A Terrible Beauty: What Teachers Know but Seldom Tell outside the Staff Room Read online

  A Terrible Beauty

  Smashwords Edition

  © 2009 D.W.St.John

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For Donna Nichols, Annabel Fish, Angus Niven, the San Joaquin gang, and all the caring, competent teachers, secretaries, bus drivers, and custodians I have had the privilege to know.

  With special thanks to Robert J. Press, Chuck Andersen, Pam Wilds, Bill Levy, and Asia.

  To TEACH IS TO LEARN TWICE.

  Joseph Joubert

  ONE

  Looking up at the old schoolhouse, really seeing it for the first time in nearly ten years, Solange Gonsalvas wished she were anywhere else. Skin colored Jamaican rum, midnight hair horsetail strait, face open and intelligent, she turned large hazel eyes upward, reading the words above the door aloud in a voice dark as the purr of a leopard— ELK RIVER NORMAL SCHOOL — 1911.

  A dangerous wreck of a building, it should have been torn down fifty years ago. She wished to God it had. Three nights now she had lain sleepless dreading this moment. Now here she was. A deep breath, a clenching of jaw, and she headed up the stairs and inside.

  She found his room easily, took hold of the cold brass knob, peered in through wavy glass. Seeing O’Connel for the first time in two years, she let her hand fall away.

  Leaning back against his desk, hard forearms folded across his chest, O’Connel looked less like a teacher now than he ever had.

  His hair was longer than she remembered. He needed a shave. Gold wire rims perched absurdly far down his nose. But as he spoke to the class before him, she could see he hadn’t changed, not really, not in any way that counted. With distaste she pictured him cowering before her. She couldn’t imagine him afraid and didn’t want to see it. Watching him, she smiled sadly. No, he hadn’t changed. It might have been easier if he had.

  The bell clanged, loud in the silent hall, making her jump. Doors banged open, and screaming seventh, 8th and 9th graders flooded out. Expecting his door to open like the rest, she stood aside. It stayed shut. Solange sidled up to the glass to find his students poised like thirty sprinters on the block, and O’Connel, relaxed, finishing up. It took a certain kind teacher to keep a class from stampeding to the door at the bell, a certain kind of person.

  He would be one.

  He waved an arm in her direction, and they raced for the door.

  The last gone, she took a long breath, hardening herself for what she would see, and went in.

  O’Connel glanced up, pressing back his glasses with a single finger. Unperturbed, he looked at his watch, reaching wide in a long, lazy stretch, and smiled his usual easy, crooked smile.

  “Good morning, Ms. Gonsalvas. You’re late.”

  • • •

  She didn’t get it. He’d known she was coming and didn’t seem to mind. It didn’t make sense. She’d only known herself since late Friday.

  Forcing herself closer, she took a deep breath, head erect, leather case held protectively before her. “Mr. O’Connel, I’m here to observe your classroom.” She gave him what she hoped was a withering look. “You seem to know that.” Tossing a pen carelessly onto the desk, he laced fingers behind his head, leaned back in his chair, springs squealing. “So I heard. It isn’t every day a man gets a visit from an angel.” She felt herself redden. She didn’t want him calling her that.

  Not him—especially not him.

  The Angel of Death—that’s what they called her. At thirty, assistant superintendent of the second largest district in Oregon, firing bad teachers was her job. She’d done it and done it well, but it had cost her. Teachers she’d taught with every day for five years froze up at the sight of her now. Never having made friends easily, now she made none at all.

  Moving easily, he swept up a tattered leather briefcase and held the door. “Time to go, my next class is upstairs.” She watched him closely as she passed. If he were frightened, he didn’t show it. In the hall, he smiled over his shoulder, entertained by her struggle to keep up.

  “Different from the district office, huh?” Bitterly, she smiled, wrenching her bag between two boys taller than she by a head. O’Connel wasn’t intimidated in the least. The bastard was enjoying seeing her fight her way through the throng in suit and heels.

  • • •

  The third floor classroom was freezing. The floor gave ominously under her heel.

  “Don’t worry, it’s pretty spongy in spots, but nobody’s fallen through yet.” He opened the cock on the radiator, setting off a cacophony of hissing and rattling from a monstrosity offiligreed brass.

  “It’s good you brought your jacket, you’ll need it for a while yet.” The third floor was quiet now. She went to stand at one of the tall windows. Her eye was drawn to the timbered horizon where mist hung in the folds of the hills—much too nice a view to be framed by a fly-specked window like this one. She craned her neck to look out at the half-circle sheet-metal slide sloping down the outside wall to the ground. Rust seeped through the latest coat of paint at the joints, trailing to the center to run in a bloody stream downward. Stomach tight, she pulled back. It was a long way down.

  “You a fan of our fire escape?” he said.

  “I’ve never seen it from way up here, that’s all. You don’t use this thing anymore, do you?”

