The Schooldays of Jesus (5 page)

‘A year for a dog is the same as seven years for us,' says he, Simón. ‘Bolívar is middle-aged.'

‘When is he going to die?'

‘Not anytime soon. He still has many years before him.'

‘But is he going to die?'

‘Yes, he is going to die. Dogs die. They are mortal, like us. If you want to have a pet who lives longer than you, you will have to get yourself an elephant or a whale.'

Later that day, as he is sawing firewood—one of the chores he has undertaken—the boy comes to him with a fresh idea. ‘Simón, you know the big machine in the shed? Can we put olives in it and make olive oil?'

‘I don't think that will work, my boy. You and I are not strong
enough to turn the wheels. In the old days they used an ox. They harnessed an ox to the shaft and he walked in a circle and turned the wheels.'

‘And then did they give him olive oil to drink?'

‘If he wanted olive oil they gave him olive oil. But usually oxen don't drink olive oil. They don't like it.'

‘And did he give them milk?'

‘No, it's the cow who gives us milk, not the ox. The ox hasn't anything to give except his labour. He turns the olive press or pulls the plough. In return for that we give him our protection. We protect him from his enemies, the lions and tigers who want to kill him.'

‘And who protects the lions and the tigers?'

‘No one. Lions and tigers refuse to work for us, so we don't protect them. They have to protect themselves.'

‘Are there lions and tigers here?'

‘No. Their day is over. Lions and tigers have gone away. Gone into the past. If you want to find lions and tigers, you will have to look in books. Oxen too. The day of the ox is all but over. Nowadays we have machines to do the work for us.'

‘They should invent a machine to pick olives. Then you and Inés wouldn't have to work.'

‘That's true. But if they invented a machine to pick olives then olive-pickers like us would have no jobs and therefore no money. It is an old argument. Some people are on the side of the machines, some on the side of the hand-pickers.'

‘I don't like work. Work is boring.'

‘In that case, you are lucky to have parents who don't mind
working. Because without us you would starve, and you wouldn't enjoy that.'

‘I won't starve. Roberta will give me food.'

‘Yes, no doubt—out of the goodness of her heart she will give you food. But do you really want to live like that: on the charity of others?'

‘What is charity?'

‘Charity is other people's goodness, other people's kindness.'

The boy regards him oddly.

‘You can't rely endlessly on other people's kindness,' he pursues. ‘You have to give as well as take, otherwise there will be no evenness, no justice. Which kind of person do you want to be: the kind who gives or the kind who takes? Which is better?'

‘The kind who takes.'

‘Really? Do you really believe so? Is it not better to give than to take?'

‘Lions don't give. Tigers don't give.'

‘And you want to be a tiger?'

‘I don't want to
be
a tiger. I am just telling you. Tigers aren't bad.'

‘Tigers aren't good either. They aren't human, so they are outside goodness and badness.'

‘Well, I don't want to be human either.'

I don't want to be human either
. He recounts the conversation to Inés. ‘It disturbs me when he talks like that,' he says. ‘Have we made a big mistake, removing him from school, bringing him up outside society, letting him run around wild with other children?'

‘He is fond of animals,' says Inés. ‘He doesn't want to be like us, sitting and worrying about the future. He wants to be free.'

‘I don't think that is what he means by not wanting to be human,' he says. But Inés is not interested.

Roberta arrives bearing a message: they are invited to tea with the sisters, at four o'clock, in the big house. David should come too.

From her suitcase Inés brings out her best dress and the shoes that go with it. She frets over the state of her hair. ‘I haven't seen a hairdresser since we left Novilla,' she says. ‘I look like a madwoman.' She makes the boy put on his frilled shirt and the shoes with buttons, though he complains they are too small and hurt his feet. She wets his hair and brushes it straight.

Promptly at four o'clock they present themselves at the front door. Roberta leads them down a long corridor to the rear of the house, to a room cluttered with little tables and stools and knick-knacks. ‘This is the winter parlour,' says Roberta. ‘It gets afternoon sun. Sit down. The sisters will be along shortly. And please, no mention of the ducks—you remember?—the ducks the other boy killed.'

