Beltane 2

"Oh allright?" he says, pursing his lips to receive his fagend. His name is Charles, and for a few minutes he and M talk to one another haltingly. "So what you been up to?" says Charles, there in that field with moisture dripping from the leaves, and the broken blocks of stone scattered in the wet grass, and the poignant morning sunshine filtering through the leaves. M shifts his feet around restlessly, gives an account of his none-too-interesting life of the past few days, to which Charles acquiesces quietly, not expecting much.

Over in the corner of the field, on the other side of the old tree and by more crumbling stonework, are a few more students, drably dressed, conversing apathetically. This, after all, is Sunday, and students, like these, called out into hamlets for dull project work, are bored with their fates and yawn.

After dully exchanging banter for some minutes, M and Charles become restless. Charles tosses aside his fag and, taking the initiative impatiently as he always does, suggests that he and M should back down the hill out of this little village, perhaps back to the white-washed, pristine walls of the New School. They feel they have spent long enough in this place to satisfy their tutors, and so they clamber speedily over the brokendown wall and end up in the dank road.

They walk along together, down through the village, at a leisurely pace, talking gently and in a somewhat conspiratorial fashion, probably about women. They are both relaxed and impassive now that they are absolved of responsibility, Charles with his green jacket and a kind of manly irritability as he tilts his head to listen to some remark of M's. They are quietly pleased with one another's company.