A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room (27 page)

He looked down at her. “Cut it out, you little
tyrant.”

She was testing him, and she wanted desperately for
him to pass. If he were running away out of self pity, she would
throw him out the door herself. For no reason she could think of
she shoved him back against the wall again, harder this time,
rocking the frame against the plaster. “What’s so stupid about it?
Why won’t it work?”

Unresisting, he let himself be jostled, hand held out
of the way. When he spoke, it was low. “You know why. Look at me.
I’m forty-years-old, no job. I don’t know how to do anything but
teach. What am I going to do, sell insurance? I’d starve to
death.”

She tightened her grip on him, eyes on his. She
wasn’t letting go.

“Okay,” he said, “you’re king of the hill. Good for
you. Now come on, stop pushing me around, huh? Let me get my jacket
and get out of here.”

She wasn’t sure what she was prodding for, but she
was positive she would know it when she heard it. Terrified he
would give the wrong answer, she said the first thing that came to
her. “You’re jealous.”

Slowly he began to smile. Then, head tilted back
against the wall, he laughed, a farcical braying, a laugh she
loved, finally quieting, out of breath, sagging at the knees.

She held him up. “What?”

“That’s it, you got me—I’m jealous.”

“Okay, then, you’re mad.”

“Mad? Why? All right, you took my job, but you gave
it back, too. I had it right here in my hand. And you know, I
thought I wanted it.” He shook his head. “Na. Listen, you know what
you said a long time ago? You were right. I knew what I was doing,
I knew from day one. No, I’m not mad, I’m just smart enough to know
we’re not in the same league, that’s all.”

Everything she had hoped to hear he had said. Even
now he was stronger than she, if only he knew it. Mae was right
about him—so right. This one wasn’t going anywhere. Solange looked
up at him, sweatshirt still wrapped tightly in her small fists.
“Would you take a job if you could get it?”

He frowned down at her. “A job, what kind of a
job?”

She pushed him back against the wall once more in her
impatience and Courbet swung on his wire, worrying his hair.
“Teaching, what do you think?”

He looked at her as if she were insane. “Who would be
crazy enough to offer me a job?”

Now that was a stupid question. “I would.”

He shook his hand, grimacing in pain. “I can’t take a
job from you.”

Releasing him, she slid one arm round his waist,
leading him back to the sink. “Why not?”

“Come on, how would it look?”

She filled a bowl with ice water and dunked his hand.
“I don’t care how it looks.” She watched him, decided to tell him
all of it. “There’s something I need your help with.” Seeing she
had caught his interest, she smiled. “Come here and sit down, while
I fix dinner.” Keeping hold of his wrist with her small, competent
hand, she put a bowl of icewater in his arms and led him to the
table. “Can I trust you not to bolt for the door while I tell you
about it?”

He said she could.

She held up an oven mitt. “Now, see this?” she said,
head tilted to the side, voice lilting. “This is for hot pans.”

“Yeah, yeah, are you going to tell me about this
job?”

This was going to be fun. “It’s a tough one. The
first year teacher quit. In the last three weeks they’ve had ten
different subs. The longest any of them has stayed is two days. I’m
not kidding, it’s that bad.”

He frowned. “Teaching what?”

“Ninth grade, basic math and English at Hiawatha.
It’s just a long-term sub position, but I can get you a long-term
contract that’ll pay as much as your old job right from the first
day if you can start tomorrow. They pride themselves on driving
subs away, now, I hear.”

He began to smile slowly. “Do they now.”

“It will be no bed of roses.” She had him, she knew,
but trying to look serious, she asked anyway. “So, you want it or
not?”

“Can I go in there and kick some ass?”

“Be my guest—that is most assuredly the idea.” She
thought a moment, held up a hand. “Figuratively speaking, of
course.”

He smiled at her joke. “Of course. Now what’s this
help you needed?”

• • •

Still as stone he listened, stunned by the audacity
of it.

It was the most incredible, fantastic, wonderful idea
he’d ever heard. So elegant, so brash, so suicidal, so
iconoclastic, it scared hell out of him. A rebellion, a fantasy, a
political Krakatoa, and here, wrapped in chenille before him, was
the one woman who could make it happen. He said a silent prayer
she’d go through with it.

