This Is How It Begins

by Joan Dempsey

  “They’re not issues, Arnie, they’re the law. You’re telling me they didn’t come up?”

  “No, by golly, that’s not what I’m telling you. I’m saying I don’t well remember. Eddie, help me out here?”

  Abe told Shaw to go ahead.

  “I remember we said there are times when the children’s safety comes first, and we felt it was one of those times. We believed we had to act fast.”

  “But what of the law specifically, Ed? Did you discuss it? Were you even aware of it?”

  Shaw rubbed at the skin under his eyes and sighed. He appealed to Kinney, who nodded for him to go ahead.

  “I’m the principal, Abe. Of course I’m aware of it.”

  “And you discounted it.”

  “We put the kids—the children, first.”

  Abe opened a folder. He handed a paper to Shaw and asked him to read it out loud. Shaw scanned it.

  “Is this really necessary? He wants me to read the statute and regs.”

  “If you don’t, I will,” said Abe. “I want the exact language in the record.”

  “I’m familiar with the language,” Kinney said sharply. “And you already spent a good part of yesterday driving home this point. I get it. They didn’t follow procedure. Now move on.”

  Abe nodded once at Kinney. Some of the tension drained from Meck’s neck and shoulders.

  “Just one more thing,” said Abe.

  He made a beckoning gesture toward the cubicles across the hall. The assistant immediately came to the door.

  “George, can you turn on the sound? And when I say the word, hit play. I’ve got something queued up.”

  Meck sat taller in his chair and scanned his memory for anything detrimental that might have been said on his program. Ed and Arnie had been guests last week, but Meck couldn’t remember any admissions about skirting the law, although Arnie’s typical blustering certainly hadn’t been professional or admirable. Meck had spent the whole show alternately feeling nervous about what Arnie might say next, and hopeful that he’d trip up and reveal an impropriety; he still wasn’t convinced Arnie didn’t have anything to do with at least recruiting Eric. He certainly hadn’t assaulted Tommy himself, but maybe he’d persuaded someone else? Meck wasn’t sure he could trust his own judgment when it came to Arnie.

  Now Arnie’s voice filled the hearing room but not from a recording of Tell It Like It Is. Arnie was saying he could help Tommy, that he knew Tommy had gotten trapped in the sin of homosexual behavior, and it quickly became evident the tape was from the review meeting to contest Tommy’s dismissal. People on both sides of the room winced or shook their heads or closed their eyes. Arnie avoided meeting anyone’s eyes. Thankfully, Kinney held up a hand and told Abe to turn it off. Abe nodded to the assistant, and the room went quiet. Meck smiled inwardly when the last voice they heard on the tape was Shaw’s, sounding sincere, telling Abe they were as concerned as he was.

  “This was already introduced,” said Kinney. “I feel compelled to remind you that you’re not trying to sway a jury here, Abe. You’re just relating the facts to me. And this, I’ve already heard.”

  “I do understand that, Pat; I just think it’s important that everyone here has a chance to listen firsthand so they know how focused Arnie and Ed have been on my client’s sexuality, a focus which is expressly forbidden under the Fair Employment Protection law. And it’s no coincidence that every other teacher who got fired just days after they dismissed my client is also gay or lesbian, yet every one of those cases has been framed exactly like this one: as an issue of religious discrimination and equal access to education. Don’t you find that even remotely suspicious?” He addressed the families. “It’s a smokescreen, people. My client was fired for being gay, pure and simple, and that is against the law, as I made abundantly clear yesterday. Chapter 151B, Pat, to be specific.”

  Kinney’s tone was conciliatory.

  “You did make it clear, Abe, don’t worry. I know the law and I’ll make sure the chapter’s in the record.”

  Pastor Royce leaned close to Meck and spoke quietly into his ear while Abe made his closing statement.

  “I’m getting nervous, Warren.”

