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Authors: Iain Crichton Smith
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about India, a subject apparently dear to his heart. He was simplistic, anachronistic. Trevor could hardly believe that such a person could exist. In his crushed hat he sat meekly listening. Yes, the British had ruled India well, hadnât they? The leaves of the oak stirred in the breeze. The tree was ancient too, presumably like the one in Edinburgh. But Trevor saw too many sides of a question. He was not a Fortinbras like this empire builder beside him, he was a Hamlet. After all, shouldnât buses have their right of way as well?
âShould never have come home,â said the military man. âBiggest mistake of my life.â He talked of how he had travelled one day by train to Glasgow. It had been two hours late. He ran to a phone to tell his hosts of his mishap but the phones were all broken, vandalized. What kind of country was this, falling about our ears? Just like an old tenement, thought Trevor, and recalled Cameron, that fat slob who beat up his wife at weekends. Others played golf, he beat up his wife. It was his recreation. Julia had told him to go to the police, but the police wouldnât do anything about it. Domestic problem, they had said. This great country of ours sheltered its brutes under the shade of its oak tree. He blamed Cameron for Juliaâs death. She never got any peace. And he hated Cameron, hated him with a deadly hatred, more than he hated Hitler. It was Cameron who wouldnât let Julia sleep. Yes, he agreed with the military man. Violence everywhere. Loss of standards and so the two of them sat under the oak tree, watching the pure white swans on the lake.
He had been tormented by a boy called Sherman in his classes. This Sherman would come in to school early and write his nickname on the blackboard. Then he would make animal noises at the back of the room and Trevor would never be able to pin him down. Sherman would say, âPlease sir, I canât think of anything to write in my composition.â And Trevor would say, âBut you must be able to think of something.â âI canât think of anything at all,â Sherman would say, smiling. And maybe Trevor would try and belt him and Sherman would pull his hand away. So Trevor would take him to the headmaster and Sherman, who was an actor, would tremble as if he were afraid of Trevor and the headmaster would say to himself, âAh, there is more to this than meets the eye.â And he would regard Sherman, who wasnât at all loutish or terrifying, as a victim who patiently endured Trevorâs sarcasm and beatings. And he would say to him, âNow you promise me that you will be a good boyâ, and of course Sherman would say he would, not omitting the âsirâ. Trevor thought that Sherman was evil, that he had never encountered unprincipled evil till he had met him. His cunning and his intelligence were extraordinary, his methods of putting Trevor in the wrong legion. Sometimes after he had pulled his hand away he would say that Trevor had broken his watch. He had an inexhaustible supply of broken watches. Trevor imagined a factory which produced broken watches, something like British Leyland. Sherman too had the knack of enticing him away from the theme of the lesson down byways of his own. Trevor hated him and hated also his mother and father whom he had encountered. Sherman was one of the reasons why he had left Newark. Sherman was the Robin Hood who ran about the green wood tormenting him, firing arrows at him, smiling at him, the outlaw hero. And he himself was the clumsy sheriff, always outwitted. In the free wood.
âYes,â he said to the military looking man. âI agree with you totally.â He pulled down his hat and walked away.
Sometimes he met Mrs Miller on the stair, but she never talked to him. At first there had been Mrs Brown and then there were the Camerons. He often ran into Cooper when he was putting stuff in the bin, but Cooper always seemed to be in a
âShould never have come home,â said the military man. âBiggest mistake of my life.â He talked of how he had travelled one day by train to Glasgow. It had been two hours late. He ran to a phone to tell his hosts of his mishap but the phones were all broken, vandalized. What kind of country was this, falling about our ears? Just like an old tenement, thought Trevor, and recalled Cameron, that fat slob who beat up his wife at weekends. Others played golf, he beat up his wife. It was his recreation. Julia had told him to go to the police, but the police wouldnât do anything about it. Domestic problem, they had said. This great country of ours sheltered its brutes under the shade of its oak tree. He blamed Cameron for Juliaâs death. She never got any peace. And he hated Cameron, hated him with a deadly hatred, more than he hated Hitler. It was Cameron who wouldnât let Julia sleep. Yes, he agreed with the military man. Violence everywhere. Loss of standards and so the two of them sat under the oak tree, watching the pure white swans on the lake.
He had been tormented by a boy called Sherman in his classes. This Sherman would come in to school early and write his nickname on the blackboard. Then he would make animal noises at the back of the room and Trevor would never be able to pin him down. Sherman would say, âPlease sir, I canât think of anything to write in my composition.â And Trevor would say, âBut you must be able to think of something.â âI canât think of anything at all,â Sherman would say, smiling. And maybe Trevor would try and belt him and Sherman would pull his hand away. So Trevor would take him to the headmaster and Sherman, who was an actor, would tremble as if he were afraid of Trevor and the headmaster would say to himself, âAh, there is more to this than meets the eye.â And he would regard Sherman, who wasnât at all loutish or terrifying, as a victim who patiently endured Trevorâs sarcasm and beatings. And he would say to him, âNow you promise me that you will be a good boyâ, and of course Sherman would say he would, not omitting the âsirâ. Trevor thought that Sherman was evil, that he had never encountered unprincipled evil till he had met him. His cunning and his intelligence were extraordinary, his methods of putting Trevor in the wrong legion. Sometimes after he had pulled his hand away he would say that Trevor had broken his watch. He had an inexhaustible supply of broken watches. Trevor imagined a factory which produced broken watches, something like British Leyland. Sherman too had the knack of enticing him away from the theme of the lesson down byways of his own. Trevor hated him and hated also his mother and father whom he had encountered. Sherman was one of the reasons why he had left Newark. Sherman was the Robin Hood who ran about the green wood tormenting him, firing arrows at him, smiling at him, the outlaw hero. And he himself was the clumsy sheriff, always outwitted. In the free wood.
âYes,â he said to the military looking man. âI agree with you totally.â He pulled down his hat and walked away.
Sometimes he met Mrs Miller on the stair, but she never talked to him. At first there had been Mrs Brown and then there were the Camerons. He often ran into Cooper when he was putting stuff in the bin, but Cooper always seemed to be in a
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