Poe was completely awestruck.
Mahrree continued, “They had these long noses that water could come out of, and ears taller than you, and it seemed like they could flap. Terryp wondered if maybe they could fly like an enormous insect. Maybe the people that lived there even flew away on the elephants.”
“That would help keep the world up, wouldn’t it?” Poe considered. “Big flying elephants?”
“Maybe,” Mahrree said. “And those weren’t the only animals he saw.”
Poe’s eyes lit up even more, if that were possible. “What else?”
“He saw drawings of tall animals with long necks that could eat from the tops of trees.”
“Wow!” he breathed.
There were moments that Mahrree missed teaching. She missed watching a child’s imagination erupt. Oh, there was so much to tell him, and full school—fool school—had no idea how to do it.
But it really was easy. Since children naturally enjoy learning, simply lay before them the world with all its mystery and wonder, and they’ll gobble it up. No need to force-feed it.
“There were horses that had stripes,” Mahrree continued, her own enthusiasm building when she considered how eagerly her own children would feast on these ideas in a few years, “and—”
“I remember, I remember!” Poe cried, jumping to his feet. “There were those hairy little things, with long tails that would swing from tree to tree! Like little fuzzy children!”
“Yes!” Mahrree grinned. She knew having them act out the animals would help them remember. Poe had been a perfect mon-kee when he was six. He laughed, and he remembered.
“Now why don’t they teach us things like that at school,” Poe said, his grin fading, “instead of just making us remember boring things over and over?”
His question stung Mahrree. She didn’t know how to answer him, but he deserved a response. “We did teach those things, and you’re supposed to be learning them again, in greater detail. I’ll be sure to ask the parents if you can discuss Terryp,” she promised.
“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” Poe sat down again, carefully straightening his wool trousers. “My mother says the men in Idumea do all that now. Parents don’t have to bother. It’s better that way,” he added matter-of-factly.
Mahrree bit her lower lip, trying to make sense of why parents no longer decided what their children would learn, and how that was better.
Poe brightened. “Can I borrow the book of Terryp, I mean, all of the stuff he saw and wrote about?”
Mahrree always hated this part of the story.
She shook her head. “There’s no book of Terryp, besides his stories for children. That’s all he wrote in his later years.” She didn’t want to explain the rest, but she believed children deserved the truth, no matter how disgraceful.
“You see, shortly after he returned, all his maps, notes and papers were destroyed in a fire right after the Great War, along with many other records we considered important. Terryp was a very sad man for a very long time after that.”
Poe’s eyes narrowed and he stated gravely, “I bet that wasn’t an accident, that fire.”
Mahrree was charged by his insight. “Why do you think that?”
His face screwed up as he thought about his answer. “Because maybe what Terryp found would have changed a lot of stuff. Maybe people don’t like to change what they know, even if they know it’s wrong. Even if the new stuff is really amazing! Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely!” Mahrree said proudly. “Ah, Poe, I have great hope for you! Don’t let Full School destroy your ability to think and reason.”
Confused by her advice he frowned at her, blinked in confusion, then likely decided she was simply rambling again.
“By the way, Poe—what color is the sky?”
To her delight, he looked at it first.
“Blue with long white clouds, Miss Mahrree. Oh, and bright white where the sun is! Why?”
He remembered to mention the sun, Mahrree thought, duly impressed. Rarely do people remember the sun as part of the sky.
But Poe did.
Voices from down the road caught his attention. “My friends are here!” he announced and stood up.
“Poe, when you’re done at the fort today, come by and I’ll let you borrow the stories. There are some good ones in there. Then we can talk about them some more.”
He nodded and waved good-bye.
Poe remembered the sun, Mahrree sighed. That boy could go a long way some day.
That evening Perrin came home accompanied by his short soldiers who were chatting excitedly. One of them was wearing Perrin’s cap which swallowed more than half his head. Poe ran up to the door to get the stories from Mahrree and bounded off down the darkening road. Perrin retrieved his cap from the forgetful boy, came to the door, and picked up his daughter.
“Looks like you have discovered a new recruiting technique,” Mahrree said as she watched the boys scamper off, “adopted from the Administrators. Win them over when they’re nine, and wait a few years until they’re old enough to sign up. The Administrators will find you very clever, Captain.”
He shot her a glare before he smiled sadly. “They just sit on the fence watching the men. They should be rolling in the dirt instead. But I have to admit, when the soldiers see their young audience, they seem to sharpen up. All the way home those boys had so many questions. What do you do when a Guarder sneaks up on you? What if you don’t like dinner, does someone force you to eat it? Has anyone cut off an arm by accident with their sword?”
Perrin’s smile dimmed. “What they really need is someone to talk to. I thought something like this would happen, just like it did a few years ago when they first started Full School in Idumea. As soon as the parents saw the teachers did all the teaching, they thought they were no longer needed. After the first year lots of parents were working all the time. Sure, businesses and farms started producing more. But what’s more important, goods or children? All day the boys have teachers drilling them. Children don’t need someone to talk at them, but with them. I’m sorry, Mahrree, but I don’t think teachers can talk to children as well as their parents can. And if the parents don’t talk, then . . .”
