The Five Pearls (9 page)

It was a Wednesday night.
Mr. Battle loaded up the car and drove his class down Academy Boulevard towards the Denny's restaurant where Marie’s mother worked. The teacher said the restaurant trip was a reward for perfect attendance, but the truth was that he wanted to share an early Thanksgiving dinner with them. America’s Thanksgiving, always on the last Thursday of November, was the next day.
Sitting in the cargo area of the SUV, Matt wrestled for a good position. He pulled out an ice scraper and an envelope from under him. At the next stoplight he held up the envelope. It was a pay stub envelope from the school. He read the label.
“You live in the old Loomis House, Mr. Battle?”
“That’s personal property, Mr. Golden,” Battle said with an eye on traffic.
“Sorry, Teach. So you must be kinda rich, huh?”
Julio asked, “Are you rich, Mr. Battle?”
“Rich enough to buy dinner,” he smiled at them from the rearview mirror.
The Toyota pulled into the restaurant parking lot. As the Tadpoles climbed out of the SUV, Matt handed Mr. Battle the envelope.
“Sorry about that.”
Mr. Battle nodded and followed the kids into the restaurant. He waited in the lobby with his students while Marie sought out her mother. She was working in the non-smoking section.
“What are you doing skipping school?” Lolly asked her daughter.
“I’m not skipping. We're on a field trip,” Marie boasted.
“What? They don’t take you to the zoo no more?”
“The zoo is closed at night, mama.” She winked. “But I am with my new teacher.”
Lolly pulled her daughter into a service station cubicle where they kept the coffee. “I look a mess,” she fussed. “Look at my uniform. I have stains on me.”
“He won’t care,” Marie pleaded. “You’ll see.” She dragged her mother by the arm to the lobby. “Mama, this is Mr. Battle.”
“Hello, Mrs. Fuentes,” he said with a bright voice.
“It’s
Miss Fuentes
now,” said Marie. “She’s single. You can call her if Lolly if you want.”
Lolly pulled her hair back from her face. “Marie says you are a good teacher.”
“I try,” smiled Battle. He could read the stress in her voice and face. “Long day?”
“People gotta eat, I guess.”
“Us included.”
Lolly smiled now. “Marie never liked school before. You must be doin’ something right.”
She grabbed a stack of menus and led the teacher and students to a big oval booth in the back of the restaurant.
“Hello, Mrs. Fuentes,” Julio said as he slid into the booth. “Ain’t seen you since last year.”
“I’m glad you’re not in jail,” she said.
“Me too, Mrs. Fuentes,” Julio laughed.
“Marie, can I see you for a minute?” she asked. She led her daughter back to the coffee cubicle and smiled. “He
is
cute. How old is he?”
“I don’t know, mama. How old do you want him to be?”
Lolly pinched her daughter’s arm and pushed her back to the booth. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
When Lolly returned to take their orders her hair was combed better and she seemed to have a fresh application of makeup on.
Mr. Battle and the students all agreed on the same meal. The turkey dinner special with mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans and cranberries.
“Since you're a teacher, you get a discount,” Lolly Fuentes said after writing down the order.

There was something special and unforgettable for John Battle that night as he sat at the table eating with the teenagers. He watched with small pleasure at the way Julio chewed and mishandled his fork like a toilet plunger. He noticed Matt’s displeasure at the sight of green beans too close to the mashed potatoes. He caught Marie instinctively putting a napkin on her lap. Toby stirred his coffee cup so many times it drove everybody nuts.

After dinner, Mr. Battle ordered hot apple pie for everyone at the table. As they dove in, he declared, “The food was delicious! I can't remember the last time I ate at Denny's.”

Matt said.
“I hate that word,” Amber said.
“What word?” Mr. Battle said.
“'
Remember
.’ I don’t want to remember anything from the

Battle mused the meaning of the word. “'Remember' means to return to a memory, to think of something again that stays in the mind. Psychologists say there are four different types of remembering: recollection, recall, recognition and relearning. Recollection is the reconstruction of events or facts on the basis of partial cues that serve as reminders. Recall is an active, unaided remembering of something from the past. Recognition refers to the ability to connect and identify previously encountered stimuli as familiar.”

