The Schooldays of Jesus (7 page)

Inés raises a hand to her mouth in dismay. As for the boy, his face sets in a frown. ‘You say you love me but you don't love me,' he says. ‘You just pretend.'

‘I offer you the best answers I have and you throw them away like a child. Don't be surprised if I lose patience with you sometimes.'

‘You are always saying that. You are always saying I am a child.'

‘You are a child, and a silly child too, sometimes.'

A woman of middle age, a shopping basket on her arm, has
stopped to listen. She whispers something to Inés that he does not catch. Inés shakes her head hurriedly.

‘Come, let's go,' says Inés, ‘before the police come and take us away.'

‘Why are the police going to take us away?' says the boy.

‘Because Simón is behaving like a madman while we stand here listening to his nonsense. Because he is being a public nuisance.'

CHAPTER 6

MONDAY ARRIVES, and it falls to him to convey the boy to his new school. They get there well before eight o'clock. The studio doors are open but the studio itself is empty. He sits down on the piano stool. Together they wait.

A door opens at the back and señora Arroyo enters, dressed as before in black. Ignoring him, she sweeps across the floor, stops before the boy, takes his hands in her own. ‘Welcome, David,' she says. ‘I see you have brought a book. Will you show me?'

The boy offers her his
Don Quixote
. She examines it with a frown, pages through it, returns it to him.

‘And do you have your dancing slippers?'

The boy takes the slippers out of their cotton bag.

‘Good. Do you know what we call gold and silver? We call them the noble metals. Iron and copper and lead we call the slave metals. The noble metals are above, the slave metals are below. Just as there are noble metals and slave metals, there are noble numbers and slave numbers. You will learn to dance the noble numbers.'

‘They are not real gold,' says the boy. ‘It's just a colour.'

‘It is just a colour, but colours have meaning.'

‘I'll leave now,' says he, Simón. ‘I will be back to fetch you this afternoon.' He kisses the boy on the crown of his head. ‘Goodbye, my boy. Goodbye, señora.'

With time to kill, he wanders into the art museum. The walls are rather sparsely hung.
Zafiro Gorge at Sunset
.
Composition I
.
Composition II
.
The Drinker
. The artists' names mean nothing to him.

‘Good morning, señor,' says a familiar voice. ‘How do we impress you?'

It is Dmitri, sans cap, so dishevelled he might just have got out of bed.

‘Interesting,' he replies. ‘I am not an expert. Is there an Estrella school of painting, an Estrella style?'

Dmitri ignores the question. ‘I was watching when you brought your son. A big day for him, his first day with the Arroyos.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you must have had a chance to speak to señora Arroyo, Ana Magdalena. Such a dancer! So graceful! But childless, alas. She wants to have children of her own but she can't. It is a source of distress to her, of anguish. You wouldn't think it, to look at her, would you—anguish? You would think she was one of the serene angels who live on nectar. A little sip now and again, nothing more, thank you. But then there are señor Arroyo's children from his first marriage, whom she mothers. And the boarders too. So much love to give. Have you met señor Arroyo? No? Not yet? A great man, a true idealist who lives only for his music. You will see. Unfortunately he does not always have his feet on
the ground, if you understand my meaning. Head in the clouds. So it's Ana Magdalena who has to do the hard work, taking the youngsters through their dances, feeding the boarders, running a household, seeing to the affairs of the Academy. And she does it all! Splendidly! Not a word of complaint! Cool as a cucumber! A woman in a thousand. Everyone admires her.'

‘And all of these are housed on the same premises—the Academy of Dance, the boarding establishment, the Arroyo household?'

‘Oh, there is plenty of space. The Academy occupies the entire upper floor. Where are you from, señor, you and your family?'

‘From Novilla. We lived in Novilla until recently, until we moved north.'

‘Novilla. I've never been there. I came straight to Estrella and have been here ever since.'

‘And you have worked in the museum all that time?'

