Unseen Academicals

it. When Glenda was angry, her glance might just possibly etch glass. But Nutt had a point. It was hard to argue with a man who insisted that he was not dead.
    ‘Um, and then you came back here and ate nine pies,’ said Glenda.
    ‘Looks like they did you good,’ said Trev, with brittle cheerfulness.
    ‘But I can’t see where they’ve gone,’ Glenda finished. ‘Belly-busters, every one of them.’
    ‘You will be angry with me.’ Nutt looked frightened.
    ‘Let’s all calm down, shall we?’ said Trev. ‘Look, I was pretty worried, my oath, yes. Not angry, okay? We’re your friends.’
    ‘I must be becoming. I must be helpful!’ This came from Nutt’s lips like a mantra.
    Glenda took his hands. ‘Look, I’m not bothered about the pies, really I’m not. I like to see a man with a good appetite. But you must tell us what’s wrong. Have you done something you shouldn’t?’
    ‘I should be making myself worthy,’ Nutt said, pulling away gently and not meeting her eyes. ‘I must be becoming. I must not lie. I must gain worth. Thank you for your kindness.’
    He got up, walked down the length of the vats, picked up a basket of candles, came back, wound up his dribbling machine and began to work, oblivious of their presence.
    ‘Do you know what goes on in his head?’ Glenda whispered.
    ‘When he was young, he was chained to an anvil for seven years,’ said Trev.
    ‘What? That’s terrible! Someone must have been very cruel to do something like that!’
    ‘Or desperate to make sure he didn’t get free.’
    ‘Things are never all they seem, Mister Trev,’ said Nutt, without looking up from his feverish activity, ‘and the acoustics in these cellars are very good. Your father loved you, did he not?’
    ‘Wot?’ Trev’s face reddened.
    ‘He loved you, took you to the football, shared a pie with you, taught you to cheer for the Dimmers? Did he hold you on his shoulders so that you could see more of the game?’
    ‘Stop talkin’ about my dad like that!’
    Glenda took Trev’s arm. ‘It’s okay, Trev, it’s all right, it’s not a nasty question, really it isn’t!’
    ‘But you hate him, because he became a mortal man, dying on the cobbles,’ said Nutt, picking up another undribbled candle.
    ‘ That is nasty,’ said Glenda. Nutt ignored her.
    ‘He let you down, Mister Trev. He wasn’t the small boy’s god. It turned out that he was only a man. But he was not only a man. Everyone who has ever watched a game in this city has heard of Dave Likely. If he was a fool, then any man who has ever climbed a mountain or swum a torrent is a fool. If he was a fool then so was the man who first tried to tame fire. If he was a fool then so was the man who tried the first oyster, he was a fool, too–although I’m bound to remark that, given the division of labour in early hunter-gatherer cultures, he was probably a woman as well. Perhaps only a fool gets out of bed. But, after death, some fools shine like stars, and your father is such a one. After death, people forget the foolishness, but they do remember the shine. You could not have done anything. You could not have stopped him. If you could have stopped him he would not have been Dave Likely, a name that means football to thousands of people.’ Nutt very carefully put down a beautifully dribbled candle and continued. ‘Think about this, Mister Trev. Don’t be smart. Smart is only a polished version of dumb. Try intelligence. It will surely see you through.’
    ‘That’s just a load of words!’ said Trev hotly, but Glenda saw the glistening lines down his cheeks.
    ‘Please think about them, Mister Trev,’ said Nutt and added, ‘There, I have done a complete basket. That is worth.’
    It was the calmness. Nutt had been spinning, almost sick with anxiety. He’d been repeating himself, as if he’d had to learn things for a teacher. And then he was otherwise–totally reserved and collected.
    Glenda looked from Trev to Nutt and back again. Trev’s mouth hung open. She didn’t blame it. What Nutt had said with quiet matter-of-factness had sounded like not an opinion but the truth, winched out of some deep well.
    Then Trev broke the silence, speaking as if hypnotized, his voice hoarse.
    ‘He gave me his old jersey when I was five. It was like a tent. I mean, it was so greasy I never got wet—’ He stopped.
    After a moment Glenda pushed at his elbow. ‘He’s gone all stiff,’ she said, ‘as stiff as a piece of wood.’
    ‘Ah,