“I’ve seen eighteen different superintendents come through here, lost count of how many assistants. They come and they go. Me, I just go with the flow.”
She leaned forward, unwilling to give up on him yet. “Come on, Dean,” she said, cajoling.
He laughed, pointing at the door. “Do you think I’m going to put my tail on the line for some kid because he says so? He’s a screwball, and after tomorrow he’s just a memory. My starting linemen all say Frank started it. Who am I supposed to believe? Look, I follow whatever policy the board adopts, and right now the policy is to send them both home for three days. End of story.” She could think of nothing to say. With a sigh, she got up to leave.
He spoke to her back, “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with him, haven’t you? Is that uh— usual district procedure?”
He was treading very close to the line. “Your point, Dean?”
He raised open palms to the ceiling. “No point, no point at all. Just don’t forget why you’re here. From what I heard, it wasn’t to second guess me on how I do my job.”
She flushed, wanting to answer, but kept her mouth closed. In deep enough already, she went out, flinging the door back against the wall.
Celia’s sympathetic smile said she knew exactly what had gone on. Solange wondered if there was anything that went on at school she didn’t know. She headed upstairs. Hugh would hear from Parnell about that. Why had she put herself in that position? He was right, she wasn’t here to tell him how to discipline. She was here to remove a teacher from the classroom, a teacher that just happened to be one of the best she’d ever known.
She caught herself grinding her teeth as she topped the stairs and took a deep breath, willing herself calm. How had everything gotten so complicated?
She found him in Spanish class struggling into a pair of blue striped coveralls. Slipping in as inconspicuously as possible, she found a seat. What could he possibly be up to now? “Okay,” he said, “each of you will serve as translator for our guest today. Your copy of what is said is due when you leave.” Puzzled, Solange looked around the room. She had seen no one coming up.
O’Connel pulled on an orange hard hat and an oversize pair of goggles. “Our assistant superintendent, Miss Gonsalvas, will be our interviewer.” He bent to lace up a pair of black boots. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Miss Gonsalvas?” She smiled sweetly, scratching an eyebrow with a middle finger.
His eyes told her he got the message. It was the last thing she needed right now, but what could she say? “I’ll try.” As she came up, he handed her a sheet of paper. “I’ve got your questions here.” He went out the door and came right back in.
She read from the script he had given her. “Ah, bienvenidos, Senor!” He stood with his hands behind him, suddenly an arrogant man, looking ridiculous in the odd costume. “Muchas gracias, Senorita Gonsalvas. Muchas, muchas gracias!” His voice had become that of an older man, his accent very good, she thought.
He pointed to a girl in the front row, and she translated— “Many thanks, Miss Gonsalvas.” Solange asked his name, and he said it was Pescadito Milagroso.
This was translated as The Miraculous Little Fish.
“Wasn’t this an odd name?” Solange read, to be translated by the next student in line.
“Para mi, no.” Not for him, it wasn’t.
“Y su profession, Senor?” His profession? “Soy explorador, “he said, puffing himself up proudly.
“And what is it you explore?”
“Todas las aguas sucias grandiosas del mundo. “All the world’s greatest sewers.” They laughed as much at his evident pride as they did at his answer.
“Which of the world’s sewers had he explored?”
“Todas. “All of them. Paris, London, Madrid, Barcelona, New York, all of them.”
“Y cual es su favorita, Senor?”
“My favorite? A difficult question—” He fingered his stubble of beard in contemplation. His finger stabbed the air—he had it.
A student translated, “His favorite was Paris—a fine sewer, very clean for a sewer.”
“Tal vez es el vino.”
“It might be the wine.”
“What was it like in the sewer?” He grimaced, fanning the air in front of his face, and they laughed again.
Another translated, “It was very dark, very wet, and very smelly, but then,” he added, “exploration is not without hardship.”
“And what had he discovered in his explorations?” He looked thoughtful once again.
“Ratones del tamano de una vaca.”
“Rats the size of a cow.”
“A veces anillos de oro.”
“Sometimes gold rings.”
“Y siempre, siempre hay mucho excremento!” Paul, looking bored, translated without glancing up, “There’s always a lot of crap.” She asked about his family and other things, reading from the sheet he had given her.
“Porque ha venido usted a visitarnos?”
“Why have you come to visit us?”
“Para encontrar ayudante.”
“To find a helper. The pay is small, but the rewards are great. There were yet many great sewers yet to be explored.” With an elegant little bow, he went out to return sans costume.
Relieved it was over, she sat. Disgusted with her choices and with herself, she turned to the window, no longer listening. Monday someone else would be here in this room, standing where he stood now. Monday there would be one less good teacher.
Because of her.
• • •
His PE class met upstairs to set up for the feast.
Frank was there, an expression of rapt concentration on his face as he sliced turkey thin as paper. Wondering what had changed Parnell’s mind, Solange watched as they worked assembly line fashion. Anna sliced rolls, Chelsea spread mayonnaise, Moses slapped on lettuce, Armando applied cheese, and Sally topped it all with turkey. It was all Solange could do to stay out of the way as the others moved tables together, covered them with butcher paper, and set places for seventy. Paul, morose as usual, set a plate at every place.