  “For drills, no. I slid down ten years ago on a dare. I wouldn’t do it again. It’s pretty shaky, bolts held by six layers of paint and force of habit. The kids use the stairs now.” A small country school gobbled up by a big city district, it was only a matter of time before it would be torn down and Elk River’s kids bussed to larger schools. The five years she’d taught here had been the hardest of her life. The plumbing ran pumpkin soup when it ran at all. Radiators moaned and squealed like rooting hogs. Plaster dust sifted from twelve foot ceilings. When it rained, teachers covered whatever they wanted to keep dry with tarps.

  Impatiently she turned away from the window to glance at her watch. “Where are they?” He went on writing on the board. “Nutrition break, new thing.

  Board member’s kid wasn’t eating breakfast, so they started giving them ten minutes between second and third to buy doughnuts and sodas. Started the year you went downtown.” He came to the front of the lab table to fold his arms. “So, how’s the place look to you now?” She looked around the room. “Old, run down, small.” She shrugged. “The same.” He smiled. “Can’t wait to get this over with, can you?” Was she so easy to read? “Why do you say that?” He shrugged. “That’s the way I’d feel about it. If I had an office waiting for me downtown, I wouldn’t be able to wait to get the hell out of here.” He was going to say something more; she could feel it. Solange had heard teachers beg. It was always the worst of them. The volleyball coach who took his girls out drinking had been one. She looked appraisingly at O’Connel once more.

  Definitely not the type to beg. What then? “Look, we both know why you’re here.” He disentangled one burly arm to delicately press on his glasses with a forefinger. “I could give you a song and dance. Don’t think I couldn’t. I toed the line for twenty years. I could sure as hell wear a halo for a week
or two. If I did that, what would you get? Nothing.” Absently she reached up to check the top button of her blouse.

  This was a new one. “So, just what are you saying?”

  “I’m offering you a week with me being my usual lovable self.” This was getting really strange. “Why would you help me?”

  “Why does anyone do anything? To get something.” Revulsion passed over her in a wave. Now she understood. It wasn’t happening. “No deal. Dr. Merrill didn’t authorize me to offer you anything. I can only go by the contract.”

  “No, no, no, you don’t get it, do you. It’s not money.” He held up two powerful hands as if sculpting the air between them. “In twenty years I’ve never been observed for more than a quarter of an hour, maybe once in five years.” He spoke barely above a whisper, voice taut. “I’ve done what I’ve done in a vacuum. Parents are too busy, most the kids don’t care, the principal only shows up if she gets a complaint. What I do, I do for myself—but once, just once, I’d like someone to know what it is I’ve been doing for twenty years, to see it from my point of view.

  Someone who knows what it is they’re looking at. Someone like you.” Out in the hall, students tromped up the stairs.

  That couldn’t be right. She must have misunderstood. “That’s it? That’s what you want—to be observed?” Several juniors came in wearing pajamas, long underwear, flannel nightgowns, carrying teddy bears, stuffed animals and pillows as they continued shouted conversations.

  O’Connel gave her a look that said they would pick it up later and went to take roll. Now she really didn’t get it. Still confused, she sat at a desk in the back, opened her laptop. The sooner she got started, the sooner it would be over. And she wanted it to be over.

  He could only want one thing—his job. And that he couldn’t have. Still, like an itch in the back of her mind, his proposal nagged her. There was something there, something that didn’t fit.

  But what?

  • • •

  Late last Friday, the superintendent had caught her just as she was headed out the door, ruining her weekend with the news. A kindly, incompetent old man, Dr. Merrill couldn’t adjust to the clawing and biting that went on in a large school district. Five heart attacks in five years and he didn’t look good. She was afraid the job was killing him. Seven years ago he hired her as a rookie, encouraged her to go for an administrative credential and five years later backed her for assistant superintendent.

  Owing him more than she could ever repay, she did what she could to shield him from those harrying his flanks. He promised her this year was his last, and if she could help him get through it, he could almost guarantee she would be the one to replace him.

  And that—that was everything.

  From his shirt pocket Hugh took a little black notebook in which he scribbled notes, and she stifled a smile. Whenever he spoke to anyone, out came the book. The problem was, once safely down in his notebook, that was usually the end of it. Pretty soon it was a joke, he and his little pad.

  In the five years she’d worked with him she’d learned he cared about more than his salary. He cared about the kids, and with her that counted for a lot. The book, well, if it was a little strange, it was kind of cute, too.

  Looking tired, Hugh rubbed his eyes with the heels of calloused hands. “Monday starts the second term and O’Connel’s flunked a quarter of his students again, two board members’ kids in the bunch.” Solange’s heart fluttered. She’d heard about O’Connel’s troubles, but had hoped it wouldn’t go this far. It was funny, but when Hugh had called her back, she’d thought of him.

  “Mrs. Noble’s been on the warpath for a week now, got the board madder than hornets. I just had another call before you came in.

  That damned Welshman— Since the accident he just won’t play the game.” Concerned, she leaned forward in her chair. “You sound tired, Hugh. Should you have come in today?” Impatiently, he waved away her concerns. “Oh, don’t baby me, I’m all right, but Christ, I’ve got enough on my mind right now without all this nonsense.” He pushed himself off the desk, lowering himself carefully into a chair. Patiently, she waited, wanting to reach out, but not daring to embarrass him.

