Quiet Magic (8 page)

"I want to eat my lunch," he told the
man, dropping each word like a stone. "And my candle is
unlit."

There was a small silence, then a
large sigh. The big man hunkered down by the bench, folded his arms
on the seat and looked sideways at the boy.

He sighed again, for the boy was
angry, with a controlled outrage that went far beyond his six
years, and the explanation that Rob Davis had to give would not
satisfy that anger.

"Okay, Jeffrey, here's the idea.
Schools have rules. A great many of them are senseless, taken
individually, measured against one person at a time..." He paused
to make sure of his audience. Jeffrey nodded curtly, looking pale
and angry and more than a little hungry. The bell rang to end the
lunch period. Rob shifted his arms, reviewing the explanation that
became less reasonable as he unfolded it. "Ah-h-h. One of the rules
is that children in the school may not use fire--may not even light
the candles on a cake at a classmate's birthday party. The reason
for the rule is that fire is dangerous and, should even one person
be just a little careless, the building might catch on fire and
many people lose their lives. That is the rule and the
reason.

"Thus," Rob concluded, forcing himself
to look straight into the boy's angry eyes, "you will not be
allowed to light any candles in the cafeteria at lunchtime, or at
any other time."

"So." The single syllable carried a
wealth of scorn.

Rob winced.

Jeffrey turned away and began to
rewrap his sandwich with precise, economical movements. This done,
he retrieved the parchment and twisted the mint green and blue
candle within. Then he placed it all--candle, apple, cake,
sandwich, and linen napkin-- back into the bag and rolled the top
closed. The milk carton he lifted after a moment and offered to
Rob.

"It would be shame," he said coldly,
"to waste it." He began to stand.

Rob laid a hand on his knee. The boy
stiffened; froze.

Rob cleared his throat. "One more
fact. One--no, two--more rules," he said waited for Jeffrey's
nod.

It came, a bare dip of the pointed
chin. Rob moved his hand; pausing a moment to order his
thoughts.

"I am what is known as a guidance
counselor," he said. "I also teach, in a pinch, but what I
primarily do is talk to children who go to this school when they
get in trouble or have problems. My job is to help them figure out
what the problem is, explain the appropriate rules and see that the
rules aren't broken--yes?"

Again, that uncivil nod.

"Yes. If the rules continue to be
broken after they are explained to the child, it is my further
obligation to call in the child's parents or guardians, explain the
rules to them and insure they see the child obeys." He paused
again, this time for breath.

"Another rule of the school is that
everyone must eat lunch. That is so that no one makes himself ill
by becoming excessive hungry. Now that you know this rule and the
reason for it I ask you to please eat your lunch and drink your
milk. I'll go down the hall while you eat and explain to Miss Lyle
that you will be late returning to class."

Jeffrey sighed. "I eat with a candle,
that is the rule of my family. It is--my mother told me--what keeps
us a family. Since I may not light my candle, I cannot eat." And he
set his jaw and gripped the bag tightly, eyes unwaveringly on those
of the man before him, who nodded.

He had expected nothing else. The boy
had a strength of will that was riveting, nearly
compelling.

"You will appreciate," he told
Jeffrey, "that I have no choice but to call your
family."

"Please feel free," the boy replied
without even a blink.

Rob considered a moment; grinned at
the thought of lighting a candle while sitting beside a fishing
pole.

"Jeffrey, I wonder if you could do me
a favor." He raised a hand to fend off the anger--quick, deep,
intelligent anger--that flared in those eyes. "Yes, I know you
don't owe me a favor. But I would like you to consider one,
please."

"What is it, then?"

"I wonder if you would walk with me
back to your class, and eat your apple and drink your milk as we
walk. You don't have to light a candle to have a snack, do
you?"

"No," said Jeffrey slowly, "I don't."
He bit his lip, unrolled the top of the bag and dug within. "All
right. As a favor. To you. You hear what I say, at
least."

"Thank you," said Rob, momentarily
wondering what favor might be required in return--and
when.

