Leavetaking by McGahern J

Author:McGahern, J [John McGahern]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780571250202
Published: 1974-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

The bell echoes down the corridors as it passes from door to door and the children smile at me as they put away books and comics. It is the last time I’ll hear that bell.

“If every day was as easy as today it’d be nice coming to school,” an outgoing child tells me, and it crosses my mind to tell him that it is my last day, but I do not.

“Seasaigi. In Ainmanathair,” I begin to bless myself and we chant our gratitude for the day, the last day, “Cle, deas, cle,” down the clanging corridor to the back entrance. I see the bus edging its way through the hordes of children let loose and I jump on and climb to the top deck. That way I have avoided all meetings.

Pushing for the same bus a Friday evening years before comes for no reason to my mind and meeting the inspector at the gate. “It must be great to have the weekend in front of you, a mhaistir,” he stopped me. “Yes, but I look forward to coming back to the work on Monday.” I blush still as I hear the slavish caution of my whole forever overmastered race in my voice. “When I was a young teacher I could hardly wait for the weekends,” he gave me in his paternal voice right to the enjoyment of the weekend; and on the bus I think what flotsam the mind stores and this day at least I have some pleasure in shaking off some of the slavishness.

Several times on the bus that first morning returning to the school I felt like getting off and taking the next bus back to Howth and packing for the nightboat to London. I’m glad this day in the classroom I stayed and saw it through. I’ll never have to imagine what it might have been if I hadn’t seen it through. It happened this way and no other way.

The concrete on the low roof and the nineteenth-century mansion beyond and the milling bodies on the concrete were, with a shock, the same as I remembered them that first day back. I heard my name called by children as I pushed my way through, and if they were close I put out a blind hand of recognition on some head of hair.

“The stranger is back. Welcome back the stranger,” the jocular cry went up as I entered the staffroom. In a halftrue, halfsimulated confusion of emotion I shook hands, and as I bent to sign the book the bell rang out on the concrete. In the silence the noise of a stubbing of a cigarette on the ashtray and Tonroy’s frail laugh. “Well lads, I suppose it can’t be helped.” The bell rang again in the silence and was followed by a rush of feet. The lines were forming.

“Well, the holidays are over. Good times are bad times. You should never have come back,” Boland gave me a playful push as we straggled out on the concrete.

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