Saville (28 page)

Trees overlooked the school; they screened the pitch so that as the sun descended vague shadows, like ribs, spread out across the grass.

Steam rose from the scrum, the boys’ breath rose in clouds as they waited for the ball then ran, slow-limbed, as Stafford casually kicked it into touch. There was an air of desolation
about the place: Platt’s voice echoed now and the referee’s whistle or the calling of the boys lingered on, faintly, beneath the trees.

‘On, School! On, School!’ Platt had said.

They ran to and fro.

The field darkened.

‘Just look at my fingers. I think they’re swelling,’ Hopkins said. ‘They’ll hardly move.’

A large boy, with broad features, he was the one Colin got down with in the scrum. Though smaller than Harrison, he had much the same build, lumbering, almost careless. His knees were reddened with cold. His teeth chattered as they leant down. He gave a whimper: blood ran down from his cheek and round his mouth.

‘Do you want to go off, then?’ Colin said.

‘They won’t let you,’ Hopkins said. ‘In any case,’ he added, darkening, ‘we’ve got to win.’

Colin ran aimlessly towards the ball; he ran so slowly that the ball, continuously, moved away. There was a pointlessness to sport which he’d never sensed before: a plodding after things which, even if they should occur, were over in a second.

‘Feet, School! Feet, School!’ Platt had said.

Rooks rose slowly from the trees; wheeling, they climbed then, as the game ended, descended once again.

‘Three cheers for Edward’s. Hip, hip.’

‘Hooray.’

‘Hip, hip.’

‘Hooray.’

‘Hip, hip.’

‘Three cheers for St Benedict’s,’ Harrison said.

The sound faded as they crossed the field.

‘I shan’t consider you for the next match, Saville.’

Platt, his hands still in his pockets, walked beside him; but for the fact that he’d heard the voice he would have doubted that he’d even spoken.

‘Yes.’

‘Foul play is something I particularly take objection to. It lets down the individual, but more important, it lets down the school.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’ll be a long time before I forget today.’

‘Yes.’

He waited; already the other players had gone ahead.

Platt, as if nothing had occurred, had turned aside. He called out cheerily to the referee.

Colin took off his boots; his feet were sore. He walked on slowly to where the steam already rose from the pavilion doors.

He sat alone on the bus on the journey back.

Stafford sat at the back with Harrison and Hopkins, singing; most of the players had gathered round, gazing backwards, kneeling on the seats.

Platt sat at the front beside the driver; occasionally he glanced round and smiled.

The sun had set. The bus ran on in virtual darkness. Colin caught a brief glimpse of trees outside, of hills silhouetted against a lightless sky. In the window opposite he saw his face, the bulk of the seat behind, the pallid shape, the dark shadow beneath his eyes, his hair, uncombed, still wet from the showers.

‘Not singing?’ Stafford said. He slumped down beside him in the seat.

‘No.’

‘Come and sit at the back.’

‘No thanks.’

‘I’m not keen on sitting there, either. I suppose you have to on a thing like this.’

‘A good game today, Stafford,’ Platt said, calling from the scat in front.

‘I think it went our way, sir,’ Stafford said.

Platt had smiled, nodded; he turned his head.

‘I better get back, then,’ Stafford said.

‘Okay,’ he said.

The figure beside him rose, pulling on the seat in front, then turning to the aisle.

‘See you.’

‘See you,’ Colin said.

The singing continued; it had scarcely faded when they reached the town.

His parents were in bed when he got back home.

‘Wherever have you been till this time?’ his mother said.

‘Playing,’ he said. ‘It was farther than I thought.’

‘I’ve been down to the bus stop twice.’

‘We went on a coach.’

‘If you went in a coach couldn’t you get back before this time, then?’

He turned to the stairs.

‘And don’t wake Richard when you get undressed.’

Moments later, however, after he’d reached his room, he heard the familiar wail from beyond the wall.

‘God Almighty, isn’t there any peace for anyone?’ his father said, calling, from the darkness of their room.

‘In decimals everything is measured in tenths, whereas in this country we have the privilege of measuring everything in twelfths, boy,’ Hodges said.

