The Book of Joby

by Ferrari, Mark J.

  “Taubolt’s kids are your whole life,” GB said when it was clear that Joby had run dry of words. “You’d die for us. Everybody in this town knows that. You were practically the first person Nacho talked about the night I got here. If the school board’s too dumb to see that, they’re about to get an education. People in this town will really riot when they find out. You’ve been saving them all summer. Now they’ll save you.” He came to put an understanding hand on Joby’s shoulder. “You’ll see. This is never gonna happen, Joby.”

  Joby had come to meet GB at the appointed time, in their usual spot, because he hadn’t been able to contact him in time to cancel, but their magic lesson hadn’t really gotten off the ground today.

  “Thanks for listening to me spew, GB,” said Joby, “but I shouldn’t be wasting your time here. Let’s learn me some magic.”

  “Are you sure?” GB said. “We don’t have to, if—”

  “No, this is what we came to do,” said Joby. “Hamilton’s preempting enough of my life. I’m not giving this to her too.”

  “Okay.” GB shrugged. “What do you want to try this time?”

  Joby thought for a moment, then smiled sardonically as a very therapeutic idea struck him. “Teach me how to blow things up.”

  “What?” said GB uncertainly. “What things?”

  “I don’t care,” Joby said. “Anything you want. Rocks, stumps, bugs. Anything big enough to make a decent boom. I’ll pretend it’s Hamilton.”

  “Cool.” GB grinned. “Okay. Here’s what you do.”

  As spring gave way to summer beyond the confines of his season-neutral retail environment, Merlin had been deluged with increasingly grim live-action broadcasts in living cosmicolor of Lucifer’s revolting predations upon Joby, and all of Taubolt’s many boiling conflicts, one of which was coming to a head this evening at the local school board meeting. The question of Joby’s future at the high school, which had escalated into a battle royale between Taubolt’s old ways and its new, was to be resolved at last.

  As he continued mapping out the convoluted path to freedom, Merlin had been turning occasionally to watch the proceedings. The meeting was already in its second hour. Joby’s rapport with Taubolt’s teens had been praised or denigrated, according to each speaker’s sympathies. His lack of certification had been set against his excellent performance in the classroom. Occasionally, the view on Merlin’s TV screens zoomed in on Joby, seated in the front row, never speaking unless directly addressed, watching with un-readable expressions as his fitness was debated.

  Bridget O’Reilly had just explained again why Joby had been hired without a credential and asked why he couldn’t just go get one now. The board had replied that, given Joby’s failure to admit his uncredentialed state immediately, his character had become the central issue. Still, it seemed more and more that Joby would prevail.

  Then Agnes Hamilton came forward with “new evidence” of Joby’s unsuitability.

  “When I think of all the things I could have turned you into,” Merlin grumbled as she appeared on screen.

  “I know many of you are fond of Mr. Peterson,” she said, “but this board is not elected to conduct popularity contests. Its mandate is to ensure that those to whom we entrust our children—”

  “Our children!” someone shouted. “You haven’t even got any.”

  Roger Tanning, the board’s president, banged his gavel, glaring at the audience. “Please continue,” he said to Agnes when quiet had been restored.

  “To ensure,” she began again, “that your children are entrusted to safe and trustworthy persons who teach constructive values. Caring as passionately as I do about both quality of education and the safety of our youth—” There were more rude noises from the audience, quickly gaveled down. “I have assembled a body of evidence that clearly shows that Mr. Peterson is neither teaching constructive values, nor a safe adult with whom to leave your children.”

  She went on to present a noxious parade of “sworn written testimony,” some of it from tourists, demonstrating nothing except that Joby was more sympathetic to Taubolt’s kids than to Hamilton’s agenda. One accusation, that Joby had referred to Hamilton as “the goblin lady” during a lunchtime discussion with other teachers, merely won Agnes her first big laugh that evening. Even Tanning was starting to look impatient with her.

