The Creatures of Man (15 page)

So the public school psychologists and counselors grudgingly referred to Thorling the children they could not get through to, particularly the kindergarteners they did not even wish to try to get through to. Thorling accepted some of these and sent the others back. When asked to explain the school's criteria for accepting or rejecting a referred child, Royster spouted a dizzying line of educational doubletalk that, if stripped of its camouflaging verbiage, would have amounted to nothing more than: "We take the children we can help."

The carefully concealed truth was, of course, that Thorling took those children who had extrasensory abilities, whose behavior problems in fact usually stemmed from the difference these abilities created between them and other children. Brought together with others of their own sort, these children were no longer misfits. They became attainable—to each other, to their teachers, to the normal processes of schooling, and to the development and joyful use of their special gifts.

If Thorling School's real nature was suspected, its loss of accreditation would be the least of its worries. Public school officials would scream with gleeful alarm until they stirred up a full-scale witch-hunt. And the public itself, long plagued to the point of surliness by educational quackery and soaring school costs, would probably be quick in making Thorling School a sacrificial goat.

In brief, Thorling School existed on a razor's edge, and the accreditation inspectors would be in a position to topple it if they could find a minimal amount of solid leverage . . . anything to justify their vague suspicions. But, if Royster could say the right things, and the children played their roles . . .

"Don't worry about that, Mr. Royster," said Arthur. "Us kids're with you all the way—except maybe a couple of new soreheads and the old perfectioners—perfectionists. An' they won't get out of line, either."

"Thanks, Arthur," Royster responded.

They came out of the stairwell into the first floor hall. Arthur murmured, "Everybody's got the word."

Two of the team members, a man about Royster's age and an angular woman in her fifties, were in the main hall, each peering through the glass panel of a classroom door. Royster recognized neither of them as he approached. Roddy Linker, the student hall monitor, was at his desk unconcernedly reading his biology textbook. He glanced up and gave the headmaster a conspiratorial wink, then returned to his book.

Royster reached the woman first and said rather loudly, "Good morning, madam. Can I help you?"

Both she and the man, who was at the next door down the hall, jumped and spun around. She recovered her composure quickly and drew her head up and back, as if confronted by a distasteful odor.

"Are you Judson Royster?" she barked.

"Yes, I'm Mr. Royster, madam."

"Why weren't you in your office, Royster?" she demanded.

"Duties elsewhere in the building. Sorry to have kept you waiting, madam. The hall monitor should have let me know through the intercom that I had visitors." He gave young Roddy a reproving glance. "What can I do for you?"

She fumbled in her garishly beaded handbag and drew out an official card. "I am Dr. Phyllis Ross, of the Inspections Division of the State Department of Public Instruction." She held the card out so he could read it with a little peering but could not touch it. "My colleague here is Dr. J. Mercer Stilly, who has our documents." The man walked up, gravely shook hands with Royster, and gave him a stiff, folded paper.

"And this is the third member of our team, Mr. Donnelly McNear," Dr. Ross continued, pointing to a rotund, baby-faced young man who was emerging from the school office.

Looking very much at a loss, Royster said, "I'm very happy to meet all of you, Dr. Ross, Dr. Stilly, Mr. McNear. I suppose this is a building-safety inspection, isn't it? You'll find everything in good order, and I'll welcome your professional advice on a few proposed alterations—"

"We're not safety inspectors!" broke in McNear in an insulted tone. "That paper tells who we are!"

Royster unfolded the paper, stared at it, and looked up with a dazed expression. "Accreditation? There must have been a mix-up somewhere, I'm afraid. We've not received notice that you were coming, and don't have any of the special reports prepared. Could it be that . . ." He peered at the paper again and went on weakly, "No, it says Thorling School, all right, and the date's correct. But those special reports I should have ready . . ."

"Never mind the reports, Royster," Dr. Ross said brusquely. "Send the paperwork in later. We're here to see what's going on for ourselves, not to read what you
say
is
going on. And I still want a satisfactory explanation as to why your office was left unattended."

