[Milliways]: On friends, exams, and Barbra Streisand
Posner is Hector’s boy.
He thinks.
Most of the time.
But he’s more and more coming to enjoy Irwin for company, for advice, for conversation. Irwin understands him on a level he doesn’t think Hector ever could. He’s a friend as much as a teacher.
Most of the time.
So it’s for Hector that Posner croons out, ‘Sing as We Go,’ but it’s Irwin who asks him:
“Do you tell them everything that goes on at school?”
“He’s old, my father,” Posner says thoughtfully. “He’s interested. I just said the Holocaust was a historical fact like other historical facts. It was my uncle who hit me.” The ice in Milliways had prevented most of the bruise, but there’s still a faint discoloration to his cheek.
Irwin frowns, the expression more teacher than friend. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. I was too… dispassionate, I suppose. The Holocaust is not yet an abstract question. Though in time, of course, it will be.”
He pauses, and when he speaks again, it’s as a friend, Posner thinks. “No more singing, too, I gather?”
That was the worst of it, really. The letter his father had written the headmaster was strongly influenced by his uncle, practically co-written. Posner didn’t mind the anger over the Holocaust. But this went too far. It was something he didn’t want to give up, didn’t see why he should.
“Not hymns,” he says, then smiles just enough to let Irwin know he’s joking as he adds, “They’re fine with Barbra Streisand.”
He pauses as well, and when he finally asks what’s been on his mind, he realizes that Irwin’s not the only one who slips back and forth between friendship and something more appropriate.
“Sir, sorry to keep on about it, but if the Holocaust does come up…”
“At home?” Irwin asks, clearly unprepared to answer that particular dilemma.
“No, as a question.”
“Surprise them,” Irwin says. “You’re Jewish. You can get away with a lot more than the other candidates. Equivalent would be Akthar singing the praises of empire. But…say what you think.”
He isn’t sure what he thinks. That’s the problem. Well, that and…
“They don’t send your papers home?”
[ooc: All dialogue is from Alan Bennett's play The History Boys.]
He thinks.
Most of the time.
But he’s more and more coming to enjoy Irwin for company, for advice, for conversation. Irwin understands him on a level he doesn’t think Hector ever could. He’s a friend as much as a teacher.
Most of the time.
So it’s for Hector that Posner croons out, ‘Sing as We Go,’ but it’s Irwin who asks him:
“Do you tell them everything that goes on at school?”
“He’s old, my father,” Posner says thoughtfully. “He’s interested. I just said the Holocaust was a historical fact like other historical facts. It was my uncle who hit me.” The ice in Milliways had prevented most of the bruise, but there’s still a faint discoloration to his cheek.
Irwin frowns, the expression more teacher than friend. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. I was too… dispassionate, I suppose. The Holocaust is not yet an abstract question. Though in time, of course, it will be.”
He pauses, and when he speaks again, it’s as a friend, Posner thinks. “No more singing, too, I gather?”
That was the worst of it, really. The letter his father had written the headmaster was strongly influenced by his uncle, practically co-written. Posner didn’t mind the anger over the Holocaust. But this went too far. It was something he didn’t want to give up, didn’t see why he should.
“Not hymns,” he says, then smiles just enough to let Irwin know he’s joking as he adds, “They’re fine with Barbra Streisand.”
He pauses as well, and when he finally asks what’s been on his mind, he realizes that Irwin’s not the only one who slips back and forth between friendship and something more appropriate.
“Sir, sorry to keep on about it, but if the Holocaust does come up…”
“At home?” Irwin asks, clearly unprepared to answer that particular dilemma.
“No, as a question.”
“Surprise them,” Irwin says. “You’re Jewish. You can get away with a lot more than the other candidates. Equivalent would be Akthar singing the praises of empire. But…say what you think.”
He isn’t sure what he thinks. That’s the problem. Well, that and…
“They don’t send your papers home?”
[ooc: All dialogue is from Alan Bennett's play The History Boys.]