  “As amusing as many of you seem to think this is,” she said impatiently, “it presents a very disturbing pattern. Has no one ever wondered why there’s hardly a teenager in Taubolt who won’t do whatever Mr. Peterson asks at the drop of a hat? Does that seem natural? What other adult do they treat this way? Of course, it’s less mysterious when one sees how often he undercuts legitimate adult authority. Of course your children adore him. He tells them what they want to hear, whatever the effect on their behavior afterward. He not only regards his students as personal friends, but treats them like peers, socializing more often, it seems, with people half his age than with adults. Do you really want your children learning from a man who seems to have such difficulty understanding where to place himself on the scale of maturity?”

  The audience before her was clearly growing uncomfortable, but not, Merlin thought, with Joby. “Do go on, dear lady,” he muttered at the TV screen. “You’ve nearly enough rope to do the job now. By all means, hang yourself.”

  “And who are these ‘personal friends’ Joby gathers from your cradles?” Hamilton continued. “Boys—nearly all of them. Young, pretty boys. Not a girl in the bunch.”

  Clearly incensed, Joby finally stood, and said, “If I may, Mr. Tanning?”

  “I would like to finish,” said Hamilton. “He is welcome to respond in his turn.”

  “If it’s brief, Mr. Peterson,” Tanning said, ignoring Hamilton.

  “I can’t see how it would look better,” Joby said, “if my younger friends were all girls. I lean toward friendships with male students precisely because there is less risk of misunderstanding regarding my intentions there. I would also like to say that I deeply resent Ms. Hamilton’s implication here.”

  “Methinks he doth protest too much,” Hamilton said frostily. “I am curious why a man of your polished social skills, respectable income, and, frankly, decent looks, Mr. Peterson, is still single and apparently uninterested in more mature company.”

  At this, there was an uproar that took quite a bit of gavel-banging to subdue.

  “Ms. Hamilton,” Tanning scowled when he had finally been heeded by the crowd, “I begin to find your remarks very inappropriate. Unless you have some substantial proof of the things you are implying, I—”

  “I do,” she interrupted, unable to conceal the smirk of triumph on her face. “I would like to ask one of Mr. Peterson’s students to come forward: a boy known as GB.”

  Merlin groaned, but morbid fascination kept him watching as GB came forward glancing desolately at Joby in such convincing imitation of remorse that Merlin had to shudder at whatever must be coming.

  “Now, GB,” Agnes attempted a sympathetic smile with rather gruesome results, “just answer my questions as simply and honestly as you did for Sheriff Donaldson.”

  Joby jumped up again, demanding, “What’s the sheriff doing questioning my students? This is no police matter!”

  “Mr. Peterson,” Tanning barked. “You will be given ample time to address all of this, but I ask you, please, to let us hear what this boy has to say.”

  Hamilton’s smile grew more genuine, if less sympathetic. “GB,” she said, “you are a very good-looking boy. I’m sure you know that. Has Mr. Peterson ever spoken to you about your appearance?”

  GB nodded, looking at the floor.

  “What did he say?” Hamilton asked.

  GB mumbled something unintelligible and Agnes asked him to speak up.

  “He said I was attractive,” GB said, looking humiliated.

  Merlin’s view swiveled to show the incredulity spreading over Joby’s face.

  “I see,” said Hamilton, adopting
a far graver expression and tone.

  “It wasn’t like that!” GB protested, looking again in apparent agony at Joby. “I was just worried about how I’d make a living when I grew up! That’s all.”

  “Of course,” said Hamilton. “And what did Mr. Peterson suggest?”

  “He said I had nothing to worry about, ’cause I could be a model.”

  “A model,” Hamilton repeated. “Well, I’m sure he’s right. You are, as he said, a very attractive boy. Is that the only job he suggested?”

  “Well . . . yeah,” GB said.

  “Nothing else?” Hamilton pressed. “As an English teacher, I’d expect him to suggest at least a couple of other things. What about being a writer, or a teacher like himself? A professional athlete, even. Didn’t he suggest any other options?”

  GB shook his head, looking at his feet again.

  “And where did this conversation take place, GB; in Mr. Peterson’s classroom?”

  GB shook his head again, the embarrassed blush returning to his face.