  “I am, too, but it’s early yet. The kids will be great. You’ll be great. And even if Pat rules against us, we can learn from our mistakes and do a better job at the other teachers’ hearings. If Pat rules in our favor, though, Goodman’s still clearly going to appeal. You watch—he’s going to try to goad our kids into making discriminatory statements, which could give him fuel to bring a case to the Mass Commission Against Discrimination. He’s probably thinking he can prove discrimination, which might very well be true. I wouldn’t be surprised, either, if he advises Tommy to file a civil action against the school, trying to secure damages as well as reinstatement.”

  Pastor Royce whistled low under his breath.

  “Man’s got both oars in the water, is that what I hear you saying? This thing is far from over?”

  “I’m saying Goodman is an expert oarsman. Even in a storm.”

  Connie efficiently presented their case, without fanfare, making it clear that under MGL Chapter 76 Section 5 the children had experienced discrimination that had thwarted their ability to participate equally in Tommy’s classroom. As planned, Connie spoke only briefly; the kids’ testimonies were the main attraction. First up was Brandon Braddock. As he passed in front of Meck to take his seat at the table next to Kinney, he smiled and whispered, “even when the rain falls.”

  “Tell it like it is,” said Meck.

  After a brief introduction, Connie asked Brandon to share in his own words his experience of being a student in Mr. Zeilonka’s AP English class. Brandon, wearing a suit and tie, sat up straight and clasped his hands together on the table in front of him. He directed his comments to Kinney and avoided looking directly at Tommy.

  When Tommy had reviewed the list of students who would testify, he’d been particularly distraught about Brandon.

  “Dammit. I love that kid!” he’d told Abe. “He’s one of my best students. No way have I discriminated against Brandon. He’s never given any indication there was anything wrong.”

  Now Brandon was telling Kinney the class had been difficult for him.

  “I mean, when we had to read Find Me—that’s by Carl Anderson—it was hard, you know? I could barely get through it because it was so … well, it goes against everything I believe in.” He glanced over at Pastor Royce. “Against my sincere religious beliefs.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Robert whispered to Tommy.

  “But I wanted to keep my grades up, you know? I need that AP credit. I want to get into a good college.”

  “So you felt you had no choice?” asked Connie. “That’s right, I had no choice.”

  Abe spoke up.

  “Mr. Zeilonka remembers that you were enthusiastic about that book, Brandon. He remembers you telling him you loved it.”

  Brandon lowered his head and shook it.

  “What’s that, son?” said Abe.

  “What else was I going to tell him, you know? I try to be polite.”

  “I understand you’re a terrific student. Mr. Zeilonka says you’re one of his best.”

  Brandon started to pick at his thumbnail.

  “You earn top marks if I’m not mistaken and even, as I understand it, asked for extra credit assignments on Find Me. Why would you do that if you found it so objectionable?”

  “Overcompensating?” said Brandon.

  The other students laughed, and Brandon flashed them an anxious grin.

  “The truth is, sir, I felt as if having to study Find Me was a test. You know, from God. To see how I would react in the presence of Satan.”

  “They got to him,” Tommy whispered to Robert. “This isn’t the Brandon I know.”

  “Isn’t ‘Satan’ a bit melodramatic?” asked Abe.

  Brandon shook his head with the utmost seriousness.

  “Not at all, sir. Not in my culture
.”

  “What culture is that, son? America? Massachusetts? Adams High? The basketball team, for goodness’ sake?”

  Brandon sat up taller.

  “Christianity is my culture, sir. The only one that matters. It’s where I learned, like, my sincere religious beliefs.”

  “Now that’s the second time you’ve used that particular phrase. Were you coached to say that, son?”

  Brandon’s gaze slowly shifted over to Pastor Royce.

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you know what I mean when I say coached?”

  “I’m captain of my varsity basketball team, Mr. Goodman.”

  “Then you listen to your coach, do you? Follow his instructions?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And are you following instructions right now, Brandon? Did someone tell you to say that? Your pastor, maybe?”

  “Shame this isn’t a court of law,” said Connie. “I’d sure love to object to leading the witness here.”

  Kinney cautioned Abe, and Abe nodded.

