stretching out on their long straight dashes above the dormitories.