Chapter 7 Chapter Six

Thomas was looking at a dying wasp on the windowsill when Göring came in to find him.The scorching sun penetrates the window, penetrates the glass that is bent due to gravity and yellowed due to the erosion of two hundred years, and shoots a beam of yellow light shafts, like a road leading to heaven.The wasp was struggling, its abdomen writhing, its tentacles writhing, its tiny comma-shaped body retracted, its basic shape a life-killing trap. The season of the wasp's death. They are all dead, this is the law of nature.At this time of year, when the rainy season begins, their end comes.They hovered over the doors of this old house, burrowing into rotting window frames, into vents, into crevices in the stones, finding their way in, and dying.

He watched the struggling insect, wondering if they knew death was approaching.Perhaps they understood the inevitability of death, but they chose not to drown, but to sleep curled up dry.Perhaps evolution has generously gifted them with the ability to deceive themselves, and they really think that by entering here they can escape death. He saw the wasp twitching like a child with a stomach ache, curled up tightly, still struggling, still hoping for the future.Thomas wanted to get up, walk over, straighten it with a ruler, give it one more minute of fantasy, give it a sense of final victory before it dies.But it was library reading time, and Beanie supervised, dangling his scrawny limbs from his emaciated body, making sure the students were facing the pages they were supposed to be reading.That's all they can control you, to turn your face to the altar of the church, to the book, to the football field with a crowd of angry boys chasing and fighting in your ears; but they can't control your mind, Unless you tell others, others will betray you.

Still boyish in his 30s, Beanie dangles his wicker-like figure from desk to desk, nodding at his favorite children, flicking his fingers to draw attention and They pretended to be studying hard.library time.In the introduction to the library there is this statement: It builds a lifelong thirst for self-education.Lack of staff.Of the endless study time they have, the library takes up only a small fraction.They watch TV only once a week, in a huge study room, with hundreds of boys, and the TV is tuned to a really bad channel that nobody wants to watch, Either the talent show The X Factor or some other crap.

Thomas likes this room.The library is in what used to be the living room, the ceiling is so high that the 7 foot bookshelves don't even halfway up the wall, and the two windows are high up looking out onto the lawn, rippling like a rushing river Perth Hills.Very broad vista.He likes to imagine that he owns the house, that this is his living room, that everyone else gets out of the way, that he can right the mistakes in the cornices, fix the windows, and be alone. The cornice had been repainted in the summer, in a different color to accentuate the grapes and leaves, but it seemed the property management had made a mistake: the grapes were green, and the wrapping leaves were yellow.Thomas guessed that there must have been a mistake at the beginning, that they must have started with the grapes and didn't realize the mistake until the yellow paint appeared.Others don't seem to notice.

The room was very quiet, only the sound of boys fidgeting and moving lightly, taking off their knitted sweaters, blowing their noses intermittently, and turning the pages of books.Beanie murmured "Stop," and everyone looked up to see Donald MacDonald grinning as he cleaned the dirt under his fingernails with the edge of the page again. Suddenly, the big black door of the living room opened. This door is usually pushed open quietly and tiptoely. People are always afraid of disturbing others. Bouncing and bouncing, Goring Cooper caught the bounced door with his hand and forced it to stop, his body just filling the doorway.Everything about Goering is broad, from his huge football shoulders to his oddly angular, geometric head, his steadfast black eyes scanning the room and resting on Thomas.

"Anderson." Goring took a few steps back, stared straight at Thomas, and ordered him to go. Thomas fumbled with the jumper fumbled, balled it into his schoolbag, and shoved it in, the sleeves dangling like two spaghetti sticks over the edge of a bowl.He was about to pack up his books when Goring spoke again, louder this time, "Leave it alone." "Yes, sir, Mr. Cooper." Thomas blushed, not out of embarrassment, but out of some kind of panic.People didn't hate him the way they hated some boys, although they had good reason to.Because of his father, three classmates of the same class have been forced to leave the school.In a way, the fact that Thomas' dad was in the papers had offset some of the stigma, and he was more or less a celebrity.

"Anderson!" Goering's voice was even more commanding this time, and Thomas was taken aback. Goering was Doyle's deputy, and he was here to bring Anderson to Doyle's office. Realizing that he was blushing and flustered, and that everyone was looking at him like a fool, Thomas stood up abruptly and looked angrily at his classmates.He figured they'd be talking about him behind his back, fuck it, he didn't care.It was between his father and him, not them.He didn't even tuck his shirt into his pants.He tossed his schoolbag carelessly aside, letting the books and papers fall out, and without asking Benny or even looking at him, he went straight to Göring.

