A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room (9 page)

He held the bird in a towel on the chest freezer, and
with a curved needle and cotton thread, she sewed back the skin,
sealing it in place over the exposed muscle. Watching her as she
worked, he could only marvel. God, what a woman she was. On the far
bank, she’d held him for a long moment. “I was lying, I’m glad we
live here. I wouldn’t change anything, you know that. See you
tonight.” He lifted Nikki into her seat and buckled her in. Excited
about the trip, she squeezed his neck hard before he shut the door
and watched them pull up the hill to the highway.

Less than an hour later he got the call from the
state police.

He went to Eugene to see them, holding their cold
hands one last time. To make sure.

To know.

Just to know.

• • •

The clock chimed, it was time to go.

O’Connel ran a hand along the old dog’s head and down
her bony back. Filling a milk jug with hot water at the tap, he sat
down to put on his shoes. The old bitch, face to the door, did a
stiff-jointed jig, eager to squat on the gravel.

“Oh, knock it off. You really think I might forget to
let you out? Is that it?” Sweeping up his jacket and case, he
swatted her bony rump, setting her hind end wagging. When he opened
the door she nosed through, knocking the screen door back as she
went.

Dawn outlined firs against gray sky. A low mist hung
heavy over the river, cold wind raising cat’s paws on dark water.
It never failed to move him, this place, just as it had the first
time he’d seen it. , that’s what it was—a fierce kind of beauty
that took your breath. There was no other way to describe it. A
beauty without mercy. Without pity. The river, the steep slopes
beyond would likely kill him as not. Either way it meant
nothing.

It was a cold place, a hard place, a place he loved.
That’s why he hadn’t sold out, but stayed on alone years after he
should have left the empty house and its ghosts behind.

A pair of shovelers, wingtips skimming water, passed
low and fast, spreading ripples marking their passing. A mated
pair, they rode each other’s wake in turn, spelling the other at
point as they wheeled, following the river. He watched them round
the bend out of sight past a stand of big leaf maple, leaves singed
jonquil by frost.

The boat rocked under him. Waves sloshed under the
wooden hull passing on to slap a hard mud bank. On the third turn
of a tired starter the old Chevy straight six roared, the stink of
exhaust mixing with tangerine—tomcat odor of fir.

He rubbed Sonny softly under the chin. The dog
yawned, whining, baring worn yellow teeth.

This was his favorite part. Setting the milk jug in
the bilge, he pushed away from the dock with a foot, shoved the
throttle forward viciously. The motor coughed and roared.
Sluggishly, the old boat picked up speed. Left behind on the dock,
Sonny followed with sad eyes. Exhaust out of his face, he could
smell the sea, less than ten miles down river.

With five hundred yards of river to cross, he seldom
went in a beeline. He loved the feel of the old boat in a turn. The
way she lay over, hull cutting in. Humming to himself, he cranked
the wheel over and back, tilting the boat until she began to slip.
Ears burning with cold, he ducked below the cracked windscreen to
escape the wind.

At the other side, he killed the engine. His wake
caught up and gave him a gentle shove as he let the current carry
him down to the dock. This one was even worse than the one he’d
left. The railing hung from a single nail, trailing in the water.
Fixing it was something he never seemed to do, no matter how many
times he swore he would. No time for it. He dipped his hand in and
brought it out aching, water beading on the leather sleeve. It’d be
a crying shame to die in water as cold as this. Water so cold it
robbed a man’s breath.

A man could die in it with his head well above the
water, unable to fill his lungs. Tonight he would tack up a new
railing at last, he promised, all the time knowing he wouldn’t.
Once home, he’d not venture back out in the cold.

He tied up and got his jug. The warm water burned as
it brought feeling back to his fingers. Up the mud track, frozen
hard, to the waiting Landcruiser, white paint twenty years faded to
rust. He drizzled steaming water over the frozen windscreen, glass
pinging as it warmed. Wrenching open the door, he slid over icy
vinyl, choked the engine, and with a prayer, turned the key.

On the last spasm of a cold-weakened battery, the
engine caught.

