Part 17 (1/2)

”I don't know. Maybe never. Maybe-maybe it only happens once.”

”Oh, now!” I said and had nothing to add. What can you say to a child whosehand has disappeared into a granite boulder and won't come out?

”Liesle,” I said. ”Can you wiggle your fingers?”

Her whole face tightened as she tried. ”Yes,” she said. ”It's just likehaving my hand in a hole but I can't get it out.”

”Push it in, then,” I said.

”In?” she asked faintly.

”Yes,” I said. ”Push it in and wiggle it hard. Maybe they'll see it andopen up again.”

So she did. Slowly she pushed until her elbow disappeared. ”I'm wavinghard!” We waited. Then- ”n.o.body comes,” she said. And suddenly she was fighting and sobbing, wrenching against the rock, but her arm was astight-caught as her hand had been. I hugged her to me, brus.h.i.+ng my handagainst the rock as I quieted her thras.h.i.+ng legs. 'There, there, Liesle.”Tears were wadding up in my throat. I rocked her consolingly.

”O G.o.d in Heaven,” I breathed, my eyes closed against her hair. ”O G.o.d inHeaven!”

A bird cried out in the silence that followed. The hour that had no number stretched and stretched. Suddenly Liesle stirred. ”Gramma!” she whispered.”Something touched me! Gramma!” She straightened up and pressed her other handagainst the boulder. ”Gramma! Somebody put something in my hand! Look,Gramma!” And she withdrew her arm from the gray granite and held her hand outto me.

It overflowed with a Something that Was for a split second, and then flakedand sparked away like the brilliance of a Roman candle, showering vividly andall around to the ground.

Liesle looked at her hand, all glittering silver, and wiped it on herpajamas, leaving a s.h.i.+ning smudge. ”I'm tired, Gramma,” she whimpered. Shelooked around her, half dazed. ”I had a dream!” she cried. ”I had a dream!”

I carried her back to the tent. She was too exhausted to cry. She only madea weary moaning sound that jerked into syllables with the throb of my steps.She was asleep before I got her jacket off. I knelt beside her for a while,looking at her-wondering. I lifted her right hand. A last few flakes...o...b..illiance sifted off her fingers and flickered out on the way to the floor.Her nails glowed faintly around the edges, her palm, where it was creased,bore an irregular M of fading silver. What had she held? What gift had beenput into her hand? I looked around, dazed. I was too tired to think. I felt anodd throb, as though time had gone back into gear again and it was suddenlyvery late. I was asleep before I finished pulling the covers up.

Well! It's episodes like that-though, thank Heaven, they're ratherscarce-that make me feel the burden of age. I'm too set in the ways of theworld to be able to accept such things as normal and casual, too sure of whatis to be seen to really see what is. But events don't have to be this bizarreto make me realize that sometimes it's best just to take the hand of a child-aSeeing child-and let them do the leading.

The Last Step

I don't like children.

I suppose that's a horrible confession for a teacher to make, but there'snothing in the scheme of things that says you have to love the components ofyour work to do it well. And that's all children are to me-components of mywork. My work is teaching and teaching is my life and I know, especially in ajob handling people, that they say it helps to like people, but love nevermade bricks build a better wall-loving never weeded a garden and liking nevermade glue stick harder. Children to me are merely items to be handled in thecourse of earning my living and whether I like them or not has nothing to dowith the matter. I loathe children outside of school. I avoid them, and theyme. There's no need for school to lap over into other areas of living any morethan a carpenter's tools should claim his emotions after he leaves work.

And the pampering and soft handling the children receive-well, I supposethose who indulge in it have their justifications or think they have, but allit accomplishes as far as I can see is to pad their minds against what theyhave to learn-a kind of bandage before the wound, because educating childrenis a pus.h.i.+ng forcibly of the raw materials of intelligence into an artificialmold. Society itself is nothing but a vast artificiality and all a teacher isfor is to warp the child into the pattern society dictates. Left alone, he'dbe a happy savage for what few brief years he could manage to survive-and I'dbe out of a job. At any rate, I believe firmly in making sure each child Ihandle gets a firm grip on the fundamental tools society demands of him. If Ido it bluntly and nakedly, that's my affair. Leave the ruffles and lace edging to others. When I get through with a child he knows what he should know forhis level and knows it thoroughly and no love lost on either side. And if hecries when he finds he is to be in my cla.s.s, he doesn't cry long. Tears arenot permitted in my room.

I've been reading back over this. My tense is wrong. I used to teach. Iused to make sure. Because this is the fifth day.

Well, when the inescapable arrives- But how was I to know? A person is whathe is. He acts as he acts because he acts that way. There's no profit inconsidering things out of the pattern because there's no armor againstdeviation. Or has there been a flaw in my philosophy all this time? Are thereother values I should have considered?

Well, time, even to such an hour as today brings, has to be lived through,so I'm writing this down, letting the seconds be words and the minutesparagraphs. It will make a neat close-quote for the whole situation.

I was in a somewhat worse mood on Monday than I usually was because I hadjust been through another utterly useless meeting with Major Junius. You'dthink, since he is military, that he wouldn't bother himself about suchfoolishness even if parents did complain.

”Imagination,” he said, tapping his fingertips together, ”is an invaluablea.s.set. It is, I might say, one of the special blessings bestowed upon mankind.Not an unmixed blessing, however, since by imagination one plagues oneselfwith baseless worries and fears, but I feel that its importance for thechildren should not be minimized.”

”I don't minimize it,” I snapped. ”I ignore it. When you hired me to comeout here to Argave and paid my s.p.a.ce fare to bring me here, you knew myfeeling on the matter. I am not without reputation.”

”True, true.” He patted his fingers together again. ”But you are robbingthe children of their birthright by denying them such harmless flights offancy, their fairy tales and such imaginative literature.”