Nosy Beanie, eager to find out what was going on, followed Thomas out, but Göring stopped him at the door. "No," Goering said firmly, "Just call Anderson alone." He reached out and closed the door between Thomas and his classmates, and the brass latch on the door clicked into place.He stood in the doorway, looking Thomas in the eye. Thomas had only recently discovered that Goering knew his name, and now all the staff probably knew him, and they probably read the newspaper aloud in the office, savoring the misfortunes of their own pupils. "Thomas Anderson, Mr. Doyle would like you to come to his office."

"I want you to go", not "I want you to go", Thomas couldn't figure out what kind of medicine was sold in this gourd.Goering's politeness was so unfamiliar that he felt that things must be very, very bad, that they had found the car and they were angry that he and Squeak were being sent away. The library door opens onto the central hall, above an oval balcony topped with matching oval glass, and below, at the base of the stone steps, are the double large front doors, which are cold and wind blows from the two The door went through, but Thomas was still sweating.He clenches his fists and tells himself he'll let go when they're numb, he needs to think, think different things, how much trouble he's in right now, when he walks into the office, that old man Doyle's face will be What is it like, who else is with him?Squeak could be there, along with the police.his mother.Not Nanny Mary.God, please, not Mary.

Göring pointed to Thomas' stomach and smiled, "You'd better tuck your shirt in and stay out of trouble." For a moment Thomas stared at Goering, bewildered.He finally managed to release his fist and tuck the shirt into his trousers, tucking the end of his tie in as well.It was a style they favored, a sign of contempt, with the shirt front hanging down and the tie low, but Goering was correcting him in a friendly way, not lecturing him about civic duty , and set an example for younger boys.Göring tried to relax his facial expression and forced a smile. This uncharacteristic friendliness was weird.