The apple was quickly eaten. The
carton of milk was empty soon thereafter as Rob walked Jeffrey back
to his classroom and saw him situated at his desk in the back of
the room and returned to his own office, still walking
slowly.

Jeffrey's folder had not yet reached
the filing cabinet; Rob lifted it from Mrs. Jenson's in-box. The
secretary raised a coy gray brow at him. He shrugged and murmured
something about a call to the boy's family. He shut the office door
behind him.

The boy's home number was written in
purple ink on a slip of pink paper clipped to the front of the
folder. Rob dialed and listened to the phone at the other end ring
once...twice...three times.

"Hello! Yes? What is it?" The voice of
an older man, slightly and mysteriously accented.

Rob cleared his throat. "Good
afternoon, " he told the voice, though he doubted it. "My name is
Robert Davis. I'm a guidance counselor at Deer Creek Elementary
School and--"

"Has Jeffrey been injured?" The man's
voice was crisp--a gentleman used to slicing directly to the heart
of matters.

"No, sir. There has been a problem
however, and I'm afraid that Jeffrey's parents are going to have to
come to school and--"

"Impossible, sir. I am sorry.
Jeffrey's mother is doing fieldwork in Auckland at the moment--the
grant runs eighteen months, I believe--and his father is out of
town until next Monday or Tuesday. Perhaps I might be of
assistance? I am Jeffrey's Uncle Tulaine.

Rob grinned ruefully. "Well, sir, the
problem concerns a candle Jeffrey brought with him in his lunch
bag. I'm afraid school regulations explicitly forbid children to
use matches or candles, or indeed, play with fire in any manner on
school property."

There was a silence on the other end
of the phone. Then, "Surely, Mr. Davis, you apprehend that Jeffrey
is not your common six-year-old. May the rules not be
circumvented?"

"Mister--sir." Rob paused a moment to
gain control of himself, biting his lip on the smile that would not
fade. "The regulations are made and enforced by the school's
officials to insure the greatest good for the greatest
number--"

"Yes, yes," said Uncle Tulaine
impatiently. "I know of that theory--some Englishman's idea, no
doubt. But really, sir, can you imagine in the long run such a
course is beneficial?"

"The problem at this point," said Rob
with laudable evenness, "is that Jeffrey will not eat without
lighting the candle and the school requires him both not to light
the candle and to eat his lunch."

"So," said Uncle Tulaine, and there
was a silence. Rob shifted uneasily on his end of the
line.

"Young man, please hold on," Uncle
Tulaine directed decisively. "I see that the problem as you present
it is not one that can be most efficiently resolved over the
telephone. I will ascertain whether there is someone within the
house who may come to you today. Hold..." The voice faded and went
away. Rob shifted again and fidgeted with Jeffrey's folder,
frowning as he noted that no placement tests had been given to the
boy. Six years old? Put him in the first grade. Rob pulled a pad of
paper toward him and made a notation.

"Hello? Yes? Mr. Davis?" Uncle Tulaine
was back.

"Yes sir."

"It has been arranged, sir. Jeffrey's
aunt, Miss Elmira Brown, will come to you. She is ready to leave
immediately and should be at your office within twenty minutes. Is
this satisfactory to you?"

Rob blinked. Twenty minutes? When
there were parents who were concerned--oh yes--but their schedules
would not permit them to get away for at least two or three weeks
--

"Mr. Davis? Are you there?"

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I didn't expect
such immediate action. Please tell Miss Brown that I will be
waiting for her."

"I will do so, sir. You are most
kind." The connection was broken.

Rob sat holding the receiver for a
little longer before he cradled it and forcefully turned his
attention to Jeffrey Eljensen's file.

* * *

THE BUZZER ON his telephone razzed him
just as he was assimilating the fact that Jeffrey Eljensen's mother
was indeed in Auckland on a grant from Monsanto. It was perhaps the
third or fourth peculiar fact contained in the folder and Rob was
feeling a bit off-balance as he stretched out a hand for the
receiver.