‘Why?' says the boy.

‘Because it will upset them. They have soft hearts. They are good people. They want the farm to be a refuge for wildlife.'

While they wait he inspects the pictures on the walls: water-colours, nature scenes (he recognizes the dam on which the ill-fated ducks had swum), prettily done but amateurish.

Two women enter, followed by Roberta bearing a tea-tray. ‘These are they,' intones Roberta: ‘señora Inés and her husband señor Simón and their son David. Señora Valentina and señora Consuelo.'

The women, clearly sisters, are, he would guess, in their sixties, greying, soberly dressed. ‘Honoured to meet you, señora Valentina, señora Consuelo,' he says, bowing. ‘Allow me to thank you for giving us a place to stay on your beautiful estate.'

‘I'm not their son,' says David in a calm, level voice.

‘Oh,' says one of the sisters in mock surprise, Valentina or Consuelo, he does not know which is which. ‘Whose son are you then?'

‘Nobody's,' says David firmly.

‘So you are nobody's son, young man,' says Valentina or Consuelo. ‘That is interesting. An interesting condition. How old are you?'

‘Six.'

‘Six. And you don't go to school, I understand. Wouldn't you like to go to school?'

‘I have been to school.'

‘And?'

Inés intervenes. ‘We sent him to school in the last place where we lived, but he had poor teachers there, so we have decided to educate him at home. For the time being.'

‘They gave the children tests,' he, Simón adds, ‘monthly tests, to measure their progress. David didn't like being measured, so he wrote nonsense for the tests, which got him into trouble. Got us all into trouble.'

The sister ignores him. ‘Wouldn't you like to go to school, David, and meet other children?'

‘I prefer to be educated at home,' says David primly.

The other sister, meanwhile, has poured the tea. ‘Do you take sugar, Inés?' she asks. Inés shakes her head. ‘And you, Simón?'

‘Is it tea?' says the boy. ‘I don't like tea.'

‘Then you need not have any,' says the sister.

‘You will be wondering, Inés, Simón,' says the first sister, ‘why you have been invited here. Well, Roberta has been telling us about your son, about what a clever boy he is, clever and well spoken, about how he is wasting his time with the fruit-pickers' children when he ought to be learning. We discussed the matter, my sisters and I, and we thought we would put a proposal before you. And if you are wondering, by the way, where the third of the sisters is, since I am aware that we are known all over the district as the Three Sisters, I will tell you that señora Alma is unfortunately indisposed. She suffers from melancholy, and today is one of those days when her melancholy has got the better of her. One of her black days, as she calls them. But she is entirely in accord with our proposal.

‘Our proposal is that you enrol your son in one of the private academies in Estrella. Roberta has told you a little about the academies, I believe: the Academy of Singing and the Academy of Dance. We would recommend the Academy of Dance. We are acquainted with the principal, señor Arroyo, and his wife, and can vouch for them. As well as a training in dance they offer an excellent general education. We, my sisters and I, will be responsible for your son's fees as long as he is a student there.'

‘I don't like dancing,' says David. ‘I like singing.'

The two sisters exchange looks. ‘We have had no personal contact with the Academy of Singing,' says Valentina or Consuelo, ‘but I think I am correct in saying that they do not offer a general education. Their task is to train people to become professional singers. Do you want to be a professional singer, David, when you grow older?'

‘I don't know. I don't yet know what I want to be.'

‘You don't want to be a fireman or a train driver like other little boys?'

‘No. I wanted to be a lifesaver but they wouldn't let me.'

‘Who wouldn't let you?'

‘Simón.'

‘And why is Simón opposed to you being a lifesaver?'

He, Simón, speaks. ‘I am not opposed to him being a lifesaver. I am not opposed to any of his plans or dreams. As far as I am concerned—his mother may feel differently—he can be a lifesaver or a fireman or a singer or the man in the moon, as he chooses. I do not direct his life, I no longer even pretend to advise him. The truth is, he has tired us out with his wilfulness, his mother and me. He is like a bulldozer. He has flattened us. We have been flattened. We have no more resistance.'

