The Lesson II

No matter how hard I tried it was impossible for me to concentrate on what the Tortoise was saying. He was looking down at the page in front of him and mumbling, his voice low and monotonous. We had been at it for nearly forty five minutes and I had tried, I really had, but today my heart was just not in it. My notes had drifted from clear and concise to vague and scribbly and now consisted of just the occasional doodle scrawled across my page. I was sitting in the front row so I couldn’t let my apathy show too much or he would see and I didn’t want to offend him, when it was clear he had lost his audience a sad little look crept across his face and his voice sank to a whisper. It was heartbreaking to witness so I forced myself to look up and launch into one final attempt to connect with the monologue, but it was no good.
As he trawled through lists of the names of long dead people and their distant fates, the battle between the inherent interest of the subject and the tedious way it was being presented was slowly lost. First my mind and then my eyes lifted from the middle-aged man in his cheap suit jacket and clashing tie, sat at the front of the classroom and flitted around the room, settling on various objects like a bored fly before moving on once the mediocre interest had been used up. The posters were the standard fare: a picture of the Armada in its crescent formation was sailing up the channel to destruction, Martin Luther King in his ‘I have a dream’ pose looked down upon us fiercely while at the other end of the room Nelson gazed wistfully out of the window towards the sea. Tragedy, courage and glory played over the walls like the the patterns of light coming through the panes of glass, reminding us why we endured this each week. Two large bookcases stood in the room as well, their shelves overflowing with volumes collected by the department over the years, every epoch since ancient times was covered and some of the books looked as if they had been written at the time and kept since then. Dusty, faded spines faced the room and yellowing pages could be glimpsed from those sat atop them. Most bore evidence of ill-use, pages hung loose, covers were battered and torn lending the books character. I liked to think that they were a part of the history they told as much as were the books of the library at Alexandria, if occupying a slightly less glorious position within it. My eyes flicked back to the Tortoise for a second wondering how he could manage to be as dry as the dusty pages before me and this almost brought my mind back to the lesson, but at the last moment a gust of wind outside rustled through the trees making shadows and light leap dramatically across the walls. This held my attention for almost a minute, one fortieth of the lesson passing in a flurry of imagination and wonder as I simply sat and stared at the wall.
Once the breeze had subsided and the patterns on the wall were their stationary self once more my mind drifted towards the windows to see what else they could hold to stimulate my interest. The spring morning was passing outside as I imagined they had for millennia before, peacefully exuberant. Colours seemed to leap to my eyes that had so recently been confined to a man-made palate. The school seemed strangely quiet beneath a startlingly clear blue sky as the wind played around various buildings, whistling around a window someone had carelessly left open and ruffling the hair and kit of the sports players on the pitches in the distance. A hill sloped downwards from the end of the school playing fields so that from where I sat I could see nothing of the surrounding city, it was as if the school were floating alone in the world upon a sea as calm as the sky.
“Sir, what would have happened if Cook had to take on a French battleship if he was sailing around in an old coastal collier? It doesn’t really seem like the best way of proving who rules the waves.”
A voice cut through my thoughts suddenly, it had obviously got bored with the monologue a while after I had. It was sitting in the desk behind me and was a loud voce at the best of times, let alone when trying to interrupt so I gave up my musings and listened to the inevitable put down that would follow as the Tortoise attempted to get his revenge.
“They would have used the cabin-boys as human shields Mr Dawkins,” came the feigned terse reply, “and should you have had the misfortune of being born three hundred or so years ago I think that would have been an ideal career choice for you. Cannon fodder!”
The Tortoise smiled as he said this and looked around clearly expecting a few laughs. Those of us sat in the front row offered a smile at least so as not to hurt his feelings but those behind us didn’t bother. He was famous for his terrible jokes, which wasn’t a bad thing, but he also had a reputation for being offended if the jokes had a poor reception. We didn’t want to push our luck in the last lesson of the morning. It looked as if the voice might have blown it though as following his remark, probably taking the opportunity to prevent the Tortoise from resuming in his ceaseless monotone, quite a few members of the class were starting to throw in comments.
