Garden of Evil (14 page)

Jim glanced up at Simon Silence, and thought:
This handwriting is deliberately meant to mislead me. He doesn't really write like this at all.

If he had been asked to guess what Simon Silence's natural handwriting was like, he would have said sharply forward-sloping, with most of the emphasis on the ascenders like b, d, h, k and l. An aggressive, domineering personality, but with a strong spiritual element, almost fanatical.

He didn't know if the essay itself was intended to be misleading. It read: ‘For me Paradise will come on the day when the Fires are lit all over the world from one horizon to another and are stoked with Those Who Never Should Have Been. Paradise will come when the Smoke has cleared and the Bones are Heaped High and the Great Blasphemy has at last been Atoned For.'

Jim read the essay a second time and then took out his red pen. Underneath the last line, he wrote, ‘Very apocalyptic, Simon, but you need to explain yourself more fully. What, pray, is the Great Blasphemy? And who is it Who Never Should Have Been, when they're at home?'

As critical as he was about it, this essay confirmed his belief that Simon Silence had no place here in Special Class Two. It was a rambling, Old-Testament type rant, but it was fairly grammatical. There was no text speak in it, nor street slang, and he had actually spelled ‘blasphemy' with a ‘ph'. He doubted if anybody else in the class would have done that, even if they had known the word ‘blasphemy' to begin with.

Jim was about to take Simon Silence's notebook back to him when the classroom door banged open and the rest of Special Class Two came barging in, chattering and laughing and pushing each other. Simon Silence opened his eyes again, and smiled at him.

You can see presences and shapes and apparition, Mr Rook. You can even see monstrosities that people don't believe in – or, at least, that they don't
want
to believe in.

Jim made his way to the back of the classroom, where Rebecca Teitelbaum was sitting. In contrast to the drab green dress in which she had showed up for class yesterday, she was dressed in a glaring scarlet-and-yellow blouse with a zigzag print on it, and she had used red-and-yellow beads to fasten her chaotic black hair into a topknot.

She was also wearing tight red jeans and yellow sandals. Everything she wore looked new, as if she had gone out shopping yesterday evening with the intention of changing her image entirely, from dutiful Jewish daughter to
X-Factor
wannabe rock chick.

Jim noticed that Nudnik, the grubby white teddy bear, was still sitting beside her. He, too, was sporting a necklace of red-and-yellow beads.

‘Hey – I thought you were taking Nudnik off to be auctioned.'

‘I was. But then I thought, no, he's
mine
. I've had him ever since I was little and he understands me more than anybody else does. Why should I give him to some stupid orphan kids at Lev LaLev who won't even realize how much he knows?'

‘Oh, OK. I see. Well, he's your bear. Guess you can do what you like with him. But maybe he'd like to stay at home from now on. If I let
you
bring a mascot into class, everybody else will want to do it, and we don't want a remedial English group looking like the teddy bears' picnic, do we?'

‘Nudnik isn't a
mascot
,' Rebecca Teitelbaum retorted. ‘He's not a toy, either. He's my
confidant
. I tell him, like,
everything
.'

Jim looked at Nudnik and the bear stared back at him, glassy-eyed. Jim knew it was ridiculous, but today the bear looked quite sinister, as if it really did know all of Rebecca Teiltelbaum's secrets. What was more, it looked as if it could understand what they were talking about, even if it chose to stay silent.

‘How about letting me see your essay on Paradise?' asked Jim.

Rebecca Teitelbaum handed him a torn-out sheet from her notebook. Her writing had unusual thick and thin strokes, almost as if she were writing in Hebrew characters rather than English. She had written
Paradise
as a heading, but underneath she had also written
Ganedyn
, which Jim assumed was the same word in Yiddish.

‘My dream is to be most famous of all woman in the World. I step out of car and paperazi flash and flash with camera. I walk on to stage platform and thousands people stand up to ther feet and screem my name they love me so good. I am always on TV in movie and everybody beg me writ my name for them. All men say marry me marry me Rebecca you are most butiful of all woman in the World. Ever day I wear desiner cloths and diamon and everybody love me.'

