School For Patriots Read online

  —Did you sleep well?

  —Yes.

  Her mother does not sit at the table with her. Possibly she has already had breakfast, or does not want any. She is busy boiling something for lunch; the smell is unpleasantly pungent and sweet for this time of morning. The mother watches the water bubble as if there is not enough heat or time for it to come to the boil properly. The two women do not talk: the only voice to be heard is that of the newsreader. Today’s news: the skies over Buenos Aires will be cloudy, the lakes in Palermo Park are to be refurbished, there has been a drop in cinema attendance, early snowfalls in Mendoza province, two Dutch scientists have proved that animals dream, the temperature in the capital will not rise above thirteen degrees.

  —What’s making that smell?

  —In the pan, d’you mean?

  —Yes.

  —Beetroot.

  On the radio, the news has given way to adverts. A jingle about wrist watches that keeps ending then suddenly starting up again is followed without a break by an aspirin commercial.

  —Don’t you like beetroot?

  —I don’t know.

  —What do you mean, ‘I don’t know’?

  —Just that, I don’t know.

  —Don’t start getting fussy, Marita, you’ve always liked them.

  An unopened envelope lies on the table under the vase stuffed with imitation flowers. María Teresa spots it and asks what she already suspects, what in fact she knows deep down: if the letter is from her brother. The mother says it is. And that this time she has decided not to open it because of what always happens whenever she does: as soon as she sees her absent son’s handwriting, and even before she starts reading what it says, she bursts into tears. She prefers Marita to read the letter and tell her what is in it.

  With two fingers María Teresa tears open a top corner of the envelope. She slides the knife she has not yet used for the butter or cheese into the slit. Her mother does not look at her as she does this. Strictly speaking, it is not a letter, only a postcard. Francisco likes his little jokes. In fact, he is not very far away; he’s only in Villa Martelli. If the two women chose to travel to Avenida Pacífico and catch either the number 161 (the red sign) or even better the 67 (any sign), they could be at his regiment’s front gate in less than an hour. They do not do so because there would be no point: even if they went there, they would not be allowed to see or wave to Francisco. But he is still quite close, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. He loves to play the clown, sending them a postcard as if he were a long way off. He must have borrowed or bought it from one of his colleagues from the provinces who collects them to send one by one to his family back home. A lad from the south, or perhaps from Formosa in the north. María Teresa takes the postcard from the envelope. It is of Buenos Aires. An aerial view of the Obelisk in bright sunlight, with dense traffic encircling it on the world’s widest avenue. At the edges she can make out a line of not very tall buildings of uneven height.

  María Teresa turns the postcard over and discovers that her brother has written only: ‘I can’t seem to make friends’.

  María Teresa glances at the picture a second time: a red bus she did not notice before is driving round the Obelisk. She puts the card back in the envelope and replaces it under the plastic vase. The flowers, also made of plastic, have drooped so far they no longer resemble real flowers at all. María Teresa tries to make them stand upright, but without success: as if they were capable of remembering or having preferences like human beings, the plastic stems flop back to their previous position.

  The mother meanwhile has covered the pan on the stove again. She turns and leans against the table edge. She is holding, or rather clutching, a tea towel decorated with red hearts.

  —Tell me what your brother says.

  María Teresa puts her knife down on the plate, among the breadcrumbs, next to the used teabag.

  —Francisco says he is fine. That he misses us, but that he’s fine.

  2

  Better he had died, says her mother, crossing herself because she knows what she is saying is sacrilege. Better for him to have died than to be sent God knows where. At least that way there would have been a piece of paper, some sort of certificate, and that way poor Francisco could have avoided all his suffering from the cold draughts, the unhealthy food served on aluminium plates. For the three or possibly four weeks of his basic training, he is allowed no passes or leave. Only once, at seven in the morning as day is breaking on an as yet undetermined date, will he be given permission to come to the gate on Avenida San Martín to say hello to his family standing outside.