He leant his arm against the desk.

‘What instances are there of the use of tenths in the monetary system, Saville?’ he added.

‘A ten shilling note.’ He shook his head.

‘Do I hear a suffix to that remark?’ he said.

‘Sir,’ he said.

‘A ten shilling note, then. Anything else?’

‘A ten pound note.’

‘A ten pound note.’

‘Twenty shillings in the pound,’ he said.

‘Walker: have you any examples you’re eager to give?’

Small, light-haired, with a bright red nose, Walker, after a moment’s hesitation, had shaken his head.

‘No further examples forthcoming, then?’

Walker, once again, had shaken his head.

‘What about the use of twelfths, then, Walker?’ Hodges said.

‘Twelve pennies in a shilling sir,’ he said.

‘Twelve pennies in a shilling. Brilliant. Anything else?’

‘No, sir,’ Walker said.

‘What about half-pennies, Walker?’ Hodges said.

‘Twenty-four half-pennies in the shilling, sir,’ Walker said.

‘Brilliant, Walker. Anything else?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Are you quite sure, Walker?’ Hodges said.

‘Forty-eight farthings in a shilling, sir,’ he said.

‘Walker, I can see, is coming out, very slowly, from his habitual coma,’ Hodges said. ‘What are you doing, Walker?’

‘I’m coming out from my habitual coma,’ Walker said.

‘And what word do we use to distinguish our system from the so-called metric system, Saville?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. He shook his head.

‘Did I not hear the suffix once again?’ he said.

‘Sir,’ he said.

‘Saville doesn’t know. Does anyone else? Walker, I suppose, this is far above your head?’

‘What sir?’ Walker said.

‘What do we call the system that uses twelfths instead of tenths?’ he said.

‘The Imperial system,’ someone said.

‘Why Imperial, Walker?’ Hodges said.

‘Has it something to do with the king, sir?’ Walker said.

‘It might. Indeed, it might very easily, Walker,’ Hodges said.

He looked around.

‘It comes, need I mention it to a class steeped already in the subject, from the Latin what?’

He paused.

‘From imperialis. From imperialis. Meaning?’

‘To do with kings, sir,’ someone said.

‘Not to do with kings precisely. To do with authority, Stephens.
Command
.’

He took off his glass and wiped them on his gown.

‘Imperium: command, dominion. In other words, a system that, in this instance, has to do with empire.’

‘Yes, sir,’Walker said.

‘Certain unfortunate nations may use the decimal system because they have nothing better to fall back on, Stephens.’

Stephens had nodded his head.

‘Whereas we, in this country, and in those lands that constitute our empire, and our dominions, Stephens, use a measure which, for better or worse, is peculiar to ourselves. Peculiar, that is, to an imperial nation. Imperialis, imperium. To a nation which is used
to authority, to dominion, Stephens. How many pennies in a pound?’

Stephens paused; he raised his hand. Then, finally, he lowered it and shook his head.

He was a pale, thin-featured boy; he sat immediately in front of Colin. His hair was thin and long, hanging in greasy strands across his narrow head. His back was bowed by some malformation. His legs were swollen round the knees as if in some peculiar way the upper and the lower parts had been bracketed together by artificial means.

‘Two hundred and forty.’ Colin whispered behind his hand to the back of Stephens’s head.

‘What was that, Saville?’ Hodges said.

Stephens’s head had begun to tremble.

‘Were you telling him the answer, Saville?’ Hodges said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Will you stand up, Saville?’

The class had turned.

‘Your name is Saville, I take it?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘I haven’t been deceived into assuming it was Saville, with or without a double l, when all the time it was really Stephens?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘How many pennies in a pound, then, Stephens?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Stephens said and shook his head.

‘You don’t know, boy? For God’s sake, how did you get into this school? A five-year-old child could tell me that.’

Stephens bowed his head; he began to cry.

‘Don’t
blub
, Stephens,’ Hodges said. ‘I’m asking you a reasonable question. There’s not one person in this class who couldn’t answer it.’

Several hands went up.

‘Saville: can I have your record book?’ he said.

