Dr. Lane spoke next. Thomas didn’t know Dr. Lane very well. As headmaster, he was distant from the students most of the time. Often he was off in New York or Atlanta or somewhere trying to raise money for the school. He didn’t teach any classes or coach any sports, and he handled only the most serious disciplinary cases and the honor offenses sent to him by the board of councilmen. He spoke in an elegant Richmond accent, in which “house” rhymed with “gross” and the final “r” on words did not exist.
He told them something that they did not know.
“I do not wish to add to your grief,” he said, “but I have spent the morning talking with Russell’s parents in Louisiana and to his roommate and to several of his teachers. These people have indicated to me that Russell was not at all obviously suicidal. He had been planning a skiing trip to Colorado for the Christmas holidays, and he was preparing for the big wrestling tournament on Saturday afternoon. He even had a date for the mixer.”
He paused. “What I’m saying is that you can’t take anything for granted. Somebody who seems perfectly happy on the surface can be miserable underneath. I am therefore asking you, in these next months at school, to make a conscious effort not to let anyone be alone. No boy is to be alone on the dormitory during the academic day, and no boy is to walk the campus alone at night. Let’s stick together. Let’s behave with thoughtfulness toward one another. And let us make no mistake about my words. This is not a suggestion, but a new school rule: no boy is to be alone on this campus after dark.”
Thomas felt the unpleasant churn of annoyance transform his grief into exasperation. That was so typical of the school, to lay down another rule on the students just because of one special case. He didn’t like the way Dr. Lane had implied that one of them might have prevented Russell’s death if they’d been more attentive. Why the hell does everything always have to be the students’ fault? From the murmuring and the hum of tension he knew that others in the chapel felt the same way.
“Dr. Pain,” said Richard. He got shushed by one of the teachers sitting behind them.
Dr. Lane went on to say that all faculty advisors should be available for any boy who wished to come by to discuss Russell’s death.
“Otherwise,” said Dr. Lane, “I urge you to get back into your routine as quickly as possible. It may seem difficult at first, but I assure you that it’s the best thing. Classes will meet this afternoon as usual, but any boy who would prefer to meet with Mr. Heilman will be allowed to do so.”
That was shrewd, thought Thomas. He gives us a choice between bullshit for credit and just bullshit. Thomas preferred to get credit.
On his way out, at the back of the chapel, Thomas saw Angus Farrier, same old crew cut and same old olive trousers, but, unbelievably, wearing a tie and a jacket instead of the usual tee shirt.
“You hear that new rule, Angus?” he asked. He was referring to Lane’s demand that nobody be on campus alone after dark. You could usually count on Angus to say something funny about Dr. Lane, but today he was all business.
“Maybe it’ll help,” said Angus. He was looking down at his shoes as he spoke. “I can’t do it all by myself.”
“What’re you talking about?” said Thomas. People were crowding by him to get out of the chapel.
Angus shook his head and departed for the gym. Thomas went on to lunch. He figured Angus had misunderstood his question.
That afternoon he made an even greater mistake.
SCENE 4
Only three hours had passed since the special assembly this morning. To Thomas it seemed like a million years. One minute to the bell, and it would be three o’clock, and classes would at last be over. The rotating schedule had rotated English class into last period today. Of course Farnham had gone right ahead with Othello as though nothing unusual had happened at all. He was jabbering on about major themes, and he was pointing to where he had written, in big block letters, APPEARANCE on one side of the board and REALITY on the other.
The whole class sat in silence. Everybody had closed his notebook and had piled his books on the desktops. Half a minute to go, and Farnham was acting like somebody who’d just translated the Rosetta stone.
“Othello starts off as a military hero, but he ends up as a tragic hero. He makes a terrible mistake, but he learns from that mistake. He achieves self-recognition at a terrible cost. Thomas Boatwright—”
Saved by the bell. Almost.
“—see me after class. The rest of you are dismissed.” Across the room Richard stuck his teeth out and made his samurai face, stolen from the old clips of John Belushi on Saturday Night Live.
Mr. Farnham was erasing the board. “Why didn’t you come by for an audition yesterday?” he asked.
“I did come by,” Thomas said carefully, “but I didn’t see you on the stage.” That was true enough, but Thomas knew he was quibbling with the truth, and hence was violating the spirit, at least, of the honor system.
“Do you still want to try out for a part? Mrs. Kaufman is coming by to read for Desdemona today.”
Thomas said he thought Mrs. Warden had that part.
“She does if she can manage it,” said Mr. Farnham. “She’s been ill.”
Thomas
