“What sort of bird?”
“Just any old bird!” Clara snapped. “It doesn’t matter what kind it is!”
“Stop talking!” someone yelled. “Go to sleep!”
Bertie stayed quiet, but only for a few seconds. “No, it does matter,” she whispered at last. “What kind of bird is it?”
Clara groaned. At this rate, she would spend her entire night telling this story. “A robin,” she continued. “A robin who lived all by himself in the woods. And there was a wolf who was always trying to catch this robin, but nothing seemed to work. The robin was always too fast for him, and could always see any traps that the wolf laid…”
4.
Lucy pushed her cup of tea under her desk. “All right, class,” she announced. “Settle down now. Today we have a special visitor, invited by the school board. His name is Dr. Lucusta, an economist. He is going to lecture about how our economy works.”
The class groaned.
“Quiet, please!” Lucy called, rapping her desk. “You will respect our visitor, as he deserves! I want Dr. Lucusta to see that our class is a supreme example of the eighth grade. So, unless you can say something polite, hold your tongues.”
The door opened, and a tall dark-haired man entered. Under his right arm, he held a rolled-up poster. He grinned pleasantly at the class. “Hello, everyone,” he said. “I’m Dr. Lucusta. I will be the guest lecturer in your class today.”
At the sight of the handsome man, the girls gave a deep sigh. The boys rolled their eyes and glared jealously at the professor.
Dr. Lucusta unrolled his poster against the blackboard. It was a world map in full color, but slightly unusual: the continents had all been mashed together, to form one land mass. And written across the single land mass was one word:
PANGAEA.
Lucy furrowed her brow, terribly confused. “Um, Dr. Lucusta,” she remarked, “I thought you were going to discuss our nation’s economy. What are you doing?”
Dr. Lucusta smiled charmingly. “On the contrary, Miss Lucy,” he said, “These fine children are the future of our world. They deserve to learn about the economy of tomorrow, the most progressive economy in the world today: the Pangaea Economy.”
“But we are not part of Pangaea, sir,” Lucy said firmly. “We are a distinct nation of our own.”
“Well, that’s your fault,” laughed Dr. Lucusta. He turned to the class. “Shall we begin?” He gestured proudly at the map. “Do you know the story of Pangaea?”
The class shook their heads.
“I will explain,” Dr. Lucusta continued. “Millions of years ago, the continents were one whole land mass, called Pangaea. But eventually, the continents drifted apart. New lands formed. New cultures and countries developed. The human family became separated. Scattered. Like seeds of a dandelion clock. For thousands of years, we remained in this fragmented state round the world. Sometimes our families feuded with each other; we got into wars, and we fought over money and land. Just like crazy brothers and sisters! But then a group of hopeful young minds came up with a solution: reunite the family. No more separation, no more fights, no more of this conflict. One world, as we used to be.” He pointed to his world map. “Bring the nations together…until eventually, all become one family again. Thus was Pangaea re-established.” He flipped the poster over, and revealed a map of the current world. The Pangaea territories, which included most of the world countries, were colored green. The non-Pangaean territory was an ugly brown-yellow, and labeled The Outsider.
Lucy quickly stepped forward. “I must object, Dr. Lucusta,” she said hurriedly, “that map is offensively inaccurate. You’ve marked our country as ‘the Outsider.’ We are not the Outsider. Our country has a name. You should use it.”
Dr. Lucusta smiled coldly. “As far as Pangaea is concerned,” he continued, “your country is the Outsider, and the Outsider you will remain—until you decide to join us.” He turned back to the class. “Now,” he continued. “I will explain how the Pangaean economy works. The epitome of progress and equality. All resources are gathered and given back to the people, in equal shares. Careers are assigned to you based on your talents. Everything taken care of for you, from birth to death—your only worry is to enjoy life.”
“Who distributes the resources?” a voice asked.
Everyone turned to see who had spoken. It was Timmy Holmes, a chubby boy with black curly hair.
“Excellent question, my boy,” Dr. Lucusta replied. “The Benefactors, of course!”
