Raising Arcadia

by Simon Chesterman

  “You mean the break-in that wasn’t a break-in,” Magnus replies. “Have they found the television yet?”

  “Yes, two streets away. I had suggested to the police that they search nearby for it.”

  “Oh, very well done, Arcadia. And now you’re calling me to say that the real purpose wasn’t actually to steal a five-year old television set but rather to…?”

  “Install a surveillance system. There are at least four miniature cameras at various points in our house, from the foyer to my bedroom. Probably more.”

  There is silence at the other end of the phone.

  “Magnus?”

  “Just a minute, Arcadia. I’m afraid I didn’t catch what you said as there’s some interference on the phone. I should be able to fix it, but you might want to hold the phone away from your ear for a moment.”

  She does so just as the speaker lets out a loud burst of white noise and her phone goes dead. After a moment she sees that it has reset and is booting up once again. When it has completed the cycle she has a text message from Magnus:

  Thanks for calling Arcadia, though I must say that it was nothing new. That’s all 4 the moment. ’Bye now. Magnus

  “4”? Her brother really does think that she is dense. It doesn’t take a Cambridge degree to work out that Magnus has included a second message within his text using every fourth word: “Arcadia, say nothing 4 (for) now.”

  It is unusual for her to confide in Magnus in this way, but in the area of surveillance her brother’s knowledge is superior to her own. The burst of white noise was presumably some device to avoid interception, but who would be listening in on their telephone calls? Perhaps Magnus is being paranoid. Perhaps he is being prudent.

  In deference to the school rule, she switches off her phone — then removes the battery and SIM card as an added precaution. She puts the disassembled device in her bag next to her Swiss Army knife and goes in search of her class, trying not to look directly at the school’s security cameras as she does.

  7

  SUBSTITUTE

  She arrives halfway through Latin. Mr. Ormiston concludes reciting the forms of the irregular verb fio, fieri and a nod of his head indicates that she should take her seat.

  Sebastian welcomes her back with an attempt to trip her as she walks by his desk. “Why welcome back, Arsey,” he smirks. “What did Headmaster do to you this morning? I heard that after seeing him you went straight to Chapel to pray!”

  “Yes, Sebastian,” she replies with mock sincerity. “I prayed to the Lord for forgiveness as I now seek it from you. I can only take comfort in the fact that my pugilism doesn’t appear to have problematised your proboscis one way or the other.”

  As Sebastian tries to work out whether he is being insulted, Mr. Ormiston moves to stand between them. “Miss Greentree, Master Harker, I think we have had about enough excitement from the two of you. I would appreciate it if you could resume your seats and continue your Latin without speaking. I shall be watching you both extremely closely.”

  “Yes, sir,” the two mumble. She opens her Latin book and begins writing down the various forms of the verb “to become”.

  After Latin, they have a free period and Henry is heading towards the library. She catches up with him and they walk together in silence. Once inside the library, they climb the circular stairs to the second floor where the books in the high 500s of the Dewey Decimal system are located. He picks up a book about the fish of the Maldives while she chooses a monograph on the Gila monster.

  Henry shifts uncomfortably when she sits down at a desk opposite him, but they read in quiet contemplation for several minutes. As fascinating as the book on the venomous American lizard is, however, she has more immediate queries to answer. She takes a blank piece of paper from her bag and writes: “Henry, I know that Headmaster is watching us and I know that he said something that upset you on Friday. What?” She passes the page to Henry, who reads it and shakes his head.

  “Please,” she whispers.

  Henry pauses, then writes below her precise cursive in his own hand: “He said that if I told you anything that I would be expelled. My father will kill me if that happens.”

  She reads this and hesitates. Henry is the closest thing she has to a friend. Though the prospects of his father actually murdering him are remote, she does not want to make the boy’s life more difficult than it already is. But she needs more information to understand what is going on around her. She continues writing: “Today I found that someone has installed secret cameras in my parents’ house. Do you know anything about that?”

  She shows it to him; he frowns and shakes his head again. This time it is an answer to her question rather than a rejection of it. There is no reason for him to lie, so he probably has no knowledge of the cameras. But what did Headmaster say on Friday that led Henry to run away?

  “Did Headmaster ask you to do something you didn’t think was right?”

  She holds up the page to Henry. After a quick glance around the empty second floor of the library, he nods.

  “To spy on someone?” she writes.

  There is a catch in his breathing. She is close.

  She whispers: “On me?”

  A single nod, burying his nose back in a picture of the Maldivian reefs. She folds the paper thoughtfully. “Thank you, Henry,” she says softly, standing up.

  After leaving the library she tears the page carefully into small pieces, flushing portions of the shreds down two different toilets.

  Returning to the dormitory building, she is about to unlock her door when she pauses, reaching into her pocket for the key that Magnus planted long ago in Chapel. Though the teeth are cut differently from her own key, she tries it in the door to her room. It fits perfectly and, though a little stiff, turns and opens the lock. She steps back into the hallway of the dormitory. Opposite her room is a storage cupboard. She tries the key there and — it opens that lock also. So “M” stands for master key.

