Fools of Fortune

  ‘Yes, I know, sir.’

  ‘It is gratifying that you know something.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We are still waiting to hear from you, FitzPayne. Mr Mack, can you throw any light on FitzPayne’s conceit of staring at you?’

  ‘I most certainly can not, Headmaster.’

  ‘In that case it must be left to you, FitzPayne. We have heard the view of Mr Mack, we have heard the view of the duty prefect. If you and I have to stand here all day, FitzPayne, we shall do so. The inconvenience to staff and boys is of course to be regretted. Fukes, I would have another cup of coffee.’

  The probing of the butler’s cavities ceased, the forefinger wiped on the napkin he carried. Coffee was poured, the silence continued. Eventually FitzPayne broke it.

  ‘It had to do with a story that’s going round, sir.’

  ‘What story is this, FitzPayne?’

  ‘That something happened to Mr Mack in the night, sir.’

  ‘Did something happen to you in the night, Mr Mack?’

  The mathematics master, who smiled rarely, permitted himself that relaxation now. A row of even false teeth appeared beneath the ginger moustache and then was gone again.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I dreamed I was teaching Shell B, Headmaster.’

  Laughter, too long held in check, was gratefully released.

  ‘Well, FitzPayne? Mr Mack states he adventured no further than the land of dreams. Are you implying it was in a dream that something untoward occurred?’

  There was further laughter. The porridge plates nursed by the maids were eased on to the serving table. FitzPayne said:

  ‘In the night, sir, a man passed water on Mr Mack.’

  The Scrotum’s eyes bulged, and even over the distance that separated us I believed I could see the flushed flesh whiten. The lower half of his face twitched; Dove-White told us afterwards that he moaned. FitzPayne spoke again.

  ‘Through the window, sir, that Mr Mack keeps open.’

  Mad Mack was standing up. Dove-White told us that the vein in the centre of his forehead had begun to throb, always a danger signal.

  ‘Headmaster,’ he began, and was ignored.

  ‘You will come at once to my study, FitzPayne.’

  ‘Headmaster—’

  ‘I’d be obliged if you would kindly accompany us, Mr Mack. FitzPayne, you will apologize to my wife. You will apologize to Matron and to her lady assistant. You will apologize to the maids.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Mr Dove-White, no one is to leave this room until we have returned. Breakfast will naturally not be taken today.’ He turned to his wife and his voice lost the quiver it had developed when he lowered it to address her. ‘My dear, I think it better that you accompany us also.’

  He led the way. Mrs Scrotum, who had a way of holding her arms stiffly elongated, with her hands clasped in front of her, marched next in line. Then came Mad Mack, fury enlivening every aspect of him. FitzPayne was grinning through his acne.

  Bamboo Jones crossed to the high table and spoke to Dove-White, who nodded. Bamboo Jones said we might sit down but must not converse. The head prefect, Wiltshire Major, bustled up to him and then bustled up to Dove-White. Whispering broke out among the masters, Wiltshire Major spoke to the matron and the undermatron, both of whom immediately rose and left the dining hall, taking the maids with them. Bamboo Jones stationed himself by the door, alert for the headmaster’s return. From time to time he ordered us to be quiet and when eventually he heard the headmaster’s footfall he hurried to the serving table and struck it repeatedly with a soup-spoon, another dining-hall tradition.

  Obediently, we stood up. Mrs Scrotum did not return, nor did Mad Mack. FitzPayne went straight to his place. The Scrotum said:

  ‘We are going to pray. You will please kneel.’

  Deliverance was asked for. ‘O Lord, to cleanse us,’ is a phrase that was quoted, and afterwards de Courcy remarked that though boys and masters might be cleansed of the distastefulness FitzPayne had exposed us to, the same might possibly not be true of the women who had left the dining hall, nor indeed of Mad Mack himself.

  ‘To Thy honour and Thy glory again we dedicate our miserable lives.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Dove-White.

  ‘Amen,’ said we, and rose from our knees.

  ‘We have heard a lie this morning.’ The Scrotum paused, the scarlet flesh of his neck bulging above his clerical collar. ‘A lie,’ he repeated, ‘which this unfortunate boy saw fit to perpetuate. Stand out, FitzPayne. Approach High Table, please.’