"Ms. Elmira Brown to see you, Mr.
Davis, " his secretary's voice murmured in his ear.

"Ah." Rob straightened. "Thank you,
Mrs. Jenson. I'll be right out."

Two of his long strides took him to
the door; he pulled it open, professional smile in place for the
older woman he expected to find in the waiting room.

"Miss Brown, I'm Rob Davis--
"

He was glad that much was formula, for
the woman who stood and took his outstretched hand was perhaps
thirty, nearly as tall as he was and slender with an athlete's
tautness. She wore a denim shirt two sizes too large for her over a
pair of much-abused and paint-spattered blue jeans. But her face
was serene, her eyes as competent as though she stood in a tailored
suit, briefcase in hand.

Her handshake was firm and brief. "Mr.
Davis," she said, and her voice like a fall of cool
water.

He half-turned and gestured. "Please
come in," he managed and followed her into his office, closing the
door behind him. She had already seated herself in the wooden chair
to one side of the desk. He took his seat behind it and glanced at
the notepad and file on the blotter before he looked at his
visitor.

"Thank you for coming so promptly. I
was a bit taken aback when Jeffrey's uncle said someone could be
with me in twenty minutes. So many parents today are unable to
arrange appointments for days, even weeks..."

She dismissed this with the flick of a
ringless hand. "Uncle Tulaine tells me that Jeffrey has not eaten
lunch, that he is denied his candle." It was a demand for an
explanation.

Rob sighed. "Fire is dangerous.
Children in this school are forbidden to play with fire." He held
up his own hand, anticipating her.

"Jeffrey has explained that there is a
family ritual that requires a candle to accompany every meal of
every family member, everywhere. His uncle Tulaine has called my
attention to the fact that Jeffrey is a rather extraordinary little
boy. The regulations of this school, however, are only valid when
they remain equal for all the children attending the school." He
glanced down, surprised and a little ashamed of his own vehemence,
then glanced back, startled.

She was laughing, softly and
unmaliciously, inviting him to join in. "Poor Mr. Davis," she said.
"First Jeffrey in one of his icy rages, then Uncle Tulaine..." She
shook her head. "And now a maiden aunt who is much younger than she
ought to be, all spattered with paint and laughing at you." Again,
that rueful headshake. "Forgive us, Mr. Davis, we're an odd
family."

He grinned. "I noticed Uncle Tulaine
asked if there was a way to get around the rule--" he sounded
aggrieved in his own ears.

She had the grace not to laugh this
time. "But he's like that, you know; an--elitist. Ritual by common
consent is one thing, arbitrary rules that cross the ritual he has
accepted are quite something else." She tipped her head. "Should I
apologize for Uncle Tulaine?"

Rob shrugged, laughing a little
himself. "It would insult him, wouldn't it? And I'm afraid my
sympathies lie as firmly with Jeffrey as his uncle's
do."

"Which brings us back to the reason
I'm here." She nodded. "The rules are the rules, as you say, no
matter where your sympathies may lie. And to get along in the
outside world, one must acknowledge at least a few of the rules..."
She frowned; it put a slight crease between her brows, winged like
Jeffrey's.

"Jeffrey is an extraordinary small
boy." She shared an eyeblink with him. "As we all have noticed.
Unfortunately, he is a little boy in many ways still. The rules of
his family must seem to him to be the strongest--the best--to him.
And I'm sure that none of us--from great Aunt Phyllis down--would
eat a meal without a candle, except with extreme unease." She
sighed and shook her head. "It has no easy solution, Mr.
Davis."

"Could Jeffrey be brought to
understand that his lunch can be graced with a candle only on days
when he's not at school?" He said it diffidently, hating the
necessity that made him offer it as a solution.

"I suppose that he could," she said
slowly, "But I would not want to be the one to teach him. Nor would
you find much help from Uncle Tulaine, or from Jeffrey's father.
Nor, for that matter, from his mother."