The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [34]
Pat felt defensive. She had begun to doubt herself now, and she wondered whether she should simply have taken the man’s card and put up a sticker. It did seem a bit trusting, but if one couldn’t trust dukes, then whom could one trust?
‘He seemed . . .’ She trailed off.
Matthew looked doubtful. ‘It seems a bit unlikely,’ he said. ‘Why would Johannesburg have a duke? And what’s all this about these clubs? Where’s the Gitchigumi Club for heaven’s sake?’
‘Duluth,’ said Pat. ‘That’s what it says there. Duluth.’
‘And where exactly is that?’ asked Matthew.
‘Duluth?’
‘Yes. Where’s Duluth?’
Pat thought for a moment. ‘Guess,’ she said. She had no idea, and could only guess herself. Minnesota?
23. Parent/infant Issues
When classes were over for the day and the children spilled out, Irene met Bertie at the school gate. This was not an ideal situation from Bertie’s point of view as it gave his mother the opportunity to make the sort of arrangement which had caused him such concern – of which the proposed visit, or series of visits, by Olive was a prime example. He had suggested that they meet further up the road, at the junction of Spylaw Road and Ettrick Road, well away from the eyes of his classmates, but this proposal had been greeted by Irene with an understanding smile.
‘Now, Bertie,’ she said, ‘Mummy knows that you’re ashamed of her! And you mustn’t feel ashamed of feeling ashamed. All children are embarrassed by their parents – it’s a perfectly normal stage through which you go. Melanie Klein . . .’ She paused. She could not recall precisely what Melanie Klein had written on the subject, but she was sure that there was something. It had to do with idealisation of the female parental figure, or mother, to use the vernacular. Or it was related to the need of the child to establish a socially visible persona which was defined in isolation from the mother’s personality. By distancing himself from her, Bertie thought that he might grow in stature in relation to those boys who were still under maternal skirts. Well, that was understandable enough, but the development of the young ego could still be assisted by saying it does not matter. In that way, the child would transcend the awkward stage of parent/infant uncoupling and develop a more integrated, self-sufficient ego.
‘It doesn’t matter, Bertie,’ Irene said. ‘It really doesn’t.’
Bertie looked at his mother. It was difficult sometimes to make out what she was trying to say, and this was one of those occasions. ‘What doesn’t matter?’ he asked.
Irene reached out and took his hand. They were travelling home on the 23 bus, with Bertie’s baby brother, Ulysses, fitted snugly round Irene’s front in a sling. Bertie liked to travel on the upper deck, but they were not there now as the concentration of germs there was greater, Irene said, than below, and Ulysses’ immune system was not yet as strong as it might be. Bertie tried to slip his hand out of his mother’s, but her grip was tight. He looked around him furtively, to see if anybody from school might see him holding hands with his mother on the bus; fortunately, there was nobody.
‘It doesn’t matter that you feel embarrassed about being seen with me at the school gate,’ she said. ‘Those feelings are natural. But it also doesn’t matter what other people think of you, Bertie. It really doesn’t.’
Bertie’s face flushed. He looked down at the floor. ‘I’m not embarrassed, Mummy,’ he said.
‘Oh yes, you are!’ said Irene, her voice rising playfully. ‘Mummy can tell! Roberto è un poco imbarazzato!’
‘Non è vero,’ mumbled Bertie. He glanced out of the window; they were barely at Tollcross, which meant it was at least another ten minutes before they reached Dundas Street; ten minutes of agony. Ulysses, at least, was asleep, which meant that he was doing little to draw anybody’s attention, but then he suddenly made a loud, embarrassing noise. On the other side of the bus, a boy only a few years older than Bertie, a boy travelling by himself, glanced at Bertie and smirked. Bertie looked away.
‘You see, Bertie,