Antrim, Donald - Elect Mr. Robinson for a Better World

I took up the rear, waited while the line of parents and children progressed into the house. Meredith was charming and gracious, offering and receiving pecks on the cheek and polite social hugs from the women, patting the children on the head and saying things like “What a pretty doll,” and “My, that’s quite a gun you’ve got.”

When it came my turn to go inside, she said, “Excuse me, Pete, where are the other teachers?”

“Oh.”

In fact, I’d failed to contact any of them. What can be said about this?

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

Lamely I blurted, “To call them.”

“I don’t believe this.” Her fury was exquisite. She was livid, actually scowling. “You might at least have washed your face and brushed your teeth. They’re green.” She turned, seashell necklace clattering, and marched inside to make like a hostess with the refreshments. I slunk in after her and chugged some coffee myself, taking care to wash it around like a rinse. Kids were exploring the downstairs, and moms were expressing gratitude for our selfless dedication, etc., etc. No one missed me when I took a moment to rush upstairs and tie on a bright red “first day” bow tie (a previous year’s); it took a while to get the knot right — I like a tight, precisely defined knot, with a certain soft, wrinkly flare in the wings of the tie. I don’t go for a lot of dandyish, straight-out wing extension. I had to do several retyings, because my hands were trembling and my fingers were sore from cuts. I believe it’s important to look as together as possible for the start of the year; it’s a small gesture, though not trivial; it engenders respect and makes me feel ready to do my job. I think of it — putting on the tie, adjusting it just so — as analogous to an actor’s preparations for the stage, an athlete’s warm-up before the game.

On my way downstairs I stopped off in the bedroom and purloined our digital alarm clock/radio. What’s a school without a bell? And in the front hallway I exchanged perfunctory farewells with the parents. I’d wanted to get a moment alone with Jenny, if only to admire her beautiful, sandaled feet, but she was already gone, driving away. Little Jane, weeping as usual, had to be coaxed from her mother’s skirts. The girl called Hope was hiding beneath the kitchen table. I called out instructions. “Okay kids, fall in. Make a single-file line and follow me. No pushing or shoving on the stairs.”

Down we went. The basement was cool and damp. It felt like a subterranean bunker hideaway. Matt and Larry, piling down the steps and noticing the dungeon model on its table, exclaimed, “Wow. Cool.” I went in search of a wall socket. There was one behind the furnace. I set the alarm for the time on the display and plugged it in, and it erupted like a siren in the hollow concrete room, scaring Jane into fresh tears. The infant Tim, who was being carried down the steps by his older brother, also let out a howl. I said, “This is the bell. When you hear it you will assume your seats and take out paper and pencil.”

“Can we sit anywhere?” asked Susy Jordan, racing to claim a place at the head of the class. She hurled herself onto a trunk and announced, “This is my seat.”

“Fine. You sit there. Brad, go sit next to your sister.”

“Do I have to?”

“ Brad, ” said Susy. Brad skulked over and settled onto the edge of the trunk. His sister pinched his arm, scolded him in low tones, “Don’t make trouble, brat.”

“Don’t call me brat.”

“Don’t be one.”

“Hey, hey,” I said. Susy beamed. “I apologize for my brother, Mr. Robinson.” It cheered me to know that at least one potential discipline problem would be taken in hand without intervention on my part. The other problems, it seemed clear, would be Matt and Larry Harris, who remained over by the dungeon, picking up pieces of the model, holding them aloft in the bare-bulb light, saying things like “This is nothing. I could build this shit.”

“Guys, put that stuff down and come over here behind Susy and Brad.” I didn’t want these two in the back of the class — the traditional place for class clowns, spitball throwers, and general fuckups.

“What do we do with these?” asked one, displaying his powerful longbow. “Under the stairs,” I told them. “That goes for everybody. All toys in the cardboard box beneath the stairs. Pronto.”

One by one, the kids came forward and consigned their playthings to the box. Jane’s toy, it turned out, was the stick she’d been using, earlier, to draw dirt pictures of fish. This sad fact earned from Sarah, of the wet red mouth and dog-faced shoes, the harsh comment “That’s your toy? A stick ?”

More sobbing from Jane. I had to step in and say, “One of the things I hope to teach you this semester is the importance of tolerating diversity. Who can tell me what the word ‘diversity’ means? No one? Diversity means difference. We’re all different people, with different beliefs, different styles of clothes, different toys and hobbies. And what are some of our special hobbies? Anyone?”

“Helping my mom in the kitchen.”

“Superb hobby, Susy. Uh, let’s see. Steven. Steven, do you have a favorite hobby that you like a lot?”

“Snorkeling in the pool.”

“Another fine hobby. David, how about you? What do you do for pleasure and amusement?”

David, still cradling Tim in his arms, said, from the back of the class, “My mom and dad hardly ever come home, so I have to spend most of my time taking care of my brother. Does that count?”

“Well, actually, no.”

From overhead I could hear Meredith’s footsteps, the creaking of the floorboards. Meredith was probably cleaning juice glasses and coffee cups in the kitchen. Or setting out napkins and plates for lunch break. After a moment she came partway down the basement stairs — interrupting the Harris twins’ Byzantine tales of neighborhood bow-hunting expeditions under cover of night — and said, “Excuse me a moment. Pete, the drain’s clogged again.”

“Be right up, hon.” I went to the metal tool cabinet and got out the plumber’s snake. I coiled the snake like a whip and instructed, “No one leaves his or her seat. There will be no talking. If I hear a single sound from down here, you will all be held accountable.”

Upstairs, Hope was still hunkered down under the table. Chair legs caged her. I hadn’t even noticed her absence from the class. Meredith said, “She won’t come out. Poor baby.”

I pulled back a chair and crouched down, got eye level. “Hope, don’t you like school?”

“No.”

“All your friends are here. We’re going to have a swell time. I have a lot of fun games planned for later. Won’t you come downstairs?”

“Leave her be, Pete. I’ll stay up here with her. She’ll be okay. Look at this drain.”

Sure enough, it was backed up to the rim; piled cups and glasses loomed like a crystal city submerged beneath soapy water that stung my wounds when I reached in for the food trap. I cleared space around the drain and slithered the flexible copper snake into the pipe. It went a foot. I could not force it farther.

“Fuck.”

“Not in front of children, Pete.”

“Right. Sorry.”

I administered a couple more futile plunges with the snake. Meredith watched over my shoulder. Whatever was in there, it was really in there.

“Do we have Drāno?” I asked.

“You’re not supposed to pour Drāno through standing water, I don’t think.”

“Hmn. Maybe this’ll drain out over time. We can pour Drāno in later.”

I re-coiled the wet snake and bent down to peer at Hope beneath the table. She’d gathered herself into a ball, pale child’s arms tightly wrapping dirty knees. Her staring eyes were wild.