Frigid dry valves tapped angrily. Oil reached the
head and they quieted.

O’Connel ran a hand over the cracked dash with
affection. He promised himself he would buy a new battery today,
then smiled at his second lie of the morning.

Why keep going through the motions like he did?
Eating. Sleeping.

Crossing the river. So much trouble for what? Habit,
that’s all it was, all that kept him going. It would be so much
easier just not to get out of bed at all. So much easier to take a
walk up the mountain— he, Sonny, a .357.

He let the brake ratchet in under the dash. Not
today. Today he had classes waiting.

• • •

Six-thirty Tuesday morning the school was empty, the
halls quiet.

This time of peaceful half-light was when Solange had
always gotten most of her preparation done. She missed the urgency
of it, missed knowing that in little more than an hour children
would pour into her classroom to wash away educational theory like
sand castles before an incoming tide.

Mounting the stairs, she smiled. For a beginning
teacher this testing of method engendered thinly veneered terror.
That she didn’t miss.

What had he said? She remembered now. “Without the
kids, why bother?” The same thought had nagged her every day since
the day she’d quit the classroom. And somehow it didn’t help to
know he felt the same.

At the foot of the second flight, a large, dark man
hailed her.

Built like a Sumo wrestler, he smiled broadly, taking
her small hand in his larger one. She remembered Genaro from her
years at Elk River.

School handyman, pouch of tools sagging from his
belt, he kept the aging building from falling to pieces around
them.

Genaro paced her up the empty staircase. “Is it true
that you’re here to let Dai go?” he said, concern shading his round
face.

“I’m here to observe, that’s all,” she said, a
partial truth.

“Yeah, I know what that means.” He shook his head,
sighed, barrel chest deflating. “Well, I know you got to do your
job same way we all do.” He hesitated as they made the second floor
landing, checking to see they were alone. “You got a minute? Could
I tell you something?” She set her bag on the rail. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve been the scout leader here for twenty years.
One day after school, I was cleaning Dai’s room, and we was talking
about wrestling and such, and we got into an arm wrestling match.
Oh, it was friendly all right, but a few of my scouts, his
students, were around waiting for our meeting, and so it was a mite
bit serious, too. I thought I’d beat him easy enough, outweighing
him like I do.” He rubbed a meaty face with his big hand, white
teeth bright against dark skin. “But I’ll be danged if he doesn’t
have some wings on him! “We sat there, both of us giving it
everything we had, the boys cheering us on. Remember, now, these
were his students. He was just starting out a new teacher, back
then. He didn’t have the tough reputation back then that he has
now. Those boys tested him every day, and they were no angels. You
got to know he wanted to show them what he could do. You know how
it is.” She knew.

He nodded, face close to hers. “Well, I couldn’t
budge him, and he couldn’t move me. We just looked each other in
the eye, arms shaking like twigs in a wind. Nobody took a rest, we
never let up.

This went on and on! Well, after a while, I felt him
give my wrist a twist, just testing, you know, to see what I had
left. And, I’ll tell you, the truth was, I didn’t have much.” He
laughed, a full, round, laugh that made her smile. “I was just
about done, and he knew it, too. The kids were egging us on, and I
knew then and there he was going to put me down right in front of
my boys.” They rounded the third floor banister and he stopped,
leaning on the rail to catch his breath. “But he didn’t. He called
for a draw.

We got up and shook hands, and as far as my scouts
knew, we’d tied. But he knew. And I knew.” He paused, looking
timidly up at her, and then at the floor, stooping to scrape up a
wad of gum from the tread with a putty knife. She waited while he
put away the knife, tossing the gum in the trash, his movements
those of a big cat.

“We never talk about it, but that day on we been
friends. After he lost his wife and kid, I went up to his room
after school and shook his hand. Didn’t say nothing. What can you
say, anyhow? I just wanted you to know that—to know what kind of
man he is, that’s all.” He went back down the stairs, leaving her
alone in the silent hall.

She found O’Connel at his desk, marking papers by the
dim light from the windows.

“You want the lights on, or you want to be in the
dark?” she said.