  “And thank you, Magnus,” she whispers. Her situation is no clearer, but for the first time she begins to feel that she has an advantage.

  The last lesson of the day is science with Mr. Pratt. She checks that the cardboard in her rear pockets is in place, just in case.

  She takes her seat next to Henry. Sebastian is whispering to Joan, occasionally glancing in her direction. Some kind of tiresome plot is underway, but he will not step out of line during Mr. Pratt’s lesson.

  When the bell rings, however, it is their form teacher, Mr. Ormiston, who enters. Following close behind is a woman. The students stand.

  The number of female staff at the Priory School can be counted on one hand. In addition to the part-time cleaners and the ladies in the canteen, there are a various female administrators such as Headmaster’s secretary. Of the teaching staff, however, the women are confined to areas such as music, art, and French. The head of the art department is the only senior position held by a woman.

  The disparity is usually explained as being due to tradition rather than discrimination. Nevertheless, the school’s Web site lists teachers by initials and surname; men do not have a title such as “Mr.” (apart from Pipe-Major Scott, the school bagpipe instructor), while women are variously identified as “Miss” and “Mrs.” to indicate their gender and marital status.

  The woman standing beside Mr. Ormiston is not a current member of staff. A substitute teacher for Mr. Pratt, presumably. The fact that the school has arranged a new teacher indicates that he is more than ill, but has suffered some injury that will keep him from school for at least a few weeks. What a shame. But there is something more.

  “Settle down,” Mr. Ormiston intones. “You may be seated. I regret to inform you that Mr. Pratt has been involved in an unfortunate motor accident. He will be fine and will be returning to school, though I am told that he is likely to remain in hospital for the next month.” He pauses to clear his throat. “I can tell how concerned you all are and will be certain to pass on your best wishes for hi
s speedy recovery.

  “We are extremely fortunate, however, to have a new science teacher to fill in for Mr. Pratt while he is indisposed. This is Miss Alderman and she will be taking over your science classes for the rest of the term. I am confident that you will show her the same respect that you show to all members of our staff. Am I clear?” He looks around the room, eyes fixing on Sebastian and Arcadia in particular.

  “Very well, Miss Alderman, they’re all yours. You know where to find me if needed.”

  “Thank you, William,” she smiles, touching his elbow before he departs. A little too familiar. Before going out the door, Mr. Ormiston turns back to look at her once more. Then for a second his eyes fall on Arcadia again. He hurriedly shuts the door and his footsteps disappear down the hall.

  Miss Alderman turns to face them. In her mid-thirties, she is around ten years younger than Mr. Ormiston; dressed well but modestly. Her glasses and pale skin suggest bookishness, but below a knee-length dress her calves and strong shoulders indicate that she exercises regularly. Indoors, it seems. Her posture is exceptionally good — unlike Mr. Ormiston’s amateur schoolboy productions, it is possible that Miss Alderman actually had some success in the theatre.

  “Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” she gives them a brisk smile. “I understand that you have been discussing the basics of evolution. Today we will continue with biology, but are going to discuss the genetic and environmental influences on development — what is often referred to as the relative impact of ‘nature’ and ‘nurture’.”

  She turns to the board and writes: “Nature vs Nurture”. “Now, who can give me an example of a characteristic or trait that is genetic or natural?”

  “Being an ugly cow,” Sebastian offers up, looking in Arcadia’s direction and getting a snigger from some of the boys sitting near him.

  She consults a list of names and photographs. “Thank you — Sebastian, is it? Yes indeed most of our physical characteristics can be attributed to our genetic heritage, from the colour of our eyes and hair to the relative length of our arms and legs.” She drops her voice to a stage whisper: “Though you can’t blame your appearance entirely on your parents, Sebastian. It’s possible you were dropped as a baby.”

  Arcadia smiles to herself. She is going to like this teacher.

  “What about an example of an environmental influence that could have an impact on one’s development?” she continues. “Something on the ‘nurture’ side of the equation?”

  Henry puts up his hand and she consults her sheet. “Yes, Henry?”

  “Having a jerk for a father?”

  “Well I was thinking of something much more basic, like how much food we get to eat. How tall we grow depends in part on our genes, but there is great variation based on nutrition. In the course of the twentieth century, for example, the Dutch went from being Europe’s shortest people to being among the tallest. This was basically due to increased wealth and better food. The average height in the Netherlands went up by around seven inches.

  “Today, the United Nations uses height in order to monitor nutrition levels in developing countries. So the importance of nurture is fairly clear: if you don’t eat, you don’t grow.

  “But yes, coming back to Henry’s point, the way we are treated can have an important influence on our character. Here the mix of nature and nurture is more complicated, though. Various studies have shown that genes do have an impact on character — if you know anyone who breeds animals, you’ll be aware that they routinely select for certain character traits. We generally like to think that humans are not just the sum of our DNA, however. And indeed someone who is treated badly as a child is more likely to ‘inherit’ those qualities as an adult.

