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OK,
Class
B. R. Bearden, aka Thon_
"Ok, class, who can tell me what causes
the seasons to change?" I asked my new students. Several hands went up.
I scanned the eager faces, my eyes coming to rest on one young boy who
somehow stood out, though I couldn't quite place my finger on why. I pointed
to him.
"What's your name?" I asked. "And what
causes the changes of the seasons?"
"My name is Alinar," he said with a bright
smile. "Pan changes the seasons with his pipes. In the winter he plays
slow and sad, and things die. In the spring Pan is happy, and his songs
waken the flowers."
The room burst into laughter, and I stood
shocked by the answer. It was beyond any expectation of mine. The boy seemed
confused by the merriment of the rest of the class.
"Mrs. Johnson, Alinar's strange." A curly
haired boy said.
"Yea, he's crazy." Added a little red headed
girl.
"That's not nice," I chided them. I ran
my finger down the seating chart.
"Jenny and Charles, we don't talk about
others in such a way."
"Well, he is strange," Charles said in
defense. "Look at those Vulcan ears."
"That will be enough." I sternly admonished
the laughing students. Still, I did look at Alinar's ears, realizing they
had indeed caught my attention earlier. They were somewhat pointed. Not
exaggerated like Mr. Spock's, but noticeably coming to a point at the top.
Alinar self-consciencely touched his ears
and I feared he would break into tears. Instead, he smiled as if only now
discovering his ears and turned in his seat to look at Charles. Immediately,
the curly haired boy stopped laughing, and like the rings spreading from
a stone tossed into a pond, the laughter in the room rippled to silence.
"Alinar, that was a creative answer," I
said as the room grew quiet. "However, it is the Earth orbiting the
Sun which causes the seasonal changes."
The boy smiled at me as if I had given
the creative answer and he understood I was doing my best. I turned to
the chalk board and drew a large and a small circle, the Sun and Earth,
and drew in the orbit circle. To the class, I explained the idea of orbits
and revolving planets and all that science had proven long centuries before.
The other students took it in with interest or lack of the same, but I
could not mistake the amused expression on Alinar's face. The look of one
who knows the truth and suffers another to believe as they will.
At recess, as the children ran at play,
I stood with Mrs. Jackson and Miss Tramall. As the new teacher at Rossman
Elementary, I had met only these two teachers and the principal.
"How do you like your class so far?" Mrs.
Jackson asked.
"Well, for the first half day, it's been
bearable." I joked. I nodded towards Alinar as he sat perched upon the
crux of the teeter-tooter. "That young man there is quite unique. What
do you know of him?"
"He's almost as new as you," Mrs. Jackson
answered. "He moved here two weeks ago. Your predecessor, Mrs. Conner,
requested a meeting with his parents, I believe. She said he was an odd
boy."
"Did she meet with the parents?" I watched
him laughing at the swirl of children around him, but not joining their
play. The others ignored him.
"I recall she sent a note home, but I don't
think they ever came to the meeting."
I nodded. "He has yet to make friends.
The other children make fun of him."
"Have you noticed his ears?" Miss Tramell
asked.
Over the next few days, Alinar exhibited
more and more his unique view of the world. When I told the children about
gravity, he insisted it was the trolls working deep within the earth who
held things to the ground. The stars were gems of Eliah the Sky Queen,
twinkling in her silver grown, he said with all seriousness. The other
children laughed, yet always stopped when he looked at them, though he
made no threats of "later on the playground", as was often the response
among the boys to each others jibes.
He demonstrated a remarkable talent for
drawing and coloring, though his subjects and color choices were unique
as his answers. He invariable used green for hair color and did a beautiful
picture of a blue unicorn complete with a golden horn. "From memory" he
explained when asked about it.
At the end of the week, I was beside myself
over his imagination. Vivid though it was, and sure indication of a sharp
mind, still it was not good, I felt, that he should substitute myths for
the truth. I decided to speak with his parents. During lunch, I asked Mrs.
Jackson to watch my students for a few minutes while I went to the office.
In the office, I asked Principal Jenkins for Alinar's
home phone number, explaining my desire to speak with his parents.
"We don't have a phone number, Miss Johnson."
He said. "Mrs. Conner wanted to call Alinar's parents, also. I suggested
she send a note home with the boy and ask the parents to visit her after
school."
"So, she did talk with them?"
Mr. Jenkins removed his glasses and cleaned them
with a tissue from the box on his desk. "They didn't show up for the meeting."
"Perhaps the note never made it home."
I suggested. "May I have their address to mail a request for a meeting?"
"Of course." He searched his file cabinet
and withdrew a folder. It held only the registration form. He turned it
around so that I could read it. "It only lists Willow Street as an address."
"That's not much help." I said. "Did you
meet his parents when he was enrolled?"
"Actually, no." He put the registration
back in the folder. "I believe they sent the registration in by mail. They're
not required to come in person. I'm sure the boy can tell you where he
lives, though."
I returned to the lunchroom. Alinar sat
by himself, barely touching his food. I had seen other children made outcasts
by their fellow students, and it was a sad thing to watch. They usually
were sullen and unhappy. Alinar was none of that. He sat smiling, watching
the other kids as if it were the greatest joy to observe them. They, of
course, ignored him.
Crossing the lunchroom, I sat across from
Alinar. He smiled at me.
"I would like to meet your parents, Alinar,"
I said. "Where exactly on Willow Street do you live?"
"You can't visit my home, Mrs. Johnson."
He responded as he absently rolled his spoon across the backs of his fingers
with all the skill of a magician. I caught myself staring, then shook my
head.