  For the second time FitzPayne left his place and did as he was bidden.

  ‘Turn around. Face your peers, FitzPayne.’

  Obeying this instruction placed FitzPayne at an advantage. With his back to the Scrotum, he at once allowed his mouth to drop open, drawing back his lips in a squinting grimace. Heads were bent, laughter stifled. Bamboo Jones started forward, then changed his mind. Wiltshire Major glared threateningly at FitzPayne.

  ‘This boy,’ pronounced the Scrotum, ‘has been misled by evil gossip. This boy has apologized to Mr Mack for the distasteful nature of the lie he saw fit to repeat, knowing it must needs be a lie. Mr Mack and I have accepted that this boy did not himself invent the lie, which indicates that its source is among you still. Whomsoever is responsible I would wish to converse with before an hour has passed.’

  His gown flapped as he strode from the dais which raised the high table above the other tables. He clutched a mortar-board to his chest and looked neither to the right nor the left. Hopeless Gibbon brought up the rear of the procession that passed from the dining hall.

  ‘Stay!’ shouted Wiltshire Major. He closed the door and stood with his back to it. He told us to sit down.

  ‘I want to see you, FitzPayne,’ he said, ‘immediately after this. As to what the headmaster has just requested, will whoever started the ridiculous tale about Mr Mack report to him without delay. I have to warn you that if there is no owning up the entire school will be punished.’

  During this speech Fukes clattered the high-table breakfast dishes, gathering them on to a tray. Wiltshire Major, who liked making speeches, continued:

  ‘If ever again there is anything like a repetition of such a stupid and pointless rumour it will be a most serious matter, I can assure you.’

  It was difficult to know what to do. Wiltshire Major meant what he said, and already there were those who must have guessed where the story had begun. ‘I’d say we’re stumped,’ Ring suggested. ‘I’d say it’s a cop all right.’

  But de Courcy was more sanguine. ‘We didn’t do much when it comes down to it.’

  ‘We took money from the man,’ I reminded him, ‘and we got up in the middle of the night.’

  ‘We could say we saw a stranger prowling.’

  We hurriedly discussed the matter with Dove-White, who advised confession. He approved of de Courcy’s suggestion that, on the way to or from the lavatory, he had glanced from a window and seen a suspicious figure in the moonlight. Out of a sense of responsibility, he had woken Ring and myself and a decision had been reached: concerned about the school’s valuables, we had decided to investigate.

  ‘I see,’ said the Scrotum.

  ‘After which, sir, we hastily dressed. We followed the man to the masters’ house, sir, thinking he might be going to break in.’

  ‘I had one of MacCarthy’s golf sticks, sir,’ Ring put in. ‘I picked it up when we passed through the locker-room. In the circumstances, I didn’t think he’d mind, sir.’

  The headmaster’s study was large and gracious, as impressive as the drawing-room next door, which featured two water-colours by Turner. Both rooms, richly carpeted, were full of knick-knacks and occasional tables. I stood beside the chair over which one bent when receiving punishment. It was tapestry-covered, yellow and blue, the same chair that had been there in my father’s day. ‘You’ll get to know it,’ my father had said.

  ‘The man climbed
four steps up the fire escape, sir, and then he unbuttoned his trousers—’

  ‘That’ll do, de Courcy.’ The Scrotum spoke snappishly, as he often did. His English voice had a nasal quality, sharply accented. His origins were low, Dove-White had told us, pointing out that though the headmaster’s ‘h’s‘ were all carefully in place, words like ‘house’ and ‘noun’ acquired an extra dimension beneath his tongue and that, apparently, was not quite the thing.

  ‘What I mean is, sir,’ de Courcy went on, ‘we were in a quandary because it wasn’t clear immediately what was happening. There was this sound, sir, and the window being open at the top and the man being on a level with it—’

  ‘Will you kindly cease, de Courcy?’ Tetchy impatience snapped at us again. Some internal struggle took place because the Scrotum’s small white knuckles, clenched to rap the surface of the desk, did not do so. His temper was as unreliable as Mad Mack’s, but his position in the school forbade resource to casual physical attack. For him the only reward for anger was the calm formality involving the tapestry-covered chair, and as if in recognition of this fact his nasal voice now acquired the churchman’s cadences so familiar to us in Chapel.

