The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [107]
Do you remember my asking you that evening why people couldn’t understand that the world had changed? Didn’t the girl realize that she was no better than we were? I shall never forget your reply. She is, you said, far better than us, if the only way you can prove your superiority is to punch her friend in the face.
I returned to my room angered by your weakness. It was to be many years before I understood your strength.
When I wasn’t pounding round that track I rarely had time for anything other than working for a scholarship to McGill, so it came as a surprise that her path crossed mine again so soon.
It must have been about a week later that I saw her at the local swimming pool. She was standing at the deep end, just under the diving board, when I came in. Her long fair hair was dancing on her shoulders, her bright eyes eagerly taking in everything going on around her. Greg was by her side. I was pleased to notice a deep purple patch remained under his left eye for all to see. I also remember chuckling to myself because she really did have the flattest chest I had ever seen on a sixteen-year-old girl, though I have to confess she had fantastic legs. Perhaps she’s a freak, I thought. I turned to go into the dressing room—a split second before I hit the water. When I came up for breath there was no sign of who had pushed me in, just a group of grinning but innocent faces. I didn’t need a law degree to work out who it must have been, but as you constantly reminded me, Father, without evidence there is no proof … . I wouldn’t have minded that much about being pushed into the pool if I hadn’t been wearing my best suit—in truth, my only suit with long trousers, the one I wore on days I was going to the synagogue.
I climbed out of the water but didn’t waste any time looking round for him. I knew Greg would be a long way off by then. I walked home through the back streets, avoiding taking the bus in case someone saw me and told you what a state I was in. As soon as I got home I crept past your study and on upstairs to my room, changing before you had the chance to discover what had taken place.
Old Isaac Cohen gave me a disapproving look when I turned up at the synagogue an hour later wearing a blazer and jeans.
I took the suit to the cleaners the next morning. It cost me three weeks’ pocket money to be sure that you were never aware of what had happened at the swimming pool that day.
The rabbi picked up the picture of his seventeen-year-old son in that synagogue suit. He well remembered Benjamin turning up at his service in a blazer and jeans and Isaac Cohen’s outspoken reprimand. The rabbi was thankful that Mr. Atkins, the swimming instructor, had phoned to warn him of what had taken place that afternoon so at least he didn’t add to Mr. Cohen’s harsh words. He continued gazing at the photograph for a long time before he returned to the letter.
The next occasion I saw Christina—by now I had found out her name—was at the end-of-term dance held in the school gymnasium. I thought I looked pretty cool in my neatly pressed suit until I saw Greg standing by her side in a smart new dinner jacket. I remember wondering at the time if I would ever be able to afford a dinner jacket. Greg had been offered a place at McGill and was announcing the fact to everyone who cared to listen, which made me all the more determined to win a scholarship there the following year.
I stared at Christina. She was wearing a long red dress that completely covered those beautiful legs. A thin gold belt emphasized her tiny waist and the only jewelry she wore was a simple gold necklace. I knew if I waited a moment longer I wouldn’t have the courage to go through with it. I clenched my fists, walked over to where they were sitting, and as you had always