He stopped and looked at Mahrree who had been staring at him adoringly during his little speech.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m remembering how you said your mind was like my mind. Have I told you lately how you’re the most perfect man in the world?”
“No, you’ve been quite derelict in that duty. But you’re making up for it,” and he kissed her on the lips. “Mahrree, promise me we’ll always remember to talk to our children. By the way, what was Poe taking from you?”
“I wanted him to read the Stories of the World. He didn’t seem to be familiar with many of them, and the teachers aren’t bothering to teach them! I learned about those in school several times when I was young.”
“And who was your teacher?” Perrin reminded her.
“My father,” Mahrree nodded. He always explored the furthest reaches of what was known and what could be imagined. That didn’t seem to be the purpose of schooling anymore.
Mahrree thought about Poe’s description of school now, and she grew restless merely thinking about memorizing stuff all day long.
It was sadly remarkable, she decided, that in such a short time full school had taken the world—as captivating and full of wonder as it is—and diminished it into something merely dull.
It takes a worrying kind of intellect to do that so efficiently. And she was just starting to think there was no intellect among the Administrators.
Apparently there was, just the wrong kind. And who did that intellect belong to?
Mahrree didn’t know the answer, but at least Terryp’s stories would make Poe’s evenings worth remembering.
“I had a copy of those stories,” Perrin remembered as he put down Jaytsy who was squirming to be released, and scooped up Peto instead. “I lov
ed the one about the giant that holds the world on his back. I used to imagine that land tremors were because he had an itch he couldn’t reach.” He smiled at the memory. “And then,” his voice became lively, “I figured when it was thundering, that was when he sneezed!”
“Eww, now that’s not very appetizing right before dinner!” Mahrree sneered. “So what was the rain?—Oh, never mind.”
“And then,” Perrin wasn’t finished yet, his eyes looking twenty years younger, “I decided that when he had intestinal pains it was—”
“Nothing I want to know about!” Mahrree shut him up.
Perrin gave her a disappointed look. “You may not want to know about it, but I am sure little Peto here would. Right, my son? The bodily functions of giants are fascinating to little boys,” Perrin held up his son and rubbed noses with him until he giggled.
“And right now, you are that giant.”
---
After dinner there was a knock at the door. Mahrree opened it to see Qualipoe’s robust mother standing there looking radiant. She wore a gown that took Mahrree’s breath away. It was the same shimmering fabric of Poe’s, but with stripes of pink and burgundy which seemed to shine even in the dark of the evening. A long coat of finely woven black worsted wool, which matched her glistening black hair, protected her from the growing chill.
“Good evening, Miss Mahrree—I mean, Mrs. Shin,” Mrs. Hili apologized with a smile.
“Oh, it’s always Mahrree. Come in, please!”
“Actually, I won’t, I’m on my way to the concert tonight. I just wanted to return this,” and she handed Mahrree The Stories of the World. “Qualipoe won’t be needing it right now.”
“Why not?” Mahrree asked, disappointed. “He seemed excited to read it. I’m sure if I talk to him I can convince him to—”
“No, he wanted to read it,” Mrs. Hili interrupted. “But I told him he probably shouldn’t, at least not right now. I don’t want him to have too much on his mind before the testing next week.”
Mahrree narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying that reading this book will . . . make him forget what he needs to know on the test?”
“See, I knew you’d understand!” she breathed easier. “If he remembers this nonsense,” she gestured to the stories, “but then doesn’t remember the numbers and facts he’s memorized, well then, there’s a problem.”
“Oh, I am sure he won’t confuse flying arrows from another people assaulting our world, with the definition of an acute angle!”
Mrs. Hili did not look amused. “You may not realize it, but if the children perform well on the test, the school will receive funding from the Administrators.”
“The children get paid for learning? My, maybe I’ll go back and be a student,” Mahrree said mischievously. “But I don’t see why we need money. The school house—”
“Is in shambles!” Mrs. Hili exclaimed.
“Really?” Mahrree blinked. “What happened to it?”
Mrs. Hili rolled her eyes. “Come now, you know what it looks like—stone walls, wood floor, log supports, so basic, so . . . tasteless.”
Mahrree was completely lost. “Exactly how is that tasteless?” The description matched her own house.
“You really haven’t been out lately, have you?” She glanced down to Jaytsy who was hanging on her mother’s skirt. There was unidentified food and patches of dirt smeared on her face and dress.
“Cute little girl,” Mrs. Hili said, unconvinced of her own evaluation. She looked back up at Mahrree. “You haven’t even seen the new building project, have you? The new home development, on the south side? They’re building with blocks now, and the structures are astoundingly innovative!”
“Innovative, huh?” Perrin came up to the door to join the conversation. “They’ve had block buildings in Idumea for about seven or eight years now. I admit they are sturdy and possibly safer in a land tremor. But honestly, I find them rather bland. Every building looks the same—same gray color, same square shape, each block poured to look exactly the same. Anything with variety is broken down and recast. Now stone and log buildings—those have character!” he smiled.
Mrs. Hili did not. “What some call character, others call provincial.”