At the bell, the room filled quickly, and O’Connel announced that no one was to eat until all were seated and served.
Parnell, Fleming, Aurora, Sid, and Karl sat at her table. Parnell leaned close, nodding at Frank. “Tell your buddy he can think of it as a going away present.” He said it without rancor, but it stung just the same. Somehow it didn’t help to know that any of them approved of what she was doing.
Everyone served at last, O’Connel took a seat next to her, holding out his hands. “Okay, everybody join hands.” Lorena balked, but at a look from O’Connel, rolled her eyes, and wrinkling her nose, took Paul’s offered hand gingerly by a forefinger.
Solange took Parnell’s cold hand on one side and O’Connel’s on the other. Hard, warm, his hand anchored her to her seat, to the moment. His grip rigid as oak, soft as buckskin. She looked away, yet all of her was there in his hand.
He waited for quiet. “You can join me or just sit quietly for a moment. “ She watched his face, not believing. This couldn’t be what she thought it was.
Voice low, clear, he began. “Dear Lord— We are here today to give thanks.” Looking around the table, panic clawing at her, she was incredulous to see many eyes downcast, some closed. Here they were, in public school, where any and all prayer was banned by the Supreme Court, where the mere mention of God was an infringement on the civil liberties of all within earshot. And now, here, he dared pray.
“We thank you for this food, for these friends, and for the chance to teach and to learn, and we ask for your help in being the finest men and women we can be.” Her mind raced. What a lawsuit this would be, what a scandal, what a story! It would drag them all down with it, make them infamous, destroy careers—but what was it really? Only one man quietly giving thanks to God. How would anyone, Jew, agnostic, Buddhist or atheist be offended by his words? It was a moment she would not forget, this prayer with se
venty men, women, and children, skin every shade, every tint of brown and white, hands linked in this old school room with its groaning radiators. She felt connected to those in the circle in a way she seldom did with anyone. For one slippery moment, they were a common people, giving thanks for a common need fulfilled, food before them. Things didn’t get any simpler, any more elemental than that. Where, she wondered was this tolerance everyone spoke so much about? “Amen.” They answered, six dozen voices together, setting her spine tingling.
The sandwich was good and, suddenly ravenous, she bolted it.
When it was over, the room put in order, Sid, Karl, and Aurora stayed behind. Lott put his feet up on the table, watching the rain beat against the glass as he picked his teeth. “Did you see that creek down there this morning? This rain keeps up, it’ll be over the road again sure as hell. How long’s it been, now, ten years?”
“Twelve,” Karl said. “I heard Lyle Walker’s mama’s going to sue the school because you scared her little angel yesterday. She says it’s a clear case of discrimination.” O’Connel scowled. “Discrimination for what? The kid’s white as a sheet.”
“Oh, no,” Aurora said, “Mama swears he’s one-sixteenth Cherokee.” Karl shook his head. “Hundred percent jerk is what he is.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Sid said, correcting, “let’s be positive. Parnell says he denies he ever said anything to you.” Karl was shocked. “You’re not suggesting little Lyle Walker has a garbage mouth, are you?”
“What I want to know is, what’s a kid like that doing here?”
“Oh, come on, Dai,” said Aurora, “the word is inclusion. It’s every child’s right to go to school, it’s not a privilege. Regardless of what he does or doesn’t do, it’s our responsibility to teach him.”
“In other words,” Karl said, “we keep him off the streets.”
“God damn!” O’Connel put down his sandwich. “I’m so tired of keeping kids in lock up, keeping them busy with seat work— dittos, worksheets, coloring, anything to keep the psychos off the ceiling.
You know, I’m ashamed of what I’ve got to do in some of my classes to keep the peace. I should be teaching, but I can’t. I’ve got to sit on them. Why do we force kids like that to come to school?”
“It’s that money, honey,” Sid said. “It all comes down to dollars.
Every suspension costs the district. Why do you think we are so careful to use it as a last resort? Why do you think old Doc sets up a Mobius strip we have to follow before a kid can be expelled? It’s the money!”
“Yeah,” Karl said. “When his contract comes up for renewal, if he wants to get his hundred thou a year he’d better show a good bottom line to the board,” Solange had heard enough. “Do you think this started with him? It didn’t. He does what he does because that’s what the system demands.
He didn’t set up all the hoops you’ve got to go through to get rid of these kids. There are laws, some state, some federal, and there’s what the board and the parents want.” Solange slipped a finger inside the neck of her blouse and pinched it up tight around her neck. “You may have tenure, we don’t. We have to keep everybody happy if we want to keep our jobs.” Sid nodded. “Okay, okay, I’m not saying anybody’s the bad guy, but if you ask me, the whole system’s lousy.” Solange moved her glance to the window where windblown rain pounded the glass. What was there to say—he was right—it was.
She didn’t feel well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have eaten so fast.
“Well, as long as I’m dreaming,” O’Connel said, “I want to teach kids who want to learn. Think about that. No busy work. No lock step holding back the smart ones. Everyone learning at their own speed.”