“Forget it,” he said.

She set her jaw. And what a wonderful jaw it was.
“No.”

“I’m telling you, it’s nuts.”

She smiled serenely. “I’m doing it.”

He told her she was a fool.

He begged her to see reason.

He warned her it would send her career down the
sewer.

He did all he could to discourage her, and in the end
it was like spitting at a glacier.

Talked out, he watched her hands as she worked. Small
and plain as a child’s, they flew about like flickers as she
placidly sliced mushrooms with a butcher knife. First cutting each
in half— then placing them in orderly rows, cut edges down on the
board. Only when she had them all queued did she dice them.
This—precisely this—was what he loved about her—that she could
suggest something so brash, so noble, then slice mushrooms with
such scientific urbanity as he berated her for suggesting it.

She smiled at him, combing hair out of her face with
a thumb.

“Are you done being pessimistic?”

“It’s called realism.”

“Whatever it’s called you can save your breath.”

“If I won’t help you?” This was his last retort—he
hoped to God it would fail.

She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll do it anyway.”

“You couldn’t.”

“I could try.” She looked up stubbornly, knife in
mid-air. “Listen closely, now—I’m doing this.”

He nodded, convinced. “Okay, then why are you doing
it?”

She returned his hard gaze with one of her own. “I’m
doing it for the kids that look up to us like we must know what the
hell it is we’re doing. They don’t know that things are the way
they are because nobody wants to rock the boat. The poor little
fools really think we believe this is the best way to run a school.
I know because I was one of them.”

Disappointed, he shook his head. “Wrong answer.”

She sighed, annoyed. “Okay, that’s not all of it. For
me—I’m doing it for me. Is that a good enough reason?”

He smiled. It was more than good enough. She was
strong, but was she strong enough? “It won’t work, you know. It’ll
be an ugly, bitter, dirty fight. And one you’ll lose.”

Eyes bright, she smiled. “I don’t care.”

His stomach felt as if he’d bolted a tumbler of
whiskey. “They’ll do to you what they did to me—you know that.”

She slammed the knife down on the counter. “Damn it,
you’re not usually so dense! I thought you would understand if
anybody would. What good is having the job if I want to keep it so
much I’m afraid to do what’s right?” She picked up the knife.
“Putting in your time, making your next career move, covering your
ass—is that all this is about?”

Doggedly, he kept on, having to be absolutely sure.
“Your career…”

“My career will be just fine. If I end up back in the
classroom, would that be so bad?” He opened his mouth and she cut
him off— knife slashing the air with such vehemence her hair
whipped about her face. “No! I see it now!” She came to lay their
plates on the table before him. “We all start out so idealistic, so
gullible! I mean, we actually believe all that rubbish about
burnt-out teachers being the cause of all that’s wrong with
schools. Can you imagine?”

He watched her as she ranted, rushing about in the
kitchen, robe fluttering open across her thigh as she went.
Impassioned, she was magnificent.

She brought a bottle of wine to sit across the table.
“It’s a little odd no one ever asks how they got that way, isn’t
it?” Peering at him, she frowned, crestfallen. “You really don’t
like the idea?”

“It scares me, it’s so good. I’d give my eye teeth to
see you make it happen.”

She bit her lip, drawing the neck of her robe closed
with her fingers. “Really?” she said, voice a thrilled whisper.
“You really think so?”

He nodded slowly. “I really think so.”

She watched him closely, eyes wary. “You don’t think
I’m a fool to try?”

“I think you’re the gutsiest woman I’ve ever met. I
don’t know what in hades you see in me, but I’ll help you any way I
can.”

Her breath caught, and she went to rattle around in
the fridge for Parmesan.

O’Connel struggled to wrap noodles left handed, but
they kept squirming off his fork. He glanced up to find her hiding
a smile behind a hand and set it down in frustration. “First I’m
out of work, now I’m an invalid—terrific.”

“Oh, don’t be a clunk.” He watched helplessly as she
cut up his noodles, dusting them with cheese.

“There, now try.” He found he could eat, if clumsily.
“Thanks, Mae.”