He didn’t look up. “Leave them off”

“Can you see what you’re doing?”

“They’re going to let him play.” of course they were.
She wished he hadn’t brought it up. “I know.”

“Well, it stinks.” She turned, hiding a smile, to
take a desk near the back of the room. There was something
thrilling about him getting this bothered about it. When she had
her face the way she wanted, she turned back. “You knew I wouldn’t
press charges.”

“I guess I did.” He got up, rolling sleeves up thick
forearms.

“They say sports build character, but all I see are
young men taught to be coarse and vicious, then being fawned over
for their brutality.

How can you expect to teach a kid to skirt the rules
to hurt the other team, and not have it spill over onto everybody
else? Wagner knows he can do whatever feels good, and nothing’s
going to happen to him. The kid’s barely scraping along with a D
average. If we had any standards at all—”

“Okay, okay, will you just drop it? I’ll live!” The
last thing she wanted to hear was this. It was too close to what
she had been thinking herself Wincing at the pain in her chest, she
squeezed out of the desk to drop a stack of letters in front of
him.

“You’ve been busy.” He leafed through them.
““Insubordination to a member of the board… Failure to include
closure in a lesson… Departing from assertive discipline
guidelines… Manhandling a student… Sending a sleeping student to
the infirmary… Departing from district curriculum.” He paused,
puzzled. “Who did I manhandle?”

“Wagner, you threw him against the wall pretty
hard.”

“Oh, so you were even on the job out there flat on
your back, huh?” He laughed, not believing. “Beautiful, just
beautiful.”

She returned his look. “Just doing my job.”

“Not bad for the first day.” He tossed the stack into
the bottom drawer, kicked it shut. “ I’d better watch myself, or I
could be in some real trouble.”

She watched him, not understanding. How could a man
who loved teaching as much as this one not care about being forced
to quit? “You’re not worried?”

“Nah. I’ve got a plan”.

She frowned. “A plan, what kind of plan?” He went to
the counter where an electric kettle whistled. “Tea?”

“Sure.”

“You see, you’re going to be so impressed with my
competence, you’re going to tear them up.” She looked at him
doubtfully. “I am.”

“Sure. Sugar?” He held a cube poised over the thick
mug.

“Two, no milk.” Could he believe it? He didn’t look
stupid. “I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you.” He shrugged.
“We’ll see.” She looked down at the math papers on his desk. Each
paper had either a check, a number three, two, or one. There were
no corrections. “What do these mean?”

“The check’s full credit, or an A, a three’s a B and
like that, get it? A paper that’s half done I give a two, or half
credit, and one that’s less than that I give a one or a zero. I
stole the idea from Karl.” Curious, she frowned, looking up to
catch him watching her. “I don’t see you’ve made any
corrections.”

“I don’t. We correct them in class. That way if
anybody has any questions, they can ask them right there with their
papers in front of them. I learned a long time ago not to waste my
time correcting papers that would never be looked at again. My
first year, I spent all my nights correcting papers, and when I
gave them back, most of them were crumpled into balls and in the
air, on their way to the trash before I’d taken a step away from
the desk. They may not have learned anything from that, but I sure
as hell did. I grade on effort now; if they try it, if they turn it
in, I give them full credit. My classes are a pushover. I still
have to fail a quarter of them. What does that tell you?” He
brought her tea, and they stood by the radiator in front of the
windows. The sky looked angry, ominous. Across the valley, mist lay
in the hollows of the hills.

The radiators hissed and moaned in the quiet
room.

“Lot of water up there,” he said.

He wasn’t getting away with discussing the weather.
She’d fired a lot of teachers, but never had one react this way.
For some reason it bugged her.

Because she believed in what she did, she always made
sure.

Teachers singled out because of politics or
personality she wouldn’t touch. Those lacking class management
skills she secured the help they needed. A tired few, nearing
retirement, she found an undemanding niche to wait out the year.
Some, for whatever reason, no longer cared about anything but their
salary; these she went after with widely known ferocity. Now a man
who obviously cared so much acted as if he didn’t—it didn’t make
any kind of sense.