One side of his mouth—the side with the scar—lifted into a half-hearted smile. “What color is it?”
“Blue. On some days. White on others. Blue with white, then white with blue. Gray. Black. Black with white dots—”
“Yes, yes, yes, the first debate many children engage in.” He sounded bored as he cut her off before she could begin describing sunrises and sunsets. “Of course you’d bring that up. I’ve been told you spend your time teaching the simplest ideas to the youngest children.”
“The earliest lessons are the most important, Captain,” Mahrree pointed out, ignoring his insulting tone. “How children learn to think about ideas when they’re young influences their ability to reason when they’re adults. If they don’t learn to think beyond the simplicity of what seems to be an easy question, then they’ll fail to realize the deeper levels of every problem. That’s why we begin the six year-olds with the ‘what color is the sky’ debate. The obvious answer is blue. But ‘blue’ isn’t obvious; it’s just lazy. From the beginning children need to learn that there are no simple questions, and no simple answers, so they can discover the best answers for themselves.”
Many in the audience applauded, most likely the parents of her students.
She took a step towards the captain. “How have you begun to teach your child, Captain?”
The captain’s half smile returned. “I am not a father, nor am I married, Miss Mahrree.”
She gave him half a smile back and said quietly, in the same tone he had used, “I should have known!”
The captain only blinked at her insulting manner. “So,” he continued loudly, “I suppose I’m not in a good position to judge whether such discussions are still useful. But the Administrators have issued a suggestion to teachers in Idumea. Instead of spending time debating the difficult nature of the sky with the children—”
“But learning is difficult!” she interrupted. “It’s supposed to be! That’s what makes it rewarding—”
The captain held up his hand to stop her.
Surprising herself, she obeyed.
“The Administrators have suggested,” he repeated steadily, “that the children be told that the sky is blue, since it almost always is.”
Mahrree folded her arms. “Years ago I heard a revered scholar argue that the sky is not intrinsically blue. It’s actually black. The blue that we see is merely an illusion—a trick of the sun, since once the sunlight is gone, so is the blue.”
The captain squinted. “Blue is an illusion?”
“Very much so, Captain.”
“Fascinating, Miss Peto,” he said sincerely. “I’ll have to look further into that. But such a concept is too complex for young children, and that’s what the Administrators believe. To avoid confusion, children will be taught that the sky is always blue. This way they need not worry about getting the answer wrong on a test.”
Mahrree’s insides twisted. So much the Administrators had done in the past two years had been of great benefit to the world. They lowered taxes significantly—eliminated them completely for the first two full seasons—and had made suggestions to the manner of food distribution, herd growth, and farm development. None of that really meant much to her, since she knew nothing about them.
But this?
For some reason, the idea that the Administrators were now trying to influence the way parents and teachers taught their children filled her with traitorous thoughts of doubt.
“The sky is always blue? But that’s not accurate,” Mahrree protested.
“It’s accurate enough,” the captain said.
“Accurate enough?” she nearly wailed. “That answer simplifies the question inappropriately and fits only limited circumstances. This past Raining Season the sky was rarely blue. It was gray and depressing!”
“Just tell them that underneath it all, despite what they may see, the sky really is blue and they can count upon that fact,” the captain said indifferently. “Children are simple, needing only simple answers.”
A few whistles of disapproval greeted his declaration. Peculiarly, a smile tried to escape his mouth.
And Mahrree saw it.
“You don’t really believe that, do you Captain?”
He stiffened. “I’m reciting what the Administrators have said, arguing in their behalf.”
“Why?”
The captain paused. “Because I’m the army’s representative in Edge, and by extension, the representative of the Administrators. Their ideas in Idumea may be later applied here in Edge.”
A flicker of concern flashed across his face.
And Mahrree saw that, too.
“The way children are being taught is changing,” he continued formally. “Parents no longer have to concern themselves in choosing the lessons. Just as the Administrators have alleviated the citizenry of difficult decisions concerning farming and ranching procedures, they’ve also decided to alleviate parents of the burden of deciding their children’s curriculum.” He sounded as if he was reading from an official parchment.
Mahrree was glad she wasn’t the only one disturbed by his message. The calls from the audience expressed a loud mixture of disapproval, intrigue, and confusion. Mahrree listened to hear what the overall concern was, and when she discovered it, she gave it to him.
“Why is it considered a burden to select what’s best for the children to learn? That’s the parents’ duty. My job is to help the parents provide that teaching.”
“Perhaps,” he said mysteriously.
Everyone waited for an explanation.
He offered none but smiled vaguely at her. “Miss Peto, why do you find it disturbing that the Administrators select what’s most important for our children to learn?”
She really wasn’t sure, but it sat on her strangely. “Captain, what if the Administrators choose to teach that which is against the beliefs of the parents?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Such as what, Miss Peto?”
She squirmed as she wondered just how close he was to the Administrator of Loyalty. “I don’t exactly know yet, Captain. I’m just posing the question for the debate.”