  The mother cries at least once a day. Sometimes María Teresa hears her from the bedroom; sometimes, even though she cannot see or hear her, she can sense her mother is in tears. She often cries when she listens to the radio news, when they give the temperature and say that the weather is turning cold: and there is news on the radio every half hour. At first María Teresa would stop whatever she was doing and try to comfort her mother, but she is one of those people who do not want to be comforted and so will not allow it to happen. In the end María Teresa decided to let her cry and unburden herself as much as possible.

  Because the pupils who have afternoon school start at ten past one precisely, the teaching assistants have to be there by half-past twelve. Several of them work mornings and afternoons, but not María Teresa. She works afternoons only, and lives half an hour away from the school, provided there are no delays on the metro. So as not to be in a rush, she leaves home at a quarter to twelve. Often her mother is still crying when she goes out.

  Occasionally, usually when the Head of Discipline decides he needs to see Señor Biasutto and his team of assistants, her starting time can be an hour or two earlier. Since María Teresa has worked as an assistant, there have been two such meetings. The first was devoted to the problem of the pupils who were in school out of hours. There are some curricular activities, such as using the physics or chemistry labs, or going for swimming lessons in the basement, as well as extra-curricular activities like visiting the library to study, which the pupils need to attend out of their school hours. Yet that is no reason, the Head of Discipline emphasised, fingers raised and the tic in his eyebrows beating furiously, that is no reason for them to be strolling round the corridors or running up and down the staircases without any good reason. The assistants had the authority and, more than that, the obligation, to stop any pupil they saw wandering around the school and demand their identity card, so that they could check the photograph, name, and whether they were enrolled for morning or afternoon sessions, and if an afternoon pupil was in the school during the morning, or a morning pupil was there in the afternoon, they should demand an explanation. After being granted permission by the Head of Discipline, Señor Biasutto then insisted that only clear, direct explanations should be considered valid. Señor Biasutto is held in high esteem at the school because everyone knows that a few years earlier he had been the person chiefly responsible for drawing up the lists. It is generally expected that at some point, in accordance with the dynamics of administrative appointments, he will one day become Head of Discipline.

  The second meeting which meant María Teresa had to come in early to school was called to clarify exactly how far geographically the assistants’ authority extended. The school regulations cover not only the interior of the building, as well as the sports facilities which are located in the port area of the city, but stretch to two hundred metres beyond the actual entrance to the institution. This includes the entire block where the school stands, including the part outside San Ignacio church, as well as the next block towards Plaza de Mayo (the block stretching from Calle Alsina to Calle Hipólito Yrigoyen) and the one opposite, which goes from Calle Moreno to Avenida Belgrano: in other words, the whole block mostly occupied by the school buildings, which is widely known as the ‘Block of the Enlightenment’ in the city’s history. All this area is governed by the norms and penalties set out in the school’s regulatio
ns. In other words, on the street corner or round it, or indeed on the pavement opposite, the assistants are on duty and should pay attention, for example, to whether the boys are wearing their blue ties askew, or have the top button of their shirts undone, whether the girls no longer have their hair in a hairband, or are not fastening their blue blouses with the regulation twin blue ribbons. In addition, the behaviour of all students from the National School of Buenos Aires should be strictly exemplary at all times and wherever they might be. This means the assistants are required to intervene whenever they detect any misconduct, wherever it may occur, and report it as soon as possible to the school authorities, whether this be the Head of Discipline or Señor Biasutto. An oft-quoted example of this is the case of the fifth year class five pupils punished at the end of the previous school year for having behaved in a very inappropriate manner in Calle Florida, perhaps the busiest street in the city, without realising that a school assistant who happened to be passing by had seen and noted their unruly behaviour.

