by Torey Hayden
She was barefoot and dressed in a red plaid flannel boy’s bathrobe. When she saw me, her eyes went wide with undisguised surprise.
“There, you satisfied?” He brought Venus over until she stood about six feet away from me.
What I noticed was that she appeared to be wearing nothing other than the bathrobe. This caught my attention because it was four in the afternoon and so an odd time to be taking a bath or the like. And because it was so cold in the trailer. Perhaps she had a short nightie on under the bathrobe, which I couldn’t see, but my sense was of nothing. Just the bathrobe.
“Hello, Venus. I was worried because you weren’t in school today.”
She stared at me. It wasn’t in the blank way she often stared at school, but it wasn’t in a particularly aware way either. She stared at me like I was someone she didn’t know, like I was an amazing, unreal sight and she didn’t know whether to be happy to see me or frightened of me.
“I hope you will be coming tomorrow,” I said. “I missed you.”
“Okay. Happy?” Danny asked.
I nodded slightly.
“Go off now,” he said to Venus and pushed her aside. She didn’t move.
She just stood, staring at me.
“Go!”
She didn’t move.
“Go!” He pushed her shoulder.
Venus turned and disappeared back down the corridor of the trailer.
Chapter
20
The next day, Wanda came struggling up the stairs to the classroom, Venus trailing behind.
“Her come to school,” Wanda said as I met them at the door to the room. “Beautiful child come to school today.”
“Yes, that’s right. Thank you for bringing her, Wanda.”
“Beautiful child go to school.”
“Yes, thank you, Wanda. You brought Venus to school today, didn’t you?”
She twisted her hands and gave a shrug. “Beautiful child go to school.”
“Yes.”
Shabbily dressed in a tentlike garment and heavy tweed man’s overcoat, Wanda stared at me in an almost beseeching manner. I noticed she had no gloves on, despite the cold weather, and no hat or muffler. She twisted her hands again.
It occurred to me that perhaps she was saying in her own way that she, too, wanted to come to school. What was being done for Wanda? I wondered. Anything? Did she wander aimlessly, her days empty? Except perhaps for Danny. At that unsavory thought, I made a mental note to talk to Bob about her. In the meantime, I took notice of her hands, still twisting.
“Your hands would feel warmer with gloves or mittens on, Wanda,” I said. “Do you have a pair?”
“Beautiful child go to school.”
“Yes, that’s right. But do you have a pair of gloves at home, Wanda? This is the weather to put them on.”
Wanda stared at me.
“I can try to find you some in the donation box, if you want. Shall we do that? Before you walk home? Shall we go down and see if there are any gloves for you?”
Only Jesse had arrived, and he was busy putting a puzzle together. I guided Venus over to her desk and then took Wanda downstairs to the office.
“Who’s at home now, Wanda?” I asked. “Is Danny there?”
“Wanda go home,” she replied.
“You’re going home? After bringing Venus to school?” I was uncertain what she meant. “Is Danny there?”
“Don’t like Danny,” she muttered.
“Why is that?”
We were in the back office. I’d taken down the box of donated clothing that was kept on top of the cupboard and began to sort through it for gloves of a size that would fit Wanda. I couldn’t find a matching pair.
“Don’t like Danny. Danny says ‘Sleep in the bathroom.’”
“Sleep in the bathroom?” I asked, looking up. “Who does he say that to? You? Do you sleep in the bathroom?”
“Beautiful child.”
“Venus?”
“Cold. Cold hands.” She put her hands up against her ears. “Makes cold. Don’t like Danny. Don’t want to go home.”
“I see.” I didn’t see. I wasn’t sure what Wanda was talking about except that it wasn’t good, that someone—she or Venus or maybe both of them—was being mistreated. “I’ll see what I can do. Okay? Perhaps you can stay here for a little while.”
Wanda’s eyes grew wide. “No. No go to school.”
“No, I know you don’t go to school here. But if you want to stay here a little while instead of going home, I’m sure it would be all right.”
