The Pupil Read Online Free PDF Page B

pay attention while his father showed him some of his recent efforts in his new field of creative endeavour, drawing cartoons. To Anthony, there was something faintly repellent in Chay’s enthusiasm for his own work and its display to others; perhaps his own innate habit of self-deprecation was to blame. Still, he had to acknowledge that his father never admitted artistic defeat.
    ‘Have you sold any?’ he asked, ever seeking some evidence that someone might find something of substance in his father.
    ‘One or two. Not to mainstream publications, of course. This stuff’s far too way out for them.’ His father continued to use the antiquated slang of the sixties; in some ways it was rather endearing, but it never failed to offend the delicate, modish sensibilities of Barry.
    ‘Who’s that meant to be?’ asked Barry, reappearing from the kitchen.
    ‘Denis Healey.’
    ‘Looks more like Sue Lawley. Here, cop a glass of this, Dad.’ He handed his father a tumbler full of wine. ‘I’ve just been meeting Jocasta,’ he said with a grin, stuffing crisps into his mouth.
    A young woman came through from the kitchen and smiled at them.
    ‘Hi,’ she said nervously, and held out her hand. Anthony shook it and introduced himself. She could have been no older than himself, he thought, rather lovely in an inane way, with long, straight, black hair and bright, anxious blue eyes. They get younger and younger, thought Anthony. Anyone Chay’s own age would laugh their head off, he supposed. Jocasta. Yes, well, that figured.
    ‘I hope you’ll like what I’m cooking for supper,’ she said, and then proceeded to describe something which Anthony could not visualise, consisting of ingredients of which he had largely never heard.
    ‘What’s that? Soul food?’ said Barry.
    ‘We’re vegans now,’ said Chay, by way of explanation.
    ‘Well, we’re not,’ said Barry, following Jocasta into the kitchen.
    Over dinner, which Anthony suspected was mainly aubergines, cabbage and pine kernels, with ginger in it somewhere (although he could not specifically visually identify any of those things, except the pine kernels), Chay expanded on his veganism. Jocasta beamed at him worshipfully from behind the casserole.
    ‘It’s part of a whole purification system. For your body to operate your brain, it needs good, pure fuel. Red meat just makes you sluggish and excitable.’
    ‘How can you be sluggish and excitable at the same time?’ asked Anthony.
    ‘That’s what I mean,’ said Chay, running a leathery hand over his bristles. ‘A mass of contradictions. A body that’s incapable of functioning properly with gross and unnatural food intake. Hence the head is full of hate, the heart full ofpoison. For humans to use animal products is unnatural.’
    ‘Even leather for shoes and belts,’ put in Jocasta, glancing at Chay for approval. He nodded.
    ‘That’s right. Jocasta has made us both moccasins from hessian and velvet, so that animal products don’t come into contact with our flesh.’ He stuck out a bony foot from under the table; from the end of it dangled something that looked like an ill-fitting velveteen boot.
    ‘That won’t take you far on a nasty night,’ observed Barry, abstractedly trying to mash the remains of his food into as small a lump as possible. Jocasta was staring at his plate.
    Anthony changed the subject by telling his father about his new pupillage. Chay looked laid-back and amused. His contempt for the world of commerce, and for lawyers, bankers and stockbrokers, was well known.
    ‘A web of corruption, greed and deceit. Still, if that’s what you want, I wish you well of it.’
    Anthony would have liked to point out to his father that he, Chay, had never seriously contemplated any real form of work in his life, simply squandering other people’s money to stay alive, but he didn’t. He knew too well the pointlessness of such an exercise.
    ‘What about you, Barry?’ said Chay, turning to his younger