Swingler laughed. ‘Who better, Mr Nox? Who better than Thos Swingler?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Say another twenty-five?’
‘Ten, Swingler. You have had fifty by means of sharp practice.’
‘Settle for fifteen, Mr Nox. A round sixty-five and our business is concluded.’
‘Is that Mr Jaraby?’
‘Jaraby speaking.’
‘You don’t know me, but I have reason to believe that I can be of comfort and help to you. Could I trespass on five minutes of your time?’
‘Who are you, sir?’
‘Known as Swingler, Mr Jaraby. Thos Swingler, friend to the worried. I am sorry about your little domestic trouble. That recent happening in Crimea Road. Mr Jaraby will need help, I said to myself. So here I am, sir; my services at your disposal.’
‘Are you a reporter?’
‘Far from it, sir. But you ask a good question. I suggest, Mr Jaraby, that this is a matter in which our friends of the press may well go to the fair. Believe me, there’s nothing they like better than playing up the public school angle.’
‘I don’t think the press will be interested.’
‘There you are wrong, sir. The scribes of the press, Mr Jaraby, hard-faced men without soul, are at this very moment elbowing politics off the front pages. Like a swarm of wasps they are, congregating round a saucer of raspberry jam.’
‘Why are you in touch with me?’
‘Swingler, I said, hasten to that poor man’s aid. Mr Jaraby, sir, I am in a position to prevent the worst. What would you say if I agreed to reduce the publicity to a minimum? The name misspelt, the address a previous one, all mention of educational academies removed?’
‘How could you do that, Mr Swingler?’
‘With money, sir. Say five hundred pounds, in cash. Shall we meet together in some quiet place? Tomorrow morning?’
23
Mr Nox telephoned Sir George Ponders.
‘I shall oppose Jaraby as President at next week’s meeting.’
‘Oppose Jaraby? Why do that? Have you some grounds?’
‘Something unpleasant that has come to light.’
‘Some scandal, Nox?’
‘Enough to make it wise to keep the Jaraby name beneath the bushel.’
‘Speak plainly: what is it?’
‘Jaraby’s son has just been arrested on a serious charge.’
‘His son – not Jaraby himself?’
‘Not Jaraby himself.’
‘But in that case –’
‘In the interests of the School, Jaraby must not be President.’
Sir George Ponders telephoned General Sanctuary.
‘Do you know about this, Sanctuary? Nox has been on to me about Jaraby’s son.’
General Sanctuary sighed, thinking of his garden and his bees. He said: ‘What’s the matter with his son?’
‘Nothing’s the matter with him. The chap’s done something.’
‘Jaraby’s a funny fellow.’
‘It’s his son Nox is on about.’
‘Yes, well, what does he say about his son? I don’t understand any of this.’
‘Neither do I. Nox says he will oppose Jaraby as President.’
‘Why should Nox say that?’
‘Jaraby’s son has been arrested.’
‘They have arrested Basil Jaraby,’ said Mr Cridley.
‘Who have arrested Basil Jaraby?’
‘Guess, Sole, guess.’
‘Do you mean the police have taken the boy?’
‘If Nox has got his facts right, they have handcuffed Jaraby minor and carried him away from Crimea Road.’
‘He was not there when we visited them.’
‘He is not there now. The parents wail and gnash their teeth.’
‘Jaraby will take that hard.’
‘His son may take it harder.’
‘Did Nox give details? Why has it happened? Was Basil Jaraby drunk?’
‘A serious charge, Nox said. A big court case to follow. He implied it would make a stir.’
‘For goodness’ sake, what mischief has the lad got himself into?’
‘A grave offence, Nox said; no more.’
‘You should have asked him. It would have been a natural question.’
‘Nox says it will affect Jaraby going up as President.’
A week later Mr Jaraby telephoned Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Jaraby here. Look here, this lunatic Nox is against my going up as President. What do you say, Boyns?’
‘This is extraordinary,’ Mr Swabey-Boyns said. ‘Do I know you, sir? My name is Swabey-Boyns. I am relaxing just now. Who is that there?’
‘Jaraby on the line. Nox is opposing me as President. He will speak on Friday.’