"Alinar, why can't I visit your parents?"
"I only have a mother. My father left a
long time ago." He said.
"I'm sorry, Alinar. I would like to meet
you mother, though."
"I am not allowed to bring..." he hesitated,
then looked at me with a hint of laughter in his bright eyes. "People...
home with me."
"Why not? I am your teacher, after all."
"Sorry." He said as lightly as you please.
And as finally, so that I was given to understand that the matter was settled,
over, shelved.
At the conclusion of the day, I watched
the children file out for the weekend, shoving and eager. Alinar calmly
waited an opening to exit the room, speaking to none of the others. Giving
in to impulse, I followed after the boy.
He skipped across the school yard and down
the street as I followed some distance behind, keeping always a tree or
other obstacle between us. We cut across the parking lot of Save-A-Lot
Grocery and around the corner of Elm and Willow, the slight boy a hundred
yards ahead. Three blocks down Willow we passed the last house, yet Alinar
didn't stop. He continued along Willow street past the old train depot
and down to the bridge over Miller's Creek. At the bridge, he left the
road. I hurried to the spot and saw a faint trail leading into the woods.
Now thoroughly perplexed, I followed the trail, seeing the boy in glimpses
through the trees ahead. A half mile or so along I lost him. I continued
for a short distance, hoping to catch sight of him again. The woods were
too thick with the spring greenery and I was about to give it up and turn
back when I heard laughter in the woods. It was clearly Alinar's laugh.
I followed the sound into the trees.
The ground sloped upwards away from the
creek, the trees thick with bright green spring leaves. The air held that
wonderful fresh smell of growing things. Perhaps thirty yards from the
trail I came into a small clearing. On the opposite side was an embankment;
part of the old railroad cut, I imagined. Again I heard the boy's laughter,
and it seemed to come from the bushes along the foot of the embankment.
Crossing the clearing, I parted the thick bushes and saw a small cave entrance.
From within I could hear voices. A children's hideaway, I surmised. So,
Alinar at least had a playmate or two outside the classroom.
"Alinar," I called. I hated to reveal I
had followed him, but I was unsure of the safety of the small cave. "Alinar,
it's Miss Johnson. Are you sure you should be in there?"
For a long minute there was absolute silence,
so that I could clearly hear the creek as it wound its way by at the bottom
of the hill. Then Alinar came into view at the entrance to the cave, his
eyes bright and curious. He frowned slightly.
"Miss Johnson, why are you here?" he asked.
"I'm sorry, Alinar. I wanted to speak with
your mother so I followed you. I thought you were going home." I said.
The boy joined me in the clearing. I expected another boy or two to come
out of the cave, but only Alinar emerged. I tried to add credibility to
my presence by being the responsible adult. "It's not safe to play in caves."
"You can't speak with my mother, teacher."
He said.
"Why not?"
He turned his head to the side, regarding
me in an amused fashion. "She couldn't understand you. She doesn't speak
hu...English."
"She's not from the United States?"
He smiled in his engaging way. "Not really.
But sometimes."
"Where do you live, Alinar?" I asked. "I
would like to meet her, whether or not we understand each other."
"Sorry." He replied. "You're not supposed
to see her."
"Why not, Alinar?" I persisted. He simply
shrugged. A slight sound came from inside the cave.
"Who else is in there?" I asked as I ducked
to peer inside. A faint light shown from further back under the hillock.
"Miss Johnson, please don't go in there!"
I looked at the boy. The pleading look
in his eyes should have been enough, but I was the adult with the answers.
I entered the cave.
It was much cleaner than I had expected,
all stone walls and floor, and I had to crouch for only a short distance
before the walls and ceiling spread away. I was in a small cavern, perhaps
the size of my classroom, which was dimly lit by a small orb or sphere
sitting upon a wooden tripod. On the walls were tapestries, mostly fantasy
subjects, and I marveled that Alinar would have access to such expensive
hangings for a boy's hideout. The glowing orb I accepted as some battery
powered toy or novelty.
There were also chairs in the cavern, cleverly
made from limbs and branches, such as one might see at a flea market, though
much more gracefully shaped. There was another tunnel leading from the
chamber, and I saw a light coming up it towards where I stood. I heard
a soft sound behind and turned to find Alinar standing there
"Sorry Miss Johnson," he said. He again
shrugged his slim shoulders ."I tried to warn you away, but you humans
are always so curious. This is my mother."
I turned as Alinar's mother entered the
cavern. And fainted dead away.
We like to think our features are reflected
in our children. In Alinar's case, he had his mother's ears, though not
as large or flared as hers, but he lacked the mossy green of her hair and
the earth tone shade of her skin. Even slight as the boy was, he was nearly
her match in height. Still, he might have taken his lighter skin and darker
hair from his father, whom I never had an opportunity to meet. Alinar said
he had been a hobo who spent a night in the cave long ago when the railroad
ran. I suppose the boy was the expected result of the union of an earth
fairy and a human. If one can believe in little boys fifty years old, then
one can accept the natural human curiosity of the father was within him,
leading him to explore our world just a little.
Alinar never returned to school. When I
went looking for him, I wasn't really surprised I couldn't locate the cave
again. I watched hopefully each morning to see him skipping across the
street to the school, but it never happened. That saddened me greatly as
I knew there were so many things that needed to be taught. Such as exactly
how the trolls hold everything down, what Eliah the Sky Queen looks like,
and what the tunes of Pan might sound like to mortal ears.
copyright 1999 @ R. B. Bearden
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