CHAPTER 44
Eldred was listening to Mrs Garcia talk about the life cycle of the honey bee, and thinking about something else.
In his mind he was back in the television studio, recapturing a moment of his visit that at the time he had hardly noticed. It interested him that the mind chose to replay certain snatches of experience at certain times. He believed there must be a reason but his reasoning did not supply him with one.
When the interview was finished and Sonia was escorting the family back to the lift, Eldred had needed to go to the toilet, so Sonia had directed him towards the door labelled Men. Mildred went into the Women's and Edgar took the lift downstairs, saying he would meet them in the foyer. Mildred told Eldred to wait for her here in the corridor if he came out before her.
As he came out of the Men's, a girl of about his own age ran down the corridor towards him - no, not ran, Eldred thought: bounded, or pranced, might be a better way of describing the way she moved. She seemed, Eldred reflected, almost weightless. She was more or less his own height, of very slight build, with fair hair caught back in a careless plait with escaping strands, and was dressed in a hooded tracksuit top and cropped leggings in brightly clashing colours.
It was not only the way she dressed, though, Eldred thought. She seemed colourful, in herself. As she pushed open the Women's door she gave him a swift glance and smiled. The glance was direct and shrewd, through clear blue eyes that didn't waver when they met his, but the smile was warm. Then she disappeared through the door.
Mildred came out a few seconds later. 'All right to go?’ she said.
'Yes,’ Eldred said. 'Did you see a girl go in there after you?’
'I certainly did,’ said Mildred. 'Wearing make-up too! She can't have been more than ten years old. I don't know what kids are coming to.’
'Eldred Jones,’ said Mrs Garcia, appearing at his side and tweaking his ear suddenly and painfully, 'this may be news to you but you are not in this class to daydream but to work. What have I just been saying?’
'About drones,’ said Eldred, 'letting the worker bees do all the work.’
'Exactly,’ said Mrs Garcia. 'And who is the drone in this class, children? Who can tell me the answer to this?’ She stepped back and pointed at Eldred theatrically. The children laughed.
Eldred was used to this. The teacher would frequently turn the class against one child she wished to rebuke. For some reason, today he felt a sense of injustice and didn't immediately fight it down as usual. Perhaps it was the memory of the girl's smile. He could see her now as though she was in the class, standing behind Mrs Garcia, and the smile seemed to hold a certain sympathy. I know how you feel, it said.
This sense of being understood made Eldred bold. 'That's not true,’ he said. 'I do work.’
'Oh,’ said Mrs Garcia, 'you work, do you? You don't simply sit here gazing into space and taking in none of the things that you're here to learn?’
'No,’ Eldred said. 'I was listening too.’
'Too?’ said Mrs Garcia. 'You're not meant to be listening too. You are meant to be listening and doing nothing else. What else were you doing?’
'Thinking,’ Eldred said simply.
'Well, I have more news for you,’ Mrs Garcia said. 'You can't listen and think at the same time, even if you think you can. So concentrate on listening, please ... drone.’ She turned to her audience again and the children laughed obediently.
Eldred lowered his head and let hatred and rage sweep over him. From the depths of his heart, without any conscious decision by his mind, he heard himself say silently, 'Please, please, get me out of here and send me to a school where this doesn't happen.’
He accepted that it was illogical to address the Most High personally when God was a theory that Eldred still wasn't sure he subscribed to. Perhaps the heart didn't always respond to the beliefs of the mind. That in itself was interesting. He pondered the possibility, and the discipline of thought calmed him. Rage and hurt began to subside and didn't even return when Mrs Garcia handed out sheets of coarse blue paper - stolen from the infants’ class since her own supply of proper drawing paper had run out - and instructed her eleven-year olds to draw a beehive.
'And the child who draws the best one just might deserve a prize,’ she said. Her eyes settled on Ryan Andrews who was never any trouble and her hand jingled the collection of badges in her pocket to gauge how many were left. The badges were silver or gold and they all said: I DID WELL IN SCHOOL TODAY.
Eldred considered that the only unknown factor in this beehive-drawing competition was whether Ryan would go home wearing a gold or a silver badge today. He picked up the nearest biro and scrawled a dome shape on the page, with a few dots around it for bees, then lost interest and used the rest of the paper for jotting down a jumble of equations that came into his head just then for no apparent reason. Reason wasn't everything, he thought.
Genius Page 44
