Arthur & George by Julian Barnes Read Free Book Online Page A

held herself in the light like that—which was reminiscent of her own younger self. And what more could a mother want than that, after all?
    George
    Since starting at Mason College, George has developed the habit of walking the lanes most evenings after his return from Birmingham. This is not for exercise—he had a lifetime of that at Rugeley—but to clear his head before settling down to his books again. As often as not, this fails to work, and he finds himself back in the minutiae of contract law. On this cold January evening, with a half-moon in the sky and the verges still shiny from last night’s frost, George is muttering his way through his argument for tomorrow’s moot debate—the case is about contaminated flour in a granary—when a figure jumps out at him from behind a tree.
    “On your way to Walsall, eh?”
    It is Sergeant Upton, red-faced and puffing.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “You heard what I said.” Upton is standing close to him, staring in a way George finds alarming. He wonders if the Sergeant is a little loony; in which case, best to humour him.
    “You asked if I was on my way to Walsall.”
    “So you do have a bloody pair of ears after all.” He is wheezing like—like a horse, or a pig or something.
    “I only wondered why you asked, because this is not the way to Walsall. As we both know.”
    “As we both know. As we both know.” Upton takes a pace forwards and seizes George by the shoulder. “What we both know, what we both know, is that you know the way to Walsall, and I know the way to Walsall, and you’ve been up to your little tricks in Walsall, haven’t you?”
    The Sergeant is definitely loony now; also hurting him. Is there any advantage in pointing out that he hasn’t been to Walsall since this time two years ago, when he was buying Christmas presents for Horace and Maud?
    “You been into Walsall, you’ve took the key to the school, you’ve brought it home and you’ve put it on your own front step, didn’t you?”
    “You’re hurting me,” says George.
    “Oh no I’m not. I’m not hurting you. This isn’t hurting you. You want Sergeant Upton to hurt you, all you have to do is ask.”
    George now feels as he did when he used to stare at the distant blackboard with no idea what the correct answer was. He feels as he did when he was about to soil himself. Without knowing quite why, he says, “I’m going to be a solicitor.”
    The Sergeant releases his grip, steps back, and laughs in George’s face. Then he spits down towards George’s boot.
    “Is that what you think? A so-li-ci-tor? What a big word for a little mongrel like you. You think you’ll become a so-li-ci-tor if Sergeant Upton says you won’t?”
    George stops himself saying that it is up to Mason College and the examiners and the Incorporated Law Society to decide whether or not he is to be a solicitor. He thinks he must get home as quickly as possible and tell Father.
    “Let me ask you a question.” Upton’s tone seems to have softened, so George decides to humour him a moment longer. “What are those things on your hands?”
    George lifts his forearms, spreads his fingers automatically in his gloves. “These?” he asks. The man must be mentally deficient.
    “Yes.”
    “Gloves.”
    “Well then, being a clever young monkey and intending to be a so-li-ci-tor, you will know that a pair of gloves is known as Going Equipped, won’t you?”
    Then he spits again and stamps off down the lane. George bursts into tears.
    He is ashamed of himself by the time he gets home. He is sixteen, he is not allowed to cry. Horace has not cried since he was eight. Maud cries a lot, but then she is an invalid as well as a girl.
    George’s father listens to his story and announces that he will write to the Chief Constable of Staffordshire. It is disgraceful that a common policeman should manhandle his son on a public highway and accuse him of theft. The officer should be dismissed from the force.
    “I think he is