There was a pause. What was the right line, then? The Lumps waited to be told.
‘Milena is speaking from her own personal experience. She thinks of the viruses as Plato thought of writing. She is viewing the text in her own, unique way. This is inevitable, isn’t it? Milena is a reader of books, after all. One of the few we’ve got left, and Derrida was writing about reading as well.’
The School Nurse smiled at her with indulgence. Then she turned to Rose Ella, the new Nurse, and held out her hands, as if presenting Milena to her. The new Nurse smiled again.
Make me smile back. Go on, challenged Milena. See if you can. She turned grimly back to Ms Hazell.
‘You always use that word "remember",’ said Milena. ‘You say, "remember, team". You never tell us to think.’
They all were silent at that. The Lumps knew everyone thought they were stupid. Milena grimly resisted feeling unkind for reminding them of that.
‘That’s another large topic, the difference between memory and intelligence. Let’s break now. Thank you, everyone. That was a very fruitful discussion. I certainly feel like I’ve learned a lot.’
The Nurse leaned over the table and began to discuss each Lump’s individual project. Pauline was knitting a sweater. ‘Very good!’ exclaimed the School Nurse and held it up.
The new Nurse, Rose Ella, approached Milena.
‘Were you measuring how fast we are? I didn’t see you counting,’ said Milena.
‘I wasn’t here to time you,’ said Rose Ella. She knelt down in front of Milena. She was twelve, thirteen years old. An adult.
‘We’re too slow, huh?’
‘It must be terrible for you,’ said Rose Ella, and reached out with her hand. ‘You’re so intelligent. And not to have a memory.’
Milena rolled her eyes. It must be hell, she thought, to be so pretty and so stupid. Leave me alone.
‘Did you specialise in Learning Disabilities?’ Milena asked.
Rose Ella turned around and sat on the ground next to her. ‘Not particularly,’ she said. ‘No, there was a new emphasis when I was doing my practicals. You know, the new fashion. There are fashions in everything.’
Milena liked that. It was honest. It seemed to treat Milena with a measure of respect. ‘So what’s fashionable now?’ Milena asked feeling herself going shy.
‘Originality,’ said Rose Ella. ‘They’re telling us to look for originality, and Develop that. Nobody’s coming up with anything new. Not in science, not anywhere.’
‘So I’m original, huh?’
‘I think so,’ said Rose Ella. ‘I’ve never heard anyone say those things about Plato.’
Milena’s eyes seemed to go hot and heavy. Praise made her heartsick; she was so unused to it, and needed it so badly.
‘Lot of good it does me,’ murmured Milena, looking down.
‘You like theatre,’ said Rose Ella gently.
‘They briefed you, eh?’ Milena wished she had something to do with her hands, some leather to stitch, some brass to polish. Her hands were always empty. ‘I don’t know. I just like to imagine things on a stage. You know, costumes, lights. I put on the Christmas show.’ Milena was going to tell her about the costumes, the golden shoes, and the brass ice bucket that was supposed to contain myrhh.
‘Oh, yes, they told me about that!’ exclaimed Rose Ella, forgetting herself. She pulled her curly blonde hair back behind her ears. That made her ears stick out. ‘It sounded lovely! I was really sorry I missed it.’
‘They told you all about it, eh,’ said Milena. She fell silent. For a moment there I thought you were being friendly. Milena shifted where she sat, jerking her buttocks nearer to the wall, sitting up straighter. She would tell Rose Ella nothing else. She answered the next few questions with a yes or a no.
Rose Ella looked chastened. She had forgotten some of her training. Never tell a Disabled Person that you already know about what they’re going to tell you. Milena could see the new Nurse think that. Milena could see her try to make amends. Rose Ella started to talk about her family. Her father restored furniture. Her mother was a glass-blower.
‘Have you ever seen the glass-blowing?’ Rose Ella asked. ‘It’s lovely to watch.’
‘Sizing up a future Placing for me?’ said Milena.
‘No,’ said Rose Ella. ‘I’m just proud of my mother.’
‘Mine’s dead,’ said Milena. ‘She was an idiot. Well, not really. But we ended up here. We were from Czechoslovakia. But you already know that.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Rose Ella, shaking her head.
‘Don’t tell me they left something out of my case history,’ said Milena.
Rose Ella sighed. She looked down at her hands, and then back up at Milena. ‘It doesn’t work like that,’ she said quietly. ‘They don’t brief us like that in case it affects what we think.’ Her eyes seemed quite sincere. ‘Look, let’s go look at the glass-blowing. At least it will get you out of here.’
Away from the Lumps.
‘Fine,’ said Milena, trying to shrug as if it were all one with her. But her eyes were heavy. She wanted to be with Rose Ella.
Milena had rarely seen inside the School. She did not have relatives or friends who worked there. She had never really felt part of the Estate. Rose Ella pushed open the large, grey gates; they seemed to float backwards on their hinges.
‘I love the smell of the wood, don’t you!’ said Rose Ella, looking back over her shoulder as she swung the gates shut behind her.
Milena felt vaguely as if her own feelings had usurped. ‘It’s all right,’ she said.
Rose Ella walked briskly to a window in the wall by the gate. She waved for Milena to stand next to her. They peered into the Senate House of the School. It was the timber store. There were honey-coloured planks all in ordered racks. Beyond the doors across the room was a pile of huge logs. Men and women sawed the wood in perfectly straight planks, guided by virus. Men with brooms swept up the chips and yellow shavings.
‘What do they do with the sawdust?’ Milena asked.
‘Use it for packing. Some old kinds of sofas were stuffed with it. We also use a lot of it to store ice in the ice house. It keeps it all through the summer. Most of the time though, we just use it on the fires. We aren’t supposed to. Don’t tell anyone.’
‘I don’t have anyone to tell it to,’ said Milena murmuring shyly. This is how it is for other people, she thought. They talk and find out things. ‘Is the world a great big wicked place then?’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Rose Ella, appearing to take her very seriously.
‘Is it full of secrets? Little bits about things. Like that. About the wood.’ Damnable shyness overcame Milena, and she stuck her hands in her pockets and could not look at Rose Ella.
‘Sometimes. Little things. Such as…’ Rose Ella paused. ‘Such as I really, really like Senior Fenton.’
The Senior ran the Medicine. He was very old, twenty two, mature and handsome.
Milena was overwhelmed. ‘You do? Are you going to marry him?’ It was a wonder to talk to someone about such things.
‘I shouldn’t think so.’ It was Rose Ella’s turn to be surprised. She kept her hands behind her back, behind the white uniform, and looked down at her feet. ‘He sings,’ she said. ‘He sings evenings at the Row, when we all get together. Oh! He has such a beautiful voice.’
‘Senior Fenton sings?’ Milena asked. She couldn’t imagine it. No, she could. She could see his handsome face open wide with song. She wished she could say she liked Senior Fenton too, but the image of him did not move her. She began to worry, a little. Her heart never rose at the idea of men, or a particular man. Who did she like? No one, she was forced to conclude. She liked no one.
‘Is there a lot of music at the Row?’ Milena asked. She had never had time to learn a musical instrument. She sat in the conference room and watched the other children play.