Short Story: Formation

By Student Contributor Gerald O’Donovan

The exam venue teemed at quarter to ten.

‘This is going to be a disaster,’ Terence pronounced. ‘For me, anyway.’

Dermot nodded absently.

‘I haven’t even touched the section on “Decrees and Edicts”.’

Henry approached, arm-in-arm with his partner, Amelie.

He smiled at Dermot. ‘They’re buzzing with predictions over there.’

Dermot obliged him with an interested look.

‘They were saying “Attribution of Powers”, “Social Governance” and “Decrees and Edicts”.’

‘What do you think?’ Dermot asked.

‘It’ll surely be the transformation of LEDCs,’ Henry said. ‘Some say the recent overhaul means there’s not enough certainty for a question. Some say the whole thing will be repealed anyway.

‘But I think they want to put us through the wringer.’

Dermot’s temple ached.

Terence sighed. ‘After what we’ve been through? My accommodation was commandeered during the Mutiny. I don’t know about you, but I find it difficult to study at home. Too many distractions.’

Henry shrugged but they all knew that his accommodation in the Latin Quarter was not free from distraction either.

‘They’re opening the hall,’ Amelie warned.

Minutes later, Dermot found himself explaining to another candidate that she was sitting in his assigned seat. The girl took his registration sheet and gestured with a highlighter. Apparently he had mistaken the exam code for his seat number. Dermot walked quickly to his place near the front of the hall. The invigilator seemed to track him with a suspicious gaze.

The exam began and the minutes tumbled past as Dermot’s hand fought to keep pace with his frenzied thoughts. During intervals of respite, as he waited for a mnemonic to resurface, his hand would lay still while his pen fluttered between forefinger and thumb like the wings of an insect.

Dermot’s eyes fell upon the third and final section. There was one obligatory question. ‘“Recent reforms to the external administration structure have neglected to fully rationalise the economies of Less Economically Developed Countries.” Critically discuss this statement in light of recent legislation’. He had scanned the entire paper before beginning and the lack of stark epigrams jumping at him had not unsettled him then. He had entrusted his mind to trawl through his memory while he worked at the first two questions. Yet his first instinct now was to flee.

Though it felt like an admission of defeat, Dermot asked to be excused to go to the restroom. On his return, not a single eye rose.

Sitting once more before his papers, the yellow exam booklet’s empty rows continued to yawn seven millimetres tall and on the right flank the corrector’s margin was an ominous two centimetres wide. The paper repelled him, each line as difficult to bridge as the thousands of leagues which separated Dermot from the unrationalised economies.

*

Kitchener Place was a conglomeration of Georgian houses at the edge of the Latin Quarter, overlooking the harbour. It had been the residence of military officers two centuries ago and now housed a new generation who would doubtless spill more ink and perhaps, vicariously, more blood than their predecessors.

Henry had invited them to his house before their attendance at the Formation Society’s winter dinner that evening.

‘I look like a ghoul,’ Terence said, examining himself in a mirror.

‘That’s not true,’ Dermot corrected.

But Dermot frowned and inched nearer the glass to inspect a possible stain on his jacket.

‘Don’t worry, Dermot,’ Jane’s unexpected voice made Dermot start. ‘You look as daring as the Count of Monte Cristo or something. Doesn’t he, Henry?’

Henry merely smiled. As the others circulated, Henry leaned close and placed a collegial hand on Dermot’s arm.

‘They’ll be here soon.’

Dermot said nothing.

Dermot must have spent twenty minutes neutralising Jane’s pointed comments when a commotion at the door was followed by Henry ushering in two more guests. The man was Evans, responsible for the procurement of their invitations to that evening’s dinner. A young woman, Catherine, trailed behind Evans and was quickly embraced by Amelie.

People mingled and the newcomers were pressed to imbibe. Dermot’s glass lingered at a deliberate one-fifth fullness for about half-an-hour. Henry promised to fetch more wine, despite Dermot’s protests. Amelie was talking to Terence, deflecting one dolorous comment after another. Terence seemed unaware or indifferent to her flippancy.

Jane practically manhandled Catherine to sit beside her on a couch. As Jane bombarded the quieter girl with questions, Evans greeted Dermot and brought him to the opposite couch.

Evans had always shown an inexplicable esteem for Dermot, an esteem which only incurred distress on Dermot’s part as Dermot regretted its emphasis.

But Evans seemed determined to win Dermot’s approval.

‘I read the exam paper,’ Evans declared.

Dermot intoned inquisitively while trying to adjust his view to encompass more than Evans’ gaunt features.

‘Yes. I assume you chose question two for section one? Yes? And question three for section two?’

‘Yes, question three.’

‘And what did you say?’

‘Well, something like: Current procedural rules are insufficient on transparency issues and we can see that in the nature of lobbying today. We need more rigorous enforcement, search and seizure powers …’

‘Yes, very good,’ Evans interrupted him. ‘But what about section three? That must have been your tour de force.’

At that moment, Evans’ phone violently erupted with a warble of classical music. He excused himself with dignity.

Noting that Jane was intent on broaching more salacious topics, Dermot decided to intervene between her and Catherine.