“Yes. Relearning may show evidence of the effects of memory – familiar material is often easier to learn a second time around than it would be if it were unfamiliar.”

“I don't want to remember. I want to forget,” Amber said cynically.
Toby was curious about the teacher’s comments. “So what exactly is a memory?”
“A mental faculty that gives us the ability to remember. Like an instinct.”
“Okay, then,” Amber said as a challenge. “Is the mind real or imagined?”
“It’s real.”
“How is it real?” she pressed.
“The mind is human consciousness. It originates in the brain and manifests itself through our thoughts, perceptions, feelings, memory, and even imagination. Like an invisible hard drive in the brain.”
“But a hard drive operates because it has real data to play with,” Toby said.
“The mind is far more complex than a computer,” Mr. Battle argued.
“So, let me get this right,” Amber figured. “A memory can be real or imagined? Is that why we think some people are crazy? Because we can't get into their head to find out how something to them might be real?”
“Give me an example.”
“Okay. My childhood.”
“What about it?”
“Sometimes, I think I can remember things from when I was a baby. Like I see a dad and a mom and a brother... then it all went away for some reason. But it seemed real, not imagined.”
Battle listened with extreme interest.
“Come on, Baby Beulah,” Julio said. “It’s all made up.”
“That’s enough, Julio,” Battle said sternly. He took a sip of his coffee and leaned towards Amber. “You were never told what happened to your family, Amber?”
“If she ever had a damned family,” Julio remarked coldly. “Amber, maybe you were given up at birth because you were sick or ugly. Maybe you were illegitimate.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” Amber tugged on a lick of her hair. She looked to Battle for an answer. “All the courts tell me is that my records were sealed and nobody is allowed by law to let me see them until I turn eighteen.”
“Do you want to know the truth about who you are and where you came from?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Julio shook his head. “What if it turns out your mama was a crack whore or that your daddy was a serial killer?”
“At least I'd know.”
“I wouldn't want to know the answer,” Matt gargled as he chewed his food.
“Me neither. Hell, no. I'd rather just move on down the road. Not for me. Uh-uh.” Toby was adamant.
Battle kept his focus on Amber. “Would you want the whole truth or just a glimpse?”
“The whole truth... but not for me... For my...” She stopped talking, looked at her small belly and suddenly blurted out; “For my baby.”
“Baby?” the other teenagers rose from their seats.
“Yep, my baby.” Amber grabbed her chocolate shake and sipped it down, staring at the other kids for further responses.
“How long have you been pregnant?” Matt finally asked.
“I’m almost four months.”
“Who did it?” Toby asked.
“He’s not important.”
“Can you have an abortion?” Julio asked.
“Why would I?”
“Because you live in a halfway house for stupid girls.”
Amber tossed her milk shake on him and screamed, “Shut up!”
She climbed out of the booth and ran out of the restaurant.
None of the kids knew what to say.
Mr. Battle was caught short too, stuck in his seat just like the rest of them.
“What lesson you gonna teach us about this?” Julio snapped.
“Kids get pregnant every day,” Mr. Battle said.
“Not our Amber! Not our Baby Beulah!” Marie said frantically. “She doesn’t even sleep with boys.”
“Somehow, I guess we missed it.” Matt sounded disgusted.
He stabbed at his last bite of pie.
Julio grabbed some paper napkins from the table dispenser and wiped himself off.
“Little bitch is lucky I didn't knock her ugly ass down.”
He jammed his way out of the booth and left for the men’s room.
Lolly arrived at the table with a large washcloth and the dinner tab. “What happened?”
“We just hit a little speed bump on the road of life, Mrs. Fuentes,” Matt said.