  He paused to catch his breath, exhausted from the effort. "You used to work together out at Elk River, you did know his wife and child were killed a couple years ago?” She wiped a hair out of her face, nodding with what she hoped was nonchalance. She’d seen Patti several times and remembered with a touch of envy how well they’d looked together. “I heard about it.” He shook his head, blue veins pulsing at sunken temples. “When he came back he wasn’t the same.” He took out a pipe, and began packing it with cognac-scented leaf from a small glass humidor on his desk.

  “You’ll see what I mean. Won’t work with CIM implementation committees, refuses to teach the class the way it should be taught.

  Won’t change, won’t try anything new. Only appears at faculty meetings when the urge strikes him. Doesn’t shave or cut his hair, looks a bum half the time.” He shrugged, sucking air through the still cold pipe. “Kicked about a dozen kids out of his classes the first week, won’t allow them back. We can’t have teachers telling us who they’ll have in their classrooms, can we?” Hands palsied so that she wanted to steady them in her own, he tore a match out of a book, shaking his head sadly. "After midterms we had twenty parents screaming for transfers before their kids flunked. A scheduling nightmare’s what it was. You should have heard Lovejoy scream over that one.” Striking the match, he held it over the packed bowl, sending clouds of blue smoke wafting about him. She loved the smell of his pipe and his gentle manner of speech. Such a nice old man. She was fiercely protective of her few friends; he and his wife were two.

  Content, he rocked back in his chair. "And after all that, he still failed one out of four students. How do I justify failure rates like that to the board? The way things are going, the laws they’re sending down? Both you and I know we’re moving towards non-graded portfolios. We’re emphasizing success today, self-esteem, and most teachers are coming along with the program.” He leaned close, pointing at Solange with the stem of his pipe.

  “You understand this is between you and me. The board wants him out, and although I feel for him, I’m afraid I agree. Dai’s got tenure and twenty years seniority, but I’ve spoken with Hersch at OEA, and he assures me that if we have proper documentation—and we do—they won’t go to bat for him. He’s been a thorn in their side too. We’re in good shape as far as the contract goes. We’ve filed all the necessary papers notifying him of his deficiencies and let the appropriate time pass and so forth. What I need from you, my dear, is what you do best-document no improvement. I’ll do the rest.” Placing bifocals on his nose, he peered down at his calendar.

  “I’m penciling it in for next Thursday’s board meeting. That gives you three days. Not a lot of time.” Rising painfully, he came around the desk to lay an icy hand affectionately on her shoulder. “You’ve always been able to help me out with these things, but I have to tell you, this one’s special. Noble’s gang would like nothing better than to use this as an excuse to force me out and bring in Lovejoy as superintendent. If I can’t get him out, there’s a good chance I’ll be handed my walking papers. And if I am, you know where that leaves you.” A frozen stiletto knifed up through her stomach.

  She knew—she knew precisely.

  • •

  O’Connel passed up and down the aisles as they wrote, tossing a copy of the Constitution in a small booklet onto desks as he passed.

  Pajama day—another excuse not to work, another distraction for kids who already had too many.

  “Okay, guys, in here it’s a workday, so put down the toys and get busy. You’ve got five minutes.” Under his gaze they settled down. The sky had grown inky black with cloud. The river would run high tonight. At his desk, he leaned back, resting his feet on an open drawer.

  So this was it.

  They must be serious this time. What else could he
expect after all the crap he’d pulled? It’d been fun, but he should have known it couldn’t last. Everything ended—everything. After what he’d lost, what was a career? It would almost be a relief to lose the last thing he cared about, the last thing binding him to the world.

  He watched her working across the room with the same fascination he felt watching the river. He had to admit it—she was magnificent.

  Best of all, she held herself as if she had no idea just how magnificent she was.

  “Solange Gonsalvas— “ He said the name under his breath. An incantation of the unattainable. A charm against loneliness.

  Solange Gonsalvas—his dark angel.

  Seven years ago, a rookie teacher in her first job, she came to Elk River. Now she’d come full circle to finish him. It made a queer sort of sense in a way. Like a force of nature, deadly as a river in full flood, she would sweep him away without a thought.

  • • •

  Across the room, Solange sat listening. Through the walls on either side, she could hear loud talking and laughter from the neighboring classrooms. Here there was only the pinging of the radiator and the scratching of two dozen pencils on paper. Rain pattered against the windows. She felt comfortable in this room, safe, although she didn’t know why she should, so near to the man she’d come to ruin. He knew why she was here, yet there he sat, feet up, as if he hadn’t a care. What could he be thinking? She noticed him raise his glance, and rousing herself from her reverie, quickly typed her first note.

  Copying engages only the lower cognitive domains. They could better be given a handout.

  She wrote it, but felt something else. Glancing around the room, she felt a tension as they worked, but also a certain sense of comfort, of security. Routines were comforting in a way, she conceded, but having kids copy didn’t teach them to think. And wasn’t that why they were here? He’d been warned about that in the many notices of deficiency she’d read in his file. Yet he’d changed nothing.