In the Fall They Come Back

by Robert Bausch

“I’m certain.”

  She shook her head, then went to the door. “I believe you,” she said, standing in the entrance. North came lumbering down the hall and she reached down and began to scratch him behind one of his floppy ears. “I hate this kind of trouble,” she said quietly. “I hoped to avoid this kind of thing.”

  “It’s happened before?”

  “It’s bad for the school—even though it is clearly a fabrication.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “If you hadn’t embarrassed her by sending her to the office.”

  “What was I supposed to do?”

  She looked at me. Her eyes were kind and sad. “You probably had no choice,” she said. “That kind of language is—”

  “She knew what she was doing,” I said.

  “Yes, I’m sure she did. But there’s her father, and the fact that she absolutely needs to graduate this year.”

  I said nothing.

  “There’s no telling the lengths to which she might go.”

  “Well, I do have two witnesses.”

  She shook her head very slowly. “I wonder if Suzanne can take this sort of thing. I mean, it might get very public; she’s—well, she’s so—so fragile. And George? He’s not ready for this sort of thing either.”

  “It’s not like you have to have training for it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. He’s been the center of enough trouble here. Things can pile up on a person.”

  “They both heard everything, though …”

  “Leslie has made a complaint and now she has to do something about it and so do I. I can and will make sure the truth comes out, but …”

  “I really am sorry,” I said.

  “Sometimes children don’t know the harm they do,” she said.

  “I guess not.”

  “I’m afraid Leslie does know. That’s the one thing I’m most afraid of.”

  “Leslie’s no child,” I said.

  “Yes she is. She may be more of a child than any of us can possibly know.”

  30

  The Center Cannot Hold

  The morning after Leslie lodged her complaint against me Granby and I were the first to reach the smoking area outside my classroom. I realized he knew Mrs. Creighton as well as anybody and I wondered if he had any experience with the sort of complaint Leslie had lodged against me. I guess you could say I was worried and needed to know what Mrs. Creighton might do. So, while we were smoking, I decided to tell him about all of it.

  Granby smiled. “Really? She actually said you and she could fuck sweetly?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you tell her you fuck like the ambassador of love?”

  “Very funny.”

  He laughed. “She’s a lot of trouble. I figured that the first time I saw her.”

  “You ever had a student say anything like that to you?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “It really shook me up,” I said.

  “Really.” His face got very serious. “And you said nothing—you didn’t say anything of a sexual nature, right?”

  “I just said it was a beautiful morning.”

  “Has she ever complained about anyone else to Mrs. Creighton?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mrs. Creighton never told you of any other complaint? It would be a good thing if she’d made the complaint before. The more the better.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want yours to be the only one. People tend to give credence to single incidents. If she’s made other complaints about other people, they can just chalk it up.”

  “I’m not going to worry about it,” I said, but I was terrified. “Doreen warned me.”

  “If folks are warning you about her, then she has some sort of reputation. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Mrs. Creighton told me her father is some sort of a big shot oilman,” I said. “Represents Exxon all over the world. People like that can pretty much do whatever they want.”

  “Don’t her parents care about her behavior?”

  “You would think.”

  “It’s a hell of a thing,” Granby said, staring out beyond the entrance to the driveway. “Speak of the devil,” he said.

  I turned and there was Leslie, coming up from the front drive, strolling again in the morning sun, her gold hair flying by her face. She wore a light blue skirt, a white blouse, and black pumps with white socks—she looked like a little girl, but she walked more purposefully now, and I believe she was consciously not looking my way. Suddenly I felt sorry for her. And terribly estranged—as if she had once meant a lot to me, and now I felt nothing for her. It was among the most extraordinary sensations I ever discovered simmering in my heart and I didn’t know what to do with it. It is very possible, I now see, that what I felt was nothing more than the earliest intimations of hatred, although I really can’t say, even now, whether or not I actually ever came to fear her enough that I could hate her. She walked regally around to the other side of the building, and as she passed out of view a white cloud gulped the sun, and the world seemed to close down a little—as if she took the sun into the building with her.

  “I wonder if Bible would have sent her to Mrs. Creighton,” I said.

  “Mrs. Creighton doesn’t miss much,” Granby said. “I don’t think you need to worry.”

  “Is Leslie in any of your classes?”

  “Social Studies. I already despise her.”

  “What’d she do to you?”

  “Nothing, yet. But I hate anybody that looks like she does and knows it.” He leaned down and put his cigarette out on the heel of his shoe, then threw it in the trashcan. “I’m going to make sure she never goes to Mrs. Creighton about me, though.”

  Doreen came around the corner, carrying a large cup of coffee, her books, and a heavy purse. She wore a navy blue jacket and dark jeans. “Give me a break,” she said, balancing everything in her hands.

  Granby understood what she meant and scurried immediately to the door of the English room and opened it for her. She whisked by and disappeared inside.

  “She looks good today,” he said.

  I said nothing.

  We waited awhile, to see if Doreen would come out. When she didn’t, I said, “What should I expect from Leslie now that she’s ‘reported’ me to Mrs. Creighton?”