  “So we have a paradox. Agriculture and farming have depended on selective breeding for thousands of years. From our earliest forebears, farmers have chosen crops and animals with desirable qualities, tending to produce seeds and offspring that were bigger and healthier. Nature can clearly be shaped through breeding. We know also that blue-eyed parents have blue-eyed babies and so on. Yet we rarely talk about human breeding in the same way as animals. Why not?”

  This is a tired debate topic that has been drilled into the class before. “The Nazis,” they respond, almost in uniform.

  If Miss Alderman is taken aback she does her best not to show it. “Exactly. The racial policies of Nazi Germany put the whole science of eugenics — genetic improvement of the human population — into disrepute. Some eugenics policies did continue into the late twentieth century, such as the forced sterilisation of the mentally ill in Sweden and incentives for the highly-educated to have children in Singapore. But these policies were controversial and ultimately abandoned.

  “Indeed, in the course of the twentieth century the idea that genes had any impact on human development was largely discredited. That was, of course, an overreaction.

  “We are far more than our genes, to be sure. Much of the population of Australia, for example, is descended from the criminals transported there as punishment by the English — and yet today it is a reasonably law-abiding society. This would seem to argue against any strong genetic link to criminality.

  “But genes clearly do play a role in many aspects of the way we grow physically — and, almost certainly, in the way we think and the way we act. But how could we test this theory? How could we measure the relative impact of nature and nurture?”

  She looks around the room expectantly. “Arcadia?”

  She did not consult the list to check her name. Either she has memorised the list or she knew it already.

  “Take two individuals with the same genes and raise them in different environments,” Arcadia replies.

  “Very good. And what do we call individuals with the same genes?”

  “Clones?” Henry offers. “Like Dolly the sheep?”

  “Excellent, Henry.”

  “Yeah,” Sebastian interjects. “But I thought the Clone Wars happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.”

  “Oh Sebastian, I can tell that you and I are going to get along famously,” Miss Alderman remarks. “But you do make a good point in your accidental and indirect way: cloning humans remains controversial. So is there an easier way to test our ‘nature versus nurture’ theory on humans?”

  “Identical twins.”

  “Thank you, Arcadia. Yes, identical twins share the same genes and are, essentially, clones. Now in most cases twins stay as part of a family and so nature and nurture largely influence them in similar ways. These twins will not be exactly the same, but for our purposes it would be ideal if there were identical twins who grew up in different environments.

  “This is less common, but for two decades the Minnesota Study of Twins Reared Apart, or ‘Mistra’, scoured the globe to find such twins. From 1979 to 1999, researchers examined more than a hundred pairs of identical and non-identical twins who were separated in early childhood and raised in different households. What they found is that many characteristics thought to be entirely environmental — things like foods preferences, reading habits, even how religious someone is or their career choice — actual show strong genetic influences.

  “In some cases, this produced uncanny results. Consider the case of the two Jims. Identical twins, Jim Springer and Jim Lewis, were adopted by different families at four weeks of age. They met for the first time thirty-nine years later. Yet at school, both said that mathematics had been their best subject and spelling their worst. Both smoked the same brand of cigarettes and drank the same brand of beer. In their spare time, they both did carpentry in their garage. They both drove Chevrolets and had a dog named Toy. Both had worked in law enforcement and took holidays at the same beach in Florida. They had each been married twice: first to women named Linda and then to women named Betty. Each of the Jims had a son: one was named James Allen, the other was named James Alan.

  “A lot of this was coincidence. No one would seriously suggest that your genes could make you marry some
one called Linda and then divorce her for someone called Betty. Yet it is possible that genes and our environment interact in a more complex way than we had assumed — that it is not nature versus nurture, but perhaps nature via nurture. In other words, some genes might depend on the right environment in order to be expressed. Genes are not destiny, but they may be potential.”

  She turned back to the board and erased the “vs” to replace it with a double-headed arrow, so that it now read: “Nature ↔ Nurture”.

  “So how might we explore this more dynamic model of nature and nurture, in which variations in the environment affect the expression of our genetic potential?”

  “Try out different environments?” Henry suggests.

  “Indeed,” Miss Alderman says. “Now, experimenting in this way on humans would be exceedingly difficult. But another group of scientists conducted experiments on rhesus monkeys in the mid-twentieth century. They were particularly interested in the relationship between mother and infant.

  “At the time, many people assumed that mothers were primarily a source of nutrition and that any emotional attachment between mother and child was basically the extension of a feeding bond. So Harry Harlow and his colleagues created a test. He took the infant monkeys away from their mothers soon after birth and placed them in controlled environments. In place of their natural mothers, he offered them a,” she coughed, “surrogate mother, made from wood and rubber, covered with a soft cloth and warmed with a light bulb. Despite the fact that they were not alive, the baby monkeys still learned to recognise these artificial mothers, preferring them against all others.

  “In a second experiment, he offered the baby monkeys a choice of two ‘mothers’: one was the wood and cloth type, a second was made of wire mesh. For some of the baby monkeys, the wire model held a bottle with food. These babies stayed with the wire model only as long as it took to get the food they needed. Otherwise they would cuddle with the softer cloth model, especially when they were scared. For other baby monkeys, the cloth model had the bottle: those babies didn’t pay attention to the wire model at all.