Chapter 3a: Beginnings

School commenced on the first Wednesday after Labor Day. James was ready to go. He took his morning workout and had a big breakfast. He chose to walk that day, his apartment being close to the school. After his first few classes, he reckoned that he had more energy than the sea of expressionless faces that he looked out over in each of his four sections.

He was too seasoned to expect enthusiasm. Any expression, even fear, would have been preferable to nothingness. Could they really care so little for that which was so important to them? The only response that he could generate was a muffled groan as he explained the homework expectations. James tried to take it in stride. After all, the main activity of the day was passing out textbooks and outlining rules for homework and grades. Not quite enough to create excitement from teenagers.

Nathan saw James in the Teachers' Lounge after classes ended and sauntered over to say 'hello'.

"How did it go today, James?" Nathan asked.

"It was like a science fiction movie," James answered. "Something like 'Teen-aged Zombies'," James answered, only half-joking.

"Don't worry," Nathan answered. "They're sizing you up. They know that you're new. Teen-agers never give away their feelings to adults if they can help it."

"It'll all work out," James agreed.

"You've already earned a reputation as a 'homework monster'," Nathan informed him. "Several students tried to switch sections. I told the Guidance Counselors to tell them that all the sections are full—no changes."

"How much are you giving them?" a voice several feet away interrupted. It was Doris, whom he met at Nathan's barbecue two nights earlier. She was the senior teacher in the Math Department and coveted the Department Chair position.

"About thirty or forty minutes a night," Nathan answered.

"They'll never do it," Doris asserted.

"If they want a decent grade, they'll have to," James argued.

"They're not going to like it. You don't know the lay of the land here. It's not the same as what you're used to."

"They'll like it better when they pass the State Test," James retorted. "By the time they get to those tests, they won't even have a doubt that they'll pass them."

"State Tests!" Doris muttered with disgust. "You'll find out," she said and then looked away.

"Call it as you see it," Nathan reassured him. "We need results, with or without homework."

As Nathan moved on to visit the other teachers Doris leaned over to James. She moved close to him to whisper so that Nathan couldn't hear her.

"What are going to do with this homework, once you collect it?" she asked James in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Correct it and give it back."

"Correct it WHEN?" Doris demanded barely able to keep her voice at a whisper.

"Right now would be good if I had some to correct," James replied, or I can take it home with me.

"You can't do that to us!" Doris spat out. "We don't live like you do—like a hermit in a boarding house. My mother told me that you don't even have a television set."

"You have three sections. I have four."

"That's another thing..." James could see that Doris was getting angrier and he cut her off.

"Manage your classes as you see fit. I never said that I thought that you should give up television," he said as he needled her.

"Soon Nathan will put pressure on us all to do it just like you."

"Only if the students are getting good results," James said.

Doris heaved an audible sigh of disgust as she rose and stomped out of the room. In the corner of his eye James noticed Nathan observing the exchange.

Doris had tried to discourage James, but accomplished the opposite. Here was confirmation of what he fathomed in his meditations the night before. It was a sign to him that he was meant to be in Bates, teaching Math to students who needed it and could not receive it without him. His excitement was purging the doubts that had only days ago had stifled him. Once again, he felt stirrings in his belly. It was like an old friend, coming to pay him a visit, bearing a potent elixir to awaken his latent soul. He had befriended the feeling in Guatemala as a young man, when imminent ordeal was a pathway to destiny. It was denied him many years ago. Here it was again. He knew that he was right in his approach. Doris' priorities were different from his. He could barely wait to prove himself.

In truth, James knew that collecting and grading homework from four sections each day was impossible. His plan had never been more than to collect it on a random basis. He failed to mention that to Doris. He wondered if he had been unfair to leave that out of the argument. He decided not. He would have said so if she had asked. He would have said so if he she approached him in a different way. So be it.

James was walking home at a quick pace after his first day on the job. He had been thinking about shopping for a television set after dinner, but the scene with Doris changed his mind. Instead, he thought that he would lay in a supply of groceries. As he rounded the corner of Whitman St. he saw Mrs. Wilkinson in her yard. It wasn't usual to see her there late in the afternoon. She spent most of her time inside, but there she was.

