by Torey Hayden
“I want you to work with Shemona.”
“What do you mean?” She was still involved in what she was doing and wasn’t paying complete attention to me.
“I want you to get her to talk.”
This did make Lad look up. “What do you mean?” she asked again, her expression perplexed.
“I’ve been thinking and thinking over this business with her and Geraldine, and I just can’t figure out what else to do. I’ve got to separate them. If I can’t do it physically, then I’m going to have to do it psychologically. And this is what I’ve come up with. I want you to work with her, individually, like I do with Leslie.”
“Doing what?” There was a disconcerted look in her eyes.
“I want to get her into a good, solid relationship with an adult. We need to do that if we’re ever going to drive a wedge into Geraldine’s control.”
“You want me to do that? I’m not sure I know how to do that sort of thing, Torey, I don’t know how to get her to talk. Why me? Why not you?”
“Because I think you’ve got a better relationship with her than I do.”
“Me?” Ladbrooke’s eyes widened. “You’re her teacher.”
“That doesn’t give me exclusive privileges. You’re the special one. She always chooses you when she has the chance. I think it’d be advantageous to use that.”
This all seemed novel to Ladbrooke. Her expression was still one of disconcerted perplexity. She looked away for several seconds, staring into space, then she looked back. “What would I do with her?”
“I’m thinking of just having you take her aside individually for a set period, like I do with Leslie. I’m not too fussy about what goes on. She doesn’t really need academic help. It’s the relationship I’m interested in. I just want you to form a good relationship with her.”
Ladbrooke’s expression remained wary. “I’m not sure I know how to form that kind of relationship.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help.”
Ladbrooke remained remarkably nervous about the arrangement. Despite my having developed a tightly structured, easy-to-follow program for the first couple of sessions, Lad didn’t relax. She couldn’t eat her lunch the first day, and I think without much effort, she could have talked herself into being sick. I went over and over the material with her in an effort to reassure her, and in spite of her nerves, I was increasingly convinced that this was the right idea. She did have a better relationship than I had with Shemona; Ladbrooke wasn’t going to fail in that respect. And she had something I couldn’t offer: a keen understanding of the economics of loneliness.
Geraldine, as might be expected, was intensely curious about what was going on around the corner of the shelves when Ladbrooke first took Shemona.
“Miss, what’s Shemona doing over there?”
“She’s working with Ladbrooke. They’re going to be working together every day at this time.”
“But what’s she doing? Why’s it taking so long?”
“They’re just doing some schoolwork. Like her papers in her folder,” I replied.
“How come she can’t do them out here with us?”
“Because I want her to do them in there with Ladbrooke.”
“Has she been naughty?”
“No.”
“Is it because she made mistakes on her worksheets yesterday? Does she have to have extra help?”
“No, Geraldine. It’s just something they’re doing together.”
“Why? When’s Shemona coming back?”
“In about twenty minutes. Now get busy with your own things, please. You haven’t even started your notebook yet.”
“But why’s Shemona in there? Does she need help? I could help her.”
“Ladbrooke’s helping her, Geraldine. Now, please, do your own work.”
“But why? Shemona isn’t going to like it, Miss. She’s not going to want to be in there by herself.”
“She’s not by herself. Ladbrooke is with her.”
“But what if she needs something, Miss? Shemona’s not going to want to do this. She’ll get angry. She’ll have a tantrum.”
“Shemona’ll be just fine. She’ll be back at a quarter of two. In the meantime, please, just do your own work.”
Geraldine frowned and looked down at her pencil. “Shemona isn’t going to like this.”
As I had anticipated, Ladbrooke and Shemona got on with no problems at all. The time went quickly for them, and there were still plenty of things they hadn’t gotten to when I came around the corner of the shelves to tell them it was 1:45.
By the end of the week, both Ladbrooke and Shemona were openly anticipating the sessions together. Ladbrooke continued to need help in preparation and a generous amount of feedback. After school, she needed to recount every moment of the thirty-minute session in minutest detail. Was this okay? Did she do right with that issue? Did I mind if she did this? We often took more time discussing them than the sessions themselves took, but she spoke eagerly of them. She wanted to make her own plans, writing them out in careful detail on a yellow legal pad in much the same format as I used in my plan book.
And Ladbrooke’s involvement paid off. She was an astute observer, and within days she was describing nuances in Shemona’s behavior that had eluded us in the hurly-burly of the classroom.
“She’s tense,” Ladbrooke said one afternoon after school. “I notice that she always hangs on to the edge of the desk when we’re working. I can see the ends of her fingers going white. I was watching her at the table after recess, and she does it then too. Have you noticed?”
I hadn’t really.
“It’s like she’s holding on. To keep control.”
Ladbrooke was pensive. “I was thinking …” Her voice trailed off. “I mean, if my aim is to get her to talk, to get her comfortable with me, I need to … well, relax her.”
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Say, for instance, she is holding on to the table to keep control. I mean, what if that’s literally true? What if she has to stay really tense and tight to keep from talking, to keep from doing the things Geraldine wouldn’t want her to do?”