‘That's really your idea of Paradise?' Jim asked her.

Rebecca Teitelbaum nodded.

‘Come on,' said Jim, ‘you're a pretty good-looking girl already. Don't you think you might get a little tired of all that adulation?'

She shook her head. ‘All my life nobody ever gave me any attention like that. And don't tell me that I'm good-looking. You're just saying that to make me feel better. I have horrible hair like wire and my nose is too big and I have to wear these really thick eyeglasses. No boy ever said to me come out on a date, let alone marry me.'

‘Rebecca,' said Jim, ‘everybody has beauty inside of them, and that includes you.'

He couldn't count the number of times he had said that to girls in Special Class Two who were lacking in confidence in their looks. ‘
Everybody has beauty inside of them
,
no matter how big their butts or how homely they are
.' He believed in it, too. At least, he
used
to believe in it. But looking at Rebecca Teitelbaum this morning, even in her new red-and-yellow outfit, he couldn't help thinking that – yes, her nose
was
kind of prominent, to put it politely, and her hair
was
frizzy. Not only that, her front teeth protruded like an indecisive beaver's and she had a large wart just in front of her right ear, and another one on her neck. In fact, he wasn't at all surprised that she had never been asked out on a date.

He handed back her essay. ‘You've made a couple of bloopers with your spelling, Rebecca, and your grammar needs some fixing, here and there. But those are minor details that we can fix later. Otherwise – yes, you've given me a very interesting insight into what you want out of life. Fame, and adoration and huge popularity.'

None of which will ever come your way, gelibte. Not until hell freezes over, anyhow
.

Next, he walked around to the chubby Hispanic boy who was sitting on the end of the third bench back, next to Simon Silence. His chair was tilted back and his legs were spread wide and he was softly drumming on his thighs. He had shiny jet-black hair tied back with a leather thong into a ponytail, and a round, cheerful face.

‘Want to tell me your name?' Jim asked him.

‘It's not there, my name, in the register?'

‘Of course it is,
muchacho
. But I'd like to hear you say it first, so that when I get around to calling it out loud, I pronounce it properly. That's called “respect”.'

‘OK. Cool. My name is Javier Alejandro Alvarez. But it is cool if you call me Al. That is easy to say with respect, yes?'

‘All right, Al. How about you show me your essay?'

Al Alvarez rocked his chair forward so that all four legs were on the floor, and then he said, ‘I did not exactly write it.'

‘I see. And why was that? Couldn't you imagine what Paradise might be like? All mariachi music and chocolate chimichangas and hot young señoritas?
Arriba
!
Arriba
!'

‘You make fun of Mexican culture,' Al Alvarez pouted. ‘That is not respect.'

‘Well, since you haven't bothered to write anything down, maybe you'd like to
tell
me what you think Paradise might be like. Right now I'm thinking that you were simply too bone idle to put pen to paper, and that doesn't deserve too much respect, does it?'

Al Alvarez turned his head away. For a fleeting moment, Jim saw him catch Simon Silence's eye, and Simon Silence gave him a quick nod of his head which looked to Jim like encouragement – like, ‘
go on, don't be afraid – tell him
!'

Jim said, ‘OK, Al. If you don't have any ideas about Paradise – or if you
do
have ideas but you don't want to tell me what they are, that's fine by me.'

He started to walk back toward the front of the class. ‘You want to work, you don't want to work, that's entirely up to you. I'm only here to tell you guys the difference between a preposition, a proposition, and a sharp kick in the ass. The whole point of Special Class Two is that you're all here to help yourselves.'

But before Jim had reached his desk, Al Alvarez stood up. ‘
I tell you
!' he called out, and he sounded so shaken that Jim immediately turned around.

His nostrils were flaring and he was clenching both of his fists. ‘I tell you about my Paradise!'

‘Go on, then, Al,' Jim coaxed him. ‘Let's hear it.'

‘In my Paradise, I am surrounded by beautiful girls! So many beautiful girls I cannot count them! They take off all of their clothes and they dance around me! Then they kiss me and stroke me and take off all of my clothes, too!'