  “Where then?” Hamilton insisted.

  “The woods.” GB frowned.

  “ ‘The woods,’ ” Hamilton repeated. “Was there anyone else there?”

  “No,” GB said. “Just us.”

  “And what were the two of you doing there, out in the woods, alone, when he called you attractive?”

  GB looked up at Joby in obvious distress.

  “GB?” Hamilton purred. “You’re not in any trouble as long as you tell the truth.”

  Merlin began to curse Lucifer in every language he had ever learned.

  “I can’t,” GB said, looking close to tears. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “A tutorial,” Joby said, raising his voice to be heard over the growing murmur of the crowd. “GB has some trouble reading. It embarrasses him, for God’s sake.”

  “Is that true?” Hamilton asked GB.

  GB nodded, looking properly ashamed.

  “Why did you think we wouldn’t believe that?” Hamilton asked GB sadly, then turned a far less gentle gaze on Joby. “And why out in the woods, Mr. Peterson? Wouldn’t tutoring be better served by a classroom full of books with lots of educational materials at hand?”

  “Not for students who are inhibited by institutional settings,” Joby replied coldly.

  “Is that what you strive for with your students, Mr. Peterson?” she mused. “A lack of inhibition?”

  “Ms. Hamilton,” Tanning interrupted to his credit, “regardless of the truth in this matter, I must ask you to avoid—”

  “I apologize,” she cut him off. “I just find all this tremendously upsetting. Mr. Peterson, I’ve another question to ask you. I fear there is no gentle way to ask it, and before you answer, I will tell you that we already know the truth, and have witnesses to back it up, so I’d advise honesty this time. Have you, on any of your field trips with students, ever been naked in their presence, or seen them naked in yours?”

  Joby just looked stunned at first, then enraged. “We were swimming!” he snapped. “For God’s sake, Agnes!”

  “Naked. Together,” Hamilton said, undeterred. “With children who were your students . . . all attractive boys.”

  As the room erupted into chaos, Merlin could bear no more. He turned away from all the screens and went to work with renewed fervor at finding his way back from this exile Lucifer had imposed. There was nothing he could do from here to help his grandson, and his grandson very badly needed help.

  35

  ( “Justice” )

  “Can you feel it?” Lucifer exulted theatrically before his assembled demons in the darkened glade. “Destiny’s vast hinges . . . turning! Soon Joby’s rage will crest and fall on Taubolt like a tidal wave, and the gates of Heaven fall at last before our glory!”

  Incarnate again after her “janitorial” stint in Hell, Kallaystra checked her nails in the starlight. Was that a chip?

  Lucifer did like making speeches lately, but didn’t seem to grasp that giving predawn pep talks like some Jazzercise instructor wasn’t likely to engender big excitement when he’d killed a quarter of the class in just three months. Since losing Hawk to his own petulant stupidity, Hell’s mighty leader had been terminating “poor performers” at a rate startling even by his standards—though not Kallaystra herself, interestingly, or any of the Triangle either, despite his official position still holding them responsible for every error he had made these past few years.

  Whatever he might say now, Lucifer clearly knew he needed the few intelligent operatives left him. The question in Kallaystra’s mind these days was how much they needed him. After giving Basquel his just desserts, Lucifer had called her back out of banishment without a single word of apology. She meant to make it through the rest of this alive, of course, but after that it would be a very chilly day in Hell before Lucifer ever saw her face again, much less secured her help.

  Most things did seem back on course, though, she had to concede. Taubolt’s clueless “ognibs” lived in constant fear of “crime” now, while the minds of their persecuted children roiled with Rambo-esque fantasies of revenge upon the hostile adult world embodied in Sheriff Donaldson. Meanwhile, Taubolt’s angry merchants had regrouped with fresh determination since Joby’s fall from grace, to demand an all-out crackdown on “gang activity” in their little town. Even many of the half-breed bastards who dared call themselves “of the blood” were now preparing for defense at any cost. The tinder was so high and dry here that just one match would be sufficient to blow everything to Hell, and, if Lucifer was right this time, Joby was about to strike it.

