This River Awakens (45 page)

She realised that she had planted her elbows on the desk and was kneading her forehead, her fingers describing circles on her temples.
A migraine’s coming. Tonight.
She also realised she’d begun to cry. The class was dead silent. Not a single page turned, not a single body shifted position.

Joanne pulled a wad of tissue from her sleeve, wiped her nose, then pressed the Kleenex against each eye. Her mascara was running.

Where are his notes? Where are all my handouts? What has he been doing?

Drawing. Men in medieval armour. Dragons, dozens of dragons. A barren treeless hill studded with dark rocks, filling two entire pages, worked over again and again, each blade of grass, hatching and cross-hatching – she stared at it, then saw all at once the dragon sleeping within the hill, present only in gradated tones, a ghostly apparition. He’d spent hours on these two pages, on this single scene. Hours,
while I’ve been talking, trying to teach. Day after day, after day.

The tears wouldn’t stop. Her nose dripped on to the pages, smearing the ink. She sensed someone at her side.

‘Miss Rhide?’ Lynk asked.

She tried to gather herself. ‘Yes, Lynk?’

‘Should I go get the principal?’

She shook her head. ‘Uh, no. That’s all right. Lynk, can you ask Mr Lyle to keep an eye on class. I’ll be back in a minute.’ She rose, patting her face with the sodden tissue.

As Joanne headed out, she saw Jennifer grinning at her.
You … bitch! You think you’ve won. I’m going to see you out of here, out of this school. I swear it.

She hurried out into the hallway and rushed into the girls’ washroom.

Nothing but drawings. I’ve failed him completely. It’s all my fault. I was complacent. It’s my fault. We’ll have to do something: we’ll have to find a solution. Another talk, just the two of us. Remedial assignments, to get him caught up. We can fix this. Another call to his mother, a strongly worded statement – that should work. She’s an intelligent woman, although a bit abrupt. She’ll take my side on this. I’ll bring up Jennifer, too. The bad influences – we’ll work together on both fronts.

Lynk’s my shining example. A dear, earnest boy. He was the only one to show any consideration, the only one who didn’t just … watch.

She checked herself in the mirror. Puffy-eyed, but otherwise okay. The migraine was building, however. She’d have trouble tonight. She took a few deep breaths, gathering herself, then left the washroom.

Barry was waiting outside, genuine concern on his face.

Joanne smiled. ‘It’s all right,’ she said.

They stood alone in the hallway.

‘Jennifer again?’ he asked.

‘Yes. No, not directly.’

‘Come to my office. George has things under control.’

‘It’s not fair on him,’ she said. ‘I know he can handle it – the students are, well, terrified of him, after all. But it’s okay, Barry. I’m ready to go back. I can handle this.’

He took her gently by the arm and walked her towards the office. ‘I feel very protective of you,’ he said. ‘It’s only been a couple of months, after all…’

She let him lead her into his office. While she opposed his attitude towards the children, he was nevertheless a generous, caring man. He treated his staff with exceptional confidence.

Mrs Reynolds was out.

‘Head on in,’ Barry said. ‘I’ll get us some coffee.’

She entered the office and sat down in the chair facing Barry’s desk.

He arrived with two cups, handed one to her then leaned against the desk.

‘Owen Brand’s not doing very well,’ she explained. ‘I thought there was improvement—’

‘Well, behaviour is one thing, lack of intelligence is quite another. Listen, Joanne, would you like to join me for supper – not tonight, of course. But maybe next week?’

Joanne blinked. ‘You mean, as professionals?’

He shook his head, his eyes holding hers. ‘No. I am interested in you, Joanne – in every way, if I make myself clear.’

‘But … you’re married.’

‘We have an understanding. We’re together for the kids. Once they get a bit older … it’s all right on that end, Joanne. I’m not the sordid type. I’m attracted to you. What do you say?’

Mother, you wouldn’t approve. Is that what makes the idea so exciting? He’s a handsome man, in his own way. Not your type, of course. But then, who was? He’s ten years older, at least. But I’ve always had mature tastes. Well, Mother, it’s time, isn’t it?
She smiled up at him. ‘I’d like that very much, Barry.’

‘Great! Now, better drink up.’

‘Of course! George must have his hands full.’

