View from Saturday (9781439132012) (12 page)

“I agree,” I said immediately.

Noah cocked his head to one side. “I … like … it … but … I think it ought to be The Sillington Souls.”

“I did not say that, Noah. I said
The Souls
. Besides, ‘Less is more.'”

“What does that mean?” Noah asked. “Less is more. Less is more what? Or less what is more? What does it mean? Less is more.”

“Think about it,” Nadia said. “If someone hands you a card that says that she is President, Clarion National Bank, it means more than if she hands you a card that says she is First Vice President, Loan Department, Clarion National Bank, Epiphany Branch. If you say
Michelangelo
, it means more than Michelangelo Smith, and just plain
Leonardo
means more than Leonardo Jones.”

Noah said, “I don't think you can say
just plain
and apply it to Leonardo.”

Nadia said to Noah, “Noah Gershom, you may be smart beyond your years, but you are not wise.”

“All right. All right,” Noah said. “The Souls.” He smiled. “I like it.”

“Good,” I said, looking over at Julian. “What about you?”

“I agree. We will be The Souls. Let us shake on it.”

We rested our elbows on the table's edge and reached toward the center of the table until our hands clutched. “We are now The Souls,” Nadia said. When we released our hands, each of us was holding a shiny new penny.

“Ah, yes,” Julian said. “If you'll check the date on the coin, you will see they are new—minted in the year The Souls was born.”

One Saturday afternoon, shortly after The Souls was born, as we sat around the table-for-four where we had had our tea, I broke the silence by asking—I really don't know why—except that it was something I had been thinking about, “If you could live one day of your life all over again, what day would it be? And why?”

Nadia said, “I would like to live over the morning my father and I helped my grandfather and Margaret rescue the turtles that had been blown ashore by the northeaster.” She explained about the turtles, their life cycle, and our walks along the beach up until the morning after the storm. “It was like a scavenger hunt. Ethan was there. Do you remember, Ethan?” I nodded. “For two whole days, we kept them safe in buckets, all covered with wet seaweed. And then Margaret, Grandpa Izzy and my dad, Ethan and I drove to Marineland. Ethan and I kept the buckets between us in the back seat, and the three adults crowded together in the front seat. We were crowded, wet, and messy, and it was fun.” She looked over at me, and smiled. “Even your grandmother laughed at the sight of us as we got out of the car.” I nodded again. “The marine biologist took us out to the Sargasso Sea, and allowed us to empty the buckets over the
edge of the boat. We gave the turtles a lift, and we made it possible for them to continue that phase of their life. It was a most wonderful day. Remember, Ethan?”

I remembered.

Noah said, “I would like to live over the day I was best man at a wedding in Century Village that involved four grandparents—two of mine and one each of two other Souls.”

Noah had a knack for telling a story, and all of us laughed, even the two of us who already knew the details. Nadia, who had not found the details funny before, found them funny now.

Julian, ever polite, asked, “Is it now my turn?”

Nadia said, “Please.”

Julian picked up a deck of cards. He spoke as he shuffled. “If I could repeat one day of my life,” he said, pushing the cards across the table to Noah. “Cut them, please.” Noah did, and Julian nodded. “I would choose the time we were sailing back to England,” he said as he began to deal the cards, going round and round. “All during the journey from the Mediterranean, Gopal, who did close-up magic, had been teaching me how to play poker.” Julian looked over the table and counted the cards—three—at each place. Then he slowly dealt another round as he continued talking. “Finally on the day we docked at Southampton, the very day before I was to start boarding school …” Julian smiled, laid the remaining deck of cards in the middle of the table, and said, “Would you mind turning over your cards?”

We did. I, who was on Julian's left had four two's; Noah, who was next had four three's; Nadia had four four's. Julian
said, “On the day we docked at Southampton, Gopal said something to me …” Julian turned over two of the top cards from the remaining deck: Aces. “On the day we docked, Gopal said that I had chops.” Julian turned over the next two cards: Two more aces. “That day when Gopal told me that I had chops, that is the day I would like to live over.”

We applauded.

“What are chops?” Noah asked.

“Chops,” Julian said, “is to magic what doing scales is to a chanteuse. Without it you cannot be a magician, with it alone you cannot be an artist.”

Something in Sillington House gave me permission to do things I had never done before. Never even thought of doing. Something there triggered the unfolding of those parts that had been incubating. Things that had lain inside me, curled up like the turtle hatchlings newly emerged from their eggs, taking time in the dark of their nest to unfurl themselves. I told jokes I had never told before. I asked questions I had never asked before. When it was my turn to tell what day I would like to live over, after Nadia had finished, after Noah and Julian had, too, I told mine.

The Souls listened and were not embarrassed to hear, and I was not embarrassed to say, “I would like to live over the day of our first tea party. And, look,” I added, “every Saturday since, I get to do just that.”

