Soldier at the Door (65 page)

Hegek slowly shook his head. “You should be teaching this at the directors’ training conference. So I have to know—what’s the ‘joy’ they lose if they misbehave?”

“They lose their Zenos day. Corporal Zenos won’t come do an activity with them that week if they reach the third finger of war
ning.”

“That’s the soldier who barely lost to your husband in that race, right?” Hegek smiled. “And that threat works?”

“
Loss of joy
,” Mahrree reminded him. “And yes. I’ve only had to implement it once for the boys to realize I was serious, and for them to realize how long and dull a week is without Zenos day. It was as painful for me as it was for them, to be honest. If I had them write lines as a punishment, I have a feeling we’d be doing that every day.”

Hegek looked at her with sudden and intense fervor. “Mrs. Shin, I
need
you!”

Mahrree, stunned,
blinked before she said the only thing she could think of. “Uh, but I’m already married, Mr. Hegek.”

Hegek went red and shook his head vigorously. “I mean,
as a teacher
.”

“Oh, of course—”

“Mrs. Shin, you could accomplish so much if you returned to teaching.”

“I think I accomplish a great deal already,” she said, a bit taken aback, and turned her attention to her toddlers sitting next to each other in the dying grasses. They nibbled on their apples, then Jaytsy dropped hers, eyed Peto’s, and pulled it out of his hands. Peto didn’t wail, because he was already lunging for the apple his sister dropped. They took tiny bites from their new apples, then the process started again. Jaytsy thought Peto’s looked better, and Peto wanted the apple she dropped again.

She watched them to avoid saying the words that the idea of going back to school was one she never entertained. And the thought of sending those darling children—who traded apples yet again but were now eyeing each other suspiciously as if realizing their sibling was really a thief—well, the thought of sending them to Full School made her gut twist.

She couldn’t say the words because the small figure standing next to her with an air of hopefulness was really, at his core, quite a very nice man. That was the trouble. It was easy to be angry and rant against the Administrators and Mal because there were beasts that lived far away. Distance makes it easier to demonize.

But poor Mr. Hegek, with loneliness in his eyes that watched the children with what Mahrree suspected was actually longing, was simply trying to do his job, to do what he thought was the best thing for the world. He used to be a teacher himself, she found out, down in Orchards. Then he answered a call for teachers wanting to ‘improve the world’ and found himself at director training in Idumea. He wasn’t a malicious, conniving or callous man; he was just a good man doing a stupid and unnecessary job.

How could she say that to him?

She heard him chuckle softly, breaking the uncomfortable silence between them.

“I think they figured it out,” he gestured to her toddlers. “They’ve finally discovered they’re eating the same two apples!”

Jaytsy and Peto were now glaring at each other, with the sweet fury only toddlers possessed, and clutched their nibbled fruit in defiance of the other. At any moment now Jaytsy would declare, “Mine!” and Peto would yell, “No!”

Mr. Hegek said, as cheerfully as he could, “How
old’s your youngest—the boy?”

“A year and a half.”

He sighed. “So . . . another four to five years, right? Until I can hope you’ll consider my offer and come back to teach? Once they’re both in school themselves?”

Mahrree could only groan softly before looking into Mr. Hegek’s eyes. She was reminded of a sad, damp mouse begging her to take the last of his grain.

“How about we discuss this in four years?” was all she could say. She wasn’t about to tell him she hoped a great many things would change in four years.

Such as the Administrator over Education realizing all of this was a ridiculous idea, or the system drawing too much taxes, or a cavern opening up to swallow all of Idumea . . .

Mr. Hegek chanced a small smile. “I suppose I’ll have to be content with that.”

Mahrree smiled back. “Well, I imagine you must have a great deal of work to do,” she hinted, hoping to leave the topic of schoo
ling, her, and her children far, far away—

“Actually, I’m awaiting a cart from Idumea. Rather important shipment,” he said uneasily.

Mahrree had intended to walk away to supervise her students, but Hegek’s words—and his tone—intrigued her. “Oh, really? What is it?”

Mr. Hegek squinted down the road. “Ah, looks like it’s here!” His voice tried to be enthusiastic, but his eyes looked pained.

Mahrree was intensely curious as a horse-and-cart with a driver pulled up and stopped in front of the shack.

“You Mr. Hegek?” the driver called.

Under his breath the director murmured, “
Are
you Mr. Hegek. My goodness, the language we use—Yes,” he said loudly while Mahrree chortled in approval. “Is it a lot?”

The driver scoffed. “—’Slot, he wonders. ‘
Spect I unload, he wonders next,” the driver complained as he climbed down from his perch.

Hegek scowled at Mahrree. “Should we give him a lesson in diction before we let him leave?” he whispered. “You don’t ‘
spect’ the boys can hear him, do you? He could set us back moons in education.”

Mahrree just laughed as the director walked over to the cart to sign whatever form the driver was waving around.

No, Mahrree thought again, there’s no way I can tell him what I really think about all of this. Just listen to him—he actually made a joke. Outside of Perrin and me, I doubt he has any friends in Edge.

Then she had an idea, and it made her grin.

Mr. Hegek walked back with a crate in his arms, trying to appear as if he were strong enough to carry it, despite the wobbling of his knees. Behind him the driver was carrying two more crates, rather easier. Mr. Hegek set his crate down on the ground in front of her, and stood up looking sheepish.

“It’s actually a bit more than I anticipated. I’ll need to make some space in my office, first. Just set them down by the door,” he instructed the driver. “And the next two crates, by those two.”

“Five crates?” Mahrree said, and gasped quietly as Hegek pried off the lid of the first crate. “All paper?! There’ll be no more forests above Scrub at this rate.”

