Guilty: The Lost Classic Novel (8 page)

Though my thoughts were in a whirl, I knew I was speaking the absolute truth when I said that, whatever might happen in future, even if he were to change entirely one day, I would always, under all circumstances, remain loyal to him. What I envisaged by such a drastic change I don’t know. But the fact was, I could do nothing else, for I felt bound to him by some tie stronger than love or blood. Suddenly I’d become conscious of his dual power over me and a little afraid of it, not altogether certain of its benevolence. But, though an element of fear and suspicion might henceforth be present in my feelings for him, it only seemed to increase my admiration, loyalty and attachment. At the same time, I recognized these feelings as being of a different quality from my former unthinking childish affection and trust, to which I knew I could never return.

Though my actual thoughts were much less lucid and precise, I was even then conscious of some new awareness, marking the end of my childish relationship to him. It didn’t matter that everything was confused in my head, for I knew he would sort it all out for me. Now I had no secrets from him, and never could have, having submitted to a form of enslavement. It was an oddly relaxed and comfortable feeling, as though I’d opened myself like an untidy drawer and could sit back peacefully while he arranged the contents.

And he at once indicated his knowledge of the obscure processes going on in me by saying almost wistfully, ‘Don’t be in too great a hurry to grow up, Marko’, using the diminutive of my name for the first and only time – strange that it should have sounded touching from him yet, when my mother used it, it only annoyed me. Recalling at this distance of time the regret in his voice, I sometimes wonder if one might presume to suspect that, for all his power, wealth and importance, he lacked something that could be found in the simplicity of a child’s affection, but such speculations are unprofitable and lead nowhere. He said no more to me then but encircled me with his hard strong arm, and intimately entwined thus we went indoors together.

The rest of the evening, as I recollect it, was devoted to hurried arrangements, for it was decided that he should stay the night and drive me to school the next day, stopping at a largish town we passed through to buy me the necessary outfit.

Notwithstanding all the excitement, as soon as I was in bed I fell sound asleep. Yet, at some time in the night, I seemed to become aware of the familiar room, not quite dark, as if light from the passage were coming in through the open door, and of my mother standing beside me, a shadowy form, as I’d seen her on so many nights. I seem to think that, neither quite
awake nor quite asleep, I reached up automatically as I used to do long ago and that she laid her head beside mine and whispered loving words, asking me to forgive her for not being a good mother and hoping I would be very happy at school. All the cold melted out of me in the warmth of her arms, and I felt we were just as close to each other as we’d ever been and that tomorrow everything would be different. It had all been a misunderstanding, a mistake.

But tomorrow was the day when I was going away, and, in the bright daylight, the night’s shadowy happenings became so remote and vague that I couldn’t be sure I hadn’t dreamed them.

Looking back from the car, I suddenly seemed to see the cottage as it would be after we’d gone, and the thought of my mother left alone there made me feel guilty and sad. I remembered that my father had told me to take care of her, and my heart sank because I was abandoning her instead. There she stood at the door, waving, and already she was no larger than the painted lady who came out of the carved Swiss chalet when the summer weather was set fair. Next moment, both she and the cottage were out of sight. As the car rushed on, carrying me further and further away, I knew with curious certainty that I’d looked at her for the last time with the eyes of a child, that it was my childhood I was leaving behind me and that I’d never see anything in quite that same way again.

These thoughts are hard to describe. Not exactly melancholy, they produced rather a sense of pressure and transience. Once more I was going out into the world unsupported to fend for myself, as when I went for my holiday in the summer. But now, though there was some relationship still between us, I was no longer the child that had played with the orphans on the seashore. And, by the
time I next saw my home, the relationship would have terminated completely; I should have changed into someone else, and the world would have changed, too, seen through those other eyes.

At intervals all through my life this sense of being
in transit
has overtaken me at odd times, though never more strongly than on this occasion when I was first conscious of it. Looking back dubiously at the child I had been and was leaving without having really known it or understood it, I wondered whether I’d always have to move on before getting to know myself properly.