“And I answer for the debate,” he said sharply. “I can’t imagine any situation where the Administrators would recommend teaching anything that would be contrary to the welfare of the world. If anyone would be out of line, it would be misguided parents.”
Now the audience squirmed, too.
Exactly who would be deciding what was best for the world, Mahrree wondered, and what was best for an individual? Not even she was brave enough to pose such a question in public. Instead, she remembered something else that troubled her. “You mentioned a test of some sort.”
“I did.”
“What kind of test?” She gave tests to her students occasionally, ones she made with their parents.
“A test that’s been developed by the Administrators to make sure the children are learning what they should. A strong civilization needs consistently strong education,” the official voice declared.
While evaluation seemed reasonable to Mahrree, something else wasn’t. “No two children are the same. They all learn at different rates. How will the Administrators account for that in their testing?”
“This will be the first year of the test,” he said. “I’m sure the Administrators are confident they can assess each child fairly.”
“So this test won’t allow for any answer to the What color is the sky question other than blue?” Mahrree already dreaded his response.
“I don’t believe so.” His face was unreadable.
That irritated Mahrree, among other things.
“So how is that fair when there are many accurate answers? What if it’s raining that day?”
“The children will have been taught that the correct answer should be blue.”
“Even when nature disagrees?”
“Nature agrees often enough with the Administrators.” He smiled slyly.
Some in the audience laughed.
>
Mahrree’s stomach twisted again. “And if it doesn’t, will the Administrators change nature?”
The captain’s smile broadened. “Oh, I certainly hope they’ll try!”
More laughter.
“You have a lot of faith in this new government, don’t you Captain Shin?” Mahrree said. Until five minutes ago, she did as well. So why did this make her so uneasy, the Administrators wanting to ‘help’ with education, changing the color of the sky to ‘simplify’ everything?
And how would he respond to her question about his faith in the government? The relationship between the army and the Administrators was known to be shaky. The Administrators were doing their best to ensure the army’s abuses of the past would never return, but memories of the killing squads, carrying out Querul the Second and Third’s dictates, were hard to forget.
The captain’s mouth twitched until carefully selected words finally came out. “The Administrators are still new—it’s been only two years—so they’re still trying to resolve the many problems left by the kings and their neglect. Change comes slowly, and that can be good. I do, however, have faith they are, indeed, acting in the best interest of the world so . . . yes.”
Mahrree had started smiling halfway through his stumbling, diplomatic speech.
“It took you a little while to get to that ‘yes,’ Captain,” she noted some laughter from the crowd. “But considering the past relationships between the Army of Idumea and the kings, and now the Administrators, I would have imagined you might have a more firm judgment by now.”
Some in the audience ‘oohed’ in sympathy for him.
He had trapped himself and had to loosen the grip of his words. He analyzed her, seemingly searching for more than an escape route. To avoid his steady gaze, Mahrree tried to focus on the horizontal scar above his eye again.
“It’s very hard to judge something so new, Miss Peto. And it is also unfair to judge something until you see how it responds in different situations.” He was sliding out of his trap. “Would you feel comfortable with me evaluating you and how you think after this one brief encounter?” His smile was most disarming. No wonder he was a soldier.
“It is hard to judge accurately, Captain. I agree.”
Some in the audience whistled in disapproval.
Mahrree tossed them a reassuring glance. She wasn’t finished with this officer.
Hardly.
“But we must make some kind of initial judgment, in every situation, to assure our safety and create a basis for evaluation. Then we must modify that judgment as new information arises. I made a judgment about you the moment I saw you.”
She thought she saw something like pleasure race across his face.
“And that judgment has changed many times in the course of our discussion.”
She said it sweetly, but his eyes looked almost pained.
“I now have another evaluation of you, Captain, but I don’t think the time’s right to share it. I have yet to see you prove yourself.”
Applause and even some laughter scattered through the crowd. The captain squared his back and stood a little taller. Mahrree hadn’t realized until then that she didn’t even come up to his shoulders.
His very broad, sturdy shoulders, the influence of her teenagers pointed out.
“I intend to prove myself, very soon. I look forward to it,” he announced.
“You’re going to prove yourself to us? How progressive of Idumea,” she sniggered, “they’re now even sending us entertainment.”
Several in the audience joined her in dubious laughter.
Admirably, the captain didn’t even blink at the ridicule. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued by your attitude against progress, Miss Peto. And as you know, Chairman Mal is all about progress.”
The villagers looked at her in nervous expectation.
She knew about the Chairman’s focus on progress. She also knew the captain was trying to show he sided with the Administrators, which would nudge her to some position opposite.
“I’m wary of what some people claim is progress, Captain Shin,” she clarified. “Not every edict that came down from the kings was progressive, as I’m sure you’ll agree. And I’m not yet convinced that every suggestion from the Administrators will be progressive. Different, yes. Helpful? Ah, that takes time to evaluate.”