“Actually,” Hegek said as he lifted a stack from the crate, “they’ve been reusing the paper from the Administrative offices. They can shred it, pulp it again, and make new paper from old.”

“That’s amazing!” Genuinely impressed that Idumea did something right, she fingered the paper which was a bit murky in color, but still quite functional.

“Yes,” Hegek said enthusiastically, “someone complained to Idumea, and they agreed that the last thing we want is to decimate the forests.”

That struck Mahrree oddly. Wouldn’t decimating the forests—and the Guarder threat—be exactly what Idumea would want?

But before she could think more on that, the words stamped o
nto the paper caught her eye. “May I see this?”

“Uh,” Hegek began, then slowly handed the bundled pages over to her. “Since I hope you’ll someday be a teacher for me . . . I su
ppose you should see this now.”

Mahrree thumbed through the pages. “Lesson plans?”

“Uh, yes,” the director said hesitantly. “It seems that while we did well enough for the Administrators to give us new schools—”

“—Schools that
we
will pay for, in higher taxes no doubt,” she interjected as she continued to scan the pages.

“Yes,
heh-heh, likely that,” he responded uncertainly with the fakest laugh Mahrree had ever heard, “while we did well, we didn’t do quite so well as, say . . . Pools.”

Mahrree glanced up. “Why do we care about Pools?”

Hegek coughed politely. “Heh-heh, why indeed? Well, because our averages—”

“We shouldn’t care about
averages
,” Mahrree said sourly as she stopped scanning and focused on a bolded word. “We should care about individuals!”

He sighed. “That’s why I need you,” he whispered so intently that Mahrree’s eyebrows went up, as well as her gaze.

The director cleared his throat and looked down at the pages. “Well, you see, Pools lead the averag—
scores
in testing, so the Administrators decided Pools knows the best way to teach.”

Mahrree squinted hard. “The best way to teach is to teach ind
ividuals, not crowds!”

“I know that as well as you do,” he whispered back and looked around nervously, the same way Perrin sometimes did.

Must be a condition of having lived in Idumea, Mahrree considered. He’s likely worried that around the corner may be a man in a red jacket listening in.

“But to help our numbers improve, a group of teachers at Pools has sent each school . . .
help
.” Then he held his breath.

Mahrree knew why, as soon as she read the words on the paper. She had purposely looked for the heading “Estimates.” She couldn’t help but read out loud what followed.

“‘Good morning [or afternoon, as the case may be] students. Please take your seats. Today, students, the objective of our lesson is to understand, manipulate, and use estimates.’”

Mr. Hegek was cringing when Mahrree looked up, her eyes smoldering in fury. “This must be a joke. Please tell me this is a joke.”

Mr. Hegek swallowed hard. “I never once remember laughing in Idumea.”

“They’ve SCRIPTED what each teacher is supposed to say?!” Mahrree exploded.

Her toddlers dropped their apples, surprised at their mother’s volume.

Several of her students did as well.

“Every grade, every subject, every minute,” Hegek droned gloomily.

“I’m still TIMING you!” she bellowed at the boys who were staring at them, and they obediently continued picking.

Mahrree’s toddlers tried to steal each other’s apples, and succeeded.

Mr. Hegek cleared his throat and attempted to carefully take the paper out of her clenched fist. “I’m sorry. Perhaps this isn’t the best—”

“Isn’t it bad enough that we can’t decide
what
to teach our children—” Mahrree didn’t relinquish her control of the pages crinkling in her grip, but snarled quietly, “—now we can’t even decide
how
?!”

Quietly, but not calmly.

Mr. Hegek stopped trying to retrieve his documents and instead rubbed his chin anxiously as Mahrree crushed the script as if it were the Administrator of Education’s writing hand.

“They’re going to dictate
everything
from Idumea?!” she screeched in a whisper. “Can you imagine someone standing in front of those boys and stating, in all seriousness, ‘Today our objective will be the discussion of estimates.’ Outrageous! They don’t even
need
teachers with this nonsense! Only script readers! Is that what they’re trying to do? Eliminate all possibility of adults having intelligent discussions with children!?”

She finally regained enough of herself to focus on Hegek’s eyes, and she stopped when she noticed how miserable he looked. None of this was his fault, but his eyes were turning red and his chin was close to trembling.

“This wasn’t my idea, Mrs. Shin,” he said in a low, dejected voice. “But if I don’t implement it, I’ll be reported.”

A light went on in Mahrree’s head, and to Mr. Hegek’s surprise she suddenly began to smile. She shoved the vile script into his hands.

“Think about it, Mr. Hegek: who will report you, and
to whom
?”

Hegek gulped, his eyes darted around, and then the light came on for him as well. “I don’t know who would bother to report me, but . . .” A smile forced its way on to his mouth. “I would be repor
ted to Major Shin!”

Mahrree burst into a grin. “Take these papers, Mr. Hegek, and the other crates, and hide them as far away as possible. I’m thinking
the fort
might be a safe place. My husband may have an idea or two of where to heave them,” she winked and Hegek beamed. “I’ll do my best to get these boys’ scores even higher than last time—or maybe we should let the scores drop, so the scripts seem to have caused more problems than they cured? In any case, Idumea will never know what we did or didn’t do. They really don’t care about what happens in Edge anyway.”

Now Hegek’s chin was trembling, but happily. “See why I need you, Mrs. Shin?!”

Mahrree’s grin remained as she remembered her idea from earlier, before the arrival of the wretched papers.

“Mr. Hegek, there’s only so much I can do with this small group of boys. There are other after school care programs like mine, and if you spoke with their instructors, I’m sure they’d be willing to help us avoid this ‘help’ as well. In fact, may I recommend that you begin first with my friend who’s working with the girls near here?”