It wasn’t the time to discuss these things with my companion; there were too many distractions, and I gave myself up to them – as I’ve often regretted since – postponing serious talk to another occasion that never came. When we reached the town Mr Spector proceeded to provide me with a complete new wardrobe, more clothes than I’d ever owned before, and all of such superlative quality that I began to worry about the expense and lodged a timid objection. However, he only laughed and spoke of the importance of first impressions, going on to add various accessories not strictly essential and finally insisting on buying me new luggage to contain them all. Once I gave up trying to stop him and wondering how he would ever be paid back, I was very proud of my new elegant possessions. The thought of them gave me much-needed moral support when we arrived at our destination.

The grandeur of the school’s medieval buildings intimidated me, and I was completely overawed by my first glimpse of the famous topiary chess-garden, of which I’d already heard. As the car slowed down, the grotesquely clipped fantastic tree shapes seemed to close in behind it, cutting off the familiar world, imprisoning us in their midst.
We stopped, and the dark heads bowed in mockery, the branches groaned, and I felt tentacles of antique malice already reaching towards me.

Staring at these grotesque evergreens, wide-eyed with wonder, I hardly noticed Mr Spector speaking to the porter, whose reply evidently failed to satisfy him, for now he suddenly strode towards the dim monastic-looking cloisters and intercepted one of the gowned figures passing to and fro there. He was only a junior master, I discovered later, but he looked very grand to me in his lined and hooded gown. I wasn’t at all surprised at his indignation on being peremptorily requested to take us to the principal. What
did
surprise me, so that I forgot all about the malignant chessmen, was the way his whole manner changed, becoming almost obsequious, at the sight of Mr Spector’s card. But I had no time to think or to sort out my impressions as we followed on his heels to the door of the Head’s study, where a request to be allowed to prepare his chief was swept aside, as the man himself was, so that all three of us burst into the room together.

Though I didn’t then fully appreciate the enormity of our conduct in thus invading this holy of holies, uninvited and even unannounced, I couldn’t fail to see how angry the Headmaster was when he rose and, with an outraged expression, drew himself up to his full height, an imposing and menacing figure. But, to my astonishment, he, too, succumbed to the card’s effect, just as his subordinate had done, surrendering unconditionally and even speaking a few stilted words of formal politeness – which, however, didn’t spare him the indignity of hearing his own assistant dismissed by Mr Spector, who took his submission for granted.

‘This is the boy I told you about,’ he said, when the man
had hurriedly left the room. ‘I want your assurance that his father is not mentioned, either to him or in his presence – it’s the wish of his mother, who is rather oversensitive on the subject. Is that understood?’ I listened amazed to this haughty voice of command, which must surely be the voice of that second, more formidable self, and scarcely noticed the affirmative answer; it seemed to me there could be no other. Yet it was the familiar friendly voice that now addressed me. ‘Let me know at once if you have any sort of trouble – but I don’t think you will.’ A peculiar smile accompanied the last words, which seemed intended less for me than for the other man, to whom the speaker continued – quite incomprehensibly, as far as I was concerned – ‘No censorship, mind. I’ll be getting a full report myself, so any attempt at deception would be a mistake, wouldn’t it?’

I was completely puzzled by this strange behaviour and the alternation of tones. Why was he treating the Headmaster so harshly? Even now, when the man had given in to him altogether, and his own manner appeared more genial, the geniality clearly covered a threat. But the moment I’d been privately dreading for some time had arrived, and, with unmistakable kindness, he said, ‘I must be off. Write and tell me how you get on. And, remember, the beginnings of things are always apt to be difficult.’ He spoke the last words in Latin, knowing I was familiar with the adage. Then, giving me an encouraging smile, hurried to the door, waving away the offer of an escort. ‘No, I’ll find my own way out.’ The door closed behind him, and I was left to begin my new life alone.