  “Did anyone sit down with you, Brandon, to let you know how this arbitration hearing would go?”

  “Sure they did, of course.”

  “Who helped you?”

  Brandon glanced over at Meck, who nodded.

  “Mr. Clough.”

  “Only Mr. Clough?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Please speak up, son.”

  “No, sir! Pastor Royce and Mr. Meck helped us, too.”

  “Us?”

  “All us kids.” Brandon lifted a hand to indicate the others.

  “And what did Mr. Clough and Mr. Meck and your pastor recommend?”

  Brandon licked his lips. His Adam’s apple rose and fell, and his eyes strayed again to Pastor Royce, then to Connie, and finally to Meck. Meck smiled encouragingly. This was the moment that would make or break Brandon’s testimony, that would set the example for the students next on the docket. Meck’s tight neck muscles were giving him a headache.

  “That I speak from the heart, sir. That I tell the truth. And the truth is, I didn’t believe I could speak freely in Mr. Zeilonka’s class.”

  Pastor Royce elbowed Meck collegially, and they exchanged relieved expressions.

  “Do you understand, son, that one of the laws we’ve been discussing—MGL Chapter 76 Section 5—is about whether discrimination excludes you from, and I’m quoting here, the advantages, privileges and courses of study of your public school?”

  “Yes sir, I do.”

  “You’re a straight A student, aren’t you, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Including the A you received last year from Mr. Zeilonka, and the A average you hold in his current class?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you think your track record is the sign of a student who has been excluded from advantages or privileges or courses of study?”

  Brandon looked confused.

  “This, Pat,” said Abe, “is what the law demands you to consider. If young Brandon here had really been discriminated against to the point of exclusion, his studies would have suffered. But he is a fully engaged and successful student, as are the other kids who are here to testify. You won’t find a bad report card among them. In fact, they’re all A students.”

  Meck clenched his teeth. He whispered to Pastor Royce.

  “We should have anticipated they’d frame it that way. We should have brought in some kids who’d dropped out or turned to homeschooling.”

  Pastor Royce nodded sympathetically and whispered back.

  “Shame on us for assuming the underachievers wouldn’t be well-spoken.”

  Connie spoke up as if he’d heard them.

  “Have all your friends done as well in Mr. Zeilonka’s classes, Brandon?”

  “Not all of them, sir. A couple kids opted out altogether, and some kids didn’t complete the assignments if they had, you know, different content. My sister Sophie warned me to stay away, but, you know, it’s hard, because he’s the only one teaching AP. And two of our best players—”

  “Different content?” asked Abe.

  Brandon picked again at his thumbnail. He seemed to be waiting for Connie to step in and say something. When he didn’t, Brandon said quietly, “About homosexuals.”

  “You need to speak up, son.”

  “I said homosexuals! Are different.”

  “And what did your sister say?” asked Abe.

  “My sister?”

  “You said Sophie warned you not to take Mr. Zeilonka’s class.”

  “Oh, yeah, I just told her it was hard.”

  “Hard in what way?”

  “Because he’s homosexual,” he murmured.

  “Again, son, I need you to speak up.”

  “I said because he’s homosexual! I mean, he kept me after school and told me what I wrote about Find Me was … wasn’t right. I just wrote what I sincerely believe, that the protagonist was an abomination. Mr. Zeilonka told me that was wrong. I was wrong.”

  Tommy pressed his fingers over his mouth, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

  “This is a nightmare,” he whispered to Robert. “He’s like a different kid.”

  “My understanding,” said Abe, “is that Mr. Zeilonka encouraged you to try to do better with that particular essay, that it wasn’t on a par with your previous work. In fact, I believe he suggested that if you wanted your opinion about the protagonist to be taken seriously, you had to be more thorough in your reasoning. He tells me he suggested you revise the piece from a Christian perspective, and bolster your arguments with Biblical citations.

  And I believe you took his advice, didn’t you? What grade did you get on that essay, Brandon?”