I regarded her.
“Well, then my job would be to make her let go of the table, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, that’s supposing I’m right.”
I nodded.
She thought a moment. “I was thinking maybe … well, maybe if I borrowed your colored chalk … we could draw with it on the board. She could move around.”
I nodded again. “That sounds good.”
Ladbrooke regarded me. “But am I right?”
“I don’t know. But it’s worth a try.”
On Friday of the second week, when Ladbrooke and Shemona had been working together for about ten days, I had my first real surprise. It had been a rather raucous day, and no one was being particularly quiet. Shamie was working with a little electronic learning toy that beeped and whistled and chattered back to him in a tinny computer voice. Mariana and Geraldine were listening to cassette tapes, and although they had earphones on, the mutter of the tapes was still audible. I was with Dirkie and Leslie, doing number work with little colored cubes, but Dirkie was having one of his days and kept masturbating against the edge of his chair.
It was at that point that I heard the laughter. I paused and turned to look in the direction of the blackboard area. Even with the open shelving, the view was obscured by stacks of journals.
Shamie, distracted from his toy, turned his head. “What’re they doing over there, Miss?” he asked, a half smile on his face.
“I’m not sure.”
Fits of giggles.
Shamie and I exchanged bemused looks. “They sound like they’re having fun,” he said.
I nodded. Curiosity was getting the better of me. I didn’t want to disturb them by going around the corner, but I wondered if I could see through the shelves. When I got up, Shamie got up too.
“I know where you can look through,” he said. “Over here. This is our special spy place.” He grinned at me. “That you don’t know about!”
“I do now.”
He laughed. Going to the edge of the long shelving unit, he pointed through the stacks of journals. “See. Here.”
Shemona and Ladbrooke were sitting together with their backs toward us, Shemona in Ladbrooke’s lap. Ladbrooke had her handbag open on the small desk and a tiny makeup mirror propped against it. The clips holding her own long hair back had been taken out and were now in Shemona’s hair. Ladbrooke wielded a wide-toothed comb, pulling Shemona’s hair up on top of her head and clipping it with one of the large barrettes. She lifted up the mirror for Shemona to see, and Shemona dissolved into giggles, her laughter tinkly, like small shards of glass falling on tiles. Moving off Ladbrooke’s lap for a moment, she climbed back on, facing Lad. Running her fingers through the hair on either side of Ladbrooke’s head, she pulled what she could catch up into a bunch and held it. Neither of them was saying a word, but again, Shemona laughed and then so did Ladbrooke.
Enchanted, I watched them. In all these months I had never heard Shemona laugh.
Then quietly, I withdrew. “Come on, Shamie. Let’s get back to work.”
“Are they supposed to be doing that?” he asked.
I nodded.
“But they’re just playing.”
“They’re supposed to be playing.”
“Lucky them.”
Chapter 19
Just as February arrived, so did my permanent visa. There in the mail when I came home one evening was the thick, official-looking packet, containing my passport, my birth certificate and all the necessary papers I had waited so long to receive. Overwhelmed by sudden relief and excited beyond containment, I immediately phoned Ken, my fiancé, even though it was the middle of the night, his time. In fact, I spent a bomb on phone calls that night. Soon after talking to Ken, I rang my best friend in Wales, whose cottage was only a few hundred yards down the road from mine, and told her I was coming home at last. After a few drowsy moments of surprise from her end, she greeted my news with the expected joy. We hadn’t talked to one another the whole time I’d been gone, and despite all our letters, there suddenly seemed a world of catching up to do. We nattered on as if we were still only yards away. Afterward, I called my family in Montana and finally another girlfriend out of state. My euphoria went unabated. After all these long, long months of waiting, it was over. I could return at last to Wales as a permanent resident. I could go home.
Only after all the phone calls and a nostalgic look through the photo album did I begin to return to reality. As I was making myself a late supper, I got to thinking about all the things that needed to be done before I could pack up for Wales. There were accounts to close. Things to get from my family’s house in Montana. Selling the car. I went through a surprisingly long list before I thought about the class and the classroom. But then I did.
Frank had known all along that this was not a permanent placement for me, nor had he ever intended that it should be. Both of us had initially believed it would be a whole lot less permanent than it, in fact, had turned out to be. In the early weeks, I’d anticipated every mail delivery eagerly, expecting the visa to turn up. Frank had actively pursued finding a qualified special education teacher to take over the position when I needed to go. But as the weeks became months, the class became mine. I ceased to think of it as a temporary job; I ceased to think of the time when I would not be there. It had been ages since I’d inquired how Frank was doing. To my knowledge, he had never found another teacher. I wasn’t sure he was even looking anymore.