“Be careful now, Miss Peto,” Captain Shin simpered. “Someone listening might think you’re not fully behind the progressive measures of the Administrators.”
Mahrree squared her narrow shoulders. “Why? Do you have the power to create a killing squad to silence me?” She knew exactly what her boldness would do, and she enjoyed watching it happen.
The audience tittered in loud nervousness, while a few men shifted their gazes towards the captain, their glares hardening.
The captain’s eyebrows shot upwards at her audacity, and she memorized the stunned look on his face. Three of those in a debate, and she would win the evening.
“Miss Peto,” he said earnestly, “I’ve never been involved in a killing squad, nor would I want to. Killing squads were done away with by the High General under Querul the Fourth, and the Army of Idumea has been a peaceful, protective service ever since. But Miss Peto, let’s avoid the emotional tangents you’re employing and get to the heart: what’s your definition of progress? Obviously not something that’s just different, then.”
“No,” she agreed, grudgingly impressed by his ability to recognize her tactic to overturn his line of insinuations.
Hmm.
She hadn’t expected that. She rather thought he’d be as ridiculously thick as his neck. But he was a tricky one.
“Progress is change that improves everyone’s lives,” she told him. “Our way of living, thinking, behaving.”
“And how do you know if something is progressive or not?” he squinted.
“We test it,” Mahrree said, “as The Writings have said we should do: test all things, as we are tested. Oh, wait. I’m sorry.” She batted her eyelashes. “I understand most people from Idumea no longer read The Writings. Too trite and unprogressive?”
She enjoyed watching his face tighten.
The captain nodded. “I have, in fact, read The Writings once or twice. I seem to remember a line where the Creator told the first five hundred families He placed here that they should test all ideas and knowledge for the truth of it. So, how can you dismiss the educational suggestions of the Administrators without even testing it yourself?”
The audience chuckled nervously for Mahrree. He had a point.
She had one to match.
“I’m all for finding out the truth, Captain. You won’t find anyone more determined than me. So this is being tested first in Idumea? Then I’ll wait to see the results before I suggest to my students’ parents that we try any of it here.”
“So you’re willing to trust someone else’s experience?”
“Yes, Captain. I don’t need to fall off my roof to know it’ll hurt. I saw my poor neighbor Mr. Hersh learn the ‘truth’ of the hardness of the ground after a long fall.”
The audience laughed and Captain Shin nodded slowly. “So you’re not opposed to progress?”
“If I were, I would still be wearing animal skins and living in that same cave where in the Creator first placed our ancestors when He brought them to this world 319 years ago!”
“You enjoy citing The Writings, don’t you, Miss Peto?” he said with just a slightly condescending tone. “You probably know all of it, how the Creator taught the women to shear sheep and card wool, and how He taught the men to smelt iron, make tools, cut down trees, and make planking for houses?”
She folded her arms in a manner she hoped also seemed slightly condescending. “I do, Captain. I enjoy discovering the truth the Creator and His guides left for us.”
Captain Shin held up a finger. “Can truth be found from other sources, Miss Peto? Can’t we learn to do things without the guidance of the Creator? We’ve been without t
he influence of guides for almost 120 years now, and we seem to be just fine.”
“Are you suggesting, Captain Shin,” she glowered, “that losing our last guide in 200, his murder in the forest above Moorland, ending the words of the Creator to us, was progressive?”
The angry tension that filled the amphitheater told the captain what his response better be if he had any hope of winning any hearts and minds that night.
“Miss Peto, any man’s murder is tragic,” he said somberly. “And the death of the last holy man is beyond that. Of course I’d never suggest the death of Guide Pax was acceptable. But I would submit that we have carried on admirably since then, and those in this audience who still revere The Writings as deeply as you do, demonstrate that the spirit of the guides is still strong and viable. Perhaps the Creator now wants us to act for ourselves and progress to the best of our abilities without His direct guidance. Miss Peto, we didn’t need a guide or the Creator to discover how to turn flax to linen, or discover silk.
“But, perhaps,” he said with a growing smile that warmed his features and began to warm the audience as well, much to Mahrree’s disappointment, “the Creator did influence that woman to do her wash under the mulberry bushes so that the silk cocoons would fall into her hot water and make such an absurd but useful mess. And it wasn’t because of the guides that men discovered ways to combine different soils, gravel, and water to create mortar to hold rock together. Our ancestors discovered that themselves. They also learned how to turn the pines north of Quake and to the west of Trades into pulp and thin paper, allowing us to print far more books than if we had only costly parchment. We did all that!
“Miss Peto,” he continued earnestly, “I believe the Creator gave us minds and choices so that we could become creators ourselves. He wants us to experiment, try, fail, and try again until we succeed. That’s progress, Miss Peto, and I submit that the Creator is pleased with us when we experiment. In that light, the Creator is pleased with the Administrators when they experiment. These changes in education? Just experiments to see if we can progress to something even greater.”
The Forest at the Edge of the World Page 5