“You mean you don’t individualize your classroom instruction?” Karl said in mock indignation. “I teach thirty different ability levels in every subject.” O’Connel ignored the joke. “I’m serious. No more reading about people doing things. Baking, building, making things—schools used to do that. Some still do, why don’t we? That’s one part of 21st Century Schools I like.” The bell rang, and Sid snorted through his nose. “Wood shop, metal shop, catering, agriculture—that’s exactly what most of these kids need. They’re not all going to be brain surgeons, they need a vocation. But it takes money. We’d have to fire some of the paper pushers downtown, and we couldn’t have that.
“No, much cheaper just to keep our hands-on program going.” Karl laughed as he pushed in his chair. “Hands on the pencil, pencil to the paper. “
“Keep dreaming, Dai,” said Aurora. “Don’t let these old farts discourage you.” They went out, leaving the two of them alone, and O’Connel took his sandwich to stand by the window. Rain coursed rivulets down the glass. Taking a bite, he motioned with the big roll. “Coming down?”
“Yeah.” Solange watched him as he chewed, suddenly bothered by the sight of food. “Tell me, why would you do that?” He smiled down at her, mouth full, pushed back his glasses, signaled her to wait, swallowed.
“The prayer?” He shrugged. “It felt right.” She shook her head in disbelief, wincing at the growing nausea washing over her.
“It felt right? Its against the law! You’re opening up the district to a lawsuit. I mean, we could have the Justice Department down here.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Really, what did you think? Didn’t it feel okay to you?”
She wasn’t getting sucked into that one. “You know I can’t just let that go.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
What was wrong with her? Her skin was flushed, clammy, cold. “I don’t intend to. What are you playing at? Is this part of your plan, the one that’s supposed to win me over?” He smiled, so quiet, so calm, so damned sure of himself. She wanted to pound him with her fists, to do anything that would make him see how serious this was.
He half smiled. “How’s it working?”
She shook her head in frustration. “You just won’t understand, will you? It isn’t—it can’t. You know that, I told you that.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Well, I’ve got two more classes to teach, anyway.” He grabbed up a bundle of newspapers. “History’s downstairs. Coming?”
Stomach roiling, Solange snatched up her bag, pushed past him into the hall, not daring to stop.
• • •
She made it in time—just.
Locking the door to the staff restroom behind her, she gave herself up to the spasms. Bare knees on cold tile before the toilet, she heaved until her ribs ached, until nothing more came. Head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, she propped herself on shaking arms.
Panting, exhausted by the effort, she waited for the waves of nausea to subside.
How did everything get so turned around? When when when god oh god would it ever be over?
She wanted her life the way it was. She wanted to feel in control again, safe again. She wanted to be away—from this school, from this man who threatened everything she was, everything she planned to be.
At the sink she rinsed and spit, combing vomit from her hair with her fingers. Arms braced on the sink, Solange took a last look at herself in the mirror. She was close now, just one more period. It was nearly over.
Solange slung her bag and tried the door. It wouldn’t open.
Twisting the button in the center of the knob this way and that to no effect, panic rose in her. Desperate, she pulled off a heel, rapping hard on the thin paneled door. Like gunshots, her knocking echoed down the empty hall. How was it possible no one heard? Feeling foolish, she tried calling out.
Still no answer.
Hunting through her purse, she came up with a nail file to attack the hinge pins. Working them loose one at a time from the many coats of paint that sealed them in place, she let them drop with a bang at her feet. All three out, she tried the door again and found it solid as ever.
Infuriated by her stupidity, she saw why; hinges, like woven fingers, held the door fast in its jam. Giving up, she dropped onto the toilet to wait. Chin support
ed on palms, again her eye was drawn to her image in the mirror before her.
Superintendent Gonsalvas...
How much was the title worth? One good teacher’s job? More? How much of herself would she give up to get it? And if she got it, what then? What could she do, who could she help, if her main concern was keeping her job? She got up, turning her back on the glass. Could she think of nothing else? Desperate to be free, she screamed in frustration, pounding on the door panel with her fists.
Nothing.
On the toilet she sat cradling her head in her arms, rocking, eyes squeezed shut. It was no use. There was no way out.
A gentle rap on the door made her jump. “Hey, can you hear me? Hey! I’m locked in here!”
“I thought so,” he said.
She sighed, dropping her head into her hands. It would be him. “What do I do?”
“You need to turn the lock straight up and down.”
“Okay, now what?”
“Now come out.” She tried the handle and incredibly it turned. Quickly, she slipped the pins back in the hinges and opened the door. Passing him, she said thanks.
He watched her as they walked. “You okay?”
Annoyed, she glared back. “Why?”
He shrugged. “The way you ran out of there I thought you might be sick or something.”
Why did he have to be so damned nice? She stopped, facing him in the silent hall. “Look, I thanked you, okay? What more do you want?”
He raised empty hands. “Whoa, I don’t want anything. Would you rather I hadn’t come down? I can lock you back in if you want.”
A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room Page 14