‘Al,' Jim interrupted him. ‘I'm not so sure this particular concept of Paradise is going to be suitable for a mixed class of remedial English students. Maybe you should tell me later, in private. You know, man to incorrigible lecher.'

But Al Alvarez wouldn't stop. ‘I tell you what I do! I make love to them all, every one, in every way! Front, back, every way! And they are screaming with the pleasure! And they are all sweaty and shiny, and wriggle all around me like nest of snake!'

‘Al,' said Jim. ‘How about you put a sock in it, OK?'

‘Then I take razor! Old-style razor! And every one of those beautiful girls, I slit their throat –
slit
!
slit
!
slit
! And we are all covered in blood! And I lift up my hands and my hands are all covered in blood, and I lick it with my tongue! This for me is Paradise!'

J
im marched straight up to Al Alvarez and seized his upper arm.

‘OK, you,' he told him, ‘you're out of this classroom as of right now!'

Al Alvarez stared at him, as glassy-eyed as Nudnik the teddy bear. He was sweating and shivering, almost as if he were having a fit.

‘You
axed
me!' he protested. ‘You axed me what my Paradise was like!'

Jim locked his elbow so that his arm was rigid and started to march him toward the door. As he did so, however, Simon Silence called out, in the clearest of voices, ‘
H-R Four-Two-Four-Seven
!'

Jim stopped abruptly and turned around, although he still kept his grip on Al Alvarez's arm. ‘H-R Four-Two-Four-Seven?'

‘That's right, sir.'

‘I know what H-R Four-Two-Four-Seven is, Simon. It's the act of Congress which was passed in two thousand nine to prevent the harmful restraint and seclusion of students, even though most of them heartily deserve it. However . . . Al here has been duly and properly cautioned about his disruptive conduct, and I am merely escorting him out of the classroom for his own safety and the general well-being of Special Class Two, most of whom didn't come hear to him babbling on about orgiastic massacres.'

Simon Silence was unfazed. ‘He isn't breathing right, Mr Rook. H-R Four-Two-Four-Seven specifically says that a member of staff must not forcibly escort a student by restricting his or her breathing.'

Jim took three or four steps back toward Simon Silence, and Al Alvarez had to come stumbling behind him. ‘Listen, Mr Silence. How about I restrict
your
breathing so that you keep your opinions to yourself?'

Simon Silence kept on smiling at him. ‘You should chill, Mr Rook. There's too much at stake. You can't afford to lose your cool.'

‘You think so? Well, OK, we'll have to see about that. Now, come on, Al, I want you out of here, now.'

He manhandled Al Alvarez into the corridor. When they were outside, and the classroom door was closed behind them, he released his grip on the boy's elbow, but he shoved him hard against the wall.

‘What the
hell
did you think you were saying in there?' he demanded.

Al Alvarez shook his head. He was still perspiring and his nose was running, too. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve.

‘I don't know, sir.'

‘You don't
know
? You don't
know
? All that stuff about having women every which way and then cutting their throats and licking their blood?'

‘I swear I don't know, Mr Rook. It all just come into my head. It was like my brains was boiling. I never thought nothing like that before, never. If I said something like that at home, my momma would kill me.'

Jim stood close to Al Alvarez, saying nothing, while the boy gradually calmed down. After a while Jim laid his hand on his shoulder and said, ‘How about a drink of water?'

‘I'm OK, sir. Really. I don't know what happened in there.'

‘You want to go back in, or do you want to go home? I don't mind if you want to call it a day.'

Al Alvarez leaned across and cautiously peered through the porthole in the studio door, as if he were afraid of what he might see. Most of the students were milling around between the benches – the boys throwing a baseball to each other, and the girls all trying to dance like Rihanna. Only Simon Silence had remained in his place, writing and sketching in his notebook and coloring in his drawings with his felt-tip pens. He looked up and saw Al Alvarez and Jim looking in through the porthole, and he smiled to himself and went back to his work.

‘Tell me,' said Jim, ‘what do you think of that guy?'