  ‘Mr Mack reports that he shut his window during the night because of a shower of rain.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So what you are saying is invented.’

  ‘We didn’t like to go too close, sir. All we were concerned for was Mr Mack’s safety.’

  ‘I see.’ The anger cooled a little more, the voice dropped further. ‘I accept what you say concerning a trespasser on School property, and I would suggest to you that this man was unsober. I would suggest to you that he climbed up the fire escape when he wasn’t in command of himself. Drink is the curse of this country.’

  ‘We said afterwards he mightn’t have been sober. Didn’t I say that, Quinton?’

  ‘We all said it.’

  ‘I would suggest to you that in the poor light of the night you could have been mistaken in what you imagined occurred.’

  ‘It’s possible we were, sir,’ Ring agreed. ‘It was just that it looked like that. The sound we heard could have been anything. Maybe a bird.’

  ‘A bird?’

  ‘I think there’s a bird makes a sound like that, sir. When it’s flying by, sir.’

  ‘It was a terrible thing, sir,’ de Courcy said, ‘for boys of our age to see a man drunk. He was definitely unsteady on the fire escape, sir.’

  ‘There is still no excuse for irresponsibly repeating all this. Why did you not wake a prefect? Or come straight to me?’

  Ring proceeded to offer an explanation, but de Courcy interrupted him.

  ‘We were intending to, sir. Quinton was all for waking you up, sir, only Ring said you mightn’t like it. We were discussing at breakfast about coming in here straight afterwards, only the unfortunate thing was that someone must have heard what we were saying.’

  ‘Even though we were keeping our voices down, sir.’

  ‘And you, Quinton? You haven’t said much to me about this unhappy incident.’

  ‘I’m very sorry about it, sir.’

  ‘How do you imagine poor Mr Mack feels?’

  ‘It was Mr Mack’s safety, sir—’

  ‘I know, I know, boy.’ The knuckles again became impatient. Another struggle waged in the crimson face; again the Christian spirit prevailed. ‘When I came to this school, Quinton, the chapel was not the centre of school life, as it has since become. The kind of unpleasantness you have had the misfortune to witness was not uncommon. Bullying, for instance, was rampant.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The bullies would take the new boys up the hillside and beat their legs with bramble sticks. A boy was branded once with the point of a white-hot poker.’

  ‘We’ve heard of that, sir. We’re grateful to you, sir, for all you’ve done.’

  ‘I shall be asking Wiltshire Major to make an announcement before lunch in the presence of Matron and the maids, to the effect that the man in his confusion simply climbed up the fire-escape steps and immediately came down again. Drink is a great scourge. It is fortunate that we weren’t burnt in our beds.’

  ‘Burnt, sir?’ Ring repeated in a startled voice. ‘Burnt?’ he said again, but de Courcy swiftly intervened.

  ‘It’s that we were concerned about, sir. Ring was all for hitting at the man with MacCarthy’s golf stick to see if he maybe had a box of matches on him.’

  Ring essayed a slow smile as the value of this variation dawned on him. ‘And maybe,’ he chattily added, ‘if he was intoxicated, sir, he could have imagined he’d started up a fire already. Maybe what he got up to, sir, was an effort to quench it.’

  ‘That’s a disgusting suggestion, Ring. We have agreed between us that nothing of that nature took place. And why are you laughing in that distasteful manner? Is there some joke I have missed? Do you share Ring’s joke, Quinton?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You are the stupidest boy, Ring, I have ever encountered. You are dense to a degree I would not have believed humanly possible.’

  ‘All I meant, sir—’

  ‘What vocation have you, Ring?’

  ‘Vocation, sir?’

  ‘The future, boy, the future. How do you see yourself?’

  ‘My father makes lemonade down in Dublin, sir.’

  ‘I am aware that your father makes lemonade. I asked you about yourself.’

  ‘I’ll be doing the same, sir.’

  ‘All I can say, Ring, is that I wouldn’t care to drink it.’

  ‘It’s not bad stuff at all, sir.’

