A Jest of God

God’s mercy on reluctant jesters. God’s grace on fools. God’s pity on God

I always thought you got along so well here. Taught well, fitted in with the other staff very harmoniously, and as for myself, we’ve never had the slightest disagreement, you and I. That’s so, isn’t it? You must admit that it is. I always thought you were perfectly satisfied with the way our school is run. I could be quite mistaken, of course, but I always thought so. I trust you don’t mind my asking, but naturally this is a matter of some considerable interest to me.”
He doesn’t want my answer. He wants me to say “Of course I have always been as happy as a veritable meadow-lark in this eminently well-run establishment, Willard, and I can assure you my leaving has nothing whatsoever to do with you, who have been in every conceivable way the best of principals – it is only that my old mother wishes to see her dear little grandchildren, so I am taking off, albeit with the greatest and bitterest of regrets.”
What am I to say, though? Sometimes I was happy here, and sometimes not, and often I was afraid of him, and still am, although I see now this was as unnecessary as my mother’s fear of fate. What good would it do to say that? I couldn’t explain, nor he accept.
“I’ve just lived here long enough, that’s all. It’s got nothing to do with the school.”
And this, like everything else, is both true and false.
*

achel, you’re talking so peculiarly. Doctor Raven has been my doctor for goodness knows how long. If he doesn’t know what’s what, dear, who does, may I ask?”
“I don’t know. I’ve no idea. God, for all I know.”
Is it some partial triumph, that I can bring myself finally to say this, or is it only the last defeat?
“God?”

Nick is not married.”
“I – how stupid of me. I thought he was.”
“No. He’s never married yet.”
We speak some more words but not about Nick. I don’t hear what I’m saying, the necessary phrases of departure that people use to get away from one another. Then they’ve gone, and I can go on, too, to wherever I’m going.
Nick is not married

shrugs massively, as though it were nothing, no more than he owed, a recognition for a well-performed rite. Mrs. Kazlik turns away, not wanting to see him betray himself in this way, not wanting to hear my playing along with it, my acceptance of messages for the dead. But what else could I say to him? This man whose voice no longer in the raw frosty dawn roars his princely cursing at kids and horses. Nestor the Jester.

Well,” Doctor Raven is saying in his comfortable and comforting voice, “at least we know there’s no question of one thing, anyway, with a sensible girl like yourself. That at least can be ruled out, eh? Can’t say the same for them all, I’m afraid.”

No. Don’t do that, Rachel. Everything only hurts more than before, when you leave off talking to him and acknowledge that he hasn’t heard. I have to speak aloud to someone. I have to. But I don’t know anyone

Nick – listen—
No. Don’t do that, Rachel

I am not going to lose it. It is mine. I have a right to it. That is the only thing I know with any certainty.
But where will I go? What will I do? The same questions, over and over, and never any answers. If only I could talk to somebody.
Nick – listen—

No, Rachel. That has to be abandoned. Some poisons have a sweetness at the first taste, but they are willing to kill you just the same. He left because he could not bear their loving reproachful need for him to stay. He could not bear it even for the few more weeks he’d planned to be here. You did not figure at all in his going or his staying. That was not an aspect which he had to consider. He did not phone because it never entered his head to do so. It wasn’t significant enough to warrant a phone call. He was busy. He packed his suitcase and went