What now? I desperately wanted to get home. As involved and interested in my work as I was, I was lonely without Ken and my friends. And there was so much to do. Ken and I were planning to be married in June, but before then, I also wanted some time in Wales to tidy up the last aspect of my single life. My best friend and I had made so many elaborate plans for climbing the Welsh peaks, hiking the Pennine Way, bicycling in France and all the other things I knew we’d probably never get around to doing together once I was married. We’d intended to do most of them through the course of this particular winter and spring. If only I’d had this last eight months there … Confronted with the knowledge that I could, at last, go back, I was overwhelmed with homesickness for everything I had been missing—from Ken and my friends to the ivy growing on the garden wall.
But how could I leave at this point? After five months together, I was fully aware of my responsibility to the children and the class. I had more projects going, more work in progress, and more things half-started than at any other point thus far. The program was in full swing, my influence on it substantial. Could someone else pick up at this point? Could he or she carry on without losing any of the children or any of the progress?
Still, I wasn’t indispensable. I knew that. Maybe new blood would be good. Maybe new blood could make a difference to those children and circumstances I was failing, like Geraldine and her antisocial behavior or Shemona and her mutism.
I was full of mixed feelings the next morning when I went in to work. After putting my belongings in the classroom, I went in search of Frank to see just exactly where I stood. If he didn’t have a replacement lined up, there was going to be a wait, whether I decided I wanted to go now or not. On the other hand, if he did have another teacher ready, it was going to shift all the decision making onto me.
Frank wasn’t in his office yet. I stopped for a cup of coffee and a quick chat with some of the front-office people and then returned to the room, where I found Ladbrooke just arriving. She was removing her coat. The cold weather had given her a ruddy glow and made her nose run. She snuffled and smiled cheerfully when she saw me.
“Hello.”
“My visa came last night.”
A puzzled expression crossed her face.
“My visa. My British visa. I can go back now. I called Ken last night and told him to get ready.”
Ladbrooke knelt and pulled off her boots. Taking her jogging shoes out of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, she slipped them on and knelt to tie them. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
“You know. I’ve told you, haven’t I, about all that hassle I had getting a permanent visa to live in Wales?” And suddenly it occurred to me that I probably hadn’t told her in any substantial way. She had arrived too late on the scene to have been part of my earlier efforts. By November, when Ladbrooke joined us, I was already resigned to an eternal wait. And crucial as the matter was to me, like most of the other occurrences in my personal life, was not something I seemed to get around to talking about with Ladbrooke.
I gave her a brief summation of the convoluted story.
Ladbrooke had remained kneeling over her shoes as I talked, but when I’d finished, she slowly rose. Her brow puckered. “What do you mean, you’re going? When?”
“It depends on things. Mostly on whether or not Frank has a replacement lined up for me.”
“You mean, now?”
I nodded.
She grew wide-eyed with disbelief. “Oh, you can’t mean that, Torey. You don’t mean now, do you?”
“Well, I don’t know. Probably not. It all depends on Frank, really. You have to understand, this hasn’t been a permanent job for me. We’ve all known it was just until my visa came through.”
“But what’s going to happen if Frank does have somebody? Are you going then? Are you leaving?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. I’m just going to have to wait and see.”
“You can’t leave. It’s right in the middle of everything. Look at everything we’re doing. You can’t leave the kids at this point, can you?” Her shoulders dropped in a desolate gesture. “Can you?”
I smiled warmly. “Well, let’s not worry about it for the moment, okay? I need to talk with Frank, and until I do, there’s no point speculating.”
“That’s easy for
you to say. You have nothing to worry about.”
It was a difficult day. I had made a serious mistake in talking to Ladbrooke when I did. I hadn’t stopped to consider how she might feel about it. Overcome with my own excitement, I had simply blurted everything out without thinking. But the news upset her, and she remained defensive the whole day. The children had a rotten day as well. I don’t know if they were reflecting Ladbrooke’s and my conflict, or if it would have been a bad day in any case. Whatever, every minute was damned hard work. This certainly did not decrease my longing to leave. If anything, I ended the day feeling that probably anyone could do a better job with this lot than I was doing.
Not until after school did I catch up with Frank. When I did, I discovered that he’d found a replacement. She was a behavioral specialist living in a nearby community and working there as a substitute special ed. teacher. He showed me her credentials. They looked impressive. She was available at two weeks’ notice.
I slouched down in the big chair across from Frank’s desk. I hadn’t wanted to hear that. As I listened, I realized I’d been hoping he would tell me that he hadn’t found anyone. That would have saved me from being responsible for the consequences.
“Do you want me to contact her?” Frank asked.
I stared down at my hands in my lap. “I don’t know which way to go, to be honest,” I said.
“Perhaps it would be best if I did get hold of her. Two weeks isn’t long, but if you want to leave … If we just let her know she might be needed, then, if you decide to go, she’ll be prepared. Maybe she could even come over and look at the class while you’re still here.”
I sat, weighing the matter. How on earth was I going to be able to leave? Of all the times for my visa to come through, why now? If it had been earlier and things weren’t yet started, I could have gone. If it had been later and things were finished, I could have gone. But now?
I sat a long time without answering. Finally, I shook my head. “No, don’t get hold of her yet, Frank. Okay? Give me a few days to think it over.”
Frank was grinning. I think he already knew I wasn’t going.