2nd May 1989

Jasmine and the Boy

The Boy doesn’t watch, so much as observe. I can’t tell if he’s curious. I can only guess, because he never speaks. Sometimes, I think he’s trying to scare me.

Jasmine and I have done a lot of talking. I have made it very clear to her that I have a lot to gain from reducing my responsibilities. It was only after we played cards this morning that she decided to probe.

I grabbed her wrist. I asked her, What do you think you’re doing?

“I want to know what’s going to happen to your students,” she said, repeating herself.

The students are my concern. Haven’t I made this abundantly clear, even when you haven’t even been asking for it?

“Please slow down.”

I’m calm. I’m fine.

“Then what can I do to help?”

Nothing, I said. Perhaps you might understand.

“But I don’t understand. Do you want me to leave?”

No, I said. I don’t want to be alone again.

The Boy joins me whenever I decide to go for a walk. Sometimes, we sit in the row boat, and work the Fjord.

Sometimes, we go for a drive. We go into town, park up, and watch the women descend from buses. That’s when the Boy feels miserable.

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