For the parents' conference Radix was assigned to share the room with Judy
Weiner. She sat at her desk at one corner of the classroom, while he pulled
chairs together at the other and made himself accessible.
Judy Weiner gave herself completely to the duty of meeting parents. She had the
kids design a WELCOME banner on the computers; she pinned writing samples of
their work on the wall; the computer screens flickered in readiness for student
demonstration of competence and grasp of the new technology. At her desk her
mark book was open, with student folders and texts nearby; and as the parents
walked in – nervous, uncertain or sometimes visibly angry – she'd put them at
ease with a cheery "Hello! nice of you to come ". She had no problem with the
Spanish-speaking parents who studied her face and seemed to understand every
word she spoke.
All of which intrigued Radix who couldn't decide if Judy Weiner was a consum-
mate actress putting on a show for anxious parents, or a true professional who
did what was expected of her; who followed the guidelines set out by Principal
Wamp for these conferences: saying nothing that would injure the self-esteem of
student and parent; reinforcing the positive; projecting a future of accomplish-
ment and success for the child.
Because they shared duties and space he kept bumping into that other side of
her, the vulnerable, anxiety-ridden side. Whenever this happened she'd look
away, or busy herself with some desk-straightening task.
Their joint "Special Education" classes were limited to a maximum of twelve
students. On good days they were lucky to see six students, all of whom needed
individual attention. Then there were snow days when no one showed up, and
there was not much to do but catch up on paperwork.
Not surprisingly there developed between them an awareness of each other,
silken threads that connected them, but which snapped the moment their eyes
met. She would look away and the conversation trailed off as she scurried
back to her rabbit hutch of duties. Or so Radix imagined.
What was she afraid of? Was she seeing someone? How old was she, where did
she live, why was her face so blanched with worry while her body, clad often in
tight trendy clothes, looked firm and youthful? And how to explain those
mornings when she seemed affable, buoyant, on top of things, then the next
day apprehensive, dogged by some hidden distress?
He couldn't bring himself to enquire about her; he didn't want to appear prurient
or "interested". Still he worked alongside her, partners on task, aflame with
with curiosity.
As the weeks passed, the distance, the strangeness between them, seemed to
widen, then close, then widen again. They talked easily as teachers, but he
had to be careful with that other sensitive side which surprised him like cobweb
he'd walk into. Maybe she sensed his spirit hankering after something, and not
wanting to be rude she'd let him approach but only so far; then she'd let him
back off, peeling the cobweb from his face.
So they sat at two corners of the room, waiting for parents, preoccupied and
apart.
At the end of the evening, as they prepared to leave, she took her time tidying
up, switching off the computers. And when Radix offered to help she assured
him he needn't worry. Besides, she was sure he wanted to get home. A smile
broke out on her face, and she said, "I was hoping to see Xavier's mother. I
wanted to show her his book report. He wrote me a wonderful book report."
Radix knew and understood her fondness for Xavier. "Would you like to a look at
it?" she asked.
Radix hesitated. English Literature wasn't his field; and Xavier was a strange
moody student who liked Miss Weiner but steadfastly ignored him. "You could
take it home with you, read it over the weekend," she insisted. And because
this was the first time she'd pressed anything on him, because she was alone
with her hidden passions, wanting him now to share this one, he agreed to look
at it.
(From "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!" a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 