The Shells Of Chanticleer (5 page)

“Pinging is a funny word. What do you have, some kind of giant fear radar in here?”

Miss Clarice laughed and nodded. “I guess you could describe it that way. There’s a bit of slang you will need to get used to here. Feel free to stop me if you need a better explanation of anything I say. But why don’t I just say that we are supremely tuned into your subconscious. And we’ll just leave it at that.”

Okay, I thought. I knew all about the subconscious. But I thought it was private. Apparently not, she was telling me. “Go on,” I said.

“Macy, you are a bright girl. You excel in your schoolwork, correct?”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“We consider you one of the best and the brightest. You have a mind that can make a difference. But you are very cautious. You doubt your own instincts. You devote an inordinate amount of your mental energy imagining the worst, looking over your shoulder, expecting something bad to happen. And your fear, if it is allowed to grow unchecked, will cancel out the brightness of your future. You have everything you need now in your youth to fulfill your destiny. But mark my words, your anxieties will destroy your potential if you do not learn to manage them correctly.”

I nodded. She continued, “Every young person is afraid of something, or feels weird and different in some way, and we work on those issues here. But we also target a more insidious problem, a generation raised on a twenty-four-hour news feed, the constant magnification of the world’s dangers, like a drumbeat in the background of your lives. Constantly looking over your shoulder and waiting for the next hammer to fall is no way to live.

“So our operation here serves a very distinct purpose. We aim to send you back to your world stronger and better equipped to fulfill your purpose in life. We don’t know the details of your future, but let me assure you, if you tipped here, you were veering significantly off track.”

“Wow,” I said. “So you are saying that I’m a wimp?”

“Well, I wouldn’t use that word. We are not pejorative here, as a rule. But you are a little unbalanced—you need a better blend of imagination and reality. We don’t want to see your real potential buried under a lot of imaginary fears and self-imposed roadblocks and anxieties. During your stay here, you will have a certain amount of coursework to work out your fears and anxieties and learn to develop better mental habits. We don’t want you to enter adulthood frozen in your fears.”

“So … I won’t be doing math after all?”

“No. But there will be different problems to figure out. To do so, you will take chances and face risks, you will do what you are afraid to do, even if it is odd, even if no one else has ever thought of it or been asked to do it before.”

“Are you sure it’s okay that I am here? Is there any chance someone from the hospital will find me and take me back? I didn’t officially check out so I’m nervous about that.”

I couldn’t shake the feeling that a nurse or even the ER doctor would show up at any minute, angry.

“No. They will not come and find you here. They think they have you under their control, so no one is looking for you. But, see, you are very worried about that, aren’t you?” She was smiling at me. “Let it go,” she urged.

Oh,
I thought,
Maybe that was what she meant?
I laughed a nervous giggle and promised myself to stop looking over my shoulder, or whatever she said about getting hit with the next hammer. I felt she wanted me to smile back and agree with her, so I did. She seemed to like that.

“When you are finished here, your spirit will retain the memory of your success although your mind will not remember the specifics. It will be enough to inspire you to go forward unafraid. You might have some déjà vu, but it will be the good kind. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

There was a knock on the door and a pair of eyes peeked in. I turned and looked at the door.

Miss Clarice said, “Come in, Bing!” In walked a lanky young man, a shock of black hair carelessly swooped across his forehead. His brown eyes squinted when he smiled at me.

“This is Macy. She is new today.”

“Ah good, a pretty one!” he exclaimed and he stepped quickly across the room and grabbed my hand and shook it hard. I wondered why he was so happy to meet me.

“We were just finishing up our conversation,” Miss Clarice said. Bing grinned unceasingly and rubbed my shoulder as if we were old buddies.

“It can all come as a bit of a shock your first day,” he said to me. “So what’s on for today? The usual?” His eyes widened knowingly as he looked at Miss Clarice.

“Yes. Please escort her to the Prime Minister’s,” she said.

A wry smile crept across Bing’s face. “My pleasure,” he said.

