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character and how to change it into something he could respect. And what did he

    respect? Under the blankets Wilt clenched his fist.
    ‘Decisiveness,’ he murmured. ‘The ability to act without hesitation. Courage.’ A

    strange litany of ancient virtues. But how to acquire them now? How had they turned men like

    him into Commandos and professional killers during the war? By training them. Wilt lay

    in the darkness and considered ways in which he could train himself to become what he was

    clearly not. By the time he fell asleep he had determined to attempt the impossible.
    At seven the alarm went. Wilt got up and went into the bathroom and stared at himself in

    the mirror. He was a hard man, a man without feelings. Hard, methodical, cold-blooded

    and logical. A man who made no mistakes. He went downstairs and ate his All-Bran and drank

    his cup of coffee. So Eva wasn’t home. She had stayed the night at the Pringsheims. Well that

    was something. It made things easier for him. Except that she still had the car and the

    keys. He certainly wasn’t going to go round and get the car. He walked down to the

    roundabout and caught the bus to the Tech. He had Bricklayers One in Room 456. When he

    arrived they were talking about gradbashing.
    ‘There was this student all dressed up like a waiter see. “Do you mind?” he says. “Do you

    mind getting out of my way.” Just like that and all I was doing was looking in the window

    at the books…’
    ‘At the books?’ said Wilt sceptically. ‘At eleven o’clock at night you were looking at

    books? I don’t believe it’
    ‘Magazines and cowboy books.’ said the bricklayer. ‘They’re in a junk shop in Finch

    Street’
    ‘They’ve got girlie mags.’ someone else explained. Wilt nodded. That sounded more like

    it.
    ‘So I says. “Mind what?”‘ continued the bricklayer, ‘and he says, “Mind out of my way.”

    His way. Like he owned the bloody street.’
    ‘So what did you say?’ asked Wilt.
    ‘Say? I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t wasting words on him.’
    ‘What did you do then?’
    ‘Well, I put the boat in and duffed him up. Gave him a good going-over and no mistake.

    Then I pushed off. There’s one bloody grad who won’t be telling people to get out of his way

    for a bit.’
    The class nodded approvingly.
    ‘They’re all the bloody same, students,’ said another bricklayer. ‘Think because

    they’ve got money and go to college they can order you about. They could all do with a

    going-over. Do them a power of good.’
    Wilt considered the implications of mugging as part of an intellectual’s

    education. After his experience the previous night he was inclined to think there was

    something to be said for it. He would have liked to have duffed up half the people at the

    Pringsheims’ party.
    ‘So none of you feel there’s anything wrong with beating a student up if he gets in your

    way?’ he asked.
    ‘Wrong?’ said the bricklayers in unison, ‘What’s wrong with a good punch-up? It’s not as

    if a grad is an old woman or something. He can always hit back, can’t he?’
    They spent the rest of the hour discussing violence in the modern world. On the whole,

    the bricklayers seemed to think it was a good thing.
    ‘I mean what’s the point of going out on a Saturday night and getting pissed if you

    can’t have a bit of a barney at the same time? Got to get rid of your aggression somehow.’

    said an unusually articulate bricklayer, ‘I mean it’s natural isn’t it?’
    ‘So you think man is a naturally aggressive animal,’ said Wilt.
    ‘Course he is. That’s history for you, all them wars and things. It’s only bloody

    poofters don’t like violence.’
    Wilt took this view of things along to the Staff Room for his free period and collected

    a cup of coffee from the vending machine. He was joined by Peter Braintree.
    ‘How did the party got’ Braintree asked.
    ‘It didn’t,’ said Wilt