‘Say your name clearly, Jaraby, and thus avoid confusion. Well, well, Nox has reasons no doubt. Let us hear them. Let us give the man the floor and hear him air his views. Funny. I was thinking only last night of the day you locked Haw minor in the lavatory.’
‘This is a serious matter, Boyns. Nox is out to make –’
‘It was a serious matter for Haw minor as I recall.’
‘Be that as it may, it has nothing to do with what we are discussing.’
‘You nailed the door on the outside. Or screwed it maybe. The poor devil was there for eighteen hours.’
‘I don’t remember that. Which lavatory was it?’
‘The one at the back of Dowse’s. Haw minor was inside – you, with carpenter’s kit, without.’
‘Oh, quite impossible. Certainly it wasn’t me. You will be present on Friday, Boyns?’
‘Yes, of course I shall. Incidentally, I must remind you that my name is Swabey-Boyns. I do not address you as Jar.’
‘Dear fellow, a slip of the tongue. Have to watch Nox, you see. The madman is out to make trouble. Stand together against the upstarts, eh? Remember Nox on the cricket field?’
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ said Mr Swabey-Boyns, thinking of Haw minor in the lavatory.
‘This says there is no need to let grey hair make you look older than your years, or to resort to dyes and rinses with their embarrassing change of colour. Nox says that was how they caught young Jaraby out. His hair was white and his beard black. I should have thought that was elementary.’
Mr Sole said: ‘We should ring up old Boyns and remind him of the committee meeting.’
‘I’m going to write to this one. I’m most interested in this.’
‘Boyns can never be relied upon.’
‘You see to him then, like a good fellow. I shall pen a letter.’
‘Be careful now: that very advertisement may well have been young Jaraby’s undoing. You can trust nothing you read. Remember Harp.’
‘There is no harm in writing. I shall not commit myself.’
‘Put S.A.G. on the back of the envelope. My mother used to do that, every letter she sent.’
‘S.A.G. Whatever for?’
‘St Anthony guide, it means.’
Mr Nox telephoned Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Do not forget Friday’s meeting. I shall oppose Jaraby as President. It will be an important occasion.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Can you hear me? The meeting on Friday: you will be there?’
‘Of course I shall be there. I never miss a meeting. Who is that speaking?’
‘Nox. Well, I look forward to seeing you.’
‘My God,’ said Mr Swabey-Boyns, returning to his jigsaw.
Mr Sole telephoned Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘Just to remind you about Friday, old man. Best bib and tucker, you know.’
‘The meeting? Yes.’
‘Dinner beforehand, don’t forget.’
‘I’m doing a jigsaw now. You are interrupting me.’
‘Sorry about that. Don’t forget, best bib –’
‘Why are you assing about in that funny way? Are we a couple of infants? I can’t stand here talking about bibs.’
&
nbsp; ‘You may remember,’ Mr Sole retorted sharply, ‘that the last time you had to borrow Cridley’s overcoat to cover yourself at the dinner-table. Having turned up in garments with paint on them.’
‘What?’ said Mr Swabey-Boyns.
‘You had paint on your clothes.’
‘I wish to God you people would stop telephoning me.’
Swingler made for the Italian Riviera. Sipping a glass of gin and lemon as he waited for his plane, he felt a sorry smile flit across his face. To think that the two old men had imagined that for such paltry sums one could tamper with the freedom of our British press. The smile cheered up; no doubt about it, he still had an eye for a situation. His lips moved soundlessly, practising his Italian.
Mr Jaraby telephoned Mr Nox.
‘Jaraby here. Look here, Nox, about this matter of the –’
‘You are coming to the meeting?’ Mr Nox asked. ‘Well then, we can discuss the whole question there.’
24
Mr Swabey-Boyns was casting his mind back. He was drowsy; euphoria dominated him. He moved the brandy around in his glass, watching it and delighting in the moment. It was that good moment just after dinner, a moment of relative clarity for Mr Swabey-Boyns, before the feeling of intoxication descended on him. It invariably did descend after such a dinner, because Mr Swabey-Boyns was greedy about brandy.
