It was early in the morning, and I was sitting in the school playground, waiting for Frank and company to join me. I was not preparing a lesson: I was not preparing anything. I was thinking. It seemed to me that my affairs had become desperately complicated. In fact I said to myself that they were in a hell of a mess. It was the morning after Steve had confided Tom’s latest idea. I had a headache and felt curiously tense.
The sky was clouded over, and during the night there must have been some rain. Every now and then drops of water fell from the leaves of the lime tree under which I was sitting: the ground was damp, and the atmosphere carried a warm, pervasive smell of dust. Birds fluttered to and fro between the trees. Everything seemed unusually quiet.
My morning newspaper lay folded in my lap, and I noticed part of the headline. I had already read it. The fate of Europe was rolling on, but I had begun to lose any accurate sense of what it was rolling towards. I was aware to my shame that I had become less interested.
Sometimes I tried to link the disintegration of our private lives with the disintegration of affairs in the world. I saw us all being carried along into some nameless chaos. Yet it rang false. In spite of what the headlines told me every morning, in spite of what I reasoned must happen to the world, I was really preoccupied most deeply with what was going on between me and Myrtle and between Tom and Steve. People can concentrate on their private lives, I thought, in the middle of anything.
I had written to the American Consulate in London about a visa for myself. My slackness in Weltanschauung had not robbed me entirely of the capacity for action.
I had made a beginning with Bolshaw’s computation. I had to do something. There was no reply from Miss X.Y., and I needed to know the fate of my last book before I could begin a new one. Suppose she never came back from the Balkans, suppose I were kept waiting a lifetime! My anxiety had become completely unreasonable. Small wonder I took to computation.
The idea that my true love was being pursued by my best friend did not cause me an entirely sleepless night. It was far too ridiculous. And as it had been conveyed to me by a notable liar, I reserved my right to make a scene. However, Tom’s new gambit had brought me to one important conclusion; namely, that if I did not intend to marry Myrtle myself I ought not to stop anyone else marrying her.
This conclusion was important to me, and it was only afterwards that I learnt it was incomprehensible to everyone else. I must make it clear now that I not only came to the conclusion: I stuck to it. To understand it entails harking back to a revelation I made earlier on, that, feeling myself not to have been born a good man, I often sought to try and behave like one. Alas! I accepted that all was fair in love and war as far as primary things went; but if I could show a bit of decency in secondary ones, so much the better, I thought.
That was my aim. Nobody understood it. And I might have known that the result, if it was anything like the result of my previous attempts in this direction, was likely to be farcical. With my usual optimism, determination or crassness, I did not foresee it. I sat alone under the lime trees fascinated by the general concept rather than practical results. And of course I had a headache.
The boys came out and drew up their chairs beside me. I noticed that Trevor was missing and asked Frank where he was. Frank did not know.
‘I saw him last night,’ I said.
I thought Frank gave me an odd look.
‘With ’is girl?’ said Fred, getting down immediately to his favourite topic of conversation.
I did not reply.
‘Wish I’d got a girl,’ said Fred. ‘I’ve been reading Freud. It’s bad not to ’ave a girl.’
Had Trevor been present he would have lured Fred into an innocent, half-baked disquisition on psychoanalysis. As it was, Fred was ignored. He sighed and began to work.
A little while later a boy came out to me with a chit from the headmaster. It forbade the holding of lessons in the playground.
I was amazed. ‘Look at this,’ I said to Frank and passed it to him. Fred and Benny read it over his shoulder.
‘What a sod!’ said Frank.
‘Oo-ya bugger,’ said Fred.
The messenger, who had read it himself, sniggered cheerfully. I handed back the slip of paper and sent him on his way.
‘What are you going to do, sir?’ said Benny. It was a trivial annoyance. The practice of holding lessons in the yard was of long standing. The senior boys regarded it as one of their privileges.
‘I don’t propose to move now.’
I happened to look up, and saw the face of the headmaster peeping at me through his window.