The room suddenly seemed darker and gloomier, its narrow windows designed for the exclusion of enemies rather than the admission of light and air. An oppressive
atmosphere reasserted itself, emanating, perhaps, from the shelves of huge, heavy books lining the walls. I was aware of these things, even while my mind framed consciously for the first time the question I’ve been asking myself intermittently ever since, ‘Who is Mr Spector?’ What sort of man could behave in such a high-handed manner and disperse the repressive power of centuries-old tradition, as he’d just done, letting a draught of cold air blow through these grim stagnant rooms, airless for so many years?

But I couldn’t consider the question now, while the Headmaster was regarding me with a disfavour I quite understood, since I’d been the indirect cause of his humiliation. Looking at him as straightforwardly as possible, I could discern no pity in that hard, cold face; the face, as I was to learn, of a man who as an enemy was absolutely implacable. At this moment, I only saw that he’d been mortified and that someone must suffer for it and that I seemed the likeliest victim. I felt very small and helpless and lonely just then, cut off from all that was known to me, shut into a strange hostile world. The dark dismal room was as forbidding as if it belonged to a fortress – a prison. I had a momentary nostalgic vision of Mr Spector, driving away in his big car, leaving me further behind with every milestone.

But nothing happened to me, neither then nor later. Having surveyed me long enough to make me most uncomfortable, the Head turned away with a disgusted grimace, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of me any longer. Matron would come and attend to me; I was to wait here for her, he coldly informed me, and then went out, letting the door close with a heavy thud, like the door of a cell.

I waited alone there for what seemed an age. At first, sounds came from other parts of the building. I heard distant shouts and closer voices of boys calling to one another;
mysterious bells rang, there was a stampede, a pounding of running feet. Then silence fell. I began to think I’d been completely forgotten by everyone, my spirits were sinking lower and lower, when a woman’s light steps tapped rapidly to the door, and at last Matron appeared.

I’d prepared myself for some middle-aged disciplinarian, coldly antiseptic and hard as nails. What a pleasant surprise it was to see this smiling young woman, scarcely more than a girl, who at once took me in hand and, out of what was evidently much experience of lost, homesick youngsters, proceeded to cheer me up, while showing me my bed in the dormitory, and helping me unpack and put away my belongings. Young as she was, she possessed a mature assurance in dealing with those a few years younger than herself and soon made me feel more at home, raising the level of my morale, so that when a boy of about my own age entered the long room I faced him without nervousness as she introduced us, looking upon him as a potential friend.

He responded amicably enough; but he hadn’t come, as Matron had anticipated, to take me down to evening assembly in Big Hall, where the public introduction of new boys always took place. Instead he informed her, with an embarrassed glance at me, that he brought a message from the Head; and the two of them retired to the passage, leaving me to listen to the murmur of their voices through the closed door and to wonder what the reason for this secrecy could be. In due course, Matron came back alone, and I thought her pleasant face wore a slightly worried expression, though she was as cheerful and friendly as ever.

I was delighted to be taken to her private apartment, adjoining the sick bay, considering myself fortunate to be sitting there eating ginger biscuits and drinking cocoa, instead of going through the alarming formality of being
publicly presented to my future companions. I couldn’t help being aware, however, that she was troubled and perplexed by this departure from immemorial custom, and her uneasiness gradually communicated itself to me, so that I ended by asking her why I hadn’t been treated in the usual way.

She tried to pass it off by saying that it was probably because I’d arrived at half-term, instead of with other new boys when term began; the Head must have thought it would be embarrassing for me to stand up alone in front of the whole school, with nobody beside me. In view of what had occurred, unbeknown to her, in the Head’s study, I thought such consideration for my sensibilities improbable in the extreme. And now I began to be faintly alarmed and to conjure up grim pictures of what this discrimination might portend.

None of the grisly possibilities I imagined actually came to pass. But I had to endure something more than coldness on the part of the other occupants of the dormitory, when I was finally left among them at bedtime. I thought they seemed an unfriendly, stand-offish lot but put it down to their annoyance at having to show me the ropes, according to Matron’s instructions. It was some time before I found out what had happened at the assembly in Big Hall, from which I’d been excluded.