‘No, no, no—I have had more jobs than I can remember. That is my nature: a restless nature. I started out as a porter in the produce market. Then I had a spell working on the roads, but I didn't like it. For a long while I worked in the hospital. Terrible. Terrible hours. But moving too—the sights you see! Then came the day my life changed. No exaggeration. Changed for the better. I was hanging about on the square, minding my business, when she walked past. I couldn't believe my eyes. Thought it was an apparition. So beautiful. Unearthly. I jumped up and followed her—followed like a dog. For weeks I hung around the Academy, just for a glimpse of her. Of course she paid me no attention. Why should she? An ugly fellow like me. Then I saw a notice
advertising a job at the museum, a cleaner, bottom of the ladder, and to cut a long story short I started work here and have been here ever since. Promoted first to Attendant and then last year to Principal Attendant. Because of my diligence and my punctuality.'

‘I'm not sure I understand. You are referring to señora Arroyo?'

‘Ana Magdalena. Whom I worship. I am not ashamed to confess to it. Wouldn't you do the same if you worshipped a woman—follow her to the ends of the earth?'

‘The museum is hardly the ends of the earth. How does señor Arroyo feel about your worshipping of his wife?'

‘Señor Arroyo is an idealist, as I told you. His mind is elsewhere, in the celestial sphere where the numbers spin.'

He has had enough of this conversation. He did not ask for this man's confidences. ‘I must leave, I have business to attend to,' he says.

‘I thought you wanted to see the Estrella school of painters.'

‘Another day.'

Hours yet before the school day ends. He buys a newspaper, sits down at a café on the square, orders a cup of coffee. On the front page is a photograph of an elderly couple with a gigantic cucurbit from their garden. It weighs fourteen kilograms, says the report, breaking the previous record by almost a kilogram. On page two a crime report lists the theft of a lawnmower from a shed (unlocked) and vandalism at a public toilet (a washbasin smashed). The deliberations of the municipal council and its various subcommittees figure largely: the subcommittee on public amenities, the subcommittee on roads and bridges, the subcommittee on finances, the subcommittee charged with organizing
the forthcoming theatre festival. Then there are the sports pages, which preview a high point of the football season, the forthcoming clash between Aragonza and North Valley.

He scans the Employment Offered columns. Bricklayer. Mason. Electrician. Bookkeeper. What is he looking for? Light labour, perhaps. Gardening. No demand for stevedores, of course.

He pays for his coffee. ‘Is there an Office of Relocations in the city?' he asks the waitress. ‘Of course,' she says, and gives him directions.

The relocations centre in Estrella is not nearly as grand as the one in Novilla—nothing but a cramped little bureau on a side street. Behind the desk sits a pale-faced, rather mournful-looking young man with a scraggly beard.

‘Good day,' says he, Simón. ‘I am a new arrival here in Estrella. For the past month or so I have been employed in the valley doing casual labour—fruit-picking mainly. Now I am looking for something more permanent, preferably in the city.'

The clerk fetches a card tray and sets it down on his desk. ‘It looks like a lot, but most of the cards are duds,' he confides. ‘The trouble is, people don't let us know us when a position is filled. How about this: Optima Dry Cleaners. Do you know anything about dry-cleaning?'

‘Nothing, but let me take the address. Do you have anything that is more physical—outdoor work, perhaps?'

The clerk ignores his question. ‘Stockman at a hardware store. Does that interest you? No experience needed, just a head for figures. Do you have a head for figures?'

‘I am not a mathematician, but I can count.'

‘As I said, I can't promise the position is still open. You see how the ink is faded?' He holds the card up to the light. ‘That tells you how old the card is. How about this one? Typist in a law office. Can you type? No? Then there is this one: cleaner at the art museum.'

‘That position has been filled. I met the man who filled it.'

‘Have you considered retraining? That may be your best option: enrol for a course that retrains you for a new profession. As long as you are in training you continue to get your unemployment allowance.'

‘I'll think about it,' he says. He does not mention that he has not registered for unemployment.

Three o'clock approaches. He makes his way back to the Academy. At the doorway is Dmitri. ‘Come to fetch your son?' says Dmitri. ‘I make a point of being here when the young ones come out. Free at last! So excited, so full of joy! I wish I could feel that kind of joy again, just for a minute. I remember nothing of my childhood, you know, not a minute. A complete blank. I mourn the loss. It grounds you, your childhood. Gives you roots in the world. I am like a tree that has been uprooted by the tempest of life. Do you know what I mean? Your boy is lucky to have a childhood of his own. How about you? Did you have a childhood?'

