Chapter 1: Out of the Blue, into the Black

Chapter Text

Alfred sat in darkness. It was a bright day outside, but sunlight never reached his room. Curtains were drawn to cover the windows completely; the door was always locked, even in the middle of the day. The house was quite spacious, but all the furniture was drawn into a small corner,and Alfred was quite satisfied living there he didn't care about the rest of the space. Bubbles in his cocktail had long vanished: after all, he had been holding it in his hand for the whole afternoon. Sunday afternoon. It's Sunday, he told himself, everything's okay.

He sighed, but silently, and turned in his bed. It's probably four or five in the afternoon, his weekend was soon to end. Monday will soon be there, and he would be dragged out of that small corner into the light. But, he reassured himself, there are still a few hours left for himself, and they are completely his own. No sharing with students or some nasty neighbours—in fact, a nasty neighbour. He doesn't have a lot of neighbours here, where everyone lived in a big mansion with a huge garden. One living in New York or London could hardly imagine what it is like to live in places like here: you can hardly see people moving around in the day; even if they do, you don't see them as the sight of the street, or to be more precise, road, is blocked by your garden wall. But people here probably don't move around a lot, as only hermits like Alfred could bear living here alone.

Alfred's latest memory of the city was about three weeks ago, which was much more recent than any of his neighbours'. Three weeks ago he moved here, and started to shut himself in this dark room with only alcohol and food until he found a job, quite surprisingly. He hesitated, for he wasn't sure whether he wanted one; but having more money to spend was an attractive idea.

"Okay," he said, "I could bear being a maths teacher, as long as the kids don't annoy me and shut up as I tell them to."

"I'm sure they will," the old woman's mouth twisted into a wry smile, "They are all nice little boys and girls. You will get along well with them, Mr Jones."

Fuck get along well, Alfred sweared in his mind. Fuck nice little boys and girls. They are a bunch of little bastards, that's what they are. But he shouldn't be worrying about this right now. It's Sunday afternoon, he should be planning a walk in the garden after dinner. But the walk seemed awfully far away, as dinner is still a distant image.

Alfred sighed again, this time sitting up from the bed. Time to get some vegetables and meat. And whiskey, of course. He walked to the door, and was about to open it for the first time in the day. Just then, a few knocks on the door stopped him.

Fuck. No walking today. Nasty neighbour gossiping for two hours and then dinner. And then it would be time to go to bed, followed by a god damned Monday.

Alfred opened the door. But it wasn't a nasty neighbour outside: it was a nasty student, Arthur Kirkland.

A week ago, Alfred started his teaching life. As soon as he walked into the classroom, he realised that nasty old woman was lying. The classroom was like a funfair, or as Alfred assumed; he had never been to a funfair anyway. Boys were fighting; girls screaming; nobody noticed him coming into the room. Alfred felt a rush of tiredness. He coughed despite knowing it wouldn't work, and surprisingly caught the attention of a few girls in the front row.

"Hi," Alfred didn't bother raising his voice, but all the students stopped to listen for some unknown reasons. "I'm your new maths teacher, Alfr..."

"What happened to the last one?" A boy asked with a strange accent.

"She's pregnant, she won't be back."

"Did you fuck her?"

The whole classroom burst into laughter. Alfred felt himself holding back really hard, but it was the first day.

"Shut up, will you?" Alfred took a piece of chalk and turned around to face the blackboard. "You guys should be studying algebra right now."

"I didn't bring my book, Mr... You haven't introduced yourself, have you?" Somebody asked with a even weirder accent. Alfred turned around to see a boy sitting on his desk, with a magazine in his hand.

"Alfred, Alfred Jones. Who are you? Where did you get that accent?"

"Arthur Kirkland, British."

"Very well, Mr Kirkland, you don't need a book. Just use your brain, if you have one." Alfred had lost his patience already, and decided to keep talking about algebra whatever happens.

It worked very well. Nobody asked any questions; probably they weren't listening. Alfred felt like being in East London, but it was convenient for him. He didn't care about grades or GPA; why should he worry when these kids don't worry? The lesson went surprisingly well, and Alfred felt that he had adapted to this job, and even fell in love with it. He loved maths, but for some reasons, he didn't get a chance to study maths in university. For the same weird reasons, he went to an ordinary university to study philosophy, and dropped his studies after year one. He never got a clue what the professor was talking about, and it didn't interest him. That was it; the happy part of life was over. He became a dull man with a horrible tie, but what else could be done?

It was nice talking to these kids. It was okay to say anything, since nobody was listening, and nobody would reply. It was perfect, he said to himself. He finished unit one in thirty minutes.

"That's it. If there are no questions, you can do what you like now. I guess there aren't."

As he suggested, nobody was paying attention. Alfred dragged a spare chair to sit on, and took out a book to read.

"Mr Jones?"

Alfred looked up. It was Arthur again.

"What?" he asked impatiently. "I can't get you a book, you know. Go and ask the principal."

"I don't need one, do I?" Arthur replied with a sarcastic tone.

"Alright." Alfred dropped his book. "What do you want then, kid?"

"I have a question."

"Oh, that wasn't expected." Alfred pointed at the blackboard casually, "Which part do you not understand?"

"This." Arthur pointed at the function y=㎡.

"And what about it that you don't understand?"

"The range."

"It should be easy to understand. Greater than or equal to zero, less than infinity. Haven't you studied algebra before?" Alfred couldn't care about his attitude anymore. Arthur looked like he didn't know any maths at all.

"But why can't it be equal to infinity?"

Yes! How could he have forgotten to explain that? "Because infinity is just a concept."

"That's better. I thought you didn't want us to understand what you were talking about." Arthur walked back to his seat and took up his magazine again. Alfred felt that he should encourage this student somehow, probably because he was the only one who listened to Alfred.

"That was a good question," he said. His voice was dry, he hasn't praised anyone, not to mention kids, for a long time. He just hoped Arthur would get the point.

Arthur seemed surprised for a few seconds. Then he nodded, and his attention went back to his magazine again. He should be doing some homework, thought Alfred, but then remembered he didn't have a book.

"You don't have a book, do you, Arthur?"

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't?"

"I'll get you one, but it may take some time."

"Didn't you say we don't need one?"

"Not in class, but you need to do some homework." Alfred looked around. Nobody was doing homework. Alfred felt a headache immediately: he could already hear Arthur say "Do you think those who have books would do any homework?"

"Alright. Thank you."

Alfred was appalled. He studied this kid for the first time, only to find out that he had been dragged into that shit magazine again. Alfred sighed and left the classroom. A nice weekend awaits.