Sin (8 page)

James Sanders, English

William pays attention in class. He is progressing steadily, and his contribution to class project work is always interesting and constructive.

Michael Moore, Geography

William is good at history. His memory for dates and names is excellent. His essays, though factual and accurate, do not (as yet) show flair.

Brian Johnson, History

Alas, William is not an artist. He is always a pleasure to have in class and does his best. We persevere. However, I think even at this early stage we should consider dropping this subject after O levels.

Miles Masterson, Art

William is an excellent tennis player. He represented us brilliantly in our last tournament with Eton. His swimming is powerful, and his speed will improve greatly if he can find greater rhythm in his breathing. He is not a gymnast—but we can't be everything, can we? Congratulations, William, on winning the school Under 16 tennis championship.

Arthur Caldwell, Physical Education

William made a very impressive cabinet in his design and technology project this term. He seems to enjoy the subject.

Corin Morgan, Design and Technology

Overall, William's health has been excellent this term. As you know, he suffers from a slight stammer when excited. I'm confident he will grow out of it. All in all, a healthy and quite happy child.

Megan Owyston, SRN, Matron

Underneath were dates. For the beginning of the next quarter. Future time. Structured. Organised.

Confidential

Dear Sir Charles and Lady Harding,

Stephen is gifted and charming. A seductive and potentially dangerous combination. We have spoken of this before. I have seen these “blessings” before. The incident in the tower, while not in itself a cause for great worry, must not however be ignored. It was, I feel, a warning to us all.

While Mr. Blake may believe that “the road of excess leads to” etc., history does not prove Mr. Blake right. I do not suggest Stephen is a genius. He has however an outstanding intelligence. It is wise to remember Dryden's dictum “Great wits are sure to madness near alli'd, / and thin partitions do their bounds divide.”

I feel that Stephen will develop the calm he needs so much in a smaller house, which we intend setting up next term for our “scholars.” The house will be run by Mr. & Mrs. Trent. You will be interested to know that Mrs. Trent is, in a minor way, a landscape artist. They are a couple of great kindness and understanding.

You will see from the attached report that Stephen's performance is erratic. Exceptional in some subjects, undisciplined in others.

As it was impossible for you to attend my suggested meeting before the end of term, I was anxious to write to you to voice my opinion.

Since my own son's tragedy, I have become slightly more daring in warning parents of potential danger in the extraordinary experience of “bringing up” children.

Yours sincerely,

Broughton West. Headmaster

I found this letter many years after it was written. Elizabeth took nothing, you see, when she left.

Memories. Voices, indistinct. But then memory is never pure. And recollection is always coloured by the life lived since.

Were they true, to their time, the adolescent voices that now seemed to flood the room? Was the undertone of anger in Stephen's defiant laughter true? As he stood there and denied allegations of recklessness and irresponsibility during Charles's investigation of “the incident in the tower”? And William's passionate defence of his hero—was the intensity of his innocent adoration still clear?

Perhaps, replaying old scenes we are seduced by ghost musicians. I turned towards them. As though a strand of my hair was caught in the instruments they seemed to play—tugged into old time. And I heard William's voice.

“Uncle Charles … honestly, please try to imagine it. … Stephen, standing there on the parapet, high above us all. Gosh, he was brave, Uncle Charles. And, Hendricks—ghastly, bullying, mean Hendricks trapped in the quad and Stephen crying out:

“‘FRIENDS, BOLDONIANS, SCHOOL PREFECTS, LEND ME YOUR EARS;

I COME TO SHAME HENDRICKS, NOT TO PRAISE HIM.

THE PAIN THAT BULLIES CAUSE LIVES AFTER THEM.

THE COWARDICE IS OFT INTERRED IN THEIR REPORTS;

SO LET IT
NOT
BE WITH HENDRICKS.'

“And then, Uncle Charles, the head boy, Oldham, shouting: ‘Harding! What the hell do you think you're doing?'

“ ‘I am, Oldham, drawing your attention to injustice and bullying.'

“Oh, Uncle Charles, you would have been so proud of Stephen. Please let me tell you the rest. Please.”

“All right, William. Carry on, carry on.”

Charles sighed as he nodded ruefully to William, who in a fever of excitement continued his tale, playing the parts as he went along. Stephen, moving from foot to foot, embarrassed, but shyly pleased with this hymn to his daring.

“ ‘You're a bloody junior, Harding. … You're not here to draw my attention to anything.'

“ ‘What, Oldham? Are you not an honourable man?'

“ ‘Get down, Harding, get down this minute.'

“ ‘Have prefects lost their reason? Bear with me, Oldham. …‘

“And then, Uncle Charles, with all the boys stamping and cheering, Stephen bowed to us all, and got down from the parapet.”

And the voice of the storyteller faded. And suddenly died. I sat quietly for a minute. Then I picked up Stephen's summer term report. He was fourteen at the time.

Stephen is, in a word, a scholar. He has been first in class since he arrived here. I have had no problems with his work—in either accuracy or presentation. I believe from conversations in the common room that this is not a universal experience with Stephen. However, his cleverness is not resented by the other boys. That statement alone summarises much of Stephen and his charm. I look forward to teaching him in the future.

Carl Donn, Latin

Stephen has a natural flair for Greek. He has the heart of a classicist combined with the temperament of an artist. We await development!

