Silas…
I had barely thought about him since we left school, except for those rare occasions when Rose scornfully mentioned his name in connection with the Germans. If I had known then that she herself was a spy and a murderess, I might have seen the very dark humor in her remarks. Now, years after the war, I found Silas – Professor Heinrich around the students, I reminded myself – carrying my suitcases up the winding staircase to my new bedroom. We would be colleagues at Brightmoor Academy, a private boarding grammar school in the country just south of London, the very school in fact that we had attended along with Rose and a small class of about a hundred and fifty. During our school days, the war had broken out, and suddenly it had seemed that everyone was the enemy; the paranoia was incredible. After our graduation, we lost many of our friends to the war. Silas, a good portion of our class, and I, however, had not enlisted, but rather gone on to university. Silas became a professor of sciences at Brightmoor soon after his graduation, while I had picked out a meager living as a writer for the thirteen years after graduate school before I received a very brief letter from Silas. It read simply:
Dearest Robbie,
There is an opening at Brightmoor for professor of literature. Please apply as soon as possible. I look forward to seeing you this autumn.
Best wishes,
Silas Heinrich.
Needless to say, I applied and received the place. It was quite surreal to be back at school after more than twenty years. When I said so to Silas, he laughed and said, “Yes, I felt the same way when I first came back. Trust me when I tell you that it will be even stranger to be the teacher instead of the student.”
“I can only imagine,” I chuckled, entering a third-floor room after him.
“Here we are,” he said, setting my luggage on the bed. “Your office is the room adjacent, and my bedroom and office are just after that. Feel free to drop by whenever you like.”
We stood in slightly uncomfortable silence for a moment before he said, “I really am glad you’re back, Robbie. Truly.”
“I smiled and shook his hand warmly before he left me to unpack. There were far more spaces than I had things to put in them, so, consequentially, the room still looked quite empty even after I had emptied my suitcases. I hoped that my newly found income – quite good for a teacher – would allow me to fill some of the empty spots. Once everything was in its place, I took a quick shower in the bathroom off of the study and dressed for dinner. The staff had meals together in a dining room on the second floor of the west wing – the staff’s wing – with large windows and a view of the fishing pond behind the school. I sat next to Silas, who made all the necessary introductions over a meal that was distinctly better than any I remembered having as a student, and any I had been able to afford as a writer. We discussed the impending return of the students, the state of the country in the years since the war, how we had spent our summers. Afterwards, Silas and I went back up to his bedroom in high spirits, reminiscing about our own school-days and the troubled we’d caused here, both together and separately. In those days, I had been on the fringe of Rose’s group of friends, welcome, tolerated, respected even, but never really liked, never part of the inner circle. It was through no flaw of mine; I very well might have been more popular than Rose herself had not been such close friends with Silas, whom all of the students had generally disliked. I, however, had felt drawn to him. He was mature, an intellectual. An exchange of mere sentences with him left me feeling more refreshed, more alive, than an entire night of discussions with my other friends. Silas and I had often made friendly wagers over which one of us would earn higher marks, but neither of us could himself ever to collect the debt, or, if he did, he would more than repay the other in Christmas or birthday gifts. But I was also hopelessly infatuated with Rose, so I was torn between her approval, her mere acknowledgement and my companionship with Silas.
After the two of us had thoroughly reviewed our time at school, Silas chuckled and said, “You know, I worshipped you then, as much as I would have hated to admit it. I loved everything about you…well, everything except for the way you followed Burns around like a puppy after his master.”
“Rose always did command attention,” I admitted.
“Are you sure you don’t mean that she demanded attention?”
“No, she wasn’t like that. Honestly, I don’t think she really cared if I stuck around or not. I wasn’t the best of company. I was rather bookish and quiet in those days.”
He shook his head. “You’re selling yourself short, Robbie. I loved having you around, even when you didn’t say a word, you were so fascinating. It was like I could see you thinking. And when you did talk, it was to say something important, something you really meant, not like the way the others talked. Mindlessly. And even if Burns didn’t appreciate having you around, I did.” He laughed sadly and added, “You really were my only friend.”
“Oh, Silas, don’t say that.”
“It’s true. Oh, don’t you give me that look. I didn’t mind. You were all I needed. Like I said, no one else in our year was anything but superficial. You were just…something special.”
I laughed off the compliments and, spotting the time on my watch, excused myself for bed. I couldn’t shake the guilty thought, though, that instead of chasing after Rose Burns all those years, I should have been where I was more sorely needed.
In the morning, I breakfasted quickly (Silas, for one reason or another, was not present) and then, after consulting one of the other English professors, went up to my office to start work on my lesson plan. I would have three sections of first-year literature on Mondays, Wednesdays, and alternate Fridays. I made a mental note to ask Silas his schedule; perhaps we could go into London on our days off if they coincided. Just before noon, there was a soft knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called, turning in my chair to see who it was.
Silas poked his head in the door, and, as if he had read my mind earlier, grinned and said, “Fancy a ride into London?”
“Certainly,” I replied. “Just give me a moment to get ready.”
I went into the other room, pulled on my best coat and hat, and followed him out to a car in the drive of the school.
“Good lord!” I exclaimed, admiring the gleaming, brand-new, black Bentley. “Is this yours?”
“Yes,” Silas laughed. “A present from my uncle Henry. He’s rich and senile, a very fortunate combination, if you ask me.” He winked and threw himself behind the wheel. I got in the passenger seat and thanked God for the gorgeous weather on the two-hour drive into London. When we arrived, we had tea in a nice little shop, and Silas absolutely refused to allow me to pay. Once we had finished, we walked along the little street, looking into the shop windows. In one, I spotted an exquisite watch and stopped to get a closer look at it. It was a fine Swiss watch with a brown leather strap and a silver face framed in gold with little gold hands. I admired it for several minutes, knowing full well that I would never be able to afford it, even on my new salary. I left it reluctantly, my eyes trailing longingly after it even as we passed the shop.
Perhaps, I thought, I’ll save up enough to buy it by Christmas.
I knew, of course, that I was deluding myself. We talked more on the way back to the school, mostly about the things we’d seen in the city.
“That was quite a fine watch,” Silas commented slyly. “You have good taste. Perhaps you’ll find one under the Christmas tree this year.”
“What? Oh, don’t you dare, Silas. I shall never forgive you if you do! It’s too expensive, and besides that, I couldn’t afford to get you anything even nearly so nice.”
“Fine then,” he sighed conciliatorily, pulling into the school drive, “if you insist, then I won’t get it for you for Christmas.”