“No!” She seemed quite alarmed at this and backed off. “No go to school.”
“Okay, okay. Here.” I helped her pull the gloves on her hands. One was black. One was brown. They were all I could find that fit. I looked her in the face. “Those will keep your hands warm.”
“Go now. No go to school.”
“All right.” I started for the door with her, but then paused. “Wait. Wanda? Would you like a doughnut?” I pointed to the box of doughnuts kept on the counter beside the coffeemaker. “Have a doughnut, Wanda.”
She took two, and her face broke into a broad smile.
I wanted to stop then and there to talk to Bob about all this. Wanda’s conversation had given me a very bad feeling. But it was spot on nine o’clock, so I needed to get back up to the classroom.
I watched Venus through the morning. She was very much her usual self, totally clocked out most of the time. There was no way to get her to do any kind of academic work other than one-to-one, and even then, it was I who was doing the work, moving her hands, opening the folder, making the connection between this item and that. It was February and in all this time Venus had made absolutely no progress academically. I had no idea what the homebound teacher had done with her, but I couldn’t imagine it was much. Venus did absolutely nothing in the classroom still. She sat. This student literally did nothing but sit.
I suddenly felt disheartened. “Progress” for Venus had thus far consisted of getting her to walk across the room by herself. Not even spontaneously. Just walk across the room. After much urging and coaxing. What kind of progress was that? And now this horrible suspicion something very bad was happening at home. I didn’t get down moments often, but I had a very big one just then. Everything about Venus seemed suddenly hopeless.
During morning recess I went in search of Bob. I found him in the teachers’ lounge.
“Can I talk to you a minute?” I asked. “Privately?”
He got up from his chair. We stepped outside into the hallway.
“I stopped by to talk to Venus’s mother last night about her poor attendance. I asked to see her. This Danny character was there. I asked to see Venus. This is because I’ve been over there on two or three occasions now and I never see this kid around when I’m there. So I asked to see her. She was supposed to be ill. That’s why she didn’t come to school. Anyway, he did go get her, but she was poorly dressed. Looked like just a bathrobe and nothing else. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was changing clothes. Maybe she had a short nightgown on underneath. I don’t know. But then Wanda comes in this morning saying something about Venus sleeping in the bathroom. Or at least this seemed to be what she was saying. You know Wanda. But …”
Bob nodded slowly.
“I dunno. I realize none of this really constitutes ‘evidence of abuse,’ but it’s giving me very bad feelings.”
“I’m not sure what we can do about it,” Bob said.
“Can we just raise it with Social Services? Let them know I’m concerned. In case they’re concerned as well and it is just a matter of corroboration?”
“I think they already are concerned. I know the whole family is considered ‘at risk’ regarding abuse. There’s been abuse with previous boyfriends, so Social Services is keeping an eye on them. They know there’s stuff going on there. You and I know that. I think everybody does. It’s just a matter of proof. It still is a free country, Torey. Not a police state. We can’t i
nterfere in people’s lives based on suspicion. And awful as that feels in instances like this, it’s still the way we’ve got to be to have a free society.”
“I thought this Danny was being brought up on drug charges,” I said.
“Apparently it’s been dropped.”
I sighed. “I was hoping we had some excuse to get him out of the home. He gives me the creeps.”
Bob’s shoulders sagged. “They are concerned, Torey. Social Services are up to their necks with this family. I’m not saying they’re doing nothing.”
I studied his face.
Finally he nodded. “But yeah, okay. I’ll phone them again.”
At recess that afternoon, I didn’t push the issue of getting Venus to cross the room. Instead, I stayed with her at the door until the other children were out and then put a hand gently on her back and guided her to the reading corner.
“What shall we read?” I asked. I had left the Frog and Toad books, the Frances books, and the She-Ra comic all lying in plain view on top of the bookshelf.
Venus paused.
I waited.
Then without further hesitation, she lifted her right hand and gestured faintly toward the comic. She looked up at me.