  “If she comes to your class, I’d ignore her.”

  “I can’t act like I don’t know about it.”

  “Yes you can.” He moved a little closer to me. I realized he wanted to help, sincerely, and for a brief span of time I felt bad for disliking him so much. It was not his fault that he wasn’t Professor Bible. “Look,” he said. “What she reported about you was clearly a lie. So we know she can’t be trusted to tell the truth about anything. And she’s used to being believed. Can you think of a worse combination?”

  “I can if you give me some time. You think she’s dangerous?”

  “To a career? To your reputation and character? You bet your ass. But you can count on Mrs. Creighton. She won’t let this get out of hand.”

  “Well, she made it clear to me yesterday that she knows the truth of it.” I said this with some apprehension, because I did not, on the whole, believe it.

  “This school is a business,” Granby said. “Leslie Warren is a customer. Do you know whose side Mr. Creighton will be on? He’s the one you got to worry about.”

  “Mrs. Creighton said she believes me.”

  “Do you have any witnesses?”

  “Suzanne Rule and George Meeker.”

  “There’s a procedure,” Granby said. “So things will have to be said and reported on. And your only witnesses are a mute and a timid little freak like George.”

  “Well, Suzanne can talk, can’t she?”

  “You got me. She’s never spoken a word in my class.” The slight hair on top of his head looked like silver wire in the sunlight. He smoothed it back with a bony hand. “You’ll probably have to meet wit
h Leslie’s parents.”

  I didn’t want to think about that. Icy fear numbed my mind. I felt as if I might be fired before the day was over. But then I remembered Mrs. Creighton telling me she did not believe Leslie. “Mrs. Creighton will back me up,” I said. “She believes me.”

  “I’m sure she does.”

  “I’m afraid of facing Leslie’s father. It’ll be soon, if the bastard’s in the country.”

  “You should hope you don’t have to have lawyers in this.”

  “My girlfriend said I should get a lawyer.”

  “Like you can afford it.”

  “I know. I’m shit out of luck if it gets to that stage of things.”

  “Just make sure you leave the little bitch alone.”

  “And pass her no matter what she does.”

  He shook his head. “Doreen says most of the teachers at this school have flunked her without giving it a second thought. I think even Bible flunked her.”

  I said. “And I’ll fail her. If she does no work, I won’t have a choice.”

  “Well she knows it’s her last chance. Maybe she thinks she’s found a way around the work.”

  “Why would anyone want to graduate that badly?”

  “She begged to get into French class. There’s only one boy in there, and that’s George Meeker. So, what do you think?”

  Later that same day I got hold of myself. I decided to take action. First I gave my god assignment to the seniors. I did it solely to make an effort to get something from Leslie Warren. I realized I did have some power; if she wanted to graduate, she was going to have to go through me and my class.

  Before the period began I went to Mrs. Creighton and told her I was going to have everybody writing in their journals. “You don’t have to be there for Suzanne if you’ve got other things going on,” I said. The truth was I worried she might think to come back to the class to steady things with Suzanne and perhaps observe Leslie’s behavior. I didn’t want Mrs. Creighton in the room.

  “You think Suzanne will be okay without me?” she asked. She was on the phone when I came in, and put her hand over the receiver.

  “She’ll be fine. Everybody’s just going to be writing.”

  She nodded. “I do have a lot to handle today.”

  In spite of the fact that Mrs. Creighton had pretty much told me it was a mistake to send Leslie to the office that first time, I decided I was going to do it again if it was necessary. When she came in—this time with all the others—and flounced down in her chair, looking bored and insulted for having to be there, I went over to her and whispered, “What are you doing here?”

  She looked up at me, puzzled.

  “What are you doing here?” I spoke out loud now. The other students fell silent and watched us.

  “I’m here because this is fourth period English.”

  “Senior English,” I corrected.

  “And it’s fourth period.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  She shook her head, still staring up at me. “What?”

  “I was under the impression that you did not want to be in this class.”

  This seemed not to register. Her expression of puzzlement did not change but it was clear something was brewing in her.

  “Please,” I said, indicating the back door. “So I can begin my class.”

  She started packing her books in front of her, slapping them down on the desk and forcing them into her backpack.

  “Why are you so upset?” I asked. I stood over her, but now she did not look up. I stared at the crown of her head as she packed her books.

  “I’m not upset,” she said, quietly.

  “That’s not how it looks. When you slam books around like that …”

  “Fuck you,” she muttered.

  I wanted to be sure the rest of the class heard her so I said, “What did you say?”

  She repeated it, louder, and the rest of the class let out a unified gasp. I folded my arms and continued speaking quietly to her as she zipped up her backpack and slung it down on the floor next to her desk. “I’m sorry about this, Leslie,” I said, in the most tender voice I could muster. “I really do want to work with you.”

  She got out of her chair, pulling the backpack up and throwing it over her back. She started for the back door, toward the office.

  “You didn’t want to stay, did you?” I asked.

  She stopped and looked at me. “What?”