Xavier James, Greek

Stephen is an outstanding pupil, particularly in French literature. He is currently entranced by Baudelaire, though I feel I ought to inform you that he has moved well past the class curriculum in respect of this author. Stephen's sardonic use of the quotation “calme, luxe et volupté” for a class essay on “House Atmosphere” rather gave the game away! I have specifically forbidden “Les fleurs du Mal,” a decision with which I feel confident you will be in full agreement. Let us hope this does not dampen Stephen's enthusiasm for French.

Alistair Knight, French

Stephen's essays are in reality “short stories.” They demonstrate a maturity that is extraordinary. His rather wild sense of humour takes the sting out of some of his more morbid writings.

James Sanders, English

No mathematician he. What more can I say? We do our best to inculcate, against his natural inclinations, the rudiments of mathematical principles, and mostly fail. I suggest after O levels that the subject be dropped entirely. No one benefits. Stephen is however always pleasant in his behaviour and ironically I always enjoy having him in the class.

Duncan Heychurch, Mathematics

It is not wise in my opinion that Stephen has allowed himself to become so enamoured of some subjects, that others seem to bore him. Geography is important. I gained Stephen's attention only once—during the debate “Geography Is History.” His subsequent essay on the subject was brilliant. I have, in fact, taken the liberty of submitting it for the “Ovington Award” this year. It would be a great honour for the school were he to win, though not necessarily “character building” for Stephen. A familiar dilemma.

Michael Moore, Geography

Stephen enjoys history and is always in the top three. His essays are as memorable for their style as for their content—a rarity amongst historians! He is a pleasure to have in the classroom and he contributes much to debates.

Alex Dunnington, History

Though reasonable at science, Stephen's behaviour in the lab this term was, on one or two occasions, potentially dangerous. A calmer, more considered approach is called for. Perhaps his move to Mr. Trent's house will achieve what is necessary in this department.

Colin Thornton, Science

Stephen is above average at art. He is not however as committed as one would have expected. Nevertheless, his exciting use of colour and his interesting view of even the most basic object is always fascinating. Could surprise us all—in art, that is.

Miles Masterson, Art

Stephen's work in the gymnasium is reasonably good. His tennis is adequate—he seems not to make much effort—perhaps intimidated by his cousin William's success. Stephen's tendency to asthma makes swimming “not his favourite sport.” We persevere in this element. Not a natural one for Stephen, I'm afraid.

Arthur Caldwell, Physical Education

Stephen had two minor attacks of asthma this term. We are increasingly aware of the psychosomatic element in asthma. The more Stephen “calms down,” the better it will be for him. The move to the Trents' house is welcomed by me. I have long recommended this idea.

Megan Owyston, SRN, Matron

I put these reports, which I now know almost by heart, back in their carved wooden box. And picked up a crumpled article from years ago called

The Artist in His Time
Brannington Orchard, Art Critic

Is it a failure in the artist to be unfashionable? Each artist lives in his or her own “modern” time. Are we simply looking for landmarks? Ever hoping, through a recognisable historical pattern, to tame something essentially timeless. The artistic impulse.

I pose these questions—perhaps awkwardly—because Miss Elizabeth Ashbridge is that most awkward thing, an unfashionable artist. Her work has been exhibited occasionally over the past ten years. It is rarely reviewed. Perhaps an understandable decision on the part of editors who have more “fashionable” artists to cover. Nevertheless I contend that though not contemporary—in the normal usage of the word—and though not an innovative force (the very nature of genius is ever to innovate), Miss Ashbridge is an artist worthy of our most serious appreciation.

Skies, mostly English—her obsession—are executed with a growing note of desolation. As though the tension between the narrowness of our lives and the broad freedom of the skies was becoming clearer and ever more painful to her. Compare her earlier, charming “Blues London” with her more stark “Flight.” A single slightly ragged cloud seemingly beating against the edges of the canvas, as though desperate for escape from a harsh, high, almost searing blue. One can see why it is naive in the extreme to dismiss Miss Ashbridge's work as that of a minor “lady” painter who has “a thing” about skies.

Her “Athens Revisited” is a major development from the work “Athens Morning.” The latter, I believe, was executed on Miss Ashbridge's honeymoon when she was married to Hubert Baathus. He was tragically killed early on in their marriage. I also recommend “Studio Sky.” It has a haunting quality, as though the artist was trapped in her studio, and, like Oscar Wilde, trying to catch “that little tent of blue which prisoners call the sky.”

There are many other fine pieces, sympathetically mounted in Adrian Carendon's small gallery in Mount Street. I recommend a visit.

Reports from strangers. Reports from a distant land. The past.

TWENTY-THREE

“I know.”

“Know what, Dominick?”

“Ruth. I know.”

Silence.

“I know.” Again. And again silence. Silence gives consent. To the knowledge I would have kept from him.

Know. It has a heavy beat. Should I say, “I'm sorry”? Lie again? I take the coward's way. I say nothing.

“Ruth?”

I put down my drink. We were having dinner.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Don't you want to know how?”

“No.”

I only want to know if you know who.

“I have only one question.”

“Only one?”

“Yes. Will you continue?”

Silence. Oh, what a coward soul is mine.

“I see, Ruth, that once again you have risen to the occasion.”

Does that sardonic note mean that I may be “let off”? Is that the phrase? So cheaply. I've won. I can be carefree. I am loved. And I love. Is it my fault that I do not love where I am loved? That I accepted the gift I should have rejected? But then he would have been unhappy. Perhaps not. If I had acted honourably from the start. Such harsh demands, Ruth. Such terrible penalties, Ruth. Listen. Listen to the man.

“I am rooted in you. From the day I saw you, I loved you.”

Did love enter through the eye? I thought that was lust.