They sat in evening dress, some with decorations pinned to their breast, seven men round a table. There was an extra chair and an extra place because originally, months before, the table had been ordered for eight. Mr Swabey-Boyns, sitting between Mr Sole and Mr Nox, recalled the moment when – known then as Boyns major – he had been marched from the examination hall, his arms and the palms of his hands rich in minute information to aid him with an algebra paper. There had been, then, the whole school assembled and the thrashing of Swabey-Boyns in view of all, as an example against his deed. ‘Will you live that down, sir?’ H. L. Dowse had cried. But he had. In some clever way he turned the incident to his advantage; adding thereby something to his prestige. When he shaved now in the mornings he saw a face that was shot with shredded veins; he saw hands that quivered as they scraped away the soap, eyes that were often not up to the task of assessing his handiwork. Once he had been Boyns major of great repute; arrogant and powerful; swaggering, magnificent Boyns; Boyns in some trouble over a boy called Slocombe, accused of corrupting the boy and lying his way to safety. He had run into Slocombe five or six years ago, just before his death: beetle-browed, moustached, his face scrawny, the flesh seeming of some other substance, Slocombe who had been in his time the beauty of the Lower Fourth, Slocombe whose hand he had clutched on a walk, to whom he had later read the Idylls of the King.
‘Remember the day the old Queen came?’ Sole was muttering excitedly beside him. ‘The flags and the cheering?’ Sole who had been sick in Chapel during the singing of hymn 13, causing the place to reek of whisky.
Mr Jaraby smiled round the table. The President was in the Chair.
‘Shall I put my case, Ponders? Shall I put my case since already I have been put forward as your successor?’
‘Order,’ said Sir George vaguely. ‘We know the case, I think. Let us be quick about this and hear of any objections. We are agreed that Jaraby takes my place next session?’
Mr Nox shook his head, rising to his feet. ‘No, Mr Chairman, we are not entirely agreed. I do not agree. I am for reviewing the case.’
‘Look here, Nox –’ Mr Jaraby began.
‘Order, eh?’ Sir George suggested.
‘Does Jaraby deny it?’ said Mr Nox, his voice like steel upon steel. ‘Does Jaraby deny that his son has posed as a major in the army for the purpose of gaining credit from holiday hotels? Does he deny that this son is now behind bars for a graver crime?’
The eyes of the men sought neutral corners to fix on; matches were struck and the brandy passed slowly again. Mr Jaraby, his hands gripping the sides of his chair, struggled to hold his anger.
‘Does Jaraby deny that Basil Jaraby, his son, was arrested in disguise at twenty minutes to twelve on the morning of August the twenty-second?’
‘Now, now,’ Sir George murmured.
‘Does Jaraby deny –’
‘Nox is a Jew,’ shouted Mr Jaraby.
Mr Nox appeared surprised. ‘In fact I am not a Jew. I have never been. But were I of that race I would fail to see its relevance at this moment.’
‘You’re a stupid bloody fool,’ Mr Jaraby shouted, his face very red, sweat gleaming on his forehead. He banged the table with his hand. ‘Stupid, stupid –’
‘Oh come now,’ Sir George interceded. ‘Really, this is no way to carry on. What has befallen Jaraby’s son does not concern us, eh?’
‘Jaraby’s son is an Old Boy of the School. The newspapers remark on it. I think in the circumstances Jaraby should have the decency to stand down.’
‘We must abide by the rules laid down,’ Mr Nox said. ‘I have stated an objection to this man as President. I have stated it in the interests of the School. It is an objection that stands up well to scrutiny. That is all that is required.’
‘We must keep our heads,’ Mr Cridley remarked.
‘Jaraby has done good work for the Association,’ said Mr Sole. ‘That goes without saying. It seems a pity now –’
‘I am being attacked on a personal count. Nox dislikes me and trumps up a case.’
Mr Nox shook his head. ‘No. You have done nothing to be ashamed of. You have done nothing at all. It is just unfortunate, that is all. We are asking you to react as a gentleman.’
‘I have my rights.’
‘So has the School. Do you wish to insist upon rights that injure the School? Where does our duty lie on this committee?’