“Who are the Benefactors?” asked Timmy.
“They are our countries’ leaders. They’re scattered all across our territories, in charge of making sue everyone gets a fair share.”
“But who are they?” Timmy pressed. “What are their names, and how do they get elected?”
“Oh, silly boy! They don’t get elected! They’re just…there. They’ve always been there, distributing resources since Pangaea was established. They keep their identities secret for security purposes. What difference does it make who they are, as long as they’re doing their job feeding people?”
But Timmy was not satisfied with this answer. He bit his lip, and shook his head. “No,” he murmured, “no. Something is wrong.”
“Wrong?” scoffed Dr. Lucusta. “What do you mean? The Pangaea economy is the most efficient on earth. We have the numbers to prove it. Everyone gets a share. It runs like a well-tuned clock.”
“No,” Timmy disagreed. His voice grew louder, more urgent. “No. Nobody ever does something for nothing. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Ha!” Dr. Lucusta scoffed. “Maybe you never do something for nothing, but Pangaea is much less selfish than you, boy. In Pangaea, we are one Family. Under one government, better than the rest. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
“No,” Timmy said flatly.
The class gasped. Lucy stifled a smile.
Dr. Lucusta smiled. But his eyes wavered uneasily. “What do you mean, boy?” he asked, tugging at his necktie.
“No,” Timmy repeated. “I think it’s a horrible idea. Not everyone wants the same culture. Not everyone wants the same government.”
Dr. Lucusta coughed uneasily.
But Timmy had only just begun. “Not everyone wants a monarchy,” Timmy continued. “Not everyone wants a democracy, or a theocracy, or whatever it is you want. I don’t care how ‘good’ your government seems to you; you’ve no right to force it down people’s throats. It’s good that we’re not one; it’s good that we’re different, because people are different. Why do you want to shove us all into your box?”
Awkward silence filled the room. The students looked at Dr. Lucusta expectantly. Of course, he should know how to respond to Timmy’s crazed rampage.
Yet even Dr. Lucusta seemed at a loss for words. For a few moments, he continued to smile, but his eyes had turned to the floor now. And then at last, he spoke. “Well, students. It seems we have a rebel in our midst.”
The class snickered.
“So, boy,” Dr. Lucusta continued, his voice grown strangely cold. “Tell us your name, why don’t you?”
“Timmy. My name is Timmy Holmes.”
“Timmy! Fine name, there. So, class,” he sneered. “Does Timmy always give you so much trouble?”
“He’s a smart alec!” a boy piped up.
“He’s always asking too many questions!”
“He’s never kissed a girl,” another boy called out. “He’s a prude!”
By now the entire room roared with laughter. Timmy did not bow his head, though; he stared directly at Dr. Lucusta. The boy was clearly very accustomed to being the laughingstock of the classroom.
“This,” Dr. Lucusta said, pointing to Timmy, “this is why we can’t have world peace. This boy, and his kind, are who prevent us from reuniting the family! He creates division! He prevents us from progressing!”
The class booed. A few spitballs struck Timmy’s head, but he did not react.
“But not the rest of yo
u!” Dr. Lucusta cried excitedly. He swung his finger towards the map. “You want world peace, don’t you? You want to save the world, don’t you?”
“Yes!” shrieked the class. “Yes, we will!”
Dr. Lucusta’s finger swung back to Timmy. “Then stop this boy’s kind from reaching power. Because he, and all of his disgusting kind, are holding us back—”
“—Please, Dr. Lucusta!” Lucy exclaimed angrily. “You forget you are addressing a child, not a convict! Stop attacking this poor boy!”
Dr. Lucusta sighed tiredly. “Pardon, miss. I am only delivering my message to the students, as I promised I would. Sometimes I get carried away with the urgency of my message. But I beg you: do not confuse my passion for senseless rage. My sole wish is that I might make the blind see.” He turned back to the class. “Well, that will be all for now. It has been a pleasure speaking to you. Enjoy the rest of your day.” While the students applauded, Dr. Lucusta extended his hand to Lucy. “A pleasure meeting you, Miss Lucy.”