Then I made a silly mistake. I decided to go and talk to Bolshaw. I thought he would be only too ready to gossip about the latest démarche of the headmaster. I walked into the school, and found him sitting in his room with the door open. He came out into the corridor to talk to me.
There was no excuse for me. I knew well enough that Bolshaw was unpredictable. His having recently been my ally did not make him approve of me any the more. To imagine that he would agree with me was walking into danger in the most imbecile fashion. Into it I walked, and a moment later found myself in the midst of a violent quarrel.
‘I’ve just come out of the yard,’ I said.
‘Free period?’
‘No. Teaching the sixth. I got the headmaster’s note.’
‘Have you taken them into the small lab?’
‘Not on your life.’
‘What do you mean, Lunn?’
‘I don’t propose to do anything about it.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s too silly.’
Bolshaw stood peering at me in the semi-darkness of the corridor, with his heavy shoulders rounded and his hands in his pockets.
‘Why have you come to me?’
I ought to have known there was something wrong. To me the incident was trivial, and I was blind to his view of it. I replied:
‘To see what we can do about it.’
Bolshaw raised his voice. ‘Surprising as it may seem, I agree with the head for once. It’s time this unconventional behaviour stopped. Look here, my good fellow, I told you that you’d got to put your nose to the grindstone. That meant this kind of thing has got to stop.’
I was furious. It crossed my mind that he had put the headmaster up to it.
‘It’s becoming increasingly clear to me,’ Bolshaw said, ‘that there’s no room on this staff for people who flout the conventions.’
‘What the hell’s it got to do with you?’
I had been trapped into losing my temper.
‘Everything. I know what the conventions are.’
‘Do you indeed? Do you know that I and other masters have been taking lessons in the playground for the last seven years? When everybody does a thing – then it is conventional!’
Bolshaw snorted.
‘That’s what being conventional means!’ I said. ‘It’s got nothing to do with whether they’re good, bad, moral, wicked, useful or just damned lazy!’
‘Listen to me, my good fellow! I don’t propose to argue with you about what it means to be conventional. I know! And I can tell you this. Sooner or later the members of this staff who flout the conventions are going to find themselves’ – he paused – ‘outside!’ He took a blustering breath. ‘It may interest you to know that it was I who decided the chit should be circulated. The headmaster agreed with me, that more persons than one have got to put their noses to the grindstone!’
It was too much for me. I shouted angrily. ‘What about yourself?’
And Bolshaw clearly had not the slightest idea what I meant.
‘My function is to see that the noses, having been put to the grindstone, are kept there.’ He gave a braying, self-satisfied laugh. ‘The proper place for them!’
‘It’s the proper place for yours,’ I said. ‘You may appoint yourself to be keeper of the conventions, but I notice you don’t appoint yourself to do any teaching.’
‘I do more teaching than anyone else in this school.’
‘You certainly teach fewer periods.’
‘That’s because I have the power of imparting knowledge more rapidly than others.’
‘I don’t know how you manage it from the staff-room. Do you teach by telepathy?’
Bolshaw looked away in a dignified fashion.
‘It’s a pity that you find it necessary to quarrel with me, Lunn. It’s most unwise.’
I was alarmed. I knew that he was speaking the truth. Unfortunately he had spoken it too late. I had already done myself damage.
‘I don’t want,’ he said, ‘to have our collaboration disturbed.’ He paused to allow the effect to sink in.
I could have cried out with rage. I had been thinking this quarrel would mean my labours in his research coming to an end. Now I saw that he was going to use it to force me to go on. I had played into his hands.
I was silent. Nothing could be unsaid.
Bolshaw rattled the change in his pockets, and glanced into the class-room. Then he turned back to me.
‘I think it’s a very good rule,’ he said, ‘never to quarrel with one’s superior in authority.’ He paused. ‘I’m happy to say I’ve always kept to that rule. Except, of course, on rare occasions when I deemed it wiser to break it.’
There was nothing for me to say.