  As someone new to her position, all these requirements have led María Teresa to consider, and indeed to correct, a tendency of hers since childhood (as her mother still reminds her, and as her father never tired of telling her): that of becoming easily distracted, of letting her mind wander far from the matter at hand. Now, however, she is learning to stay alert, and is even trying out different physical or mental techniques to help rid herself of the ingrained habit of allowing her mind to stray. Now she pays attention: as much as she can and for as long as she can. She does this above all at school, in the quad during break-time, and in the classrooms during the few minutes it takes the teachers to arrive once break is over. She also concentrates hard in the street, as the Head of Discipline has urged them to do, on the street corner or in the metro, as well as at the newspaper kiosk and the flower stall near the school.

  This is how, as she strolls apparently casually on one of her preventive forays along the pavement where the pupils congregate five minutes before going into school, she suddenly comes across a flagrant example of unacceptable behaviour: she sees Dreiman openly leaning against Baragli. Until that moment everything seemed so normal, innocent, and peaceful that María Teresa almost succumbed to her worst defect: she very nearly let her attention stray. Then all of a sudden, just when it seemed that everyone’s ties were properly tied, and the girls’ ribbons correctly laced, she sees something that should never have happened and she should never have seen: Dreiman openly leaning on Baragli. She was leaning against his chest as she might have done against a wall, a bus-stop pole, or a lamp-post. It was not a wall or a post she was leaning on though, but Baragli, and what might have led to a quiet reprimand for untidiness, or for boys being boys, now seems to María Teresa like an out-of-tune note played in the middle of a harmonious concert. Despite being so shocked, or perhaps because she is so shocked, María Teresa reacts at once, and hurries over to where the scandal she wants to put an end to is going on. This is not something that demands a subtle approach, but decisiveness. It is not a case of Capelán perhaps brushing against Marré, the tension between watchfulness and stealth she is faced with every afternoon at the end of break. It is not that, it is Dreiman clearly leaning against Baragli, openly pressing her whole upper body against him, without the slightest compunction. There is nothing for María Teresa to consider or establish: she simply has to intervene, and in the most decisive manner possible.

  —Dreiman: stand up straight.

  Dreiman reacts in a suitably intimidated way. She lowers her gaze at once, and in a sort of automatic reflex doubtless born of her sense of shame, smooths down her grey pleated skirt with both hands. She was not expecting to see the assistant out here on the pavement, under the tree branches by the roadside, and her surprise means she reacts instantaneously. María Teresa even imagines she sees Dreiman blush and swallow hard. She is not so sure that her intervention has been as successful as she would have liked, however, because unlike Dreiman, Baragli seems to find the whole affair highly amusing or even encouraging, and certainly not as a reason to feel ashamed of himself. He looks the assistant steadily in the eye, and seems about to smile, although he does not actually do so.

  María Teresa decides to ignore Baragli and concentrate on Dreiman. After all, she was the one she reprimanded, and she was the one she had undoubtedly succeeded in impressing.

  —Don’t ever let me catch you doing that again, d’you hear?

  Dreiman concurs. She somehow manages to keep her head down and yet to nod in agreement. Beside her, however, Baragli is still staring, almost defiantly, at María Teresa and is stifling a smile, or pretending to do so. María Teresa prefers to regard the incident as closed, and so walks away without giving the pupils any chance to think she is hesitating or being weak. However, something about the incident leaves her preoccupied or sad, so that a short while later, in the assistants’ room, she chooses her words very carefully and raises the matter with Señor Biasutto.

  Although he does not let go of the headed forms he has been studying, Señor Biasutto listens to her carefully and is obviously concerned.

  —Do you know what? I’d really like us to discuss this matter later in a more relaxed manner.

  María Teresa is gratified by his answer, although she is unsure whether Señor Biasutto is implying they should talk about the matter some other day, that week or the next, or whether he means a little later the same afternoon. In any case, it is impossible for her to discover what exactly Señor Biasutto was proposing, or for how long he wishes to postpone their conversation, because shortly after their exchange of words the school’s normal daily routine is completely disrupted. It appeared to be a day like any other and, to a certain extent, it was. If there is anything the school guarantees above all else, it is this normality. Sometimes, however, things take such an unusual turn that, just as when rivers overflow their banks, they start to flood and invade even the most sheltered nooks and crannies. Nothing untoward ever happens at the school, and yet today, shortly after the second break, an urgent meeting is called of all the assistants from every year and class. And it is not Señor Biasutto who calls it, nor even the Head of Discipline – who María Teresa happens to catch a glimpse of hurrying towards the ground floor in an obviously agitated state. No, it is the highest authority in the school: the Deputy Headmaster, who has been acting head since the tragic death of the Headmaster.