He shakes his head. ‘No, I arrived fully formed. They took one look at me and marked me down as middle-aged. No childhood, no youth, no memories. Washed clean.'

‘Well, no use pining. At least we have the privilege of mixing with the young ones. Maybe some of their angel dust will rub off on us. Hark! End of dancing for the day. Now they will be saying
their thanks. They always end the day with a prayer of thanks.'

Together they listen. A faint droning sound that tails off into silence. Then the doors of the Academy burst open and the children come clattering down the stairway, girls and boys, fair and dark. ‘Dmitri! Dmitri!' they cry, and in a moment Dmitri is surrounded. He dips into his pockets and brings forth handfuls of sweets, which he tosses in the air. The children fall on them. ‘Dmitri!'

Last to emerge, hand in hand with señora Arroyo, eyes cast down, unusually subdued, is David, wearing his gold slippers.

‘Goodbye, David,' says señora Arroyo. ‘We will see you in the morning.'

The boy does not respond. When they get to the car he climbs into the back seat. In a minute he is asleep, and does not wake until they reach the farm.

Inés is waiting with sandwiches and cocoa. The boy eats and drinks. ‘How was your day?' she asks at last. No reply. ‘Did you dance?' He nods abstractedly. ‘Will you show us later how you danced?'

Without answering the boy clambers onto his bunk and curls into a ball.

‘What is wrong?' Inés whispers to him, Simón. ‘Did something happen?'

He tries to reassure her. ‘He is a bit dazed, that is all. He has been among strangers all day.'

After supper the boy is more forthcoming. ‘Ana Magdalena taught us the numbers,' he tells them. ‘She showed us Two and Three and you were wrong, Simón, and señor Robles was wrong
too, you were both wrong, the numbers
are
in the sky. That is where they live, with the stars. You have to call them before they will come down.'

‘Is that what señora Arroyo told you?'

‘Yes. She showed us how to call down Two and Three. You can't call down One. One has to come by himself.'

‘Will you show us how you call down these numbers?' says Inés.

The boy shakes his head. ‘You have to dance. You have to have music.'

‘What if I switch on the radio?' he, Simón, suggests. ‘Maybe there will be music to dance to.'

‘No. It has to be special music.'

‘And what else happened today?'

‘Ana Magdalena gave us biscuits and milk. And raisins.'

‘Dmitri told me you say a prayer at the end of the day. Who do you pray to?'

‘It's not a prayer. Ana Magdalena makes the arc sound and we have to get in harmony with it.'

‘What is the arc?'

‘I don't know, Ana Magdalena won't let us see it, she says it is secret.'

‘Most mysterious. I'll ask when next I see her. But it seems that you had a good day. And all because out of the goodness of their hearts señora Alma and señora Consuelo and señora Valentina took an interest in you. An Academy of Dance where you learn how to call down numbers from the stars! And where you get biscuits and milk from the hands of a pretty lady! How fortunate
we are to have ended up here in Estrella! Don't you agree? Don't you feel lucky? Don't you feel blessed?'

The boy nods.

‘I certainly feel that way. I think we must be the luckiest family in the world. Now it is time to brush your teeth and go to bed and get a good night's sleep so that in the morning you will be ready to dance again.'

The days assume a new pattern. At six-thirty he wakes the boy and gives him breakfast. By seven they are in the car. There is little traffic on the roads; well before eight he drops him off at the Academy. Then he parks the car on the square and spends the next seven hours hunting desultorily for employment or inspecting apartments or—more often—simply sitting in a café reading the newspaper, until it is time to pick up the boy and bring him home.

To his and Inés's inquiries about his schooldays the boy responds briefly and reluctantly. Yes, he likes señor Arroyo. Yes, they are learning songs. No, they have not had reading lessons. No, they do not do sums. About the mysterious arc that señora Arroyo sounds at the end of the day he will say nothing.