Immediately school was over on that afternoon I went to the café to meet Tom. I felt unusually agitated, and hardly noticed when I splashed through puddles of water lying in the cobbled market-place. I was thinking the sooner I was in America the better.
Tom was not there. I sat in our customary place, watching for him through the window. I suppose the sky was still grey and damp, but I do not recall it. There must have been delphiniums and lilies on the stalls. What I do remember, and strangely enough the recollection is vivid to this day, is that the waitresses were wearing a new uniform. They had previously worn black with white aprons: now they were in brown with aprons the colour of pale café-au-lait. Our waitress had blonde hair, and the new colours made her look very pretty.
Tom came in.
‘You’re looking worried,’ he said. ‘Have you had bad news from Miss X.Y.?’
I shook my head. Tom ordered tea. The ritual of ordering a meal was very important, whatever else was going on.
I described my quarrel with Bolshaw.
Tom listened with patience and sympathy. I was just coming to the end of it when the waitress brought the tea. We paused.
Tom poured out some tea and gave it to me, saying: ‘It probably won’t be serious.’
‘It’s maddening. There was no need for it whatsoever. I just took leave of my senses.’
Tom smiled. Instead of saying. ‘You introverts,’ he said:
‘I do it frequently.’ He looked at me with concentrated interest. ‘If you lost your temper as frequently as I do, Joe, you wouldn’t be so upset by it. You don’t seem to realize how often other people do lose their tempers.’
‘Bolshaw didn’t really lose his.’
‘No. He was satisfied with you losing yours. Are you under the impression there’s no emotion flying about between you and Bolshaw? The two of you aren’t counters in a complicated puzzle. You’re both human. At this moment Bolshaw’s probably feeling a glow of satisfaction, instead of feeling frustrated irritation.’ Tom called the waitress: ‘I should like another meringue, please.’
I confess to being comforted by this revelation of truth. Tom was speaking precisely in the tone he copied from Robert.
The next thing he said was, ‘I think you’ll find it cleared the air.’ It might have been Robert speaking, had the remark not been so absurd.
‘Cleared the air!’ I cried. ‘It’s probably cleared me out of my job!’
Tom shrugged his shoulders.
There was a pause, and I said: ‘I think the sooner I’m in America the better.’
‘Yes.’
Something made me glance at Tom – he met my glance with patent evasion.
‘I’ve been thinking about my own plans,’ he said.
‘Yes?’ I should hope he had.
Tom adopted his weightiest manner. ‘I may possibly postpone my departure.’ He spread out his hands. ‘Just by a fortnight.’
I was brought up sharply. ‘Why?’ I said.
‘Certain affairs at the office are running behind time.’
I did not believe him. ‘Is it Steve or Myrtle?’ I asked myself. I was just framing an oblique question, when we were interrupted. There was a stir beside us, and I looked up to see Frank.
I was startled. I had not asked him to come. Occasionally we invited him to have a drink with us in a public-house, but neither he nor any of the other boys was supposed to join us without being asked. Tom looked surprised.
‘I thought I should find you here.’ Frank looked very embarrassed. He had naturally pleasant manners.
‘Sit down,’ said Tom.
Frank drew up another chair to our table. He sat down and nervously straightened his tie, which was already tied to perfection.
‘I know I’m intruding,’ he said, ‘but I had to come.’ He addressed himself to Tom. ‘I hope Joe won’t mind.’ He pointed his nose diffidently towards me.
I shook my head.
Frank said: ‘It’s about Trevor.’ He glanced round. ‘I suppose you know he’s been having an affair with a girl? Well, he’s … you know … got her into trouble.’
I exclaimed in surprise.
Tom said: ‘He’ll have to marry her.’
At this moment the waitress came up to ask if Frank wanted anything. ‘Bring some more tea,’ Tom said to her commandingly.
I was silent. I was seeing us all ruined by a scandal.
‘He’ll have to marry her,’ Tom repeated.
‘That’s out of the question,’ said Frank.
‘Nonsense. How old is he?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘Then why can’t he marry her?’
‘She doesn’t want to marry him!’ Frank replied, with great seriousness.
