Trouble

by Gary D. Schmidt

  "At that time of his matriculation, he was two years older than most sophomore students, due to his background. There were the expected academic difficulties coming out of a public school education. We anticipated some language issues, but none of his teachers felt that these were significant enough to warrant special help."

  "How about social difficulties, Dr. Sheringham? Chay Chouan is from a very different background than most of your students."

  "He is, and we anticipated some problems there as well. There were some reports of incidents"—Mrs. Chouan leaned over the railing to Chay's lawyer—"but nothing more than the high spirits of boys welcoming a new student into their school. They quickly quieted down, and Chay became part of the Longfellow community."

  "There was a more serious problem last January, however."

  Dr. Sheringham nodded. "There was. Last January there was an altercation in the North Gym locker room in which Chay Chouan and another boy had to be separated."

  "The other boy was Franklin Smith."

  "Yes."

  "What was that altercation about?"

  "Students at Longfellow do not tattle on each other."

  "Did you investigate further?"

  "There was no need. The boys shook hands in my office. I considered the affair closed."

  "Do you consider the affair closed now?"

  "Objection," said Chay Chouan's lawyer. "Calls for opinion."

  "Sustained," said the judge.

  "Do you believe that the two boys parted as friends?"

  "It would be naive to think that," said Dr. Sheringham. "But they certainly understood what was expected of them in terms of their behavior at Longfellow."

  "Thank you," said the prosecutor to Dr. Sheringham. "Your witness."

  Mr. Giaconda walked across to Dr. Sheringham.

  "Dr. Sheringham, you are very proud of your school and its students."

  "I am."

  "Do you not find it remarkable that Chay Chouan, after spending most of his childhood in a refugee camp in a war-torn country and after traveling for thousands of miles to escape such camps, was able to enter a school as prestigious as yours and do well in his classes?"

  "I find all the students at Longfellow to be remarkable."

  "But don't you find it even more remarkable when one who has had none of the advantages of the others still succeeds there?"

  "Not particularly, no. Many of our students overcome handicaps to improve themselves and to succeed at Longfellow."

  "So, many of your students have had their sisters shot in front of them?"

  "No, but ..."

  "Or their brothers taken by force?"

  "No."

  "Or been forced to flee their homes with nothing and arrive in a foreign country without the ability to speak a single word of that country's language?"

  "No."

  "Dr. Sheringham, on the first day of Chay's matriculation, a group of students met him in the lobby of the school and babbled at him, pretending to speak an Asian language. Would you call this the high spirits of boys welcoming a new student into their school?"

  "I realize that Mr. Chouan, who was not familiar with our traditions, may have interpreted this to be more hostile than it was meant to be."

  "Dr. Sheringham, were you aware that a week later, on September fifteenth of last year, Chay Chouan's locker was broken into?"

  "Yes, I was made aware of the incident."

  "Can you tell the court what was done to all of Chay's books?"

  "They were spray-painted."

  "They were spray-painted red, to be precise. Why do you suppose that particular color was used?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do you know the cost of replacing those books?"

  "Textbooks are expensive. I would imagine over one hundred dollars."

  "One hundred and sixty-five dollars. Did the school pay to replace these books?"

  "The expense of textbooks is assumed by each of our families."

  "This is quite an expense to pay twice, wouldn't you say? Are we still in 'high spirits'?"

  Mr. Quincy rose. "Objection, your honor. In addition to moving toward badgering this witness, Mr. Giaconda has shown no relevance."

  "Your honor, Mr. Quincy opened the issue of the relationship between my client and Mr. Smith by implying that Mr. Chouan's altercation with Mr. Smith may have had something to do with the accident we are investigating today. It is only fair for the defense to explore the atmosphere in the school that may have led to that altercation."

  "Mr. Quincy, this is a line of questioning that you have opened. Proceed, Mr. Giaconda."

  "Dr. Sheringham, do you call the destruction of one hundred and sixty-five dollars' worth of textbooks 'high spirits'?"

