Zachary burst into tears and bolted, slamming the classroom door behind him. The children began to laugh and murmur until Mary silenced them with two claps of her hands. “Children! Please! We’ll practise the hymn again. Mr. Shaw, would you please go and see to Zachary?”
Tom found himself making the foolish gesture of Who, me? and almost died under Mary’s patient look.
He found the boy in front of the school, kicking furiously at the snow.
“It’s stupid!” Zachary shouted when he saw Tom. “It’s a stupid play and I don’t even want to remember my stupid lines!”
Tom almost argued, then gave up and leaned against the porch.
Zachary scowled at him. “You don’t care?”
“It isn’t Hamlet.”
“You’re drunk.”
Tom lit a cigarette. “Tell me, why do you come to school?”
“Get my education.”
“And what will you do with it?”
“Get a job. I’m not going in the minstrel show.”
“Why not?”
“You saw it. Would you be in it?”
“I can’t imagine the equivalent. There’s no such thing as a white minstrel show, is there? Unless one does count Hamlet.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“You don’t care about much.”
“You don’t know.”
“But you keep running away. Miss North showed me your reports.”
“So?”
“So, I’m just saying. If you want to come to school, why do you run off?”
Zachary looked down. “Are you going to give me detention?”
Tom couldn’t help laughing.
“What?” said Zachary.
“Detention? No. Not unless you kick any more of that snow my way.”
Zachary stopped. “It’s too much, if you want to know.”
“What’s too much?’
“Writing. Math. All of them staring at me in class. My head goes I can’t do this, I can’t be here, louder and louder till I run. I want to stay but I can’t.”
Tom turned up his collar and lit a cigarette from the end of the last.
“Well?’ said Zachary.
“Well, what? I’ve no idea what’s wrong with you.”
Zachary hesitated. “But you think there’s something?”
“Miss North thinks you have word blindness. She hasn’t reached a diagnosis for me.”
“Why, what is it with you?”
Tom shrugged. “With a name it might be excusable.”
The wind got up, whipping snow at their faces.
“How long do you want to stay out here?” said Tom at last.
Zachary dug his hands in his pockets and said nothing.
“It’s harder to go back, isn’t it?” said Tom. “Why don’t you let me drag you?”
Zachary showed no expression. “Go in if you’re cold. I’ll follow if I like.”
Tom weighed it for a moment, then said, “Fine,” and went in. Halfway down the corridor, in case the boy was following, he said over his shoulder: “The newborn’s name is Jesus, by the way. In case the shepherds ask again.”
A pause, a scuffing of shoes behind him. Then, “I’m not retarded.”
Tom grinned.
In the classroom Betty Oates was saying, “An angel told the shepherds to come from the fields and look, and the shepherds came and they were amazed.”
George and Poppy had been giggling together, and now their laughter became hysterical. Mary frowned over the top of the piano. “When your parents are here tomorrow for the real thing, neither I nor the angels shall expect to hear any silliness, is that understood? Now carry on, please.”
The children sang “Silent Night.” They changed back into their uniforms and tidied the manger. They hung halos up on pegs and went home early, to be well ahead of the evening’s raid when it came.
Mary sat down with Tom in the back of the empty classroom.
“You did well to bring him back.”
“Oh, I didn’t do anything. You were right about the boy. He’s okay.”
She stroked his cheek. “You’re okay.”
“Ah, but you’re something else.”
“That’s what my father says, although I am not sure he means it as kindly as you do. Walk me home?”
“I’m not sure . . .”
“Oh, you mustn’t mind my father. He’s almost never at home, and if he is then he’ll make you drink a glass of his Christmas wine, that’s all. Palmer makes it from cloves and church bells and Dickens. Practise your face for me.”
Tom licked his lips. “That is superb.”
Mary looked worried. “Too much.”
Tom tried again. “What an interesting flavor.”
She nodded approval. “You oughtn’t to overdo it, or Father will make you drink a second glass. It has happened before.”
“Did the victim survive?”
“The dog found the vat one year. We buried him under the japonica.”
They went outside. The snow fell in graceless clumps. It turned to a greasy slush on the pavement, and soon they were both cold and wet.
“Isn’t it good?” Mary said. “If this holds up there won’t be a raid tonight.”
Tom eyed the sky. “I really hate them, you know. I never thought I had it in me. But they really are the most hateful bastards.”
“That’s why we call them the enemy. See how it works now, darling?”
He smiled. “I don’t know what I should do without you.”