Marie poked at the lip of the table with a toothpick. “How could Amber be so stupid? She has her whole life ahead of her! Why did she have to go and get pregnant?”
She tearfully excused herself and ran to the bathroom followed by her worried mother.
“You two have anything to add?” Battle asked Matt and Toby.
“No, sir,” said the boys.
“I guess we're done for the evening.” Battle pulled out a wad of cash, paid the bill and left a generous tip. “What did we learn tonight guys?”
“That we’re not the friend we thought we were,” Toby said.
It seemed like a long drive back to the school for the tired teacher and his silent students. The Toyota pulled up to the curb. Mr. Battle left the engine running.
“This small school is only a stepping stone in your lives,” he said. “For some of you, in just a few years it will only be a vague, insignificant memory. Can I drop anybody at home?”
“Me,” Amber said. “I live on North Nevada.”
The other Tadpoles excused themselves from the car and wandered off into the night.
The SUV rolled down the street carrying Mr. Battle and the sullen pregnant girl. Amber needed to talk some more.
“About what we discussed in the restaurant… maybe I’d like to know who my parents are or at least who they were,” she pondered. “But like the boys said, not if it’s something tragic that would only make my life more screwed up than it already is. You know, like if I was abandoned because I was an inconvenience. Or maybe I have some exotic fatal disease or genetic flaw.”
The SUV stopped at a red light.
Amber studied the teacher’s profile. The dark interior of the car hid his wrinkles, darkened his complexion, making him look years younger. Amber imagined he was quite handsome once.
“What about you Mr. Battle? None of us knows anything about you.”
“My life is not all that interesting.” He tried changing the subject. “Do you think our class is going well?”
“I think you’re a good teacher, if that’s what you mean. Look at the five of us. We’re actually showing up. This is very untypical for me, Mr. Battle. I don’t listen to anybody. Not ever.”
“Why not?”
“Because I never believe what I’m told.”
“And yet I’ve noticed you’re curious about everything.”
“I just want to grow up overnight and get my life over with.”
“Someday, when I have enough time, I’ll tell you all about myself,” he said. “Maybe then you won’t be in such a hurry to race through these precious days that are your life.”
“Promise, Mr. Battle?”
“For you Amber? I’d give you the world.”
She gave him the address of the group home ahead and he pulled up to the house.
“Am I your favorite student?” She had to ask.
“Promise you won’t tell the others?”
“I’m not immature in all areas.”
Mr. Battle laughed. “Who is helping you with the baby?”
“You’re looking at her.”
“Oh, Amber,” he frowned.
“I’m cool with it, Mr. B. There’s plenty of options for a girl my age.”
“But are they good ones?”
“Probably not, but hey, my life sucks anyway. What’s a little more grief before another dreary Christmas?”
“Do you plan to keep the baby?”
“No.”
“Your reason?”
“One dead end life dragging another one down the same trail? I don’t think so.” She climbed out of the SUV and blew him a kiss. “You’re a lovely man, Mr. Battle. I look forward to knowing you better.”
“Amber,” he asked, “Why didn’t you tell your friends you were pregnant until now?”
“I’m not all that close to them anymore, I guess. See how they made fun of me? That’s not what a real friend does.”
“Find new ones.”
“I’m sure there are lines around the block of people waiting to befriend a pregnant orphan with an attitude,” she remarked. “Maybe after I give my baby away.”
“Goodnight, Amber.”
“Goodnight, teacher man.”
He bent over the steering wheel and watched her until she was safely inside, then drove himself back to Loomis House. Tears streamed from his eyes and a new pain pounded in his chest. It wasn’t from the cancer. It was his heart breaking.