By the blank reaction on his face it was obvious the distinction was lost on Perrin.
Mrs. Hili decided to educate him. “Captain Shin, consider the wisdom in building with block. You can have smooth walls and any kind of shape you want!”
“As long as it is roughly the same shape as the house next door,” Perrin pointed out. “I’ve seen what they’re doing in Idumea. And you have to hire men specially trained to build them.”
“Well it’s easier and faster to build all of them the same shapes.” Sensing that she was losing the argument, she turned to Mahrree, “You should come see them. I think you’ll be impressed. It’s what everyone wants this year.”
“Not me,” Perrin said shortly.
“But you should!” Mrs. Hili insisted.
“Why?”
“A grand house would prove how important you are to the community! To show your position!”
“My uniform does that,” Perrin said coolly.
“Not well enough,” Mrs. Hili countered with the air of a woman truly in the know. She glanced around their gathering and eating room that showed the remnants of the dinner, washing, and playtime. “This is hardly the way to impress others.”
Mahrree shrugged, never having been much concerned about Mrs. Hili’s opinions. “I’m not worried about impressing others. I don’t even know who I should worry about.”
Mrs. Hili rolled her eyes in her plump face. “You need to impress everyone! You need to get ahead! Attention! Progress! My goodness, what does a captain need to do to become a major?”
Perrin folded his ample arms across his broad chest. “Kill someone.”
Mrs. Hili went deathly pale.
As much as Mahrree approved of her husband’s answer, she chuckled to lighten the mood. “Not exactly. He trains the men well, has them prepared for attacks—” and, because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “I mean, he’s already killed a dozen men.”
Mrs. Hili began to swoon backwards.
Perrin smiled smugly.
Gripped with guilt, Mahrree groaned and caught Mrs. Hili by the arm before she fell over. “What I’m trying to get at is, we’re simply not worried about impressing people. We’re more concerned about what the Creator thinks of us.”
Mrs. Hili shifted her gaze from the terrifying captain to Mahrree’s deliberately sweet expression. She snapped out of her reverie.
“Yes, yes of course. Although I think you’re completely wrong, Miss Mahrree. I mean yes, we worry about the Creator’s opinion, but we live in the world. We have to impress the world.”
“Why?” Mahrree genuinely wanted to know.
Mrs. Hili blinked. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“What I don’t get,” Perrin started, while Mrs. Hili looked at him uneasily, “is why people would spend so much money on those houses? They cost three times what our home cost.”
“At least!” Mrs. Hili puffed up proudly, straining the seams on her dress. “And the increasing values will multiply capital within the safe realm of speculative ventures.”
Perrin and Mahrree both stared at her.
“What does that mean?” Mahrree asked, not able to bear the suspense anymore.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Mrs. Hili confessed. “Our money manager explains it so much better than I do. You should come by and look at the houses.”
“No,” Perrin said resolutely. “I don’t see the reason at looking at something I know I don’t want.”
“Oh come now,” Mrs. Hili said. “What would it hurt?”
“A lot,” he said. “After I met Mahrree, I didn’t go looking for any more women. I was satisfied with what I have. Same with my house. Why look for something more if I have all that I need?”
“And you’re from Id
umea?” Mrs. Hili asked incredulously.
“I barely escaped in time,” he deadpanned.
Mahrree snorted and made a mental note to kiss him later. “Besides,” she said to Mrs. Hili, “the new houses are too far away from the fort.”
“That’s not a problem!” Mrs. Hili said with a chubby finger in the air. “There are plans to build another housing development on the old catapult fields!”
Mahrree’s face fell. “You can’t! What about Catapult Day?”
Mrs. Hili scoffed. “Nonsense. Housing is far more important.”
“Maybe, but I won’t allow anyone to build there,” Perrin told her.
“Why not?! Who are you to say who can build there?”
Mahrree had seen that look in Perrin’s eyes before, but only directed at an obstinate mule. She gently squeezed his hand in a useless attempt to calm him.
“I am the commanding officer of the Administrators’ Army of Idumea, ordered to protect the citizens of Edge,” he declared in a worrisome tone. “The area is unsafe and would present an inviting target to Guarders looking for food, weapons, animals and . . . unsuspecting women wearing silk.” His voice dripped doom. “They love silk.”
Mrs. Hili began to swoon backwards again. “I’m . . . I’m sure it will be rethought, Captain. It was only a suggestion by some of the developers, you see . . . when they were looking for land for new school buildings, they noticed the catapult fields across from the fort—”
“Wait a minute,” Mahrree interrupted her. “Developers are already looking for land?”
“Of course! Our children will undoubtedly perform well on the test, and we’ll get our building.”
“And if they do poorly on next year’s test, do they have to give back the bribe?” Mahrree asked in all seriousness.
Jaytsy pulled on her mother’s dress and began to holler for her attention.
Mrs. Hili shook her head. “This is so hard for you, I can see. Don’t worry, Mahrree,” she said as Mahrree bent down to pick up Jaytsy, who had sprung a leak from her nose. “This difficult time will be over soon enough, then you can get back to living in the world with the rest of us.”
Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge) Page 12