M
rs. Olinski sat, waiting, until all the members of her class were seated. Then she introduced herself. “I am Mrs. Olinski. I am one of those people who gets to use all those good parking spaces at the mall.” She turned toward the blackboard and wrote in big, block letters:

MRS. OLINSKI
PARAPLEGIC

As she wrote
paraplegic,
Mrs. Olinski spelled it out, “
P-A-R-A-P-L-E-G-I-C
. It means that I am paralyzed from the waist down.”

Mrs. Olinski had thought about what she would say to this, her first sixth-grade class in ten years. She wrote it all down, revised, memorized, and rehearsed until she could deliver her lines with a light touch. Her voice held steady, but her hands did not, and the O of Olinski was the rough shape of an oil spill.

Then a student in the back—Hamilton Knapp—stood up. “Excuse me, Mrs. Olinski,” he said, hesitating slightly, mispronouncing her name. “I can't see what you've written. Could you write a little higher on the blackboard, please?”

Mrs. Olinski replied, “Not at the moment,” and managed an embarrassed smile. The rest of her prepared remarks flew out of her head. She thought she had thought of everything. But here she was with a problem about sight lines to the blackboard. Given time, she would figure it out, but she wished it had not come up on the very first hour of her very first day back.

After Hamilton Knapp sat down, she laughed nervously. “I was about to tell you that being a paraplegic does not mean that there is anything wrong with my hearing or my eyesight, but I guess we'll have to figure out what to do about the eyesight of those of you who will be seated in the back of the room.”

Mrs. Olinski decided that she would write nothing more on the blackboard for the rest of the morning but would leave what she had already written right there so that she could check it out after lunch. She would return before the rest of the class, wheel herself to the back of the room while it was still empty, and check out the sight lines.

She took the roll, checking on the spelling and pronunciation of each child's name, and passed out general supplies and the books for the social studies she would be teaching. Finally, she assigned seats in alphabetical order, last names first.

The year of her accident, Mrs. Olinski had had two Jennifers in her class. This semester, Jennifer was out of fashion, and J-names for boys were in. She had J-names from Jared to Julian, including two Jasons. When she returned from lunch and saw
CRIPPLE
written on the blackboard, she knew more than the names had changed. Sixth graders had changed.

E
than finished answering the four-part question about the history of the state of New York. “… the first women's rights convention organized by Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Auburn was the home of Harriet Tubman who ran the underground railroad.”

“That registers six points for the Epiphany Team,” the commissioner said. There was a spontaneous burst of applause from their side of the aisle that was immediately suppressed by the commissioner. “I must admonish the audience not to applaud. It is distracting to both teams.”

Mrs. Olinski remembered the day that rude applause had distracted a performance. Her fourth choice had been causing her problems, but it had been on the very day when rude applause interrupted a play that she had made the fourth and final choice for her team.

It was the Saturday afternoon after they became The Souls, sometime after they had finished their four o'clock tea, when Julian had said, “We must have a project,” and Noah had asked, “Isn't peeling wallpaper enough?”

Julian grinned and said no. He took a small object from his pants pocket and kept it hidden in his fist. He rested his hands lightly on the edge of the table.

“And the calligraphy lessons. Aren't they enough?” Julian said no again, and Noah asked, “Now what?”

Nadia said, “I think Julian already has something in mind.”

“Indeed I do.” Julian turned his fist over and opened his hand. There within his palm was a small ivory monkey, only two inches high. He laid it on the table and waited until each of The Souls had inspected it thoroughly before saying, “Gopal gave me this little sculpture. It can do tricks.” Julian then stood the little figure first on one foot, then the other; one arm, then the other. “You see, this monkey can balance on any one of its four limbs.”

Noah asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ethan replied, “I think it has something to do with Mrs. Olinski.”

Julian smiled broadly. “Indeed it does.”

“Mrs. Olinski?” Noah repeated. “Mrs. Olinski? What?”

“I think that Julian wants us to help her,” Ethan explained.

“Help her do what?” Noah asked.

Nadia said, “Stand on her own two feet. Have you never heard that expression, Noah?”

“Of course, I have heard that expression, but fact: Mrs. Olinski cannot stand on her own two feet and further fact: she obviously …” Noah's voice trailed off as he understood. “I get it,” he said. “I get it. It is scary trying to stand on your own two feet especially when you don't have a leg to stand on, so to speak.”

Julian rubbed the little ivory monkey. “There are some in the school who try to get her off balance. Some are in our homeroom.”

“We can give her some support,” Ethan said.

“Better than that,” Nadia said, “we can give her a lift.”

They all turned to Noah. “What do you suggest?” they asked, knowing Noah would have an answer. And he did.