"Yes, madam. Our funds are insufficient to pay a receptionist without reducing our teaching staff. There is only Miss Smith, who is my assistant and who also handles much of the secretarial work, in addition to myself. Sometimes we both have to be out of the office at the same time, particularly when new pupils are being enrolled as two were this morning.

"However, we always make sure a monitor of demonstrated dependability is on duty in the front hall when both of us must be out." He looked at Roddy Linker again and said to the inspectors, "If you will pardon me a moment, I should have a word with that young man."

He walked over to the monitor's desk and the team followed closely behind him. "Roddy," he said sternly, "you know very well that you are supposed to inform Miss Smith or myself when we have visitors!"

Roddy's lips puckered angrily and his eyes swept the four adults with a glower. "They said not to," he grunted churlishly.

"
Who
said not to?" Royster demanded.

"Them," Roddy replied, pointing to Dr. Ross and McNear. "That woman and that guy."

"That
lady
and that
gentleman,"
Royster corrected him.

Roddy shrugged and said indifferently, "You're the boss."

Royster thought in dismay:
What's Roddy trying to do to us?
"The young scoundrel is lying!" snapped Dr. Ross.

"In his teeth!" supplemented McNear. "We said no such thing! Really, Royster, if your establishment is producing such dishonest ruffians as
this . . ."

Helplessly Royster looked at Dr. Stilly, who was listening with an unhappy frown but who showed no inclination to speak. It was a hopeless situation—the word of one boy, and a problem boy at that, against two or maybe three responsible adults. "Roddy," he began.

"Gosh, Mr. Royster," said Roddy, in a changed tone and plainly in retreat, "I didn't mean to lie! That's what I thought they told me."

"Nonsense!" yapped Dr. Ross. "We said nothing that the dimmest child in the state could misinterpret in that manner!"

Roddy was fumbling for something under his desk. "If you say so, ma'm," he said apologetically, "I guess you're right. What was really said," he finished, lifting a tape recorder onto the desk and rapidly flicking its buttons, "was
this!
"

The recorder come on loud and clear with Roddy's voice:

" 'Good morning. Who did you wish to see?'

"McNear's unmistakable, high-pitched voice: 'Nobody in particular.'

"Roddy: 'Just a moment, please, and I'll call Mr. Royster.'

"Dr. Ross: 'That won't be necessary, young man. Return to your seat.'

"Roddy: 'But Mr. Royster said I'm supposed—'

"McNear: 'And the lady said that won't be necessary!'

"Roddy: 'But when visitors come, he wants to—'

"Dr. Ross: 'We're not mere visitors, boy. We're here on business. Now get on with your book!'

"Roddy: 'Yes, ma'm.' "

He switched off the recorder and looked up innocently. To Royster he said, "I guess they didn't say not to call you, after all, sir. At least not in those exact words."

Royster was fighting to stifle a guffaw of sheer relief—and no little admiration. He was glad the inspectors were staring at Roddy, as if the boy were a rattlesnake who had just depleted his venom supply into their veins, and weren't noticing him.

As soon as he had himself under control, Royster said brightly, "Roddy is quite an enthusiast of speech identification patterns—you know, those photographs of vocal vibrations that are used somewhat like fingerprints. He makes himself a minor nuisance with that recorder of his, gathering samples of visitors' voices to study. How many adults do you have so far, Roddy?"

"Twenty-seven, counting these three. But none of these said 'Good morning,' and those are the words I'm using in my comparative study."

"I'm sure they'll be happy to oblige, won't you, folks?" Royster said, turning to the inspectors. "Will each of you say 'Good morning' for Roddy's recording?"

Dr. Stilly said with a wry smile, "That's a very educational project you're undertaking, young man. I'll be glad to contribute. Good morning." He looked expectantly at McNear.

"Good morning," McNear sang tonelessly.

"Good morning!"
Dr. Ross snapped impatiently. "Now let's quit wasting time and get on with the inspection."

"Very well," Royster said, talking fast and glibly. "I suggest we start with the dormitories, on the upper floors, and work our way systematically to the basement." He moved away slightly, as if to lead the way to the stairwell, but none of the others showed any intention of following him, so he edged back, still talking. "As I'm sure you know, most of our youngsters are boarding students from all sections of the state. The top floor has been converted into living quarters for the boys, the second floor for the girls, and the first floor and basement rooms for classes. Fortunately, this is a big if rather old building, and—"

"We'll start with the classrooms, if you please," Dr. Ross ruled coldly.