‘He’s an understanding man in his own right,’ Barry said. ‘He’s held the fort for me many times. Very reliable.’

*   *   *

‘I don’t intend to keep you long, Owen, but we have to get a few things worked out. About your notes, and the fact that you failed this last test. It’s clear to me that we have a lot of work ahead of us. But if we work together, I think we can make some significant changes – for the better.’

He sat attentively at his desk, his gaze not once straying from hers.

‘You understand,’ Joanne continued, ‘this will require that we work harder, that we complete extra assignments – an extra half-hour after school each day – until we’re caught up. Starting tomorrow, we go back to page one in your book. We take notes. No doodling, but notes. Do you understand?’

He nodded.

‘Very good. We don’t want a repetition of what happened today, do we?’

‘No.’

‘All right.’ She eyed him, not quite trusting his open, receptive expression.
We’ll see, won’t we?
‘You can go now, Owen.’

He collected his coat and quickly left. Joanne straightened, massaging the pain behind her forehead, then went to her own desk. She put everything in order for the next day, then left for the staffroom. She wanted to talk to Mrs Brand before her son got home.
Both fronts, we’ll make sure this time.

IV

I entered the house to shouting. My mother, her back to me, was in the hallway, on the phone. A cigarette was in the hand she had on her hip. Her posture was stiff with anger.

‘… keep your nose out of it,’ she was saying, her voice loud and harsh. ‘This isn’t some Nazi version of the Dating Game, lady. Get that straight. It’s none of your goddamned business who he’s holding hands with … Of course I approve. She’s a wonderful girl…’

I pulled off my boots. My heart was pounding. Looking in on the living room, I saw the twins sitting wide-eyed on the floor. Debbie – who looked to have just come home, her school having an in-service today – was grinning at me. She slowly waved one hand –
hot, real hot.

Miss Rhide was on the other end of that phone line, and as I listened, I almost felt sorry for her.

‘You’ve overstepped your bounds, miss,’ Mom said. ‘Keep this up and I’ll register a complaint to the school board…’ She fell silent then for a long minute while Rhide talked. I saw her shoulders hunch. ‘Listen,’ she cut in. ‘Listen. I don’t think you should be telling me this. That must be privileged information. I don’t think you have the right to fling personal details around like that. Whatever the situation at home, that’s surely confidential … no, stop right now! You called about Owen – or at least that should be the full extent of this conversation … Finally. Yes. I’ll talk to him about it. I’ll be very interested to hear his version – listen, his version is legitimate, dammit … So stop attacking it. I’ll make up my own mind, thank you very much … Yes, yes, fine. Is that it? Good. Goodbye.’

She slammed the receiver down. She lit another cigarette, then crossed her arms. ‘Next time, Owen,’ she said, her back to me, ‘walk, don’t run home.’

‘Uh, sorry. I didn’t know she’d call.’

‘Count on it.’ She faced me and stepped close, resting a hand on my head. ‘With Miss Rhide, count on it every time.’

‘Okay.’

‘I need a coffee,’ she said. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen.’

We sat on the stools at the counter. She sipped coffee, tossed out smoke rings, looking thoughtful. Finally, she sighed and said, ‘Jennifer’s having problems. How much do you know?’

‘At school? Well—’

‘No, I mean at home. Her parents. The situation there.’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t talk about it. Ever. I haven’t even met them.’

‘Well, that makes sense. Sort of. I’ve learned things I had no right to learn – about all that. The last time Jennifer and I sat down, I could see there was something she wanted to talk about, but I didn’t push it. You can’t push it. She’ll run if you do that. Rhide’s supposed to be there to help. Christ, she’s just one more problem for Jennifer. Where’s the support?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, completely lost. What was it about her parents? What was so terrible?

‘Sorry,’ Mom said, ‘thinking out loud. So your teacher has put herself between you and Jennifer.’

‘Oh, yeah. Since day one. It’s a pain, but we’re still going together, and that won’t change.’

‘Good for you. It’s none of Rhide’s business.’

‘She thinks it is.’

‘It isn’t. She’s out of line, Owen. That can happen to teachers as well as to anyone else. Don’t let her intimidate you on that. If she tries, call me – just walk out of class and call me right away. I’ll go straight to the school board.’

‘Okay,’ I said quietly. I’d never seen my mother so agitated, so fierce.