  Brandon snaked a finger under his collar and pulled it away from his neck. Abe allowed the silence to build. For the first time, Brandon glanced directly at Tommy. Tommy smiled sympathetically as if to apologize for the way Brandon was being put on the spot. Blood rushed to Brandon’s face, and he lowered his head. Meck tightened his fists, willing the boy to remain calm.

  “Two of my friends got, like, taken out of school last year by their parents. Our best point guard and one of our starting forwards. Because of him. Because I guess he has an agenda, you know? It freaks people out. We could have been state champs if it wasn’t for him! We were so close to winning, but without those two guys we couldn’t pull it off, and it’s his fault, because he had to go and try to recruit kids by making us read all that disgusting stuff, and the parents don’t like it, do they? Why should we have to face his homosexual agenda every day in school, Mr. Kinney? That’s all I’m trying to say. Those picketers out there aren’t wrong. I mean, Pastor Royce told us men aren’t supposed to lie with other men, right?”

  Meck could sense Pastor Royce tensing beside him. Brandon continued, his voice getting increasingly high and whiny.

  “Pastor Royce showed us—it’s right there in Leviticus, in black and white, and in Paul’s letter to the Romans, so if Pastor Royce and God both say it’s an abomination, then it’s an abomination! God says the homosexuals will get punished for what they do. So there you have it—they’re getting punished. Hey, if Pastor Royce hates the gays, then I—”

  “Now, now,” said Pastor Royce, rising abruptly. He held out his arms as if addressing his congregation. Abe threw up a hand against him.

  “Let the boy be heard, Pastor. Isn’t this what you say you want, for your kids to be heard? Are you speaking from the heart now, Brandon? Are you telling us your truth?”

  “Yes sir, you bet I am!”

  “No need to badger the child!” said Pastor Royce. “You aren’t going to allow this, are you, Pat?”

  A clammy sweat became apparent in Meck’s armpits. Pastor Royce’s face flushed red.

  “That’s okay,” said Abe. “I think Brandon has made himself clear.”

  Pastor Royce angrily swept back his hair and sank into his chair, kicking up an all-too-human waft of oniony sweat that Meck wished
he hadn’t noticed. Pastor Royce closed his eyes.

  “For the record, everyone,” said Abe, “Brandon received an A-minus on his essay.”

  Meck lowered his suddenly heavy head. Brandon had been their best witness.

  27

  Oskar

  Oskar sat at the head of his battered worktable, and Ludka sat on a bench on the side, as close to him as possible, a solid wall at her back, his fifth-floor studio opening out in front of her, industrial-sized windows warm and bright with crisp morning sun. With both hands she held on to a mug of milky tea.

  “Ludka.”

  Oskar said her name as if it were a foreign word he couldn’t quite pronounce.

  “Pawel,” she said.

  He smiled, and with a hint of the old Humphrey Bogart swagger called her Polly. Then, as if he had a train to catch, he took a rushed sip of his tea and pushed back from the table. He’d been speaking in perfect, nearly unaccented English, showing off, she thought amusedly.

  “First things first. I have a little present for you.”

  Time had diminished Oskar’s height and bulk, and with a hitch in his stride he moved slowly but with evident purpose to a heavy oak sideboard. A hip replacement some years ago, he told her, but he sounded evasive, and she didn’t dare ask about his time at Pawiak. He’d also complained of arthritis in his fingers, a hindrance he vigorously ignored each day in order to do his work, which was strewn and stacked all over the studio: wood and metal sculptures; torn paper, strips of tin, and thick oil affixed to canvas. What little hair he had—now white—remained only in a fringe just above his ears and around the base of his skull. Age spots dotted his sun-browned scalp. She couldn’t tear herself away from studying him; he was more fully himself than her imagination had ever led her to expect, and so she felt shockingly at ease, as if she had seen him just last week.

  He opened a drawer and took out a package loosely wrapped in a scrap of cotton, a torn T-shirt by the looks of it. He carried it to her as if whatever lay within couldn’t possibly be good enough. She smiled at the sloppy cloth.