"Good evening, Mr. O'Toole," she called out in a pleasant voice. "How was your first day on the job?" It was a potentially disarming approach, and it would have worked if Doris had not poisoned the well with her comments that afternoon about his lifestyle, with his wizened landlady the only potential source.

"Hello, Mrs. Wilkinson," he called back in measured politeness. "It went just fine, thank you." James kept walking until he saw the woman start to follow him toward the back of the house, and then he stopped.

"Mr. O'Toole, I need to discuss something," the woman wheezed as she hurried toward him. James stopped and waited for her to continue. She said nothing as she hitched along, waiting to get up close to him.

"I had to enter your apartment today," she announced. "I thought that we had an emergency."

"Really?" James was surprised. "What kind of emergency?"

"I thought that I heard the water running in your apartment. I thought that it might overflow. I had to check it out."

"Did I leave the water on?" James queried.

"No. Everything was alright—false alarm. Sorry."

James shrugged and turned to move on. He was suspicious. He decided not to press the issue. He could have argued with her and won, but it wasn't worth the bother.

"I need to go up there with you to verify that everything is as you left it," she called after him.

"Not necessary, Mrs. Wilkinson. I trust you," James said in a vain attempt to dismiss her.

"I insist!" she said. "I know that you think that I'm a fuddy-duddy, but I'm set in my ways."

James shrugged. It would be easier to accommodate her than to argue. He had nothing to hide, and if he did Mrs. Wilkinson would have already found it in her earlier foray into his quarters. When they got to the top of the stairway James let himself in. Ethel poured herself in right behind him.

"Take a look around," she ordered, as if she were the one granting the privilege. "Take your time." She followed him into his bedroom.

James played along. He knew that he would find nothing amiss. She wouldn't put herself at the scene of the crime if there would be a crime to discover.

"You sure got a lot of books in those boxes," she observed. James didn't respond. "What are you going to do with them all?" She tried again.

"When I get a chance I'll buy one of those bookshelves that you put together. Until then, they'll have to stay in the boxes," James answered.

"Have you read all of these?" she pressed on.

"Yes," James replied. "I've read some of them more than once."

"Is that what you do up here at night—read these books?" she asked.

"Mostly."

"Why don't you ever go out?" she asked. "There are some bars near here. You could meet some people."

"I haven't had a chance yet," James countered. "I just moved in." James knew that the conversation had evolved into an interrogation, but he was sure that he would parry her thrusts easily.

"What are they about?" She wouldn't give up on the books.

"Mathematics, mostly, and philosophy," James answered.

"I see that you've got a Bible," she announced her discovery as though it should please him.

"I do," James agreed. "I'm surprised that you saw it. It was way down at the bottom of the box."

She bit her lip in embarrassment at being caught, but then struck back. "I saw your Playboy Magazine, too."

"I'm over eighteen," was James' glib reply.

"Well, what did you do before you moved to Bates?" she demanded.

"I taught Math at a High School in Rochester. I was there fourteen years."

Ethel moved a step closer to James. She squinted, with her head pulled down into her neck as she leaned slightly forward. "Then why move to Bates? Did Nathan bring you here?"

"No, we were never acquainted until I had an interview with him. I took this job so that I could get into the public school retirement system," he recited.

"It's pretty rare that someone moves from the city to this part of the State," she said. "We like to keep things pretty close in this town. It wouldn't do for outsiders to come in and take over. It would ruin the place! People are going to wonder why you moved down here."

"I needed a job—like I told you—and the school needed a Math teacher. Here I am."

James was becoming impatient. He thought about elaborating; assuring her that he didn't want to take over anything—if even he could do that. But, he decided not to. It wasn't really true, for one thing, and this scowling, bitter woman didn't even deserve the answers that he already gave her.

The old woman remained motionless, her expression unchanging. The interrogation was over.

"Is there anything else that I can tell you, Mrs. Wilkinson?" he asked.