He got out the book from his inside pocket, saw that Hodges expected him to walk down to his desk, and stepped out in the aisle.

‘In your own time, Saville, of course. I can hardly expect your efforts to be directed to the convenience of someone else.’ He glanced at Stephens. ‘While I’m inscribing Saville’s record for
impertinence it will give you, Stephens, several vital seconds in which to work out a suitable answer. And by suitable I mean of course, since our subject, I believe, is mathematics, a correct one. Have you understood that, Stephens?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Stephens said. He bowed his head.

‘The principle of learning, Saville, isn’t that one should learn on behalf of someone else, but that one should do such learning as is required, in this establishment at least, on a wholly personal basis. How is one to learn anything if there is someone sitting behind you who is content to do it for you?’ He opened the book. ‘I see you have a good record here. Geography, from Mr Hepworth. That’s hardly a creditable first term’s work.’ He wrote in red in the opposite column, the gesture exaggerated slightly to demonstrate his displeasure to the class. He blotted the book and then, not glancing at him but holding it out sideways and gazing absorbedly at Stephens, added, ‘And what conclusion have you come to, Stephens?’

Only after a moment was Hodges aware of the book still in his hand.

Stephens gave his answer, repeated it louder at Hodges’s insistence, then the master said, ‘You may have your book back now, Saville.’

‘Thank you sir,’ he said.

‘Saville: would you come back here, boy,’ Hodges said.

Colin turned in the aisle, saw the redness rising, slowly, round Hodges’s eyes, and went back to the desk.

‘I’ve noticed my blandishments, Saville, carry very little weight. I detect an insolence in your manner which, the more I attempt to accommodate it, grows, it seems to me, from day to day. I shall ask the headmaster to speak to you. For one day at least I’ve had enough of your face. You’ll put your work away and go and stand outside the door.’

He replaced his books inside his desk, closed the lid and, without glancing at the others, crossed to the classroom door, opened it and stepped outside. The corridor was empty. He closed the door behind him.

He leant against the wall. An older boy went past. He glanced back at him down the length of the corridor, then, still gazing back, went on up the stairs at the opposite end.

The drone of a master’s voice came from the classroom opposite. He could hear Hodges’s voice coming quietly from the room behind, the occasional voice of a boy answering a question, the scraping of a chair, a desk. Other voices drifted down from adjacent rooms. He could hear the roar of a lorry passing in the road outside.

The door to the office opened; the secretary came out: her face reddened, almost cheerful, she started down the corridor past him. She carried several papers beneath her arm.

‘Have you been sent out?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Is that Mr Hodges’s class?’ she said.

‘Yes.’

She nodded, adjusted the papers beneath her arm, and went on down the corridor to the masters’ common-room at the opposite end.

She re-appeared a few moments later, walking past without a gesture, her shoes echoing on the stone-flagged floor.

She went back inside her room and closed the door.

The school was silent. He could hear, from the farthest distance, the sound of a master’s voice raised in anger, the calling of a name.

Laughter came from the room behind, then the sharp, hissing call of, ‘Sir, sir!’ as Hodges waited for an answer.

Some further laughter came a moment later.

The door opened; a boy came out, glanced across, then went on down the corridor and out of the school door.

He came back a few moments later and went back in.

Colin waited. He tapped his feet slowly against the stone-flagged floor; he pushed himself gently against the wall.

The sound of footsteps descending came from the stairs at the nearest end.

A tall, gowned figure appeared in the corridor, silhouetted for a moment against the light. A face came into view, thickboned, large-featured; the hair above was short and dark: it stood on end and projected forwards over a massive brow. A heavy, broad-knuckled hand gripped several books.

Colin moved back to the door and stood beside it, his hands behind his back.

‘What are you doing here?’ the master said. He smelled of tobacco; his teeth were large and irregularly set inside his mouth.

‘I’ve been sent out. For insolence,’ he said.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Saville.’

‘What class is it?’

‘Arithmetic,’ he said.

‘That’s Mr Hodges’s, I suppose,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

The man had paused.

‘And what insolence is it, Saville?’

‘For telling someone else an answer.’

The master gazed down at him for a while, then shook his head.