  “I asked if you wanted to stay.”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  “If you want to pass Senior English, you better sit down and do some writing in your journal, don’t you think?”

  She stood there, glaring at me.

  “Perhaps you can write about being trapped in the snow, in traffic. Remember that?”

  “I don’t need this now,” she said, fighting tears. She turned and went out. The rest of the class stared at me.

  “Today,” I said, “We’re going to do some free writing,” and I went into the assignment.

  31

  Witchcraft

  Leslie came back while the class was writing about my contention that God did not exist. It was quiet, so she politely made no noise going to her desk and taking her seat. She opened her backpack and took out a composition notebook, opened it, and began to write. She did not look at me.

  I walked over to her and knelt on the floor next to her desk. She did not face me, but I leaned in and whispered, “Do you know what to write about?”

  She looked at me. In the shadow of her hair, with her head bent slightly forward, her eyes were as deeply dazzling as anything I had ever seen. “I know what I want to write about,” she whispered.

  “Good. I’m glad. Write about anything you want,” I said as I struggled awkwardly to my feet. “That’s all I ask.”

  She went on writing and I made my way to the front of the room. I thought I had definitely made some progress. I didn’t know what happened when she went to the office, but the fact that she came back and prepared herself to work was a good sign.

  I was still thinking fatalistically, fearing the meeting with her father, worried about how strong Mrs. Creighton would be if he, or worse, Mr. Creighton, demanded that she fire me, but I had to admit there was a glimmer of hope that I might actually have saved something between Leslie and me; perhaps reminding her of what we had already shared, and my tender suggestion that I wanted to work with her registered as a kind of charm.

  Later that afternoon I picked through the journals to find what she wrote. She had put her name at the top, in the middle, as though it were a title. She put a little heart over the i in Leslie.

  (Leslie Warren) not folded

  9-22-86

  The funny thing is, I’m eighteen years old. I should have graduated already. I can do anything I want, even vote. I can even drink now, at home. I’m eighteen. And still in school. My father won’t let me just go and get a GED and he makes me take classes here because I can’t go to the public schools. I hate this place. It’s not even really a school. Everybody gets to do just what they want. The teachers don’t care. All Mrs. Creighton wants is the money for tuition. She talks to me like I’m so special, but she doesn’t really do anything for me. My father said this was my last chance to get a diploma. If I don’t get out of school with a diploma now, he won’t give me another penny and I’ll have to pay my own way to Europe this summer. He wants to talk to you. I wish I had something to eat right now.

  I like rocky road ice cream a lot. And the beach I like going swimming on a hot day at the beach. Randy promised we’d go to the beach this summer. He’s just a boy though. And he says he’s going to be going to join the army and go to Europe himself. Once he’s in the army I guess it won’t be long before he’s gone. Why would anybody want to join the stupid army.

  Every Friday night i go to a bar in Fairfax called Jolito’s. Randy works in the kitchen there. Buddy Harper, a bartender there gives me licqor. He puts whiskey in my coke and he’s al
ways good to me. I been in there when he isn’t there tho and I don’t much like it then. Lots of guys hitting on me. I hate it when they think they’re being attractive to me. They’re such boys most of them—even the older ones who are married. They think I’m impressed if they can drink alot and if they have a good body and all. Like I should be interested and want to be with them. Like they’re powerful and strong and can protect me and show me a good time. I hate the way they call me babe. Or the stupid ways they have to tell me i’m beautiful. I hate the following words: gorgeous, babe, dollface, movie star, beauty. I hate the way their eyes shift down to look at my breasts. I can always notice it, no matter what I’m wearing. If I’m showing a little it’s really kind of sad and definitely pathetic. How can they be so obvious and still think we don’t notice that’s what they’re doing.

  Well this is several pages and I think that’s probably all I want to write now. Now I’m going to write something private and fold the page over so you don’t read it.

  The page was not folded over. She just left a few spaces, then she wrote:

  Last night I had sex with Randy in the back of his station wagon he was very excited and when he took my panties off I said, fuck me now and then I kissed him and pushed him away and got on all fours and he put it in. His legs were cold against my back side, but it was hot when he put his cock in me. It felt so good. He kept moving it in and out and I felt it everywhere. It only seems like a long time if your stoned. I was to high to remember much of anything that happened, but when he put it in me it felt kind of like I was being filled up by something hot and soft and silky.

  I like hot soft silky things. I love fucking so much.

  She signed it Leslie Warren, again with a little heart over the i.

  That part about having sex with Randy got me going a little bit. I felt suddenly as though I was being watched. I looked around the room, studied the silence, and the early afternoon light that crossed the empty chairs in parallel beams through the shades over the picture window. I hadn’t realized that she was eighteen. I knew she wrote all that about Randy to get to me, and I resolved not to pay much attention to it. I didn’t show it to anybody either. I had an image of her smirking face, and realized she had manipulated me without even being there; she must have known what effect this writing would have on me, and it struck me suddenly that her power over me had been complete. I laughed out loud. “This is witchcraft,” I muttered to myself. “Damnable, beautiful, uncanny witchcraft.” I couldn’t wait to show it to Annie.