Free The Schooldays of Jesus by J. M. Coetzee

unthinkingly blunders into thewomen’s dormitory. Inés, on her knees on the floor, looks up with displeasure. The boy, wearing only underpants and the golden dancing slippers, stops in mid-motion.
    â€˜Go away, Simón!’ exclaims the boy. ‘You are not allowed to watch!’
    â€˜Why? What is it that I shouldn’t watch?’
    â€˜He is practising something complicated,’ says Inés. ‘He needs to concentrate. Go away. Close the door.’
    Surprised, puzzled, he retreats, then hovers at the door listening. There is nothing to hear.
    Later, when the boy is asleep, he questions Inés. ‘What was going on that was too private for me to see?’
    â€˜He was practising his new steps.’
    â€˜But what is secret about that?’
    â€˜He thinks you won’t understand. He thinks you will make fun of him.’
    â€˜Given that we send him to an academy of dance, why should I make fun of his dancing?’
    â€˜He says you don’t understand the numbers. He says you are hostile. Hostile to the numbers.’
    She shows him a chart the boy has brought home: intersecting triangles, their apices marked with numerals. He can make no sense of it.
    â€˜He says this is how they learn numbers,’ says Inés. ‘Through dance.’
    The next morning, on the way to the Academy, he brings up the subject. ‘Inés showed me your dance chart,’ he says. ‘What are the numbers for? Are they the positions of your feet?’
    â€˜It’s the stars,’ says the boy. ‘It’s astrology. You close your eyes while you dance and you can see the stars in your head.’
    â€˜What about counting the beats? Doesn’t señor Arroyo count the beats for you while you dance?’
    â€˜No. You just dance. Dancing is the same as counting.’
    â€˜So señor Arroyo just plays and you just dance. It doesn’t sound like any dance lesson I am familiar with. I am going to ask señor Arroyo whether I can sit in on one of his lessons.’
    â€˜You can’t. You are not allowed. Señor Arroyo says no one is allowed.’
    â€˜Then when will I ever see you dancing?’
    â€˜You can see me now.’
    He glances at the boy. The boy is sitting still, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips.
    â€˜That is not dancing. You can’t dance while you are sitting in a car.’
    â€˜I can. Look. I am dancing again.’
    He shakes his head in bafflement. They arrive at the Academy. Out of the shadows of the doorway emerges Dmitri. He ruffles the boy’s neatly brushed hair. ‘Ready for the new day?’

CHAPTER 7
    INÉS HAS never liked getting up early. However, after three weeks on the farm with little to do but chat to Roberta and await the child’s return, she rouses herself early enough one Monday morning to join them on their ride to the city. Her first destination is a hairdresser. Then, feeling more herself, she stops at a women’s outfitters and buys herself a new dress. Chatting to the cashier, she learns that they are looking for a saleslady. On an impulse she approaches the proprietor and is offered the position.
    The need to make the move from the farm to the city suddenly becomes urgent. Inés takes over the hunt for accommodation, and within days has found an apartment. The apartment itself is featureless, the neighbourhood dreary, but it is within walking distance of the city centre and has a park nearby where Bolívar can exercise.
    They pack up their belongings. For the last time he, Simón, wanders out into the fields. It is dusk, the magic hour. The birds chatter in the trees as they settle for the night. From far away comes the tinkle of sheep-bells. Are they right, he wonders, toleave this garden place that has been so good to them?
    They say their goodbyes. ‘We hope to see you back for the harvest,’ says Roberta. ‘That’s a promise,’ says he, Simón. To