”Time for such nonsense later,” I said. ”While I have them, they will learnto read and write and do the mathematics expected of them on this level, butby my methods and with my materials or I resign.”

He puffed and blew and sputtered a little, clearly hating me and toyingwith the idea of accepting my resignation, but also visualizing the 130children with only three teachers and Earth a four-month journey away. When Isaw that, as usual, he would do nothing decisive, I got up and left.

I went out to my detested ground duty. The children were due to arrivemomentarily, dropping in giggling cl.u.s.ters from the helitrans that broughtthem out to Base from their housing. Their individual helidrops would landthem in the play yard, and after unstrapping themselves and stacking thehelidrops in the racks, they would swarm all over the grounds and I wa.s.supposed to be at least a token of directed supervision, though what childneeds to be shown how to waste his time?

The children came h.e.l.ling down-as slang would inevitably have it-and theday began. I usually made my tour of the grounds along the fences that boxedus securely against the Argavian countryside, the sterilites along their baseseffectively preventing Argavian flora or fauna from entering. More nonsense.If we want Argave, we shouldn't try to make it a Little Earth. And those of usfool enough to people this outworld military installation should acceptwhatever Argave has to offer- the bad with the good. It's near enoughEarth-type that not many would die.

But to get back to the playground. One corner of it is a sandbox area wherethe smaller children usually played. That morning, I noticed some of the olderboys in that area and went over to see what playground rules they werebreaking. As it happened, they weren't breaking any. They were playing nearthe sandbox, but closer to the fence where Argavian rains had washed out thetopsoil and, combined with the apparent failure of one of the sterilites, haddeveloped a small rough area complete with tiny Argavian plants-a landscape in miniature. The boys didn't notice me as I stood watching them. They had begunone of those interminable games-nonsense games-where they furnish a runningcommentary to explain the game to themselves as they go along. There werethree boys. I don't know their names because they hadn't been in my cla.s.s andI never bother with other children. They were older boys, maybe fourth level.They were huddled at one end of the rough area, inspecting a line of tinymetal vehicles such as boys usually have stuffed among the junk in theirpockets.

”And this,” said the brown-haired one, ”has Captain Lewis' family in it.Mrs. Lewis and the three kids and LaVerne, the maid-**

”What about the new baby?” the redhead asked. Brown rocked back on hisheels and looked at the car, then at Red. ”It isn't born yet,” he said.

”It might be by then,” said Red. ”Better mention it or it'll be left out.”

”Goes,” said Brown. And he half chanted, ”This is the car for Mrs. CaptainLewis and the three kids and La-Verne and the new baby-or babies.” He lookedover at Red without a smile. ”It might be twins.”

”Goes,” said Red. ”Now that's all except the teachers.” ”There's only onecar left,” said the blond-haired boy. ”A little one.”

”You're sure?” asked Brown. ”Can't it be a big one?”

”No, it's a little one.” Red wasn't looking at anyone. He seemed to bepeering through his lashes at nothing- or something?

”Goes,” said Blond. ”Miss Leaven, Mr. Kaprockanze, and Miss Robbin-”

Red glanced quickly over at Blond as his voice dropped. ”And Her,” he said.

”Do we hafta take Her?” asked Blond. ”This would be an awful good time toget rid of Her.”

”We can't,” said Red. ”It's total. Anyway, do good to those whodespitefully use you and persecute you and do all manner of evil against youunjustly-”

”Goes,” said Blond. ”I learned that, too, but you said it wrong.”

”Well, we hafta anyway,” said Red. ”Now. Ready?” The three boys lookedsolemnly at one another. Then their eyes closed, their intent faces turnedupward and their lips moved silently.

Blond spoke. His voice was shaken with desolation that seemed almost real.”Will there be time?” he choked.

”Yes,” said Red. ”We'll have five days. If we can fair-the-coorze by then,we'll make it. Ready?”

Again, that short pause and then Red put his forefinger on the roof of thevehicle that headed the column and nudged it forward slowly over an almostunnoticeable line that was apparently meant for a road. The two other boysbegan nudging the other vehicles along.

I turned and left them, caught by something in their foolish play: MissLeaven, Mr. Kaprockanze and Miss Robbin-I felt a sudden sick tw.a.n.g inside methat I thought I had long outgrown. Such foolishness to be upset by children'snonsense. But the roll call echoed in my head again. Miss Leaven, Mr.Kaprockanze and Miss Robbin. My name is Esther Corvin. I must be Her.

As is my invariable practice, at dismissal I left school at school andretired immediately to my quarters. I spent the evening playing bridge in theQuarters Lounge with a number of the other civilian employees of the Base and,near midnight, stood in my gown at my window looking out on the Argaviannight-which is truly splendid with three colored moons and a sky crowded withtight cl.u.s.ters of brilliant stars.

Quite uncharacteristically, I lingered at the window until I was s.h.i.+veringin the heavily scented Argavian breeze. Then I suddenly found myself leaningfar out over the sill, trying to catch a glimpse of the corner of the schoolyard, madly wondering if those vehicles were toiling minutely forward throughthe Argavian night. Something must be wrong with me, I thought. And took ananti-vir before I went to bed.

I had no idea that the incident would be prolonged. Consequently I was astonished and mildly annoyed to see the three boys huddled in the corner thenext morning. I determinedly stayed away from them, even going so far as toturn one end of jump rope for some of the girls to divert my attention. Myhelpfulness was more of a hindrance. The children were so startled by my offerthat none of them could jump more than twice without missing. Finally, theystood dumbly looking at each other with red-splotched cheeks, so Irelinquished the rope and left them. I drifted over to the corner to see-tofind out-well, bluntly, I was irresistibly drawn to the corner.