‘I know my duty, Nox. My duty lies in my work; the work I have done for the Association, the work I may continue.’
‘Publicity and confusion must be taken into consideration. You are rendered unsuitable and should accept it.’
‘You are after the post yourself, Nox. You are playing politics. You turn a private issue into a public one. The School has little to be proud of in you.’
‘Less to be proud of in your son.’
‘He is not on trial here. It is not he who is called upon to fill the Presidency.’
Mr Nox laughed lightly, appealing to the rest of the committee.
‘Jaraby will not see reason.’
‘Let us see the facts objectively,’ said Mr Cridley. ‘We must be hasty in neither direction. What is there to consider? We must weigh the pros and cons.’
‘Cridley, Cridley,’ exclaimed Sir George with irritation. ‘Surely you know what we are considering? Surely you know the pros and cons by now?’
‘Read any newspaper,’ put in Mr Nox.
‘One cannot go by the newspapers. We must deliberate on the matter, sort out irrelevancies, consider how our decision will affect the welfare of the School.’
‘We have heard all that,’ Sir George said. ‘We are trying to do as you say. Our efforts speak for themselves: we do not have to announce everything step by step.’
‘I was merely drawing the threads together, Ponders, to allow us to examine what we have to examine with logic rather than emotion. Is there something wrong in that?’
‘No, of course there isn’t.’
‘If Jaraby were of the same character as his son we would not hesitate to support Nox’s objection. But that is not the case. That is very far from being the case. Yet, as Nox suggests, there is good reason to believe that publicity of this nature might well associate itself with the miscreant’s father. There is unquestionably no doubt –’
‘Cridley, have you taken too much to drink? You are rambling on like a sheep in a fog.’
Mr Cridley seemed taken aback. After a short pause he said:
‘In that case I shall cease. One tries to throw a little light and receives insults for one’s pains.’
‘I remember once,’ Mr Swabey-Boyns began, ‘I w
as standing in Cloisters waiting for that little man – what’s his name? Mitcham was it? – to give me an organ lesson –’
‘Has this got to do with what we are discussing, Boyns?’
‘No, no, this was in ’03. I saw Mitcham coming towards me and I thought it might be quite an amusing thing to –’
‘I’m sorry, Boyns, we must have order.’
‘Are you forbidding me to continue?’
‘Unless what you say is relevant.’
‘In that case, Ponders, I must request you to give me the benefit of my full name. I do not address you as Pond.’
‘It is unfair and unjust,’ General Sanctuary said, ‘that Jaraby should be made to suffer for his son. A doctor is not struck from practice because his son commits adultery. A soldier is not cashiered because his child steals. There is nothing in the rules of our Association that says we should now behave differently. We must act with due integrity; uncowed by the narrowness of other people’s view. Shall we be seen to act unjustly to a man, to condemn without reason? Well? I see I am failing as I speak: I cannot sway you. You are lost and afraid and anxious. You fear that if Jaraby is elected tonight he will in time be asked to resign by the Headmaster and the Governors. They will argue that the breath of scandal must be kept from the School, that his name must not be a reminder to Old Boys and parents. You feel that the matter will be taken thus out of your hands, your decision reversed, and you yourselves held up to the ridicule of younger men as bumbling and incapable. You have no strength left with which to contradict. You do not care, but you cannot bear to see the underlining of your impotence. You pretend you act in wisdom, for the good of the majority. But you know you act in fear, for the good of nobody.’
General Sanctuary finished his brandy and rose to his feet.
‘I am no part of this pettiness. I resign at once from this committee.’
‘He is not my son,’ cried Mr Jaraby. ‘My wife’s only. By a previous marriage.’
The men stared at their hands, embarrassed by the pathos in the lie.
25
Rain came on the night of the committee meeting. It dripped from the garden gnomes in Crimea Road and lay in pools on the caked lawns. The sky was dark and bleak; dried leaves rattled on the suburban trees. In small back gardens children’s toys lay scattered, their tired paint revived. Wallflowers and the last of the roses were fresh again in the gloom.
The Old Boys Page 16