Before Thomas had a chance to raise his head to look at the other person's face again, Göring turned around and led him straight to Doyle's office against the draft. Thomas followed, aware that the other boys were laughing at his ridiculous gait, greasy hair, and marks made by the ballpoint pen pinned to the pocket of his gray flannel trousers.Imagine Doyle seeing him, seeing every fault in him, every problem with his appearance and manner. They left the cold hall, passed through a wing, passed the infirmary and the music room, and entered the church corridor.This is a quiet, dimly lit area where loud noise and running are strictly prohibited.The corridor was long, windowless, and smelled of stale incense.The only door, which leads to the choir balcony above the church, is rarely used for fear of some idiot boys jostling each other and stumbles, and is only open to parents on Holy Obligatory Visiting Days. Goering's footsteps were light and rhythmic, and Thomas' leather soles rubbed against the ground, trying to keep up with him.At the far end of the corridor, through an arched double door, is Doyle's office. Goring knocked on the door, heard the response, and opened the door in time. Thomas stepped on the nylon carpet in Doyle's office without hesitation. He was surprised to find that there was no one else in the office except Doyle.Doyle rose to meet him with a look of chagrin or disgust. "Sit down, Mr. Anderson." Thomas sat uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair, watching with heightened vigilance.He was surprised to see Doyle come out from behind the desk and sit down in the other chair next to him.Doyle was lanky and wiry, with a furtive face.Göring stood behind the desk without sitting down, his hands clasped behind his back. Doyle leaned forward, his voice softening, and Thomas thought it was coming from a tunnel: "Something's wrong. Home. Your mother told us to tell you. I'm so sorry. Your father died. Hanged himself." .Very sad suicide. Are you okay? Thomas, are you okay?" Thomas's thoughts suddenly wandered, his ears were buzzing, and his eyes were shining with gold.He lowered his eyelids and shut the room out, dimming the light.The season of the wasp's death.These bored boys bear witness to their demise, watching them take shelter from the cold and wind and rain, struggle, be utterly defeated, and die. Hang yourself.Hang yourself.A sudden surge of heartache woke him up, imagining how cold it would be with his father's body lying in the garage. "Is he dead?" Mr. Doyle and Goring Cooper exchanged glances. Mr Doyle said: "I'm afraid so." Thomas nodded, over and over, so many times, as if confirming Doyle's words: Yes, you're right, yes, yes, very much.He couldn't seem to keep his head from bobbing up and down, looking at the desk and its oak legs bouncing in front of him, at the notepad and pen in the pen holder, at the phone, "She can call..." "Is your mother?" Doyle asked. Thomas didn't answer. "Your mother thought it might be better to have someone close to you tell you, rather than on the phone, through her, from home..." Doyle resumed his usual tone, as if telling the boys not to talk to you. He messes up, don't ask him questions, or just shut up, or someone will get in trouble.It's not right for her to do this, they all know it's despicable, but the staff is not allowed to speak ill of parents, and that's what this school is all about: fulfilling her parental responsibilities, fulfilling her fundamental responsibilities. Just don't bother to worry about responsibilities. "He...he's dead?" "Before you fly home we have to tell you that the reporter has got the news and it's going to be in the papers tonight. Your mother is arranging for your father's private jet to fly over—" "Which one?" Doyle is not used to being interrupted when speaking, "What?" But Thomas was so angry he couldn't stop himself, "Which plane? Is it Piper? Isn't it?" Göring interjected: "We don't know which plane she's arranging for, but it's going to land on the runway in an hour. We'd like you to go back to your room and pack your things." Sad eyes stung his eyes, and resentment ran down his cheeks, "It's Piper, she arranged for Piper." "Thomas," Göring's voice began to shrill, his sympathy drained, "it doesn't matter which plane—" Suddenly, Thomas wiped the tears from his face vigorously, stood up, and looked at the two people. "My father came here." He looked down at them without saying what he meant: when my father came here, there were some religious brothers running the school, monks running the school, not just Bad teachers who couldn't find other jobs. "You're teachers." My dad paid for the sixth grade annexe and computer lab, and you can't do that because you're just bad teachers, so don't underestimate me, don't think I'm just a sad The unsupervised child, the goddamn mother who can't even bother to make a phone call, and it's hapless Piper she sent. "Where's Ella?" "Your sister Ella?" Doyle stood up to meet him. "Ella, does she know?" "I think Ella is on her way home now too." "Is it an ATR-42?" Thomas said. "I believe she is already on her way home. She will definitely take the ATR-42 home." Doyle reached out and did something Thomas had never seen him do: He put his hand on Thomas' shoulder.It was warm, the heat stinging against his skin, and he felt threatened that Doyle was going to push him down next, touch him, humiliate him.He retracted nervously, slipping out of Doyle's grasp.He looked at Doyle.The man looked sad and seemed confused by Thomas' dodge. "I'm sorry," Thomas misunderstood again, he suddenly couldn't believe himself, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." "Don't worry." Doyle said, lowering his hand. Thomas lost himself.He had tried to get his father's attention, to get him to look at himself, to take a good look at himself, but his father almost never made eye contact with him.The only time he could really see his father's eyes was in a company profile or brochure.Father only talked to him when they were both standing, but that wasn't talk at all, he just looked over Thomas's head and made a proclamation or proclamation: You're stupid, the mall is a battleground, place your bets, Never show weakness.Thomas had tried to understand him, past his mother and Ella, through Mary, but in vain, nothing. "When did he... die?" "Is your father?" "Nowadays?" "Yesterday. At lunch." At lunch yesterday Thomas was in the mess hall eating soft, juicy white bread covered in golden syrup and drinking a pint of black tea, looking over the rim of his teacup at Squeak for a long time.The reason why Thomas found Squeak was because the other party had a car.He thought he knew Squeak, but he didn't.They drank carrot soup, with concentrated solid stock at the bottom of the dish. "Mr. Cooper will take you back to your room and help you clean up." Thomas came back to his senses and stood up straight, "Thank you for telling me, this is not easy for you." They were glad to hear that, not only because Thomas had not forgotten manners in such a heavy hour, but because he did not make things difficult for them, which made things easier.Doyle smiled mildly.Goering nodded, pursed his lips tightly, and expressed sympathy.They stood silently for a moment, the clock on the wall ticking softly, counting down the unequal hours they had left on Earth, and then Doyle moved toward the door, and Thomas turned after him.Doyle stopped in front of him. "Thomas," he said hesitantly, Thomas had the feeling he was speaking off the cuff, "we are very sorry for your recent troubles, we know how difficult it is for you, but please rest assured that no matter what happens You will finish your studies at this school. There is a grant and we can apply for you to replace your father's financial support so you can stay here." Goering almost expressed an idea, raising an eyebrow slightly.Doyle gritted his teeth and looked at Thomas.They are all thinking the same thing. "You're a very kind man, Mr. Doyle," Thomas said carefully, "but I don't think it would be... fair if my father's bankruptcy was the reason several other kids had to leave school." Goering agreed with him, he could see it.Doyle said kindly: "We will not make our children bear the sins of their fathers, Thomas, God forbid. Your conduct here has been exemplary." Thomas looked at him.Doyle believed what he said, in fact he believed that he knew everything about Thomas.Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but whimpered.He put his hand over his mouth, but there was this sudden, uncontrollable sound coming up that sounded like a whoop, a dog bark, a wolf howl.He pressed his fingers to his cheek and squeezed it hard, drooling from the corner of his mouth and letting out a small scream.He held his breath and controlled himself. They stood there motionless.Thomas carefully lowered his hands from his face. "I'm sorry," he said, "about..." Doyle tilted his head sympathetically, but Göring interjected, "We should go clean up." Thomas shuffled toward the door, back into the dim light of the church corridor, back into the world that had changed forever.