She made a face. “When I was a teacher I saw the
contempt most felt for administration, and I swore when I got my
chance it would be different. But once I got there, something
happened. I started seeing the teachers as the enemy. I don’t know
if it was the money, the title, or what, but somehow the job got to
be what was important. You made me see that.”

He watched her, liking who he saw. “I’m with you, and
I know a lot of other people who would be too—if I can get them to
believe it’s really happening. If you’ll get me the district phone
book, I’ve got some calls to make.”

For the next few weeks, life at Silver Mountain
Unified would be anything but routine.

• • •

In a fowl mood, O’Connel paced atop the low stone
wall skirting the parking lot. He hated waiting—even more he hated
waiting for bad news.

Skinner Butte Park looked out over the city of Eugene
as a medieval castle oversaw its village. Over two embattled months
they had met here for lunch. Today, a high overcast blocked out the
sun, and a frigid wind rocked him on his heels as it whipped
through the fir on the butte. He glanced at his watch. It was after
four. Light was fading. It would be dark soon.

He stamped his feet to keep warm, wishing she would
come.

Through his leather jacket the gusts chilled him. He
nudged a loose piece of gravel off the wall with his sneaker, and
watched it fall into the salal far below.

A meandering V of Canada geese honked and squeaked
overhead, barely making headway against a stiff wind. As he
watched, a different bird slipped into point soon to be replaced by
another. He thought of them flying thousands of miles by starlight
and smiled. Tonight while he slept they would fly. Tomorrow he
would be out of another job—still they would fly. He watched them,
reassured. The world would keep up its spinning.

Her car wound around the road to the lot, and he went
to meet her.

Squinting into the cold wind, she smiled wanly.
“Hey.”

Disappointed, he saw there would be no surprises—the
ride was over. He answered quietly, feeling a drawing at his heart,
wanting to hold her. “Hey.”

She nodded down the hill. “Let’s walk.”

He followed her down the winding path in the frigid
dusk to the river. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Sorry I’m late, I stopped to get a
paper.”

“So? What happened?” She handed it to him.

“What’s this, you’re in here?” He opened it to the
front page and saw her picture.

Over a month old, the photo was taken in front of the
district office at the first board meeting just after things got
hot. The camera had caught her in the middle of a passionate word,
looking more beautiful than a superintendent had any right to be.
No wonder they hated her.

He read the headline— “‘EMBATTLED SCHOOL DISTRICT
OUSTS SUPERINTENDENT.’” Suddenly filled with disgust, he folded the
paper, hurling it into a trash basket along the path. “They can all
go to hell.”

Glaring, she retrieved it, held it out. “Read
it.”

“Why? I can tell you what it says.” Stubborn as
always, she held it closer.

He took it. “I don’t want to read this crap. We’re
both out of a job, what more do I need to know?” She stopped on the
path, waiting, hands jammed in the pockets of her sweater.

He reached to roll her collar up around her neck.
“It’s too cold for this, I’ll bet the wind cuts right through it.
Want my jacket?”

She watched him. “Just read it.”

There was no use arguing when she’d made up her
mind—that he’d learned. “Okay, okay, At a special executive session
this morning, the Silver Mountain board voted to replace
Superintendent Gonsalvas with long-time curriculum director Brenda
Lovejoy.’ Oh, man.” He slapped the paper against his leg. “I should
have known when you sent her back to the classroom, she’d get even.
People like her are harder to get rid of than the mange.” He didn’t
want to read any more. He wanted to take her home, cuddle in front
of the wood stove, lie with her in the bone-warming heat.

She looked at him expectantly, eyes bright in the
cold.

“Okay, I’m reading. ‘During her short tenure as
district head, Ms. Gonsalvas has expelled more than a dozen
students without due process.’” This was making his stomach ache.
“Due process meaning do nothing. Odd they don’t say why you
expelled them? Not germane, I guess, huh?

“‘Ms. Gonsalvas has implemented policies requiring
stringent dress codes, cutting off district Internet access,
upgrading academic requirements for participation in sports, and
placing an emphasis on phonics in the primary grades. Also included
in her administration’s policies were a rollback of district
implementation of 21st Century Schools programs in favor of a
return to an emphasis of the three R’s.