“She-Ra? Okay. Let’s find out what happens to She-Ra.”
I took the comic and sat down on the rug. Then I reached up for her and pulled her down onto my lap. Venus still did not sit naturally in laps. A stiffness always remained that kept her from molding against my body.
I started reading.
It was a surprisingly complex story for a kid’s comic and had a broad cast of characters. I had forgotten how many creatures peopled the imaginary worlds of He-Man and She-Ra—witches, elves, sorcerers, storm troopers, robots, magic cats and horses—a strange mix of very ancient and very modern, where rocket ships appeared alongside magic cauldrons. Certainly this was not the world of Frog and Toad, who concerned themselves with nothing more complex than what time to get up or how to find a lost button.
Was Venus listening? Was she comprehending? There was no way to know. She sat in the same still, stiff fashion throughout.
I pointed out the various characters. I commented on their strange clothes, their unusual mannerisms, their relationships to one another. It all flowed back with a wave of nostalgia, returning me to long-ago moments when He-Man was such an important part of classroom life. Small moments with other classes, other children peeped in around the corners of my thoughts as I read to Venus.
Then, finally, came the dramatic moment in the story, where ordinary, everyday Adora drew her magic sword, held it aloft, and turned herself into the superheroine She-Ra.
“Look. See how she’s doing that?” I said, running my finger over the picture. “Wouldn’t that be good? Would you like to be able to do that? Pull out a magic sword and turn into a superhero? Have super strength? Be able to whack away the bad guys with your sword?”
Venus leaned forward slightly to look at the picture better. She studied it intently.
“Shall we play that?” I asked. “Practice it? Shall we see if it works for us?”
I lifted her off my lap and went over to the chalkboard where the yardstick was. I brought it back to the reading corner.
“Do you think if I spin around and say ‘For the honor of Grayskull,’ I’ll turn into She-Ra?”
Venus had gone wide-eyed.
“Shall I try?” I asked. I laughed and held aloft the yardstick. “Shall I try to turn into She-Ra?”
And she nodded. Only very, very faintly, but it was a nod.
I kept the yardstick in the air and spun around. “For the honor of Grayskull! I am She-Ra!”
I looked down at Venus. “Did it work? Did I turn into She-Ra?”
A very slight shake of the head. And a smile. She got the joke of it.
“What about you?” I asked. “What if you try?”
Venus’s eyes went wide again with surprise.
“I bet it might work for you. I bet it will. I bet you might turn into She-Ra. What do you think?”
Very, very faintly she shook her head.
“You don’t? You don’t think you will?” I replied in exaggerated surprise. “Well, let’s see. Prove it to me. Prove to me you’re not She-Ra. Because I’m thinking Venus is probably really She-Ra’s secret identity. Really her secret identity.”
Venus shook her head quite openly then.
“No? Aw, you’re kidding me. Prove it to me. Spin around with the sword here and show me.”
She shook her head again. “Not,” she said very, very softly.
“You’re not? Awww. I don’t believe you.” I held out the yardstick. “Here. Prove it to me.”
There was a long, long moment between us. I began to doubt she was going to respond. Then, in a slow, cautious movement she held her hand out.
I gave her the yardstick. I grinned.
Venus took the yardstick and held it up. Not high. Only a small part of it was higher than her head, but she clutched it tightly and started to turn. She closed her eyes and turned all the way around. Her movements were slow and stilted, but she did make it, her small face screwed up tight in concentration, her black hair bouncing slightly against her shoulders.
She stopped. She opened her eyes and looked at me.
I opened my hands wide in a gesture of amazement. “Hey, Princess of Power, it’s you!”
And Venus laughed out loud.
Chapter
21
February—the 3 A.M. of the year.
