At the start of the new week Mrs. Caratini would enter the room and spend ten
or fifteen minutes with Judy Weiner, exchanging weekend gossip. The students
were told to boot up the computers and start work on their journals. Mrs.
Contreras, the teacher's aide, kept them on task, while Judy Weiner fixed her
hair and applied makeup using the tiny mirror in the teacher's locker; then she
joined Mrs. Caratini who sat in a student's chair, legs crossed, filing her nails.
They spoke as if it hardly mattered if students overheard, though Mrs.
Caratini lowered her voice when inserting the word fucking. They believed
their conversation had no meaning for students in the room and required little
privacy.
In fact, no one paid them any attention, except Xavier.
He had a late afternoon job that sent him home after midnight. Some
mornings he'd arrive and promptly put his head down on the desk. Since Miss
Weiner was never ready to start the bell, he saw nothing wrong in catching up
on lost sleep for the first 10 minutes.
He referred to Miss Weiner and Mrs. Caratini as Bologna & Cheese. Without
wanting to, he overheard much of what they said. At times he dozed off only
to be roused by Miss Weiner speaking in her slow refined way, explaining some
mishap. Things always seemed to happen to Miss Weiner. She left her keys in
the teachers' bathroom; a car rear-ended her car and the insurance people
were refusing to cover the entire cost of repairs; her mother wasn't feeling too
well lately. On and on, one sad story after the next.
Sometimes he'd groan in frustration and mumble to himself, Get a grip,
bitch, get a grip! At other times he followed the conversation ̶ when, for
instance, Miss Weiner was telling Mrs. Caratini about the Jewish cocaine gangs
at the turn of the century, and how she understood what was happening to kids
who were pulled into the drug business in the Bronx.
But Xavier saved his contempt for Mrs. Caratini ̶̶ a conceited little bitch with
a skinny butt. Always going on about herself. And talking shit. He couldn't
understand why a sophisticated person like Miss Weiner would have as a friend
someone as stupid as Mrs. Caratini; always, Oh, let me tell you, last night I
made myself a huge salad, it was like huge, and I ate it all by myself…Did I
tell you, I went to a model home Open House last Sunday? Just off the Grand
Central, past the airport? Anyway they had these model homes, two bed-
rooms, three bedrooms, kitchen, bath, really gorgeous houses. They were
asking 170 up. I tell, you prices are literally going through the roof these days.
On and on with this boring shit. And Miss Weiner just sat there sucking it up.
When he'd had enough Xavier would stretch his arms and make a roaring sound,
like a rested lion stirring itself; signaling he was ready to work. He'd been
ready all along, he implied, but these two teachers sitting there jawing away
didn't seem eager to start. This tactic always worked. Mrs. Caratini would
throw him a frantic, worried look; then she'd glance at her watch, gather her
keys and leave the room.
And Mrs. Weiner would declare in a cheery voice, "So are we ready to work
today?… Xavier, how're you feeling?
Always she deferred to him with a curious tenderness, at times treating him
as if he were the scion of a very important person whom she'd been asked to
tutor.
"No eating over the computers. You know the rules, Xavier."
"Calm down. You see any crumbs on the keyboard?"
"Xavier… you're squinting."
"So."
"Maybe you should get your eyes examined."
"I have glasses."
"You own a pair of glasses…? So why don't you put them on?"
"Don't need them. I can see alright."
"Xavier, if you don't wear the glasses prescribed for you, your vision will slowly
deteriorate…to the point where, well, as you get older you'll need them all
the time."
"It don't matter. Don't plan to live that long anyway."
"Please, don't talk like that."
"Why? Ain't nothing you can do 'bout it"
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!", a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 