  More than thirty assistants are gathered in the main quad. To avoid showing how nervous they are, none of them glances up at the big clock with Roman numerals that presides over the courtyard, alongside the starched Argentinian flag and the austere bust of Manuel Belgrano, the creator of that flag and another former pupil. Nor do they exchange glances. They have formed a tight semi-circle, without necessarily being aware it was Señor Biasutto who encouraged them to do so. By the same token, this is the most appropriate way for them to hear what the Deputy Headmaster has to say without him having to raise his voice. The Head of Discipline is waiting to one side, and María Teresa forces herself not to look at his eyebrows, in fact not to look at him at all. At last the Deputy Headmaster arrives. Outwardly at least he appears calm. There is no need for him to raise his voice, something which in any case he never does. He reminds María Teresa of the parish priests she knew as a child in Villa del Parque: he knows how to convey the same sense of profound, protective calm. He is by no means skinny, however, and in that sense looks more like a bishop or a cardinal; nor has he ever been known to smile. But he has the same way of standing, as he is doing now, with both hands crossed in front of his body, and the same slow, deliberate way of speaking, as if delivering a sermon. All this gives him a venerable air that María Teresa noted the very first time she saw him. The sense of authority displayed by the Head of Discipline is quite different: he is the one who ensures that not so much as a piece of chalk is dropped in the school without him immediately becoming aware of it. Señor Biasutto’s air of authority is different too: to everyone on the staff he
is a kind of hero, because he is rumoured to have drawn up the lists, something of which everyone is aware.

  The Deputy Headmaster by contrast is a father figure, although like the priests he is a symbolic rather than a real father: the virtual paternal figure of someone who has no children and has never known a woman. When the Deputy Headmaster begins to speak it is with the same sense of measured wisdom. He makes hardly any gestures:

  —Ladies and gentlemen: as Deputy Headmaster of the National School of Buenos Aires, I regret I have found it necessary to remove you from your usual daily duties. I had no alternative. At this moment, outside here – in the street, I mean – there are reports of disorder. Nothing that should worry us or oblige us to interrupt the normal course of our lessons. However, until the authorities succeed in re-establishing calm, which will doubtless occur in a very short time, we need to take preventative measures here within the school. I have to inform you that we have closed the main doors. By that I mean the ones which give on to Calle Bolívar. In consequence, after they have completed the timetables and activities scheduled for this afternoon in a normal fashion, the pupils are to leave school through the exit on Calle Moreno, which the Head of Discipline will indicate to you in due course. You should tell the pupils in your charge that they are at all costs to avoid the area of Plaza de Mayo. They will object that this is where they catch the metro. That does not matter: they must all, without exception, avoid going anywhere near Plaza de Mayo. As I have said, they are to leave by the Calle Moreno exit, and should head at once towards Avenida 9 de Julio. Be sure to tell them not to run, but not to loiter either. They are to leave as quickly as possible, but without running. Once they have reached Avenida 9 de Julio, they are to catch any bus that will get them out of this area, even if it does not take them directly home. Do not forget, ladies and gentlemen, that adolescents are by nature both curious and rebellious. Warn your pupils that they must on no account go near Plaza de Mayo, but be careful that in doing so you do not arouse their curiosity. What you must instil in them is fear, not curiosity. Tell them it is dangerous for them to go anywhere near Plaza de Mayo at the moment. If we evacuate the school calmly but quickly in the opposite direction, we will avoid any problems, and there will be no regrettable incidents.