  "All schools are marked by pranks, Mr. Giaconda. It is a sign of an imaginative and energetic school body."

  "In October, the Longfellow Prep Ledger ran an editorial against Cambodian immigration into the United States." Mr. Giaconda walked back to his table and pulled out a copy of the newspaper from a manila folder. He turned to Dr. Sheringham. "The cartoon depicts a Cambodian refugee stepping off a boat and into the halls of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School. Have you seen this cartoon or shall I show it to you now?"

  "I have seen it."

  "Would you like to comment on the depiction of the Cambodian immigrant?"

  "At Longfellow Prep we teach the values of responsibility and integrity to all of our students. We also teach the value of freedom of expression and freedom of the press. We stand by that union of responsibility and freedom."

  "You are suggesting that the cartoon in question represents responsibility and integrity?"

  "Balanced with freedom, yes."

  "How many students from Cambodia are currently enrolled at your school?"

  "The figure in the cartoon is meant to be representative, not an individual. It is a political argument, not a personal one."

  "And clearly this is one more way that an imaginative and energetic school body is bringing Chay Chouan into the group."

  "Objection," said Mr. Quincy.

  "I'll withdraw the statement. Dr. Sheringham, I have cited cases of what you call 'high spirits.' This is not how the Chouan family saw them. They saw them as deliberate harassment. I have records here of eight more such incidents. How many of these did you investigate at their request?"

  Dr. Sheringham unclasped his perched hands, uncrossed his legs. "Excuse me?"

  "How many of these incidents in which Chay Chouan was the recipient of harassment did you investigate?"

  "I read the reports on all of them and spoke with Mrs. Chouan three times. Language issues prevented any kind of resolution. But I dispute vigorously your description of these events as 'harassment.'"

  "What followed your reading of the reports?"

  "I filed the reports as I normally do."

  "Well, not as you normally do. Last February, you investigated a reported harassment of another student, did you not?"

  Dr. Sheringham crossed his legs again.

  "Louisa Smith," said Mr. Giaconda. "She, too, had a locker that was broken into."

  Dr. Sheringham nodded.

  "She had a shirt that was damaged. Correct? I would like a verbal confirmation, please."

  "Yes."

  "How was the shirt damaged?"

  "Red paint was sprayed on it."

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Sheringham. What was the color of the paint?"

  "Red."

  "The cost of replacement for that shirt was fifty-six dollars. Longfellow paid for that replacement, did it not?"

  "Yes."

  "After you investigated, you found that two girls had been involved in the incident. What was your response?"

  "Vandalism is extremely rare, and we look upon it as a serious breach of school ethics. Each was suspended for five days, and their families were asked to reimburse the school for the cost of the replacement."

  "Do you see this response on your part as be
ing consistent with your response to the damage done to Chay Chouan's textbooks in September?"

  "Different students and circumstances require different responses. The administration of a school is not a cookie-cutter business. It demands understanding and flexibility."

  "Dr. Sheringham, how much money did the Smith family donate to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School last year?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "It's a perfectly simple question. How much money did the Smith family donate to the Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Preparatory High School last year?"

  "I don't carry those figures with me."

  "I do," said Mr. Giaconda. He walked back to the defense table and opened his notebook. He ran his finger down a pad and then whistled. Without turning around, he asked, "Would you say that the Smith family is one of your most important benefactors?"

  "They have been exceedingly generous for a very long time, and Longfellow values their presence in our community more than I can say."

  He turned around. "Does Longfellow Prep value their presence more than that of Chay Chouan?"

  Dr. Sheringham did not answer.

  "You can't say. Dr. Sheringham, do you find it remarkable that a student continually harassed since his matriculation would do everything he could to save another Longfellow student who was hurt?"

  "I do not find that remarkable," said Dr. Sheringham. "The sense of communal responsibility is very strong at our school."

  "Really?" said Mr. Giaconda. "I would say that statement is the most remarkable one we've heard yet."

