Зенна Гендерсон - Holding Wonder

She hung her head "I don't care. She likes you better anyway."
"Even if that were so, Marsha-and I don't think it is-what about your mother and father? Were they pleased when Bob took home his book and you didn't?"
"No." Her voice was very small.
"Well, you know," I said enthusiastically, "you could get your little red book tomorrow, if you knew your words, and then you could go as fast as you could, all by yourself, and maybe catch up with Bob and Stacy pretty soon. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Marsha's face brightened, "Uh huh!"
"Of course you would. Here, let's see how many more words you have to learn."
Marsha sat down on the little chair and, taking a deep breath, read every flashed word in the first bunch of cards without error.
"Why, Marsha!" I cried, my aching conscience easing a little. "Of course you're ready for the little red book." And after we rejoiced together and wrote her name neatly inside the cover, Marsha sailed proudly back to her seat, both hands clutching the thin, paperbacked little red book.
The next afternoon when Loo Ree came to me with a tool catalog she had found in the janitor's supply closet, asking for explanation of things as foreign to me as the azimuth of the subdeclension if there is such a thing, I exploded. "Foof to this whole deal!" I flung down a piece of chalk so hard that it bounced. "I think I'm just plain nuts, staying after school like this when I'm sagging with exhaustion, and for why? To talk to myself and wave my arms around at nothing. And it's your fault I'm neglecting my kids-and poor Marsha! You should be ashamed of yourself, dropping the poor baby like that and breaking her heart! Well, goodbye, whatever you are, if you are anything! I'm going home!"
"But, teacher, please!"
"Please, nothing. End of the line. All out." And I slammed the door so hard that the glass quivered. I drove home, defiantly running a boulevard stop at Argent Avenue and getting a ticket for it.
That night I got a telephone call from Marsha's mother. She wanted to know if Marsha had got into trouble at school.
"Why no," I said. "Marsha hasn't been very happy but she's one of my best behaved children. I've been a little worried about her reading but she got her book today. Why?"
"Well," her mother hesitated. "You do know about Loo Ree, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," I replied, maybe a little heatedly.
"Well, a while back, Marsha said Loo Ree was too busy to play with her much any more. I was relieved, because-well-" She laughed awkwardly. "Any way, she hardly ever mentioned her again, except when she was very unhappy, but tonight she told me Loo Ree was back and Marsha's spent the whole evening reading to her out of her new book." Again the embarrassed laugh. "You'd almost swear Loo Ree was prompting her. Everything's been all right here at home, so I wondered if at school-'
"Why no, Mrs. Kendall. Marsha's doing fine now." After some more usual teacher-parent chitchat, I hung up.
I don't know whether it was my conscience or Loo Ree that sat heavy on my chest all night and read choice selections from A Survey of Hiroshima, Dante's Divine Comedy and Ostermeir's Morbid Pathology, all complete with technicolor
illustrations. Anyway, next afternoon I was sitting behind my desk again, propping my heavy head up on one hand while Loo Ree read from The Koran to me. She had unearthed it in a pile of books contributed to the last library drive at school.
So time went on and Marsha didn't mention Loo Ree again. I could tell she was still unhappy and felt left out and she too often moped by herself on the playground instead of leading the games as she used to. I was worried bout her but I couldn't set my mind to her problem while the lessons with Loo Ree went on and on, sandwiched between Christmas program rehearsals, a combination that left me dragged out and practically comatose when the week before Christmas vacations arrived.
0o Ree was reading Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea and I was thanking heaven that there was a glossary of sea life terms in the back of the book. I was supporting my weary head as usual and I let the sound of her voice flow over me like a shadowy river and must have dozed because my cheek slipped from my hand and I caught myself just in time to keep my head from thumping on the desk.
And there was Loo Ree, standing by me, holding the place with her finger closed inside her book. I must have a beautiful imagination because she was-I have no words for her beauty. Even if I tried, I could only compare her to what I have experienced-and she was way outside any of my experiences, but I can remember her eyes-
Loo Ree smiled. "I have learned to read." I gaped at her, still sluggish with the cumulative weariness that teachers everywhere will understand.
Loo Ree spoke again. "I've finished, teacher. I've learned what I had to learn." I should have skipped on the high hills and leaped from leaf blade to leaf blade with delight and relief but instead, my heart lurched and slowed with dismay.
"You're finished? How come? I mean, how do you know?"
"I just know." Loo Ree put the book down gently, sliding her finger out reluctantly, it seemed to me. "It would be useless to try to thank you for the help you have given me. There's no way to repay you and you will never know how far your influence will be felt."
I smiled ruefully. "That's nothing new to a teacher. Especially a first grade teacher. We're used to it."
"Then it's goodbye." Loo Ree began to fade and pale away.
"Wait!" I stood up, holding tight to my desk. My weariness set tears in my eyes and thickened my voice. "All my life I'll think I was crazy these past few months. I'll wonder and wonder what you are and why you are, if you don't it seems to me the least you can do is tell me a little bit. Tell me something so I'll be able to justly to myself all this time I've spent on you and the shameful way I have neglected my children. You can't just say goodbye and let it go at that" I was sobbing, tears trailing down my face and smearing the bottoms of my glasses.
Loo Ree hesitated and then flooded back brighter.
"It's so hard to explain-"
"Oh, foof!" I cried defiantly, taking off my glasses and, smearing the tears
across both lenses with a tattered Kleenex. "So I'm a dope, a moron! If I can explain protective coloration to my six-year-olds and the interdependence of man and animals, you can tell me something of what the score is!" I scrubbed the back of my hand across my blurry eyes. "If you have to, start out `Once upon a time."' I sat down-hard.
Loo Ree smiled and sat down, too. "Don't cry, teacher. Teachers aren't supposed to have tears."
"I know it," I sniffed. "A little less than human-that's us.
"A little more than human, sometimes." Loo Ree corrected gently. "Well then, you must understand that I'll have to simplify. You will have to dress the bare bones of the explanation according to your capabilities.
"Once upon a time there was a classroom. Oh, cosmic in size, but so like yours that you would smile in recognition if you could see it all. And somewhere in the classroom something was wrong. Not the whispering and murmuring-that's usual. Not the pinching and poking and tattling that goes on until you get so you don't even hear it." I nodded. How well I knew.
"It wasn't even the sudden blow across the aisle or the unexpected wrestling match in the back of the room. That happens often, too. But something else was wrong. It was an undercurrent, a stealthy, sly sort of thing that has to be caught early or it disrupts the whole classroom and tarnishes the children with a darkness that will never quite rub off.
"The teacher could feel it-as all good teachers can-and she spoke to the principal. He, being a good principal, immediately saw the urgency of the matter and also saw that it was beyond him, so he called in an Expert." "You?" I asked, feeling quite bright because I had followed the analogy so far.
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