A Jest of God - Margaret Laurence [85]
She is looking at me, dismayed.
“Other hands? What on earth do you mean?”
“Well, just that – what happens to you, you can’t necessarily do anything much about it.”
“Doctor Raven,” she says, offended, “has specifically forbidden me under any circumstances to exert myself, Rachel. You know that as well as I do.”
“You won’t have to exert yourself. All you have to do, if that’s all you want to do, is to sit and let yourself be wafted towards the coast. Mild weather, practically no snow in winter, daffodils in March or is it April, and a visit with Stacey’s kids every Sunday or maybe even twice a week, let’s hope. I meant, really, that Doctor Raven is not able to say, entirely, either. You know?”
I catch in my own voice something of Nick’s – You know? I didn’t mean to copy. But something of him inhabits me yet. If I could see him only for half an hour. No, Rachel. You can’t. Yes, I know. It will go away after a while.
“Rachel, you’re talking so peculiarly. Doctor Raven has been my doctor for goodness knows how long. If he doesn’t know what’s what, dear, who does, may I ask?”
“I don’t know. I’ve no idea. God, for all I know.”
Is it some partial triumph, that I can bring myself finally to say this, or is it only the last defeat?
“God?” she shrills, as though I had voiced something unspeakable. Then she simmers down, recollects herself. She used to be a member of the choir, for heaven’s sake, for the sake of heaven. “Well, certainly, dear, of course, all that goes without saying. But I don’t honestly see why you felt you had to bring it up. I’m not easily upset, as you know. But I can’t go along with this notion of gaily talking about all these matters.”
She is clamped, rigid, protecting herself against all comers.
“I’m sorry.”
And I am. Because I didn’t know, before, how frightened she is. But there’s no help for it, that I can see, except to say Hush, it will be all right – there, there.
I am the mother now.
Willard is sitting behind his desk. He doesn’t rise. He looks up, adjusts his glasses and consents to smile. He’s hardly spoken to me since I gave my notice, but now he has to say something, for I won’t be seeing him again.
“Ah, Rachel. The moment has finally come, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I just want you to know I certainly do wish you every success in your new – and of course Angela joins me in this wish, most sincerely.”
“Thanks.”
“I must say – I know you won’t take it amiss if I say this, Rachel – I must just mention that I was a little taken aback at your decision. It wasn’t what I would have expected of you.”
“No.”
“I mean, of course, it’s your concern, but I can’t help wondering, I’d just like to ask you one thing, quite frankly.”
“What is it?”
“Weren’t you happy here?” Willard asks, peering foxily. “I always thought you got along so well here. Taught well, fitted in with the other staff very harmoniously, and as for myself, we’ve never had the slightest disagreement, you and I. That’s so, isn’t it? You must admit that it is. I always thought you were perfectly satisfied with the way our school is run. I could be quite mistaken, of course, but I always thought so. I trust you don’t mind my asking, but naturally this is a matter of some considerable interest to me.”
He doesn’t want my answer. He wants me to say “Of course I have always been as happy as a veritable meadow-lark in this eminently well-run establishment, Willard, and I can assure you my leaving has nothing whatsoever to do with you, who have been in every conceivable way the best of principals – it is only that my old mother wishes to see her dear little grandchildren, so I am taking off,