When John Battle woke up the next morning, he found his face in a sticky, half-dried pool of blood. He examined the blood on the sheet, rubbing it between two fingers. It was thicker than any blood he had ever seen. His mouth and nose were still bleeding, too. He could taste a coagulating, rotting death in his mouth.

He tried to stand but his legs were numb. He sat up in bed, massaging the circulation back into his legs. He used tissues at the side of the bed to clean off his mouth to the best of his ability but he felt so, so tired. Across the room, he studied the man in the mirror. At first he didn’t recognize himself.

Unable to walk, he reached under the bed and pulled out a journal. He began to write. Words flowed from his mind to the pen.

“The biggest fear a parent must have when they lose a son or daughter is that everyone is going to forget about him or her. This is not my fear. My fear is that my child will forget about me…”

“John,” Mrs. Powell knocked on the door. “Is everything all right?”
“Fine, Mrs. Powell,” he called out. “I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
“Lunch will be ready,” she said.
He listened to her footsteps leading downstairs, finished writing in his journal and tucked it back under the bed. He tried standing again. His legs were back. Like a seasick passenger on a ship, he made his way to the bathroom.
When he appeared in the kitchen half an hour later, Mrs. Powell noticed the grief etched in his face immediately.
“You had a little accident?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’m sorry about the sheets. There’s blood on them.”
“Still up to driving?” she asked.
“Only a few more days, I feel.” He wearily fell into a chair. “I’m running out of time, Mrs. Powell.”
“I can see that.”
“I need to make a slight adjustment to my plans,” he told her.
“Oh?”
“Remember you said that perhaps if I shared some of my scheme with you, that perhaps I could find a better solution to my problem?”
“Yes.”
“I’m soliciting your help, Mrs. Powell. Please, don’t commit to me until you have heard my whole story. After that, you decide to help or not.”
“That seems fair. But I’ll only listen after you’ve eaten.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Powell.”
It was all he could do to hold down small bites of lunch. After that, Mrs. Powell gave him a heavy dose of medicine and helped him to the study. He sat on a sofa and began to open up.
“Fifteen years ago, I had a terrible auto accident,” he admitted. “I was driving. Drunk. I was always drunk back then. A hotshot lawyer with all the best cases. I was mad about myself. Bullet proof. I was driving home late after a stupendous New Year’s celebration. Everyone adored me and did his or her best to fill me up with the best free liquor money could buy.”
“My wife was with me… Her name is Katherine. It was nearly three in the morning by the time the party wound down, but I insisted I pick the kids up from the sitter right away. It could have waited until morning, but I wanted to sleep in the next day.”
“Katherine was terrified. She tried to take the keys from me after we picked our three children up from the teenage sitter, but I wouldn’t have any part of it. I wrestled the keys back from her and away we went.”
“I didn’t even give her a chance to buckle the kids up in back. Three beautiful kids; a boy and two girls; five, two and a newborn of six months.”
“It was snowing out. Black ice on the road. I rolled on to the freeway doing about seventy with bad visibility. We made it past downtown…”
“Where did you live, John?”
“Denver… there were cars on the side of the highway, spin-outs and accidents, but I was invincible. Katherine asked me to slow down, to stop I can’t remember how many times. And you know what I did, Mrs. Powell?”
“What did you do, John?”
“I laughed at her… The kids were crying in the back seat. My boy cried, ‘daddy stop, daddy stop.’ But I didn’t. I had to get home, you see. I wanted to have a last toast of champagne with my wife after we put the kids to bed.”
“There was a slow-moving snowplow ahead, on the left side of the highway, churning snow to the side of the road. The snowplow driver later said I was doing at least eighty when I hit the embankment. The car rolled four times. I was thrown from the vehicle, barely had a scratch on me. A fireman said two of my children died instantly. My oldest son and daughter. Katherine died waiting for the Jaws of Life to cut her free.”
“And your third child? The baby?”
“She is why I’m here, Mrs. Powell.”
The old woman held his trembling hands. “And she is one of your students?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Powell lowered her head and listened some more. The sad story continued. He talked of the trial and life in prison in great detail, described how his daughter disappeared from him into the entrails of the legal guardian system. He described to the old woman how he worked from inside the prison to find his daughter … and then the cancer arrived before he was free…
“I ran out of time, Mrs. Powell. I needed time to win my daughter back.”
“And you think that if you tell her the truth of who you are she will hate you?” Mrs. Powell asked.
“Wouldn’t you?” he said.
“It is a ghastly story,” she admitted. She looked at a grandfather clock in the corner. “Time for school,” the old woman said.
“What should I do, Mrs. Powell?”
“We both know getting older doesn’t necessarily make us wiser,” she said. “Go to school and continue teaching. The way to win her over will reveal itself.”
“I don’t have the time.”
“Maybe the answer isn’t on your clock.”
“What else can I do?”
“Pray to God for an answer.”
“I prayed for forgiveness for fifteen years. Never got an answer.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? That adds up to something. And John? This isn’t just about your daughter anymore. You have five kids to think about now.”
“I know,” he realized, rubbing at his temples. A twister of a migraine headache was blowing in full force.
“What else is there?” Mrs. Powell asked.
“Amber is pregnant.”
“Oh, my.”