She shook her head and about-faced out the door. James closed it after her. It was sure from her questioning that Doris had called her after their spat that afternoon. It would have bothered James if the inquisition had been more of a challenge. Since it wasn't, he hoisted a skillet out of the cupboard. After a quick hamburger he would try his luck at the grocery store once again.

James pulled into a parking space in the lot of the Thrifty Mart wondering if he should have made a list in advance. He knew the answer, and also that it was too late to worry about it. His first bout in the market had been a rough one, a stranger in housewives' territory who eyed the intruder with contempt. On his second attempt he hoped to do better.

There was some improvement in that his expectations were more finely honed. Otherwise, the trip was as unsuccessful as his first try a few days before. As he guided his cart through the aisles of cereal and cake mixes, it was apparent that he couldn't go fast enough, or slow enough, to suit those around him. No matter where he might park his cart, it was in someone's way. No aisle seemed wide enough.

It was hard to pay attention to the merchandise and the heavy shopping cart traffic throughout the store. For a moment he lost concentration as he ventured through the intersection of two aisles. He never saw the oncoming cart; he might have had the right of way, maybe not. In a second he collided with another cart belonging to a woman coming from the canned vegetable aisle.

"Excuse me. I didn't see you!" James offered sincerely. "Did I break anything?"

A woman stood behind the cart who peered with disgust at the careless novice. "No, I don't think so," she answered abruptly. James tried to back away, but found that the two carts had become locked together in the collision.

"I'll take care of this. It will just take a minute." James smiled sheepishly up at his victim, who in turn, looked at the ceiling and rolled her eyes. A small crowd had accumulated in the intersection because of the obstruction in the traffic flow. Finally the carts were disengaged and the woman stalked silently away.

James moved the cart to the side and paused for a second to reset his bearings. It was shocking at how easily everyone became angry at him in this environment.

"You're new at this aren't you?" came a voice behind him. It was calm and pleasant, a welcome relief. James spun around. It was Abby, her cart half full of groceries.

"How can you tell?" James joked, happy to see her. She was dressed just like he had first seen her in her denim skirt and sleeveless blouse. This time, she had a light sweater draped over her shoulders to deal with the excess air conditioning of the grocery store.

"I would tell you, but it would take too long," she smiled.

"That bad?" James asked, already knowing the answer. "I don't think that I'm cut out for this."

"You'll get the hang of it," she assured him, chuckling. "Well, see you in school tomorrow." They continued their separate ways.

After he loaded his cart with the staples, he thought that he needed to give himself a treat and headed for the ice cream freezer. There were many more kinds and flavors than he ever thought possible. He stood surveying the choices, wanting to make the most of his self-indulgence. He seemed to be out of anyone's way, so he took his time.

He felt a thump and heard a minor crash coming from his cart once again. He knew he was not moving, so he felt relieved to be a victim in a collision instead of the perpetrator. He looked up to see Abby laughing at him.

"Sorry, I was going a little too fast." she teased him.

"I think that you staged that!" James teased back. "Was it for the insurance money?"

"You've seen me, so it won't be hit and run," she countered.

James had noticed it at Nathan's party, and again at that moment in the store, how pretty Abby's face was when she was laughing. She shed all traces of age. Her eyes crinkled at the edges. She traded reserve for spontaneity. James enjoyed the lovely sight, especially intended for him as it was.

"Actually, I hoped that I could find you before you finished your shopping," she admitted.

James was surprised. What could she want from him?

"I have a problem at the house," she explained. "Bubba's on the road down south; he won't be back until Sunday. I need someone to lift something heavy. I was going to wait for Bubba; then I saw you here at the store tonight. I started thinking that you might help me."

"What would you want me to do?" James asked. "I'm not very handy."

"It's nothing very hard," Abby assured him. "It's my washing machine. It needs leveling—jumps around when it spins. If you could just tilt it up for me I could turn the leveling wheels. I could wait for Bubba to do it, but I have such a lot of laundry. I hate the Laundromat."