I panicked and thought
I have to go with him?
He was a stranger, but immediately I saw my predicament. They were all strangers. I’d have to get over that fear. Hesitantly, I stood up to go.

“Before you go, a few more details,” said Miss Clarice. “You will have a mailbox from which you will be given daily instructions. Here is your number. It’s your responsibility to check it often. When you are not doing coursework, there is reading. The reading material will be in your mailbox as well. You can sign in at the library on your off days. It’s not required that you spend all your free time there but if you don’t spend any you’ll fall behind. So pace yourself.

“If you need help at anytime during your stay, please consult the staff. Look for anyone wearing a navy blue sweater. It’s their job and their pleasure to be there for you, so for goodness sakes don’t be shy about seeking help. Anyone wearing the white sweater like you’re wearing is in your same position; please take their advice with a grain of salt.”

I took the card with my mailbox number and noted that both Bing and Clarice wore navy sweaters. Each had an elaborate C embroidered on the left, just like mine did.
Must be the dress code here.

“We’re right on schedule,” Clarice concluded.

This Prime Minister sounded scary. I didn’t know anything about politics or government in foreign countries. They weren’t my best subjects, despite how bright Miss Clarice had said I was. I hoped I was going to survive.

As if reading my mind, Miss Clarice tried to calm me. “Go with Bing, Macy. He will be your shadow guide during your time here. He has been here a while and he will take good care of you. Commit yourself to what is ahead, and your reward will be great.”

Bing motioned toward the door and held it open for me. He wasn’t shy.

“Well, Macy, you are a lucky girl to be in Chanticleer,” he said. “You are probably wondering who we all are and when you can get back to familiar territory, but before long you won’t be thinking that anymore. When I remember my first day here, I laugh at that scared boy. So do me a favor and laugh at yourself now. Laugh at yourself for being worried or afraid or wanting to go home. Laugh at who you are because that girl is going away.” Bing practically hopped as his long legs propelled him down the walk.

I scrunched my face and glanced at Bing out of the corner of my eye. I did not want to laugh as it wasn’t my idea of a good time. I felt like a character in an old novel that had been abducted by pirates who wanted me to keep smiling throughout my captivity. Bing sounded a little nutty to me, but he was right about one thing: I did want to go home. The night before and that morning had started off reasonably well, but I was a little disappointed in what Miss Clarice had said to me. It sounded as if I had just unwittingly walked into some well-meaning character formation boot camp. Nice, if you are into that sort of thing. I wasn’t.

“Are there any beaches here?” I asked Bing, intent on getting that spring break feeling anyway I could.

“Beaches? Beaches? Now that’s a first for me. Are there any beaches here? Hahahaha, that’s a good one. I haven’t heard you laugh yet,” he said, staring at me expectantly.

I had never seen anyone so happy to be alive. To keep him quiet, I forced out a small chuckle even though I didn’t feel like it. Then for good measure I added, “Don’t be scared, Macy. Laugh at your fears.”

I sounded so fake that I made myself laugh. Bing tilted his head back and laughed at my compliance. He seemed pleased with me which made me laugh even more because he was so darned easy to fool.

We left Summer Hall out the back door and walked down a little incline toward the hub of Chanticleer. Bing promised me it was a short walk. Finally I would get to see the heart of this strange new world. As we walked Bing pointed out the buildings. City hall was three stories tall, embellished with carvings of thistles, lions, and wild falcons; its grey slate roof had tiny round windows that looked out on the town like eyeballs, giving me the distinct impression that I was being watched. A wide staircase fronted the building and smack in the middle of the steps was a little garden, bursting with foliage and vegetation, surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. I wondered what came first, the stairs or the garden.

Flower stands with curving cast iron legs dotted the streets. We came to a traditional town square that held an old-fashioned bandstand with a domed iron roof and filigreed cast iron columns that were covered with carvings of flowers, chubby cherub faces, or that ubiquitous capital C. Fountains were inset here and there; some gurgled, some misted, some shot their spray playfully high into the air. A crumbled bell tower made of honeycomb-colored bricks sat off to one side of the square and looked centuries old.

