Belshazzar's Daughter by Barbara Nadel Page B

minor but nevertheless satisfying victory for academia. There were ten in this set and the usual form was for him to set work and then watch the whole class stare out of the window for the next half-hour.
    The two who were working, Turkish boys, had obviously either taken fright at the notion of the impending exams, or been bullied into it by their parents. There could be no other reason. Robert knew how the minds of adolescents worked better than most. Eight years teaching at an inner London comprehensive had given him tremendous insight.
    He shuddered. Even five years on, the merest thought of Rosebury Downs School made him cold, his mouth
    dry and parched. He could still see their faces: Billy Smith, the Norris twins, that little blond bastard who always sat by the radiator. Robert pulled his mind away quickly.
    He looked at his watch. Thank God! Only five more
    minutes of this class and then break time. Coffee, fags, the comparative safety of the staff room. There were other people to talk to in there. Fellow teachers - inane, boring, often downright annoying, but they provided what he desperately needed. Distraction from his own thoughts. That
    nagging and persistent desire to do something very unwise.
    And pointless. What good would questioning Natalia do?
    The damage, the concealment was done. Whether or not she was in Balat was surely academic now? Anyway, maybe she had gone there in connection with her work? It was unlikely, but then anything was possible, wasn’t it?
    But still his mind refused to let him rest. Natalia had always emphasised the fact that their relationship had to be built upon mutual trust. How would it look if now, after just over a year of (admittedly uneasy) peace, he started putting her through the third degree? Knowing Natalia as he did it would almost certainly mean the termination of their affair.
    But the doubts remained. That she had nothing to do with the murder, he was certain. But what had she been doing there? That afternoon stroll had a definite dreamlike quality, both at the time and in retrospect. Perhaps it was the archaic nature of the quarter? A district of the city that had got caught up and detained somewhere halfway along its journey towards the present. A place of ghosts. It had been hot too, very, very hot. His head bare; the heat haze; dizziness; a recovering but nevertheless untreated gippy stomach …
    But really such excuses were puny. Close investigation would no doubt reveal - what? Names and faces from many and various points in time became confused, missorted, like jumbled cards in his head. He had to stick with the bad stomach! That was a fact, all the rest was— He made himself look at his wrist.
    The class was over. Thank Christ! His musing subsided into the deep feeling of relief that swept across him.
    ‘All right, everybody,’ he said. ‘Books away now.’
    There was a frantic scraping of chair legs against the floor as ten suddenly animated teenagers leapt from their seats and made towards the door of the classroom, their faces smiling, voices chattering merrily as they pushed past him.
    Robert was reminded of the Bible story about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. He didn’t understand. Surely learning was supposed to be a pleasurable and mind-expanding experience?
    ‘Complete the exercise on page nine at home!’ he shouted above the general multilingual babble. Then added in a barely audible voice, ‘If any of you can be arsed.’
    The students left the classroom. The more academically inclined would probably return for one or two of the afternoon sessions. The rest, Robert knew, would repair to Taksim Square and the exotic delights of McDonald’s.
    There they could do what they did best: spend money, imbibe plastic Americana of the worst kind and show each other their jewellery. Very like their English counterparts in fact, although probably minus the flick knives. Just like teenagers all over the world.
    Robert gathered his papers, pens and