Inés gapes at him in astonishment. David smiles to himself.

‘What a strange outburst!' says Valentina. ‘I haven't heard an outburst like that in years. Have you, Consuelo?'

‘Not in years,' says Consuelo. ‘Quite dramatic! Thank you, Simón. Now, what do you say to our proposal that young David should be enrolled at the Academy of Dance?'

‘Where is this Academy?' says Inés.

‘In the city, in the heart of the city, in the same building as the art museum. You would not be able to stay here on the farm, unfortunately. It is too far. The travel would be too much. You would have to find accommodation in the city. But you wouldn't want to stay on the farm anyway, now that harvest time is over. You would find it too lonely, too boring.'

‘We haven't found it boring at all,' says he, Simón. ‘On the contrary, we have flourished. We have enjoyed every minute of our time here. In fact I have come to an agreement with Roberta to help with odd jobs while we stay on in the barracks. There are always odd jobs to be done, even in the off season. Pruning, for example. Cleaning.'

He looks to Roberta for support. She gazes steadily into the distance.

‘By the barracks you mean the dormitories,' says Valentina. ‘The dormitories will be closed during the winter, so you can't stay there. But Roberta can advise you on where to look for lodgings. And if all else fails there is the Asistencia.'

Inés rises. He follows suit.

‘You haven't given us your answer,' says Consuelo. ‘Do you need time to discuss the matter? How do you feel, young man? Wouldn't you like to go to the Academy of Dance? You would meet other children there.'

‘I want to stay here,' says the boy. ‘I don't like dancing.'

‘Unfortunately,' says señora Valentina, ‘you cannot stay here. Furthermore, since you are very young and have no knowledge of the world, only prejudices, you are in no position to make
decisions about your future. My suggestion'—she reaches out, hooks a finger under his chin, raises his head so that he has to look directly at her—‘my suggestion is that you allow your parents Inés and Simón to discuss our offer, and then conform to whatever decision they reach, in a spirit of filial obedience. Understood?'

David meets her gaze evenly. ‘What is filial obedience?' he asks.

CHAPTER 5

FRONTED BY a long sandstone colonnade, the art museum lies on the north side of the main square in Estrella. As instructed, they pass by the main entrance and make for a narrow doorway on a side street over which there is a sign in florid gold characters—
Academia de la Danza—
and an arrow pointing to a stairway. They ascend to the second floor, pass through swing doors, and find themselves in a large, well-lit studio, empty save for an upright piano in a corner.

A woman enters, tall, slim, dressed all in black. ‘Can I help you?' she asks.

‘I would like to speak to someone about enrolling my son,' says Inés.

‘Enrolling your son in…?'

‘Enrolling him in your Academy. I believe that señora Valentina has spoken to your director about it. David is my son's name. She assured us that children who enrol in your Academy get a general education. I mean, they don't just dance.' She utters the word
dance
with some disdain. ‘It is the general education we are
interested in—not so much the dancing.'

‘Señora Valentina has indeed spoken to us about your son. But I made it clear to her and I should make it clear to you, señora: this is not a regular school or a substitute for a regular school. It is an academy devoted to the training of the soul through music and dance. If you are looking for a regular education for your child, you will be better served by the public school system.'

The training of the soul.
He touches Inés's arm. ‘If I may,' he says, addressing this pale young woman, so pale as to seem bloodless—
alabastra
is the word that occurs to him—but beautiful nonetheless, strikingly beautiful—perhaps that is what has provoked Inés's hostility, the beauty, as if of a statue that has come to life and wandered in from the museum—‘if I may…We are strangers in Estrella, new arrivals. We have been working on the farm owned by señora Valentina and her sisters, temporarily, while we find our feet here. The sisters have kindly taken an interest in David and have offered financial assistance for him to attend your Academy. They speak very highly of the Academy. They say that you are known to provide an excellent all-round education, that your director, señor Arroyo, is a respected educator. May we make an appointment to see señor Arroyo?'