The pink sunlight filtered down through a canopy of leaves saturating everything with a rosy glow. Wherever I turned I saw foxglove and phlox and snapdragons trailing out of window boxes, or the flicker of crystal in the pavement under my feet, or intricate buildings sprung from long ago empires, and I felt awe.

Chanticleer was bustling with students all wearing the same expensive blazers that, whether garbing a body portly or bony, seemed to fit like couture. I wondered where everyone came from.
They could not all have been hospitalized like I was.

Careening toward me was a young girl balancing a heavy textbook on her head. She held her arms out stick straight in front of her to help her balance. Her plump pink mouth was downturned in a grimace and her forehead was furrowed with strain.

“Hi, Poppy!” Bing greeted her.

She kept her head as still as she could, shifting her grey eyes toward us and finally from her clenched jaw she uttered a quick, “Hello.”

After she passed by he whispered to me, “Poppy’s afraid to stand up straight. She walks around for hours with that book on her head to train her body. She is just so uncomfortable with her height.”

Bing turned back and shouted, “Poppy!” The girl stopped.

“Stand up straight!” he ordered. “Shoulders back!”

“I’m too tall,” Poppy complained, tilting her head and catching the book as it slipped off.

“You are not too tall. You are just right,” he encouraged her. Bing looked at me and shook his head regretfully.

“Nice girl, but she has it stuck in her mind that slouching will take inches off her height. You have nice posture, Macy.”

“Uh, thanks?”

I looked into the center of the town square where a crowd had gathered in front of the bandstand. On the platform a red-faced boy was reciting an unfamiliar poem in a singsong voice, his eyes and face downcast, his hands clasped in front of him.

“A slumber did my spirit seal;

She had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel

The touch of earthly years”

“That’s Rafe, working on his fear of public speaking,” Bing added. “Hurry, Macy, and stop staring. The Prime Minister is waiting for us.”

I quickened my pace.

We turned the corner out of the town square and continued our journey, passing spacious tree-lined avenues, then a narrow cobblestone street lined with quirky shops and boutiques, until we arrived at a quiet lane lined with white row houses separated from the sidewalk by black iron fences. The buildings were grand and clean, embellished with friezes and ornate moldings, just the kind of place I imagined a prime minister would live.

We stopped in front of a gate marked No. 18 and Bing pressed a black button attached to the stone gatepost. After a minute the gate swung open and I followed Bing up the high concrete steps to a black double door. My heart was beating fast but I decided I should not act afraid. That was what this was all about. I was to be reinvented.

An elderly wisp of a woman opened the door. Her wavy grey hair fell loose to her shoulders and she wore a standard large white apron over a full black skirt. She looked like she might have been a flower child in another life, strumming her guitar and sitting cross-legged and barefoot in a meadow, except now she wore black shoes that were thick soled and sturdy. She ushered us into a dark vestibule that had walls painted deep purple like an eggplant. The floor was made up of black and white squares of marble and a heavy, tiered Victorian table took up all of the space.

“This is Macy,” Bing said. “I understand you are expecting her.” Turning to me, he smiled with encouragement. “Do your best,” he said, scooting out the door.

I went to grab his arm but he was gone before I even had a chance to react.
Wait,
I wanted to cry out. Why was he leaving me there? I thought he was going to stay with me. I thought that was the whole point of him? Instead he seemed relieved to drop me off. Maybe it was my fault, maybe I should have been friendlier to him?

“Well now, don’t stand there staring, come in,” the elderly lady instructed.

I looked at her face: no lightness or joy shining from it, and my body literally froze. I wanted to move but I couldn’t. Oh no. Was I already hardening inside from fear like Miss Clarice predicted? I forced myself to shake off the feeling.

The lady led me into a main living room stuffed with heavy Victorian furniture, the shutters closed to block out the daylight. It smelled like furniture polish. She didn’t talk and I silently followed her.