  ‘Do not be impertinent to me, Ring. You shall be punished for that.’ The crimson face was turned towards mine and the conversation more lightly continued. ‘Quinton, what vocation have you? You are becoming a veterinary surgeon?’

  ‘I think that’s Dunraven, sir.’

  ‘Ah yes, yes. A flour mill, is it? Near Fermoy?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Be careful how you choose your friends, Quinton. Do not bend as the wind takes you. De Courcy?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What vocation have you, de Courcy?’

  ‘The stage, sir. The theatre.’

  The Scrotum briefly shook his head. ‘Has it ever occurred to you, de Courcy, to enter schoolmastering?’

  ‘I don’t think I would be good at it, sir.’

  ‘That may not be for you to say, sir. Duty is not silent, remember. Duty speaks. I am glad we have had this conversation.’

  ‘So are we, sir.’

  ‘Wiltshire Major will give out his notice, the contents of which we have agreed between the four of us in this room. You will apply to Mr Dove-White for a suitable punishment for leaving your dormitory in the night. You will apologize to Mr Mack and offer to make amends in any way he suggests.You will apologize to my wife. You will stand beside Wiltshire Major when he makes the explanation and when he has finished you will apologize to him for the inconvenience you have caused. You will apologize to Matron and her lady assistant, a very young girl who may well be upset by the distasteful nature of what was said. You will apologize to the maids, some of whom are young also, and you will apologize to the duty prefect. You, Quinton, will be the spokesman. You, Ring, will request further punishment from Mr Dove-White for being impertinent. This matter is now closed. I am glad we have disposed of it in a sensible manner.’

  A small blue bulb on the wall above the Scrotum’s door, controlled by a switch near his desk, was extinguished as we passed beneath it. When glowing, it indicated that serious matters were on hand in the study, and that no disturbance would be tolerated. Beatings called for the ignition of the bulb, as did confirmation classes, which the Scrotum liked to conduct at the deskside. We hurried through the great flagged hall that lay between the headmaster’s house and the rest of the school, feeling lucky that the bulb had been extinguished after so brief an incarceration in the study. We had assumed our concocted story would be brushed as
ide and, Sunday notwithstanding, had anticipated severe chastisement.

  ‘He said you were to punish us, sir,’ Ring reported in Dove-White’s room.

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘Witnessing the distasteful occurrence, sir. Drink’s a scourge, sir.’

  Tea was brewed from a kettle of water on a gas-ring. Dove-White said the treatment meted out to Mad Mack was probably the best thing that had happened since the school was founded in 1843, even though the act had been performed by a man he had sternly warned us against. While he was speaking, a boy came in and announced that Mr Mack wanted to see us. ‘Oh holy Jesus,’ said Ring, and we made our way without enthusiasm to the mathematics master’s study.

  ‘The headmaster has spoken to me of your revelations.’ Furious already, Mad Mack shouted at us as soon as we appeared. ‘Not a word of that is the truth, de Courcy.’

  ‘The headmaster—’ ‘There was no man on that fire escape. Isn’t that so, Quinton? Answer me, Quinton.’

  ‘There was a man in a Donegal suit, sir.’

  ‘That’s a filthy lie, Quinton.’

  ‘De Courcy looked out the window, sir, on his way back from the lavatory—’

  ‘The three of you climbed on to that fire escape and committed an act of filthy indecency.’

  ‘We’d never do that, sir,’ de Courcy protested.

  ‘We told the truth, Mr Mack,’ Ring said, ‘and we’ve received our punishment from Mr Dove-White for leaving our dormitory under shadow of darkness.’

  ‘You’ll end up in the Dublin sewers, Ring.’

  ‘Actually, sir,’ de Courcy corrected, ‘Ring’s going to make lemonade. The headmaster is taking an interest in Ring’s future, sir.’

  A scrawny hand darted through the air. Its fingers lashed twice at de Courcy’s cheeks, a swift, expert action that immediately drew blood. Mad Mack looked away and when he spoke again there was a croaking in his voice.

  ‘Who was it,’ he asked, ‘if it wasn’t you?’

  ‘A geography master who was sacked,’ de Courcy said.

  The truth hung there, unchallenged and at last accepted, as it never could have been in the Scrotum’s study.