Read Online 44 Scotland Street by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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moment. Everything that they had done with him had been done because he wanted it. He had asked for a saxophone. He had asked to learn Italian after they had gone to buy sun-dried tomatoes at Valvona and Crolla. They had never pushed him to do any of this.
And what did that woman mean when she talked about the space to be a five-year-old boy? What exactly did that mean? If it meant that they had to deny Bertie’s natural curiosity about the world, then that was outrageous. If a child asked about something, you could hardly deny his request for information.
There are certain difficulties with Christabel Macfadzean, thought Irene. Firstly, she’s a cow. Now, that was putting it simply. But even as she thought this – and it gave her some satisfaction to think in these terms – Irene realised that such thoughts were unworthy of her. That’s how ordinary people thought. She knew that the real difficulty lay in the fact that this woman purported to run an advanced playgroup (the brochure claimed that they adhered to the latest educational principles, whatever those were). In spite of these claims, this woman knew nothing about how children behaved. She had made some sarcastic reference to her mere twenty-two years’ experience, but no amount of experience, not even fifty years, could make up for her complete ignorance of Melanie Klein. That was the astonishing thing, in Irene’s view: to claim to be able to look after children and not to have read a page, not one single page, of Melanie Klein. It quite took one’s breath away.
Had Christabel Macfadzean been familiar with the merest snippets of Kleinian theory, she would immediately have understood that when Bertie blew up that other child’s train station, this was purely because he was expressing, in a person-object sense, his fundamental anxieties over the fact that society would never allow him to marry his mother. This was obvious.
It was remarkable, when one came to think of it, that Bertie should behave so like Richard, the boy whom Melanie Klein analysed during the war. Richard had drawn pictures of German aeroplanes swooping in for attack, thus expressing the anxieties he felt about the Second World War, and about his mother. In destroying the train station, Bertie had merely acted out what Richard must have felt. Irene stopped. A remarkable thought had occurred to her. Had Bertie read Klein? He was an avid reader, but probably not, unless, of course, he had been dipping into the books on her shelves … If he had been reading Klein, then he might unconsciously have mirrored Richard’s behaviour because he realised that his anxieties so closely matched Richard’s. This, then, was his way of communicating, and it had gone completely unnoticed by the very adult who was meant to be guiding him through these first, delicate steps towards socialisation.
It angered Irene just to think about it, and for a few moments she paused, standing quite still in the middle of the pavement, her eyes closed, battling with her anger. She had been going to the Floatarium recently and she imagined herself back in the tank, lying there in perfect silence. This sort of envisioning always helped.
She would take Bertie to the Floatarium next time and put him in the tank. He would like that, because he had an inter
est in meditation. And he might go to yoga classes too, she thought. He had asked her about yoga recently and she had made enquiries. There was a yoga class for children in Stockbridge on a Monday evening, Bendy Fun for Tots, it was called, and Bertie was always free on a Monday evening. Any other evening would have been difficult, but Monday was fine. She would pencil it in.
19. A Modest Gift
The custard-coloured Mercedes-Benz drew up outside the gallery and Pat stepped out. She waved her thanks to Domenica Macdonald, who waved back, and then drove off down the hill.
Matthew had not yet arrived, but Pat had a key and had been instructed in the
And what did that woman mean when she talked about the space to be a five-year-old boy? What exactly did that mean? If it meant that they had to deny Bertie’s natural curiosity about the world, then that was outrageous. If a child asked about something, you could hardly deny his request for information.
There are certain difficulties with Christabel Macfadzean, thought Irene. Firstly, she’s a cow. Now, that was putting it simply. But even as she thought this – and it gave her some satisfaction to think in these terms – Irene realised that such thoughts were unworthy of her. That’s how ordinary people thought. She knew that the real difficulty lay in the fact that this woman purported to run an advanced playgroup (the brochure claimed that they adhered to the latest educational principles, whatever those were). In spite of these claims, this woman knew nothing about how children behaved. She had made some sarcastic reference to her mere twenty-two years’ experience, but no amount of experience, not even fifty years, could make up for her complete ignorance of Melanie Klein. That was the astonishing thing, in Irene’s view: to claim to be able to look after children and not to have read a page, not one single page, of Melanie Klein. It quite took one’s breath away.
Had Christabel Macfadzean been familiar with the merest snippets of Kleinian theory, she would immediately have understood that when Bertie blew up that other child’s train station, this was purely because he was expressing, in a person-object sense, his fundamental anxieties over the fact that society would never allow him to marry his mother. This was obvious.
It was remarkable, when one came to think of it, that Bertie should behave so like Richard, the boy whom Melanie Klein analysed during the war. Richard had drawn pictures of German aeroplanes swooping in for attack, thus expressing the anxieties he felt about the Second World War, and about his mother. In destroying the train station, Bertie had merely acted out what Richard must have felt. Irene stopped. A remarkable thought had occurred to her. Had Bertie read Klein? He was an avid reader, but probably not, unless, of course, he had been dipping into the books on her shelves … If he had been reading Klein, then he might unconsciously have mirrored Richard’s behaviour because he realised that his anxieties so closely matched Richard’s. This, then, was his way of communicating, and it had gone completely unnoticed by the very adult who was meant to be guiding him through these first, delicate steps towards socialisation.
It angered Irene just to think about it, and for a few moments she paused, standing quite still in the middle of the pavement, her eyes closed, battling with her anger. She had been going to the Floatarium recently and she imagined herself back in the tank, lying there in perfect silence. This sort of envisioning always helped.
She would take Bertie to the Floatarium next time and put him in the tank. He would like that, because he had an inter
est in meditation. And he might go to yoga classes too, she thought. He had asked her about yoga recently and she had made enquiries. There was a yoga class for children in Stockbridge on a Monday evening, Bendy Fun for Tots, it was called, and Bertie was always free on a Monday evening. Any other evening would have been difficult, but Monday was fine. She would pencil it in.
19. A Modest Gift
The custard-coloured Mercedes-Benz drew up outside the gallery and Pat stepped out. She waved her thanks to Domenica Macdonald, who waved back, and then drove off down the hill.
Matthew had not yet arrived, but Pat had a key and had been instructed in the
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