All of a sudden, like a circus caravan that had arrived and was setting up
camp overnight, spring came into the city. Radix stepped outside one
morning and noticed early bodies of leaves on the trees, as if they weren't
there when last he looked. The fullness of green was everywhere, and just
as overnight snow fall blankets and hides everything, the tree branches
masked the ugliness of the walls and gave apartment dwellers a sense of
occupying a pleasant new habitat.
Blossoms and pollen fell and blew about; allergies rose and spread. There
was much to complain about but in a palpably different way, and with
fresh launchings of hope from every shut in heart.
The street-cleaning vehicle rumbled through leaving a visible brush trail
around cars, and for one day at least the street kerbs were free of litter.
Driving home one afternoon he missed his turn off corner, so slow were his
reflexes to his markers, the trees in bloom. Still he was glad for the
warming temperatures.
Feeling the need to do something spring-like he renewed his Sunday
morning rides around the city.
Cycling at an early morning hour turned out to be more dangerous than
he'd imagined. Released from winter caution motorists seemed to move
faster; they often swished past him very close, uncomfortable close. He'd
pass a dead squirrel that didn't scamper fast enough from the wheels
of cars. It lay just off the middle of the road, its coiled innards squashed
and exposed.
Sometimes on deserted littered streets he'd pedal fast past two cars, a
police cruiser, its flashers going, the white officer scribbling the ticket;
while in the other car the black driver sat stiff, looking patient or bored.
At John Wayne Cotter, spring season behavior, as far as such a thing
existed, heated up with the understanding the school was in its last
days, its death throes.
Memos from Phil Quackenbush, the Chapter chairman, were strident but
not very encouraging. The Board was making arrangements to interview
teachers who wished to remain and work at John Wayne Cotter under the
new dispensation. Everyone else would be transferred to schools else-
where. Not to schools of their choice. It was a straight case of take it or
leave it.
This caused howls of anxiety and outrage that threw Quackenbush on the
defensive. Yes, It seemed the Board was treating teachers like garbage, but
he was protesting the situation in the strongest terms. In the meantime, he
wanted everyone to inform him of their reassignments, their new schools,
just in case things worked out in the union's favour and he needed to get in
touch with them.
Come what may, however farflung their eventual dispersal, the John
Wayne Cotter family would remain united in spirit.
As the temperature warmed up, student absenteeism rose. Everyone
agreed these were good days for truancy at the beach. On hot days
students threw the windows open and teachers fought to have them pulled
down to one-inch slits "as per Board of Education regulations".
On one particularly bad day a substitute teacher got his finger caught in a
door. Someone shut the door with such severe force it made a clean slice
of the finger. His howl of pain was heard on the third and first floors, a
long drawn out, heart-chilling unnatural sound, then a whimpering of
disbelief. Someone picked up the severed finger and both were rushed by
ambulance to the hospital.
Jack Barquist came back. He'd been away for two years, "languishing in
the Superintendent's office," he said, "along with all the alleged perverts
…racial slurrists ..and child fondlers."
He strolled into the cafeteria during the fifth period, his briefcase slung
from his shoulder, as if he'd just left a classroom. Someone looked up and
said, "Look who's here!" There was a ripple of surprise, heads turning,
and an eruption of cheers ̶ "Jack! Welcome back, Jack. There's a brand
new tire round your middle " ̶ everyone smiling except Radix who didn't
know Jack. He watched as this burly, bearish-looking man with bottle-
bottom glasses smiled back, and let himself be drenched in a shower
of goodwill.
Two years back he'd been removed from the classroom for grabbing a
student by his jacket collar, shaking him and screaming, "You rotten punk!
You scumbag!" He claimed the kid had keyed the side of his car. The kid
waited outside for him to leave the building, joking around with his
friends; waiting to witness the shock and horror on Jack's face; pretending
not to notice as Jack approached, gasped when he saw the wriggly scratch
line on the car's paintwork, from front to rear.
Jack didn't have to ask; he knew who'd done it. He walked right back to the
group and grabbed the kid. The next day the Superintendent's office
received a complaint from a parent about "a teacher assaulting my son".
This was considered a serious offence.
So what happened? "Nothing. They told me they couldn't conclude the
investigation. Apparently the kid moved to Florida… so here I am. Back
with all you masochists."
And wasn't that just like the Board of Ed? Two years of investigation, two
years spent sitting in the Superintendent's office; reporting every day,
reading the New York Times, doing the crossword puzzle ̶ "I'm really
good at it now!" he said, smiling his lovable bear smile.
Everyone laughed. Another hug, another kiss on the cheek. Then Jack
pulled out a chair and the excitement died down.
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!", a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 