  "Objection," said Mr. Quincy.

  "I'll withdraw," said Mr. Giaconda. "Dr. Sheringham, did you ever discover the cause of the altercation between Franklin Smith and Chay Chouan?"

  "No."

  "Never tried?"

  "Never tried."

  "So you do not know that Franklin Smith, in the company of four of the players on the Longfellow rugby team, attacked Chay Chouan in the North Gym locker room?"

  "I do not respond to rumors."

  "So you do not know that while the four rugby players pinned Chay Chouan against a bank of lockers, Franklin Smith punched him in the stomach to knock the air out of him, and then pressed his forearm against Chay Chouan's throat until he fell unconscious."

  "As I told you, I do not respond to rumors."

  "Or that they left him unconscious and alone on the locker room floor, not knowing whether he was severely injured. You must define 'communal responsibility' in very broad terms, Dr. Sheringham. Most people would call that 'an act of cowardice.'" Mr. Giaconda looked for a long time at the principal. Finally, he said, "Thank you, Dr. Sheringham," and turned back to his table.

  But Henry did not look away. He stared at Dr. Sheringham. He felt Franklin's forearm against his neck, pressing. He heard his voice. "You have to handle that. You're ready to stand by yourself. You have to find the guy so it's just the two of you."

  "You don't have any guts."

  "An act of cowardice."

  Henry tried to breathe again. He looked at Louisa. Her face was in her hands. He thought he could almost hear her moaning.

  "Are there any witnesses for the defense?" asked the judge.

  Mr. Giaconda looked back at the Chouans. Mr. Chouan shook his head, and Mr. Giaconda turned back to the judge. "None at this time," he said.

  The judge arranged papers on his desk. He has even more than the prosecutor, thought Henry. Then he signed two, then three of the papers, looked at his watch, and signed another.

  Henry heard the clock ticking on the back wall of the courtroom. He wondered why he hadn't heard it before. Louisa was quiet now beside him, but she reached over and took his hand. If only they had a blanket fort to climb under. If only the music changed. If only he didn't feel a terrible tightness against his neck.

  Four rugby players held Chay Chouan down while Franklin ...

  The judge finished with his papers and looked up.

  "It is the opinion of this court," he said, "that in the case of the People versus Chay Chouan, the charge of Assault Seven, leaving the scene of an accident, has no bearing and is dismissed. It is the further opinion of this court that the charge of Assault Six, aggravated assault, should stand. Chay Chouan is hereby bound over for trial on that charge, that trial commencing no less than eight weeks from this date. Bail is set at $300,000."

  Mr. Giaconda jumped up. "Your honor, there is no danger that Chay Chouan will flee the jurisdiction of the court. I ask the court to set a bail in line with the family's financial circumstances."

  "Mr. Quincy?" the judge asked.

  The prosecutor rose. "Your honor, I would remind the court that this case might well involve a charge of homicide, depending upon future circumstances. I would also remind the court that the Chouan family has numerous connections remaining in Cambodia. Given this possibility, the court is bound to take reasonable steps to insure that Chay Chouan remains in its jurisdiction."

  The judge nodded. "Bail is set at $300,000," he said. "This pretrial hearing is closed," and he banged his gavel.

  "All rise," hollered the bailiff, and they all did. Slowly, without looking at anyone, the judge stood and left, followed by the bailiff. Then the policeman came back and stood beside Chay, who, Henry realized, had never raised his head through the entire hearing. He reached down, pulled at Chay's hands, and manacled them again. Then, finally, Chay did look up, and he turned to his mother. She reached over the rail, gently put her arms around his neck, and drew him to her. Her shoulders shook with the weight. His father stood stiffly, unmoving. Mr. Giaconda waited, and when Mr. Chouan finally drew his wife away, she whispered something to Chay, and Chay nodded. Then his head lowered. The policeman took his arm, and they headed for the door.