At last I had what I wanted: a reasonably cohesive, unified group. The strict behavior modification program had had its desired result in terms of focusing the children’s attention on specific behaviors and decreasing all the negative acting-out stuff. I still operated the class largely by use of the traffic lights, and although I was not, by nature, someone inclined to such a rigid approach, I realized that the familiarity of the system itself had become reassuring to the boys. They knew precisely what was expected when and what the consequences would be, if they chose to disobey. For the types of problems most of them were coping with—poor attention span, hyperactivity, impulsiveness—this highly structured routine gave them the security they needed to stay calm enough to work.
What kept this rather strict program from becoming austere was the singing. I hesitate to call it music. While Jesse and Billy clearly had musical abilities, none of the rest of us could be relied on to stay on tune or remember all the words to whatever song was struck up. Perhaps for this reason, we very often made up our own words and, on occasion, our own melody as well! And every once in a while, we’d get downright operatic, singing back and forth to one another things like “I don’t think you’re going to get your work done!” “Oh yes, I am.” “I don’t think so; recess is coming.” “Oh yes I am, I am, I am.” The pleasure singing gave us—the silly, off-the-wall spontaneity of it—kept everyone smiling.
The boys, while still volatile and prone to the most awful fights, had also begun to think of one another in small, but significant ways. Billy, in particular, had started taking a brotherly interest in Shane and Zane. He referred to them as “the little guys” and often said things to me such as, “Don’t worry, I’ll look out for the little guys,” when they were going down to recess. Or coming in from lunch one day, he told me, “They ran out of Jell-O, but that’s okay, because I went and grabbed two extra when I saw there weren’t many left, so the little guys would have some.” The “little guys” didn’t always reciprocate this thoughtfulness especially well. Neither Zane nor Shane was making a lot progress in terms of controlling their impulsive, often aggressive behavior. Each gain was slow and hard won for them, but Billy, and even Jesse, seemed to be reaching a point where they could accept that the “little guys” had some problems, and sometimes, as Billy put it, “you had to not take things personal.”
Billy and Jesse were also forming a friendship, but they had a harder time with each other. In part, it seemed just to be a differenc
e in personality. Billy had a big, noisy, expansive personality. He was enthusiastic with a capital E. Jesse, on the other hand, was one of life’s natural Eeyores. He wasn’t a particularly shy or quiet boy. He spoke up often; he joined in. But the world always seemed a little gloomy through his eyes. As a consequence, he found it hard not only to feel Billy’s eagerness for everything, but also to put up with Billy for experiencing it. He was forever telling Billy to calm down, shut up, or stop goofing off.
There was also a certain amount of rivalry between the two of them. Shane and Zane were the “little guys” in the classroom, so this automatically cast Billy and Jesse as the “big guys.” Although Jesse had very poor academic skills—more in line with Shane’s and Zane’s than Billy’s—he saw himself in competition with Billy. He wanted to be included in anything Billy got to do. He tried very hard to keep up and keep his self-esteem intact by besting Billy—not easy in the circumstances. But the one place he shone was musically. Because of our crazy habit of singing, Jesse was thus allowed to reign in one area. He could remember words to songs best of any of the children. He could remember tunes. Indeed, he could easily play out tunes on the tinny little xylophone, our only real classroom instrument. And when singing or playing music, Jesse’s tics seemed to fade away. So I got used to Jesse’s requests to have a song whenever he felt threatened by Billy in the classroom.
The end of the first week in February marked Gwennie’s last day with us, as her family was moving across the country to Washington, D.C. I was genuinely sorry to see Gwennie go. She was a lively little character whose quirky comments about population and land mass of foreign countries had often injected a much-needed distraction into the grim realities of keeping the boys under control. However, I did also feel a sense of relief at her going. She needed a different placement than our class. We hadn’t met Gwennie’s needs particularly well. She was ahead of all the children academically, but needed careful one-on-one work to develop her very deficient social skills, and we simply didn’t have the setup to give her this. None of the boys was patient with her, and she had never proved the companion and workmate for Venus I’d hoped. Moreover, her intolerance of Jesse’s sudden, noisy tics had often made life in the classroom extremely challenging. So I bade her good-bye on that Friday and wished her well in her new school.