‘Good gracious!’ said Tom, and added: ‘I can’t say that I blame her.’
‘That isn’t the point,’ said Frank.
‘Why doesn’t she want to marry him?’
‘She wants to be a sculptor.’ It appeared that all parties concerned thought sculpture and wedlock were mutually exclusive.
Tom laughed. ‘She looks as if she’s sculpted herself!’
I said: ‘Is it that big woman we saw him with last night?’
‘That’s right,’ said Frank. ‘She’s huge.’
Tom said: ‘He’s proved his manhood, anyway.’ He smiled flickeringly: ‘I suppose he thought the bigger the woman he took on the surer the proof.’
Frank laughed ruefully. ‘Poor little Trev!’ Tom gave him a knowing glance.
Frank’s expression changed suddenly. ‘But what are we to do, Tom?’
‘What’s Trevor doing?’
‘Nothing. He’s terrified. He doesn’t get on with his family. He nearly got chucked out after the trouble over the car. If they hear about this …’
‘Is it quite certain?’ I asked – a question appropriate to me.
Frank looked at me. ‘It’s quite certain. This is the third month.’
‘The little fool!’ said Tom.
I said: ‘It’s no use taking that attitude.’
‘I feel it,’ said Tom. ‘I feel healthy rage, Joe.’
The waitress brought us a fresh pot of tea, and a cup and saucer for Frank. Tom poured the tea.
Frank said to me: ‘I’m sorry I came to you, Joe. We couldn’t think of anyone else.’
‘That’s all right.’
Tom said: ‘We must make some plans.’ He paused. ‘First of all we’d better get the situation clear.’ He paused again. ‘They ought to get married.’
‘They can’t,’ said Frank.
‘If she doesn’t want to marry him, then she ought to have the child without.’
‘There’d be a terrific scandal. It would ruin Trev’s career.’
Tom pursed his lips. ‘Then there’s only one solution.’
‘Trev says she’s willing …’
In alarm I pushed my chair away from the table.
‘Look!’ I cried. ‘I can’t possibly be mixed up in this!’
‘There’s no need!’ With a grandiose gesture Tom swept me aside. ‘I’ll handle it.’
His voice was full and resonant. He meant what he said. It was just the generous, disinterested action of which he was capable: he would plunge in without counting the risk – and also, as a matter of fact, he would enjoy himself. I forgot his bustling absurdity and felt great affection for his good heart.
‘I’m afraid in my position at the school …’ I began, feeling ashamed.
Tom interrupted. ‘You’d better keep out of this.’
I nodded my head, thinking of the trouble I was in already at the school. I said: ‘I think it would be best if I’d heard nothing about it.’
Frank looked worried. ‘I won’t say that I’ve told you.’
I smiled at him. ‘It isn’t your fault, Frank.’
Frank smiled back, readily restored.
I prepared to leave them. First of all I took out my wallet, and counted the pound notes in it. I handed them all to Tom, thinking it was rather handsome of me.
‘You’ll probably need these,’ I said, in a solemn tone.
Tom accepted them, clearly thinking there were not enough. I was ruffled. I felt in my pockets for small change and found insufficient to pay for my tea.
‘You’ll have to let me have one of them back again,’ I said.
‘I’ll lend you half a crown,’ said Tom, not intending to part.
I walked away through the market-place. I realized that I had lost my resilience. I felt as touchy and cross as Myrtle accused me of being. I was inclined to ask myself rhetorical questions, such as: ‘Why do I get involved with people?’ and ‘Why don’t I leave them all?’ It seemed to be that in some distant way Trevor was responsible for my having quarrelled with Bolshaw.
America, I thought, was the place for me. Land of liberty, where my pupils would not get their girls in trouble. Or would they? Exactly what sort of liberty was it? My speculations were suddenly interrupted by recalling that Tom had postponed his setting sail for the land of liberty.
My speculations changed to suspicions. ‘What,’ I asked myself, in a question that was far from rhetorical, ‘is Tom up to now?’