Read Online Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kazuo Ishiguro
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straight a line.
At this, I stood up, packed up the set and walked off. I never said out loud that she didn’t know how to play—disappointed as I was, I knew not to go that far—but my storming off was, I suppose, statement enough for her.
It was maybe a day later, I came into Room 20 at the top of the house, where Mr. George had his poetry class. I don’t remember if it was before or after the class, or how full the room was. I remember having books in my hands, and that as I moved towards where Ruth and the others were talking, there was a strong patch of sun across the desk-lids they were sitting on.
I could see from the way they had their heads together they were discussing secret guard stuff, and although, as I say, the row with Ruth had been only the day before, for some reason I went up to them without a second thought. It was only when I was virtually right up to them—maybe there was a look exchanged between them—that it suddenly hit me what was about to happen. It was like the split second before you step into a puddle, you realise it’s there, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I felt the hurt even before they went silent and stared at me, even before Ruth said: “Oh, Kathy, how are you? If you don’t mind, we’ve got something to discuss just now. We’ll be finished in just a minute. Sorry.”
She’d hardly finished her sentence before I’d turned and was on my way out, angry more at myself for having walked into it than at Ruth and the others. I was upset, no doubt about it, though I don’t know if I actually cried. And for the next few days, whenever I saw the secret guard conferring in a corner or as they walked across a field, I’d feel a flush rising to my cheeks.
Then about two days after this snub in Room 20, I was coming down the stairs of the main house when I found Moira B. just behind me. We started talking—about nothing special—and wandered out of the house together. It must have been the lunch break because as we stepped into the courtyard there were about twenty students loitering around chatting in little groups. My eyes went immediately to the far side of the courtyard, where Ruth and three of the secret guard were standing together, their backs to us, gazing intently towards the South Playing Field. I was trying to see what it was they were so interested in, when I became aware of Moira beside me also watching them. And then it occurred to me that only a month before she too had been a member of the secret guard, and had been expelled. For the next few seconds I felt something like acute embarrassment that the two of us should now be standing side by side, linked by our recent humiliations, actually staring our rejection in the face, as it were. Maybe Moira was experiencing something similar; anyway, she was the one who broke the silence, saying:
“It’s so stupid, this whole secret guard thing. How can they still believe in something like that? It’s like they’re still in the Infants.”
Even today, I’m puzzled by the sheer force of the emotion that overtook me when I heard Moira say this. I turned to her, completely furious:
“What do you
know about it? You just don’t know anything, because you’ve been out of it for ages now! If you knew everything we’d found out, you wouldn’t dare say anything so daft!”
“Don’t talk rubbish.” Moira was never one to back down easily. “It’s just another of Ruth’s made-up things, that’s all.”
“Then how come I’ve personally
heard them talking about it? Talking about how they’re going to take Miss Geraldine to the woods in the milk van? How come I heard them planning it myself, nothing to do with Ruth or anyone else?”
Moira looked at me, unsure now. “You heard it yourself? How? Where?”
“I heard them talking, clear as anything, heard every word, they didn’t know I was there. Down by the pond, they didn’t know I could hear. So that just shows how much you know!”
I
At this, I stood up, packed up the set and walked off. I never said out loud that she didn’t know how to play—disappointed as I was, I knew not to go that far—but my storming off was, I suppose, statement enough for her.
It was maybe a day later, I came into Room 20 at the top of the house, where Mr. George had his poetry class. I don’t remember if it was before or after the class, or how full the room was. I remember having books in my hands, and that as I moved towards where Ruth and the others were talking, there was a strong patch of sun across the desk-lids they were sitting on.
I could see from the way they had their heads together they were discussing secret guard stuff, and although, as I say, the row with Ruth had been only the day before, for some reason I went up to them without a second thought. It was only when I was virtually right up to them—maybe there was a look exchanged between them—that it suddenly hit me what was about to happen. It was like the split second before you step into a puddle, you realise it’s there, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I felt the hurt even before they went silent and stared at me, even before Ruth said: “Oh, Kathy, how are you? If you don’t mind, we’ve got something to discuss just now. We’ll be finished in just a minute. Sorry.”
She’d hardly finished her sentence before I’d turned and was on my way out, angry more at myself for having walked into it than at Ruth and the others. I was upset, no doubt about it, though I don’t know if I actually cried. And for the next few days, whenever I saw the secret guard conferring in a corner or as they walked across a field, I’d feel a flush rising to my cheeks.
Then about two days after this snub in Room 20, I was coming down the stairs of the main house when I found Moira B. just behind me. We started talking—about nothing special—and wandered out of the house together. It must have been the lunch break because as we stepped into the courtyard there were about twenty students loitering around chatting in little groups. My eyes went immediately to the far side of the courtyard, where Ruth and three of the secret guard were standing together, their backs to us, gazing intently towards the South Playing Field. I was trying to see what it was they were so interested in, when I became aware of Moira beside me also watching them. And then it occurred to me that only a month before she too had been a member of the secret guard, and had been expelled. For the next few seconds I felt something like acute embarrassment that the two of us should now be standing side by side, linked by our recent humiliations, actually staring our rejection in the face, as it were. Maybe Moira was experiencing something similar; anyway, she was the one who broke the silence, saying:
“It’s so stupid, this whole secret guard thing. How can they still believe in something like that? It’s like they’re still in the Infants.”
Even today, I’m puzzled by the sheer force of the emotion that overtook me when I heard Moira say this. I turned to her, completely furious:
“What do you
know about it? You just don’t know anything, because you’ve been out of it for ages now! If you knew everything we’d found out, you wouldn’t dare say anything so daft!”
“Don’t talk rubbish.” Moira was never one to back down easily. “It’s just another of Ruth’s made-up things, that’s all.”
“Then how come I’ve personally
heard them talking about it? Talking about how they’re going to take Miss Geraldine to the woods in the milk van? How come I heard them planning it myself, nothing to do with Ruth or anyone else?”
Moira looked at me, unsure now. “You heard it yourself? How? Where?”
“I heard them talking, clear as anything, heard every word, they didn’t know I was there. Down by the pond, they didn’t know I could hear. So that just shows how much you know!”
I
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