The Ecliptic by Benjamin Wood Page A

now.’
    ‘Fine. Be that way.’ She nudged up the bridge of her glasses. ‘You should hear the one he does of
you
.’
    ‘I’m sure it’s wonderfully subversive,’ Q said.
    Mac huffed. She was sideways on the chair, as though not quite committed to sitting with us. ‘Knell, you have to hear the way he takes off Quickman. He does this clever trick with his
mouth, as though he’s speaking through a pipe. It’s hysterical.’ Another spit-ball of laughter came up from her throat.
    ‘Sounds terrific,’ I said, the dullness of my voice betraying me.
    ‘Oh, come on, what’s wrong with everybody? Can’t you stop being so serious about everything for once? A break from all the cynicism might do you some good.’ She stood up,
reaching for a slice of Quickman’s bread, but he moved his plate away from her.
    ‘Get your own,’ he said.
    Mac lingered at the end of the table, ruminating. ‘You know, Lindo says he’s getting out of here. He’s close to finishing his collection.’
    ‘Bully for him,’ Q said. ‘That didn’t take long.’
    ‘He’s having a reading soon. We should all go along and listen. It’ll make a nice change to hear something that’s actually complete.’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ Quickman pushed his plate aside. ‘Bad poetry is one thing, but bad Spanish poetry? That could push me over the edge.’
    ‘Well,’ Mac said, ‘it’s easy to be critical when your best work is behind you.’
    Quickman looked suitably wounded, but he knew better than to rise to provocation. He just drew the pipe from his blazer pocket, tapped it on the tabletop, and bit on the mouthpiece.
    At this point, Pettifer leaned into my ear and whispered: ‘What
is
she doing?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I whispered back, but I knew exactly: MacKinney was letting us go.
    After all, it would be so much easier to say goodbye if we resented her. If she attached herself to short-termers like Gluck and Lindo in the time she had left, she could forget them as soon as
her feet touched the mainland; but we—the stalwarts who had been together, season after season—we would be harder to miss. She was going to amputate us from her side, one by one,
starting with Quickman, because he was the newest and the thinnest joint to hack away. Next, she would come for Pettifer, and then it would be my turn. I decided to intervene before that happened.
‘Well, you definitely know how to make a scene, Mac, I’ll give you that,’ I said.
    She glared at me. ‘Huh?’
    ‘I suppose when all that drama’s in your blood, you never lose it.’ I took out the folded pages from my skirt and waved them.
    ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You mean . . .’
    ‘What else?’
    ‘Let’s go outside a sec. It’s too loud in here.’
    ‘Yes, I think that’s probably best for everyone.’
    We stepped out onto the landing. The noise of the mess hall softened to a drone. There was a thumbnail of a moon that night, framed in the picture window, and the darkness was thickening above
the trees. MacKinney turned on a lamp and leaned against the banister. ‘Sorry for getting irked in there,’ she said. ‘It’s just that Q can really sound so high and mighty
sometimes.’
    ‘I’m amazed you’ve finally noticed.’
    She groaned, sweeping underneath her lenses with her fingers. ‘So, tell me: how bad is it?’
    I gave her the pages. ‘Well, first of all, the Willa character, the painter, she reminds me of someone. Can’t think who.’
    Mac shrugged. ‘That’s not exactly a coincidence.’
    ‘Good. I’m glad I wasn’t imagining it. People used to see themselves in my paintings all the time and I never had the heart to disappoint them.’ I put my hand upon her
shoulder. ‘The most important thing, as far as you’re concerned, is that the characters felt very real to me—in fact, I understood their situation better than you know. I assume
that’s why you asked me to read it.’
    Mac’s face bloomed. ‘They did?’
    ‘I had the most sympathy