“Well, I think it would have been quite good fun out there.”
“How can you say that, they didn’t even have enough water to go round most of the time, and there was always the chance that you could be lost in a storm or killed by savages or …”
“More like captured and kept prisoner on a tropical island by a warrior king who needs a strong white man to marry his eldest daughter.”
I thought that this probably revealed a bit more than that person would like about their hormonally ridden state of mind but was cut off by the Tortoise trying to restore order.
“O.K then. Settle down. Edward, anyone who captured you would have eaten you immediately. The point beneath all of this…”
“But sir, you said that cannibalism was confined to very few islands in reality and that the majority of ships never came across any.”
“Yes, that’s true but in your case I think they would make an exception,” he was clearly trying to get the lesson back on track but wasn’t doing too well, the seeds of discontent were spreading.
“Sir, if you’re going to joke I think you should at least stick to the truth otherwise you’re just going to confuse us. As funny as the jokes are, I just think we ought to pass the exam.” I turned to look at this snide individual who was wearing a look of utmost innocence on her face as she held the teachers suspicious gaze. As a disruption it was admirably done, I had to give her that.
“Especially today sir,” chimed in another voice, “When it’s so hard to concentrate and all.”
“It is an exceptionally nice day sir, and seeing how you said at the beginning of the lesson how we had the best homework you marked you could afford to let us out a bit early.” I mentioned this as no-one else seemed to have remembered it. Over a chorus of “yeah’s” and “you said it” the Tortoise continued to try and put his lesson back on line, but to no avail. The Voice once more took up the charge.
“You also said last week how this was the best read class about the subject sir. So really you could afford to trust us a bit more, I’m sure we couldn’t let you down as we know so much of the material.” Fifteen pairs of eyes watched as several looks of indecision played across the poor man’s face. I almost felt sorry for him but the thought of the afternoon that lay ahead stopped me. I gazed at him intently, intrigued as in a short space of time I could watch the thoughts passing through the brain behind the face. Although he looked stern and disapproving of the suggestion that he should let us out early his kindly eyes still twinkled and I knew it was only a matter of time before they gained supremacy over his weak authoritarian side. Sure enough…
“Oh alright then, since we are clearly going to get no work done this lesson with you all raring to go, but please leave quietly as some classes are still working.” He had no sooner started this sentence than most of the class had sprung to their feet pouring forth their gratitude as they stuffed their books and notes as fast as possible into their bags and headed for the door.
“You won’t regret this sir when you get our next piece of homework” shouted the Voice enthusiastically over its shoulder as it passed out into the corridor. I turned to Sophie who had been sitting next to me silently, dutifully taking notes until the lesson had abruptly come to an end.
“What are you up to now?” I asked. I knew that she would usually be running off to chat with her friends about what had happened during each of their lessons but as we were out early I hoped she would be free for a while.
“I was just going to see if there was anyone around in the common rooms. Come-on, lets see if there’s someone interesting to talk to.” I ignored the tail end of this comment but packed my stuff and started heading for the door. There were only the three of us left in the room then and just as I thought I had made it out the Tortoise called out,
“So it’s a big night tonight is it?”
I turned to face him with my most patient face on. He was just being friendly, which was nicer than him being a complete bastard like some of the teachers we had, but he never quite seemed to understand that he wasn’t seventeen anymore. “Lot’s of sore heads tomorrow morning I’ll bet.” This was followed by an odd sort of laugh, a cross between friendly condemnation and wistful longing. My feelings of pity for him stirred again. “Or tomorrow afternoon when the partying eventually finishes knowing you lot I expect!” This time my smile was real as I realised the intentions behind his remarks and allowed myself to play along.
“Don’t worry sir, we’ll be here bright and early on Monday morning.” Sophie, standing next to me giggled slightly and said loudly and pointedly enough to end the conversation,
“Bye then sir,” and we both left him alone in the room quietly slipping his notes into his battered leather briefcase.