Free Schooling by Heather McGowan Page A

footsteps indicates Betts hot on their heels hallooing their name to reverberate hills.
    Girls, may I interrupt your flattery of guitar idols for a moment to touch on matters of substance?
    Sophie vaults into the washroom leaving her alone with Betts.
    He gauges her . . . I understand that Mr. Gilbert has put you to some use in his chemistry lab.
    Yes sir.
    Wasn’t that thoughtful of him? Even dragged himself to the committee meeting with a horrid case of influenza.
    She waits for what Betts has come to say.
    Not many would go to such trouble for a disobedient pupil but . . . Betts steps aside to let Puck pass . . . I know that Mr. Gilbert has more patience than most.
    She moves to go.
    Of course—
    What.
    Some have it that patience is actually despair dressed as a virtue . . . Betts smiles . . . In the case of Mr. Gilbert, I mean it as a compliment. A true prince. Had he been a witness to the farce, he might feel differently.
    A passel of 4Y emerges from a classroom sweeping her up in a lunch-bound frenzy, bearing her down the corridor. What rich comedy you’ve found for yourself, Betts shouts after her. She finally frees herself by the dining hall. Down the hall, Betts is leaning against the washroom window, ploughing a pen in his blue notebook.

23
    Some Notes on Comedy. Beginning with the Unfortunate Predilection for the Literal. These days, so-called
realism
moves us further from truth than a Restoration piece ever did. Or a Farce. Two days ago in the staff room, Gilbert holding court among Stokes and some administrator types. Buffoon, Fool, Clown, Shepherdess. The Hero either misunderstood or out-of-his-element. Contrasts between the rustic & the estate & the pastoral escape where time is the enemy as I broached the coffee urn Gilbert waved his cup toward me in a lavish gesture of chumminess. Mistaken Identity, the Disguise. Patrick, he said with false gaiety, I was about to tell of our conversation last night in the POD room. The staff, huddled about the tea tray like tapirs at a watering hole, were eager to hear as they hoarded their tepid cups to their chests. The Handy Interruption. Turning back to his audience with studied theatrics, Gilbert said, Patrick and I were arguing about Realism. The teachers hung on his Hoax. Abstractedly, Genevieve Araigny reached for a biscuit. Coincidence. I stood to one side, fiddling with the blasted ceramic handle on the urn which always sticks. Repetition (often in threes). I refilled my coffee cup. Michael repeated in his whinny, Dramatic Realism. Another weighty pause.
I
was
for
it. They thought that terribly funny. Hoah Hoah. The Surprise of the Inevitable. Stokes laughing so hard tears gushed from his good eye. Percival didn’t seem to think it funny and moved away. The Absurd in the Plausible World. Percival knows a fraud. Then Stokes found me watching him. Well I must admit, with some disgust at the way his eye let forth a steady stream of tears. Instead of tragedy’s Catharsis we get the Clarification. Stokes wiped away his tears, I believe Michael offered him a handkerchief. Stokes said, By the way Patrick, what is it that has Simon Puck from 3X wandering about the school with some sort of proboscis attached to his face. A Misunderstanding. Leaving it to me though Percival was standing directly beside me nibbling his Rich Tea like a mouse. Why me, given as I was not the one chosen to direct a school play. Not enough time allotted to address the Play within the Play, that would mean devoting a large portion of my lecture to Shakespeare. Percival, I said as nicely as the situation allowed which wasn’t so very nice at all, I think Percival will alert you to the fact that young Puck’s become taken with the Aristophanes. I laughed because Stokes did but then he instantly stopped, leaving me laughing alone. A Subtle Melancholia.
Get the beak off that boy
, Stokes said in a steely undertone. With that, he turned back to Gilbert and some story Gilbert was always telling