Another Part of the Sky by Nadine Gordimer
"Another Part of the Sky" is a short story by South African author Nadine Gordimer that explores complex themes of identity, responsibility, and the human capacity for empathy within a socio-political context. The narrative follows Collins, a white principal of a reformatory for young African men, who has transformed the prison-like environment into a more nurturing space. Despite his well-intentioned reforms, including the removal of high walls and the introduction of recreational activities, Collins grapples with the broader implications of his actions and the perception of his students by society.
As the story unfolds, Collins faces a crisis when one of his students goes missing and is suspected of committing a violent crime. His internal conflict reveals the tension between his idealism and the harsh realities of racial dynamics and societal expectations in South Africa. The narrative also delves into Collins's strained relationship with his wife, highlighting his emotional detachment and neglect of personal connections amid his professional responsibilities. Ultimately, the story culminates in a moment of self-realization for Collins, as he confronts the limitations of his perspective and recognizes the need for deeper human connection and compassion. This poignant exploration of moral responsibility and the struggle for understanding in a divided society makes "Another Part of the Sky" a significant work reflecting Gordimer's insights into the human condition.
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Another Part of the Sky by Nadine Gordimer
First published: 1952
Type of plot: Social realism
Time of work: The 1940's
Locale: Rural South Africa
Principal Characters:
Collins , the white principal of a reformatory for black African youthsHis wife Ngubane , one of his black assistantsThe boy , an inmate who has run away
The Story
The protagonist walks across a compound to his house, considering the appearance of the place for which he is largely responsible. He is Collins, the idealistic white principal of a reformatory for young African men. When he first arrived there, it was surrounded by high walls topped with jagged pieces of glass. Now the walls are gone and the grounds are marked with edged pathways and flower beds. He has had playing fields built and musical instruments brought in, and he has given the inmates more freedom.
The newspapers call Collins "the man who pulled down the prison walls and grew geraniums in their place"; however, he reflects that it was not really geraniums but roses that the boys have planted. Whenever people think that they understand something, there is always a small inaccuracy waiting to be revealed. The world is simply more complicated than most people realize. Collins understands—or thought he did—the complexity of his own position, the benefits and disadvantages of tearing down the prison walls.
Now one of Collins's boys has run away and is suspected of beating and robbing an old woman. During the two days since he has heard of the assault, Collins has tried to convince himself that this boy could not have committed the crime. He reminds himself that to the police all blacks look alike and that the police think that the offender is his boy because they know that he is missing. They do not know, however, the quiet discipline that Collins has imparted; they have not studied boys for nine years as he has.
Collins's worry will not go away. Every minute, he expects to hear the phone ring, the police calling to say that the boy has been arrested. As he worries silently, his wife worries in her own silence. Over the years she has supported his work, stayed in the background, and kept silent. Now, as Collins climbs into bed, he knows that his wife is awake and worrying; however, they do not speak to each other. Both fall asleep, worrying.
In the middle of the night a knock at the door awakens Collins, who immediately thinks that they have come to tell him about the boy; however, the man at the door is Ngubane, one of Collins's assistants. The man is in shock, frightened. Collins thinks that Ngubane is bringing news of the boy. Instead, Ngubane tells him that he and his brother Peter have just spent their day off in Johannesburg, where Peter has been killed in an accident. Collins comforts the grieving man, gives him a sleeping pill, and tells him to take the next day off to arrange for the funeral.
After Ngubane leaves, Collins and his wife go back to bed. In the darkness, just before dropping off to sleep, the wife admits, "I thought he'd come to tell us bad news about the boy." Lying alone and worrying again, Collins suddenly realizes that he was actually relieved when he heard the reason for Ngubane's coming. So focused has he been on his own boys, on his "system," that he has ignored the rest of his life—his very humanity. He did not comfort Ngubane out of compassion but only mechanically, without feeling any of the man's pain. Furthermore, he has not for years considered his wife as anything more than a part of his work. He may have been a good principal, but he has not been a good man. "If you search one face," he realizes, "you turn your back on another." The epiphany is so devastating that he shuts his eyes against burning tears.