“You too, sir,” she said, a bit too coldly.
~
“I’ve never heard anyone play like you, Morris,” Miss Dorrod remarked.
Morris laid his guitar aside. “You like it, then?”
“Like it? I was utterly hypnotized by it!” Miss Dorrod laughed. She turned to a short little man with stringy hair and thick spectacles, standing beside her desk. “Fetch my papers, Steve.” The little man bowed and exited the office.
“You could become the Sound of the Century,” Miss Dorrod continued. “It’s just a matter of connecting you to the right people. That’s where I come in.”
Morris’ heart felt ready to burst with joy. If only he had come to this office sooner, when that man first gave him Miss Dorrod’ business card. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” he sputtered. “I’ve been waiting for my big chance for years. I seriously thought everyone had given up on me.”
“Pangaea never gives up on anyone,” Miss Dorrod said. “We always have a place for all minds, of all kinds.”
“If I died on the floor of that subway, no one would care. But now…now I feel like someone would care.”
“Of course we would care. Pangaea cares about what happens to every single one of her children.”
“So when can I start recording?” Morris asked eagerly.
“Well,” Miss Dorrod hesitated, “it’s not quite that simple. We have to go through some necessary steps, as always. I’m not directly in charge. Like all Pangaeans, I work for the Benefactors.”
Morris sighed disappointedly.
“Don’t be sad!” Miss Dorrod reassured him. “As I said, it’s just some red tape. First, we must get you immigrated to Pangaea, then you will take a test to determine your areas of talent. With this test, Pangaea will assign you to a career based on your skills.”
“But will they assign me to music? How can I be sure they won’t make a mistake, and assign me to carpentry or something?”
Miss Dorrod’ smile held steady. “Pangaea never makes mistakes.”
The door opened, and Steve entered. In his hand was a pile of papers.
“Thank you, Steve,” Miss Dorrod said, taking the papers. She spread them across the desk before Morris. “So, Morris. You are an inkdrop away from success.”
“And what are these papers?”
“For Pangaean immigration.”
“What?” Morris gasped. “I thought people had to wait years to enter a country!”
“Not our country. We don’t believe in keeping people out. We welcome all. And it’s not very difficult, since most of the countries have already joined our Family. Except for your country.”
“But not me!” Morris sputtered. “I’m different! I want to be a part of your Family!” he yanked a pen from his pocket. “Just show me where to sign—”
“—No,” Miss Dorrod interrupted. “Don’t use that pen. Use this instead.” She pushed an inkwell and quillpen towards Morris. “Spit into that ink, then sign.”
“Spit?”
“Yes, spit into the inkwell, and sign with that. I want a record of your DNA on those immigration papers, so no one can claim your signature was faked. An odd custom, I know, but what can I say? Every country has its own strange traditions that we must respect.”
Morris shrugged. Eccentric. He spat into the inkwell and stirred it with the quillpen until all the bubbles had disappeared. His hand shifted towards the papers, ready to sign. But at the last moment, his muscles froze.
His hand hovered, shaking, just above the paper.
“I don’t mean to rush you, Morris,” Miss Dorrod pressed, “But I do have other clients waiting. Please hurry and sign.”
Morris wanted to sign, but something held him back. If he signed this, he would be guaranteed success, but at what cost? What if Pangaea assessed his abilities, and decided he was better at plumbing than music? They could assign him to some other career, and he would never be able to fulfill what he wanted. His eyes roved over the papers.
“I hereby agree to all terms outlined below…”
But what if Pangaea did assign him to become a musician? Then he would have success. Stability.
“…To place me as Pangaea sees fit…”
“…To surrender not my rights, but my loyalty…”
“You don’t have to read all of it, Morris,” Miss Dorrod said, laughing. “We’d be stuck here all day. Go on, sign.”
The pen fell from his hand to the paper.
I can’t. I just can’t.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Morris said aloud, in the steadiest voice he could muster. He stood up from his chair. “But thank you very much for the offer, all the same.”