He stepped forward. ‘Henry wants you in the kitchen.’

Jane broke off and squinted at Dermot.

‘What for?’

‘Something about finding the wine.’

‘He knows where the wine is.’

‘Well, he asked for you. That’s all I can say.’

Jane stared at him, her glass tilting precariously, and for a moment Dermot thought she would stay put but then she rose and left them.

Dermot turned to Catherine.

‘Hello, Catherine. I’m stepping outside for a bit if you’d like to join. There’s a good view of the harbour just across the road from here.’

Catherine seemed bemused but assented.

They exited Kitchener’s Place and made their way along the road before reaching an empty escarpment between the terraced houses. Below them, the lower districts rushed in dark trenches and ramparts until they crashed against the plains of the docklands. Shapes of deeper darkness indicated buildings condemned since the Mutiny. On the docklands, skeletal cranes tended to the ships. Men and machines scuttled around like beetles in the floodlights.

They leaned against the railing.

‘You know some of those ships have come all the way from the port of Guangzhou. In China.’

Catherine raised her eyebrows and bobbed her head.

She rubbed her arms. ‘It’s cold.’

‘I hear you’ve been shortlisted. Or rather your work has been. By the Academy.’

She nodded, hunkered down and looked solemn.

Dermot felt the sand slipping between his fingers.

‘I think it’s fascinating. Imagine being so far from the mainland, passing by those isolated islands. The wind, the rain and the open sea!’

‘I don’t need to imagine the breeze,’ Catherine laughed.

‘Oh!’ Dermot released the railing. ‘I guess we are exposed here.’

The clatter of footsteps made them turn. Evans, breathless and indignant, waved his phone at them.

‘It’s nearly nine. The Chairman delivers his address in twenty minutes and you’re wandering the streets. Incredible!’

*

‘On a final note, I see that there are a few candidates among us. They will have just finished their final exam. Far be it for me to delay their celebration.

‘But let me say this. And this may sound trite, especially after the exams.

‘You candidates are on the cusp of an elusive world. It will slip between your fingers if you are careless. Today once seemed equally elusive to us. Your formation has brought you thus far. But you will inherit the stewardship of these standards soon.

‘And I have complete confidence in you!

‘In a similar vein, I’m told the examining board has streamlined the correction process to a mere six hours. So, yes, the results will be released in a matter of minutes.

‘As I conclude …’

Dermot found it difficult to follow the conclusion. His head flared and he looked away from Terence regaling two girls with a recount of his ‘disastrous’ exam.

The memory of section three stewed. Far away, the hall burst into grateful applause after the Chairman concluded his speech. The band began to arrange themselves on stage.

It was a welcome distraction when Catherine, flushed with wine, turned to him and told him how spellbinding he seemed to her.

‘What do you think of leaving here, Catherine. With me, perhaps?’

Her hand rested on his arm. ‘Where would we go?’

‘I’m not sure. The Party seems to have seized power everywhere.’

‘Do you think you’ll get a posting in the Caribbean?’ Catherine whispered. ‘With the external administration? I’m sure they would give it to you if you asked.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘You’re smarter than Henry or Evans.’ Her eyes were inky wells. ‘They would give you anything you ask for.’

Her fingers began to dig into his arm. The brass was gleaming onstage and Dermot could see Amelie surreptitiously checking her phone. Calculating in his head, he promised himself he would escape before the music began.

Catherine was still speaking but her words were beginning to slur.

Then she fell, in one surprised whoosh. She looked up at Dermot from the pool of her dress in tearful bewilderment. Amelie was there in a few seconds, murmuring reassurances in Catherine’s ear. Dermot stood up as if to help but only returned the glances of other tables as Catherine was put upright. He frowned as Amelie usurped his own seat to continue comforting Catherine.

There was a low boom as the musicians calibrated the microphones. Dermot excused himself.

In the restrooms, Dermot tore off his tie and loosened his collar. In the mirror, he could see thick beads of sweat gathering around his crown.

‘That’s a nice tie.’

Dermot jumped as Terence emerged from a stall.

‘Mine doesn’t go with my suit,’ Terence explained, wringing his hands beneath the water. ‘The pattern looks like cuneiform writing.’

‘You look fine. Is it just me, or is too warm in here?’

‘It’s warm,’ Terence confirmed as he dried his hands.

Terence was at the door when he added: ‘Whatever it is you’re worried about, it’s probably not as bad as you think.’

‘I’m not worried.’

Terence smiled but then hesitated. His hand fished out his phone and his rustic features were illuminated in ghostly blue.

‘They released the results.’

Dermot nodded. He felt his own device vibrate.

Terence eyed Dermot. ‘I guess I’ll see you in there. Henry will insist on a comparison.’

Once Terence had left, Dermot retreated to a stall and hung his tie on the hook. His arms stretched to the walls and he watched his own shadow waver against the tiles.

The walls supported him and entrapped him. He imagined he saw the future enclosing on him, its obsidian walls compressing him down to a footnote.

Though he had not the wits to find it out, he felt that on the breath of the Chairman they dared to build a Tower of Babel. Despite this, he craved to be one of the beasts manning its landings, even if he hoped it would one day come crashing down.