"Those in the basement," added McNear.

Royster looked blankly at them a moment, then said, "Very well," with a nervous chuckle. "I can appreciate the fact that, for an accreditation inspection, the actual classroom work is your foremost consideration."

"Precisely," said Dr. Ross. "So let's not just stand here all day!"

As Royster led the way with apparent reluctance, the visitors became increasingly aware of the glum-looking urchin who was dogging the headmaster's footsteps. After a whispered conference with Dr. Ross, McNear asked, "Why is this young man following you, Royster?"

The headmaster started to answer, then paused, not at all satisfied with the explanation he meant to offer for Arthur's presence. The boy cleared his throat and Royster peered down at him.

"Suppose you answer our visitor's question, Arthur," he said. After all, the boy had access to several dozen imaginative young brains.

"It's 'cause I misbehaved," said Arthur.

"This is your punishment?" asked McNear.

"No, sir. This is so Mr. Royster can watch me while he decides what to do to me."

"This strikes me as a most unusual procedure," Dr. Ross commented disapprovingly.

"Oh, no, ma'm," said Arthur. "Mr. Royster does this all the time. It ain't unusual."

"It 'isn't' unusual, Arthur," Royster corrected mildly, wondering what this was leading to.

"Really, Royster," the woman said, "such a display of hesitancy concerning a simple disciplinary matter shows a lack of decisiveness scarcely fitting for a headmaster."

"Am I indecisive, Arthur?" asked Royster.

"No, sir, it ain't . . ."

"Isn't!"

" . . . It isn't that." The boy looked up at Dr. Ross. "The reason he waits for an hour or two is so I'll know he's thinkin' over what I did, because he thinks I'm important enough to think about."

Royster got the drift and put in a pious aside to the inspectors, "So many of our children's problems were intensified by angry and impatient parents . . ." He shook his head sadly.

"But couldn't the boy do his waiting in his classroom?" asked Dr. Stilly. "This procedure interrupts his work schedule for hours."

"That's correct, Dr. Stilly," said Royster, "and in the regular school situation this practice would be unjustifiable. But here at Thorling, as you know, behavioral problems have to be given a high priority. If Arthur were in his class, waiting with mounting dread to hear my decision, imagining me increasingly as a vengeful ogre, and perhaps misbehaving again out of boyish bravado, the effect on him would be far from salutary. But if he's actually with me, he's constantly aware of me as I really am, and of my desire to help, rather than injure, him. You'd be surprised at the gracefulness with which the children accept a penalty when they know I have given it hours of thought."

"Arthur," Dr. Ross said sweetly, "do you even go to the bathroom with your headmaster?"

"Yes'm."

"And are girl students punished in this manner, too?"

"Yes'm. Miss Smith had Hazel Petrov with her most all yesterday afternoon, ma'm."

Dr. Ross grunted in disappointment.

Royster led the way along the basement hall. Thorling School had originally been built, back in the late 1920s, as a public school to consolidate some two dozen of the old rural one-roomers in that area of the county. When enrollment began to mount after World War II, the penny-pinching county fathers decreed that the overflow of students be handled not by the construction of expensive new wings, nor of entire new schools, but by digging out new rooms under the old buildings. The resulting classrooms might have looked dismally shoddy, with their tangle of pipes a foot below the ceiling and their haphazardly located support beams and posts, but they served their purpose for a while.

But finally enrollment pressure reached the point where an all-out program of new-school construction was unavoidable—and the new schools made the old "substandard" by comparison. Naturally, every tax-paying citizen was soon demanding that his Johnny have as pleasant a school to attend as the next kid, and it became expedient to build still more new schools and to abandon the old.

The J. V. Thorling Foundation had purchased this building for not many more dollars than it had cost originally. The boxy, red-brick structure was old, and not considered handsome, but it was sturdy. And after a thorough repair and renovation of the interior, it proved quite satisfactory to its new users.