  Their only remaining frustration was Michael’s surprising decision to join Heaven’s new epidemic of disobedient archangels. He was always there now, thwarting any scheme not directly aimed at Joby. This, in Kallaystra’s opinion, was by far the most intriguing development of all. Though it was never said, of course, everyone knew that Michael was the one angel Lucifer truly feared. Once consigned to Hell, as he would surely be now, might Michael not overthrow their current despot and provide some fresh leadership at last? Kallaystra had been thinking about how best to position herself against that possibility ever since she’d learned of Michael’s sudden interference.

  Realizing that Lucifer’s motivational blather had finally ended, Kallaystra’s attention returned to the day’s instructions.

  “During your rambles about town,” he said, “I want all of you to gather bits of physical evidence on as many of the youngsters Joby cares for as you can: personal effects, strands of hair, clothing fibers, anything that might seem telling at a crime scene. I’ll see to gathering Hawk’s, myself, of course, when I visit Joby later this morning.

  “Kallaystra, dear,” he said, turning to face her. “I need you to gather information, please. I want a list of every child in Taubolt whom Joby doesn’t know.”

  “But he knows them all!” blurted Tique, mouth on, brain off, as usual.

  “Not the youngest ones,” smiled Lucifer, seeming unperturbed, then turned back to Kallaystra. “Concentrate on those newest to Taubolt and not of the blood, so Joby won’t be recognizing family names. Children less than eight years old should do the trick. He’s all about the teens these days.” Looking up at the assembly, he said jauntily, “Let’s be about our work then. So many lies to tell, so little time to tell them, eh?”

  Joby stalked through Taubolt’s tourist-cluttered streets like an angry shadow, avoiding any eyes that seemed familiar. Muriel’s outrage at the school board had been transparent as she’d made it clear that Joby would be welcome as a waiter at the Heron’s Bowl. But just making the request had been humiliating for him. Hamilton’s obscene maneuver hadn’t just cost him his job. Years of accumulated trust and community standing, not to mention self-esteem, had all been plundered in the instant it had taken that selfish whore to whisper “pervert” to his superiors.

  Joby’s hard-fought campaign against Donaldson, and all the other ass-holes who’d made youth its
elf a crime here, had collapsed almost overnight once Joby’s own veracity had become suspect. His former compatriots had fallen to quarreling about which of their various pet agendas should take precedence over others now, and within a couple weeks the whole fatigued community had simply thrown up its hands and left the stage to Hamilton and her pet sheriff. Months of effort, once seen by Joby as the culmination of all he’d become here and his crowning gift to the community that had changed his life, were all ashes now, yards short of fulfillment.

  Joby was done fighting for “justice.” There was no justice in the world anymore; not even here in Taubolt. The Taubolt he had loved was gone. And maybe it deserved to be, given its complacence against despoilers like Hamilton. He’d spent all summer trying to defend Taubolt’s children, but none of his so-called friends had done more for him than commiserate when Hamilton had made her move.

  As Joby stormed down Shea Street toward his rusty car, he couldn’t help recalling the last time he had been this angry—on the streets of Berkeley. Rage haunted both his waking and his sleep now, just as it had after Gypsy’s murder. All the distance he had come since then—all the hurdles he’d surmounted, inside himself as well as out—just to end up right back where he’d started! Without Ben. Without Laura. Without hope, or wish to have hope anymore. This was what it all had earned him.

  Lunging into his car, Joby slammed it into gear and sent startled pedestrians scattering from the street as he pulled out. What did all these tourists think the sidewalks were for? This wasn’t Main Street, Disneyland. People really drove here! He sped home daring Donaldson’s goons to pull him over now. Joby’d have some magic tricks to show them. What worked on rocks and bugs would doubtless work on cops as well. The image made it possible to smile for the first time in weeks.

  As Joby yanked the car into his driveway, he saw GB sitting on the fire-wood box outside his door. The last time he’d seen the boy, GB had been fleeing the school board meeting in tears. For the first time since that night, Joby found himself grudgingly concerned for someone else. They watched each other as he climbed out of the car.