Miss Dorrod quickly blocked the doorway. “Now just a moment, Morris!” she said, laughing casually. “What changed your mind? I promised you the world, and you just cast it away like a handful of mud?”
“No!” Morris sputtered, his voice shaking in spite of his efforts. “I…I am very grateful to you for your generous offer, but I just have a different plan in mind than what you wanted. Please don’t be insulted.” He inwardly kicked himself. It was hard to believe that just minutes ago, Morris had earnestly believed this woman was the only key to success. And like all glimmers of hope Morris had ever known, this dream too had been dashed on the rocks—this time by Morris’s own hand! Now he was filled with only an overwhelming urge to escape from this tidy office and return to that filthy subway.
For several long moments Miss Dorrod just stared into Morris’s eyes, as though she were struggling to see what had so suddenly changed the musician’s mind. And as they locked gazes for this long while, Morris began to notice things about the woman’s eyes he had not seen before. Anger, disappointment, jealousy—like a fox whose bird had just escaped.
At last Miss Dorrod spoke, her voice stiff with disappointment. “Very well. I suppose I will just take my generous offer elsewhere. But you are making a grave mistake, Morris. I hope you will be able to live with the consequences of knowing what you chose.”
“I will try.” Morris started to leave, when suddenly he paused. Before Miss Dorrod could object, Morris grabbed the inkwell in which he had spat.
~
Lucy kept her eyes turned towards the floor, but she could still feel the stern eyes watching her from the corner of the office.
“Have a seat, Lucy,” Principal Werther said. She smiled kindly. “I don’t bite, you know.”
Lucy settled into the chair.
“It’s been a long time since you stopped by my office!” Principal Werther chuckled. She eyed the black book protruding from Lucy’s coat pocket. “But I see you still cling to your magic book as much as ever.”
“I try.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of it, though? Clinging to words written over two thousand years ago. Your guidebook could use a serious software upgrade.”
They both chuckled.
“But that’s not why I called you here, Lucy.” Principal Werther f
olded her hands, and hesitated. “I’m not sure how to put this, so let me begin by saying you’ve always been one of our finest teachers. You’ve always followed our rules perfectly. But recently, we received a complaint. It was from—”
“Dr. Lucusta,” Lucy interrupted. “The guest lecturer you brought in to speak to my class.”
The principal stared at her, shocked.
“Well?” Lucy pressed impatiently. “It was Dr. Lucusta, wasn’t it?”
Principal Werther frowned sternly. “Yes. Yes, it was Dr. Lucusta, and I have to say—I am very surprised that you treated him so poorly. I would have expected better of you.”
“Poorly? How did I mistreat him?”
“A better question would be how did you not mistreat him.” Principal Werther handed a paper to Lucy.
It was a printed email from several hours ago, addressed to Principal Werther from Dr. Lucusta. As Lucy scanned the paragraphs, Principal Werther continued to ramble in the background.
“According to Dr. Lucusta, you mocked him from the moment he set foot in your classroom. You called his world map inaccurate. And when one student said Pangaea was a terrible idea, you snickered.” She shook her head. “You were disrespectful and aggressive, and I simply cannot tolerate such behavior.”
“On the contrary, Principal Werther!” Lucy exclaimed, tossing the paper onto the desk. “Dr. Lucusta was the aggressive one, not me! He mocked our country for not being part of Pangaea: he called us ‘the Outsider’. And he mocked that student who dared to disagree with Pangaea’s government. Are you actually willing to allow such closed-minded people to be teaching in our school?”
Principal Werther stared silently at Lucy for several long moments, as though expecting Lucy to say something, but Lucy said nothing. At last, the principal spoke. “Lucy,” she began slowly, “don’t you realize what the school is trying to do? Don’t you see the future we have chosen?”
Of course Lucy saw the truth. She had seen this decision coming for years, but she had nevertheless refused to accept the turn of events as final. She had always hoped that even if the rest of the world fell in line with Pangaea, her own country would somehow be spared.
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