Black Chalk

She looks at me with such a heartbreaking mixture of pain and gratitude, wiping her eyes tenderly as I tell her that her son was the cleverest person I ever met, the brightest at Pitt without any doubt. She squeezes my hand when I tell her that Mark wanted to be the very best. And he was the best, I say to her. But he couldn’t see it, he was hard on himself, so hard. When we started, we all found ourselves suddenly surrounded by so many intelligent people, the brightest in the land. And Mark was a perfectionist. Yes, yes he was, she nods. If he couldn’t do something perfectly he’d rather not do it at all. His work began to suffer. And there’s such pressure at a place like Pitt to perform, I have friends at other universities who barely have to work at all but at Pitt they start to hound you if you begin to slip. Her grip tightens on the handkerchief balled in an unsteady hand. Mark became paralysed by the pressure from without as well as the pressure he put on himself to succeed. He was working on his own theory, something to do with dark energy, the invisible forces of the universe. I didn’t understand the physics behind the theory and it was so frustrating to Mark that he couldn’t share his glimpse of such beauty. He wouldn’t take it to any of his tutors until the theory was complete and that might have taken years, decades even. She laughs with a small huff at the memory of her son, obstinate and proud. But I had no idea, I tell her, how heavily the burden of his work was weighing on him. Yes, I could see he was down. Sometimes he wouldn’t get out of bed until late in the evening. She swallows hard, remembering the same thing. In the last week of his life, Mark said he’d arrived at a solution. He was wild-looking, excitable, and I thought he meant his theory on dark energy. But now, I say to her, I think maybe he was talking about something else. I am so sorry and I don’t know if any of this makes any sense.

Mark’s mother rests her hands on mine. Yes, she says, it’s all so much clearer to her now. And she will always be so very, very grateful that Mark was lucky enough to meet such a good friend as me.

Such a good friend as me. Such a friend. Such a.

LXIX(ii) And there you have it, my entire confession. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I cannot change the past but I can write it down, I can tell the world. And now, whatever happens to me, I am prepared.

Ready to face the consequences.

LXX

LXX(i) Jolyon rang the brass bell. It was Sir Ralph Wiseman himself who opened the door. It was almost summer and the warden had abandoned the pullover beneath his tweeds. ‘Jolyon, isn’t it?’ said Wiseman. Jolyon nodded. ‘Good good, do come een.’

And so Jolyon’s time at Pitt ended officially in the warden’s parlour. The flowers in the garden were brushing brightly against the leaded windows. The two of them sat in meadow-patterned chairs sipping whisky dispensed from a crystal decanter. This is delightful, thought Jolyon, all in the very best of British tradition. The charm, the fellowship, the hospitality. It was almost as if he was not quitting Pitt but requesting reassignment elsewhere in the empire. Pastures new. Less blood, more sun.

Wiseman’s words were stiff but he was well meaning. He told Jolyon that while he understood entirely his decision to leave, it really wouldn’t be sensible to make everything too final. There would be no requirements for his re-entry, just say the word, take a year to think things through.

Jolyon wanted to say to him, ‘But you don’t understand, Warden. I’m not leaving because I can’t handle Mark’s death. And I’m not even leaving only because it was all my fault. I’m leaving because I can handle his death, I have handled his death. So I’m leaving because I deserve to be punished, I deserve no advantages or special treatment. I deserve nothing at all from the rest of my life.’

LXX(ii) When he reached the top of staircase six, he found that Shortest and Chad were there already, waiting outside his door. The time had come for Jolyon’s second resignation of the day.

‘Happy birthday, Jolyon,’ said Chad.

LXX(iii)‘You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?’

‘Did you bring me a present?’ asked Jolyon.

‘The gift of good company,’ said Chad, indicating Shortest with a broad sweep of his arm.

And then Jolyon laughed, he surrendered himself to gallows humour, there was nothing else left. Shortest was finding everything amusing as well. He swung himself into the armchair and dangled his legs over its side.

‘Where’s Tallest?’ said Jolyon.

‘Other plans,’ Shortest replied. ‘Sends heartfelt regrets.’

Jolyon took his customary spot on the bed and Chad the desk chair with wheels, rolling it back and forth while he looked at Jolyon. At least he had the decency not to smile.

‘OK then,’ said Jolyon, ‘I have an announcement to make. I’m leaving Pitt,’ he said, ‘and also –’