‘Now,’ she said, rounding on me. ‘What’s this about your grades? And your note-taking?’

I shrugged. ‘She’s teaching what I learned last year—’

‘Not very well, it seems.’

‘The test? Oh, that. She said it was a practice test.’

‘A practice test?’

‘Yeah, doesn’t count on your grades. I pass all the real ones.’

‘Then why did you get all the answers wrong?’

‘Not wrong, exactly. Just incomplete. Like I said, it didn’t count. I didn’t study. Besides, I wanted every answer to be exactly ten words long. One sentence, ten words. It’s hard to pack everything in. Harder than I thought, I guess.’

She closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. ‘Oh, Owen,’ she said, ‘go get into your clown costume.’

I jumped down from the stool.

‘From now on,’ she added, ‘just do the tests properly. Practice or not.’

‘Okay. Do you think Rhide knows she’s teaching Fifth Grade social studies?’

Her eyes squeezed shut, she shook her head. ‘I have no idea, Owen.’

V

Snow like ashes.
Sten smiled at the scene through the kitchen window. It was nearing midnight, and all the world’s runts were snug in bed. No more knocks on the door. No more shrill proclamations –
Trick or treat!
Just the silent snow left, draping its meaningless whiteness on to everything.

With winter, our house gets smaller, and smaller and smaller. The walls are alive with chittering tongues, the floors heave with restless passings. Our shoulders brush the hallway’s peeling walls, we hunch to keep our heads from scraping the ceiling. We grunt our thoughts like Neanderthals in a cave, and I want that hair in my fingers, my cock huge in my hand.

But it was almost midnight, and he was on his way.
The lich. The peach-skinned bastard walks tonight, with his drooling grin and the pits inside which I can see my own eyes, embryonic and blasted with venom. I’ll hear him soon, in the clank of bottles, the shuffling feet, and I’ll smell his stench – he’s dripping with bile, spitting out pieces of his guts while crows cling and squabble in a black mess of feathers right there at the hole under his belly button. Ripping out slices of liver, heads jutting as they work the morsels down their narrow throats. And his fists are huge, onion skin wrapped over cracked, misshapen bones. There are bits of my face on them still, pieces of meat, shards of tooth, my spit and my blood – all still there because that’s how I see his hands now, how I’ll always see them. Those inexorable, relentless hands.

‘Fall. Fall down, you little shit! Show me just how goddamned spineless you really are! Stay up after this, and this! And this andthisandthisandthis—’

I stayed up. I never went down. I won in the end. I won.

The house remained silent behind him. Elouise asleep. Jennifer asleep or drugged out or maybe masturbating upstairs. His smile broadened. Outside, the dogs padded restlessly. They’d barked themselves hoarse. All those kids – they’d wanted soft throats in their jaws, so bad, so bad, and the hunger, the desire remained, keeping them awake, still hopeful.
Still ready.

The wind had picked up, swirling the snow, raising itself to a low moan.
That’s him, isn’t it. Hallowe’en, the night of the dead. The wind rips through the fabric, it opens the way, and now he’s coming. Closer, closer.

Sten felt something warm dribble down his chin. He wiped at it, saw blood on his hand. His welcoming smile had set his gums bleeding. The memory of Fisk’s knuckles returned in a dull ache.
Better than you, Dad. That old man, he knew how to punch. He knew how to go for effect, to break something each time. He wasn’t drunk, Dad, that was the difference.

Sten clawed at his face. The pain was unbearable, the throbbing of cracked bones, all those flaws that now answered the storm outside. There was blood coming down from his nostrils. His ear was ringing, a high-pitched pressurised scream.

He raised the rye bottle and tossed back three mouthfuls.

I need. I need protection. This time he won’t get to me. I know what I need. I know exactly.
Moaning with pain, Sten staggered to the back door. He set his bottle down and shrugged his way into his felt coat. Cold out there, so cold, so cold. He collected the bottle and drank some more, then pushed the door open and stepped out on to the porch.

My dogs. They’re watching me. They know he’s coming. But they’re mine. Mine, not his. Four savage, hungry beasts. Four – no, three. Oh, Christ. Max.

He wiped the blood from his face with a sleeve, the plumes of his breath streaming into the wind. The air was bitter cold.
Winter, my winter.