"I had no idea this was going on. When I close my door, I'm cut off from the
world. Honestly, I didn't have a clue," Radix said, looking genuinely non-
plussed.
"You've got to pay attention, Michael."
"I've noticed my attendance numbers have gone down."
"That's because spring is in the air. As soon as the weather improves around
here the kids stay away in droves. They take unofficial holidays."
"Amazing!"
"They'll start showing up again as we get close to the end of term…wanting to
pass your class….But, seriously, the way things are right now some teachers
are too worried to teach. Haven't you noticed? Teachers huddling in the
hallways?"
"Come to think of it, I have. But I thought that was just the usual, you know,
people worrying about the school closing."
"Well, there's a lot of that too; but right now they're more worried about the
Pyramid game going bust, and losing all their money ."
"I told you so," Radix said, smiling softly.
"I've got to go, my class is waiting."
She walked away, smiling that lingering smile again, which to anyone coming
the other way must have seemed an odd, eccentric, certainly self-absorbed,
possibly crazed look on her face.
She was touched by the gentle, playful I told you so from Radix. If only he
knew how that sound, pushing doors inside her, opened wider the possibility of
intimacy between them.
Mrs. Caratini had also given her the I told you so, but that was the harsh,
judgmental kind. Since she was Judy Wiener's friend she probably thought she
was entitled to her sarcasm; she had warned her about the Pyramid game.
It swept into town every ten years; they were in Pennsylvania a year ago.
Under the rules you had first to hand over $1.000; then bring someone in with
$1.000 of their own, and so on down the line, newcomers pushing everyone up
and waiting as others came in below; envelopes changing hands until one day
you're at the top; and you're out ̶ in your hand ten white envelopes, each
with 10 hundred dollar bills. And you're gone.
The game preyed on poor immigrants who raided their meager savings to find
the first installment; it made suckers of hardworking citizens desperate for a
lucky break, the one big score. It drained many dreamers of cash and dreams.
At John Wayne Cotter the Pyramid organizer was Mambisi Colon, a heavy-set
Puerto-Rican woman who worked in the Dean's office; whom Mrs. Caratini
detested.
Mrs. Caratini was of the opinion Mambisi Colon was "racist". For her part
Mambisi Colon made no secret of her belief that when it came to "race", Mrs.
Caratini ̶ and for that matter most white people working at John Wayne
Cotter ̶ needed "sensitivity training"; or should at least make an effort to
learn and speak Spanish.
The feud between them ignited the day she remarked to Mrs. Caratini that
the information provided on the referrals sent to the Dean's office was
inadequate, and the referrals themselves poorly written up. To do their job
properly the Dean's office needed facts, not anecdotes, from the teachers.
And, Mrs. Caratini had apparently bypassed the first course of action in any
student-teacher dispute: calling home and talking to the parents. Which was
why, she hinted, a little knowledge of Spanish was important to teachers.
Mambisi Colon was apparently quite good at what she did in the Dean's office.
Students ̶ those considered "out of control" and escorted by Security down to
the Dean's office ̶ were shepherded into her tiny cubicle where she listened
to their complaints ("You have to give them space to ventilate," she'd say, "Let
them get it all out of their system".) Then, she'd step in with her plan of
action.
Her plan seemed to work, most of the time, though some teachers chafed at
the results. They'd sent students to the Dean's office requesting intervention
or some form of stern disciplinary action. Some students, they complained,
returned to class smirking, as if the punishment of "suspension", which they
viewed as time off from the classroom, was just what they'd hoped for.
Mrs. Caratini was among those teachers not at all impressed with the Dean's
Office. In her opinion the "success" of Mambisi Colon's interventions had more
to do with her capacious bosom.
Mambisi Colon, she explained, had breasts solid as gourds; the cut in her dress
was intentionally low so you could see the powdered space between her
bosom. This encounter with boobs in her office cubicle, she was convinced,
had a soothing and stirring effect on parents and students. Who needed skills
or training in the Dean's office when all the job required, really, was the
openness of Mambisi Colon's boobs.
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!, a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 