  But just before they were gone, Chay looked back again. He looked across the courtroom—past the policeman, past the bailiff, past his parents, past his lawyer. And as Henry watched, Chay looked straight at Louisa—who had also looked up and who was staring at him, her arms so tight around herself that she looked as if she was trying to crush her own heart.

  Then Chay turned his head, and he was gone.

  The Smiths left the courtroom before the Chouans, careful not to look at them. In the courthouse lobby Mr. Churchill told them about the likely possibility of a plea bargain in the next day or so, especially since Chay Chouan had no past offenses.

  "Do you mean," said Mrs. Smith, "that he could simply be freed?"

  "No, no," said Mr. Churchill. "I mean that since no one is disputing the facts, it might be that the defense will want to avoid a trial and offer a plea of guilty in exchange for a reduction in the charges or in the sentence. On our part, it would avoid the complicating problem of the Miranda rights."

  "Who would approve of the reduction?" Henry's mother asked.

  "The prosecutor and the judge would both need to approve."

  "Does our opinion matter?"

  "It most certainly matters," said Mr. Churchill.

  "And would anything change if ... if Franklin's condition changed?"

  "That would be negotiated as a part of the plea bargain."

  It was, Henry thought, unfortunate that this was the moment that the Chouans walked into the courthouse lobby with Mr. Giaconda, and that Mrs. Chouan, seeing the Smiths, left her husband and walked over on her tiny steps to put her arm on Mrs. Smith's shoulder. "I am so sorry about your Franklin," she said. "Every day we pray for him."

  "Thank you," said Mrs. Smith, cold as one of the marble pillars holding up the courthouse ceiling. "We do, too."

  "My son, too," Mrs. Chouan said softly. She began to cry.

  Louisa fled the courthouse lobby.

  Henry watched his mother. He watched as she almost yielded. As she almost leaned down into Mrs. Chouan. As she almost began to weep herself.

  Two mothers.

  But his mother hardened, and she moved away from Mrs. Chouan's hand. She turned and left the lobby. And what could the rest of them do? T
hey followed her out and found her behind the steering wheel in the car, stiff and cold, as if she might shatter with a touch. And Louisa was hunched as far against the side of the car as she could be, her arms over her head.

  They drove to the hospital in silence. In silence, they gathered around the quiet, indeterminate Franklin—except for Louisa, who refused to come up. Franklin had been shaved and his hair was combed—parted on the wrong side. His hand and fingernails were clean—unnaturally clean, as if they belonged to a newborn. The machine behind him pumped rhythmically, and they watched Franklin's chest rise and fall.

  Henry wanted Franklin to open his eyes. He willed Franklin to look at him, to remember the mountain.

  To explain his forearm against the throat.

  But Franklin was still. His chest rose and fell as his mother sat on the bed and told him what had happened in the courtroom. Henry and his father watched.

  On the way out of the hospital, Henry told his parents that it was too late in the day to take him and Louisa to school, so they all went home instead. There, the carriage house doors were open and the bags of dry cement scattered. They parked the BMW and walked over to the house, where Black Dog met them happily at the open service door, wagging her entire rear end. The remnant of the rope was still tied to her collar, and she danced around and around, swirling it until Henry could grab hold and untie her.

  They all went into the kitchen, which Black Dog had left untouched!

  Louisa went up to her bedroom.

  For lunch, Henry and his parents ate peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches with tomato soup while Black Dog watched hopefully on her toes. And afterward, Henry climbed down into Salvage Cove—what was left of it—with Black Dog. Together they clambered between the ribs and into the belly of the ship and stood where the cargo must have been centuries ago, before she had been beached. All the chains and clasps were gone, taken by the Blythbury-by-the-Sea Historical Society so they might be preserved without further loss. Little yellow tabs marked where they had been. Henry ran his hands along the stout board, and then along the smooth, soft grain of the beams, reaching up to their charred tips.

  Then, high on the wind, he heard his brother's word still echoing, as though it had finally escaped the hospital room and was echoing up and down the New England coast: "Katahdin."