Aquasynthesis

  “You lucked out, son.”

  I was mystified at this reaction. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s going on?”

  “You got a little girl in your class, name of Penny Williams?”

  “There’s a Penelope Williams. She’s a fine student.”

  More rocking back in chairs and smiling. “Mmm-hmm. Told you so.”

  “Told me what?”

  “That gal’s a genuine good-luck charm. When she’s around, things just go right. Kids behave themselves, lessons go according to plan, heck, sometimes even the air seems cooler when she’s around.”

  “Not just in school, neither. Her daddy’s pastor at the AME church. Congregation’s doubled over the last two years. Never been vandalized in all that time. Children in her Sunday School class aren’t ever absent, unless the family goes out of town. By the way, when’s the last time you had a child miss class, Mister Joseph?”

  Frankly, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an absence, or even a tardy, but the conversation was so patently ridiculous, I wasn’t about to admit that and contribute to the prevailing lunacy. “I don’t believe this,” I blustered. “Here we are, educated people, and we’re talking about magic charms. One of my students is some kind of human rabbit’s foot?”

  “Not rabbit’s foot…Lucky Penny. Seeing is believing, young man. Watch her closely for a while. You’ll see.”

  ~}~~~{~

  So, against my better judgment, I watched Penelope Williams a little more carefully. Her behavior was extraordinary only in its consistency. Miss Williams was always well-behaved, always studious, and always cooperative with her classmates. Her diet was unremarkable. She ate the cafeteria food without complaint, even if she never seemed to find enough time to finish her lima beans or Brussels sprouts. It would have been suspicious if she had. On the playground, she favored jump rope and tetherball, though she was content to simply stroll about the yard, smiling a quiet little Mona Lisa smile, waving here and there at her friends, laughing at some shouted joke or whispered confidence.

  If there was anything magical about Penny Williams, I wasn’t seeing it. She was a nice little girl, and perhaps that was magic enough. I felt like some backwater cop on a stakeout, waiting through endless hours of stale donuts and cold cups of coffee for something, anything, to happen. Dull, dogged flatfoot that I was, I kept watching.

  Nothing interesting transpired until Penny’s family took a trip over two school days in the middle of October. Was it just my imagination, or was the class a little harder to handle, a little more fractious than usual, a little less focused on their lessons?

  Maybe it was the heat. The cooler wasn’t working, and opening the windows didn’t generate enough flow to clear the stuffy air from my classroom. I couldn’t blame the confluence of Indian summer and a seized compressor on the absent mystical aura of a nine-year-old pixie from south Alabama, could I? My colleagues passed me in the hallway with Cheshire Cat grins, sage nods, or amusedly tolerant shakes of the head and the ever-inscrutable “Mmm-hmm.”

  ~}~~~{~

  It took literally a change in perspective to break my stubborn disbelief in the Lucky Penny. One blustery November afternoon, amid a long haul of inserting commas and correcting misspellings in red ink, I leaned back in my chair and refocused my bleary eyes on the view through the classroom window, the one overlooking the playground. In mid-stretch, I froze.

  A hurricane was moving slowly across the yard. I blinked a few times, rubbed my eyes, and looked again.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly a storm, or it was a peculiarly benign one. It swirled across the pavement and gym equipment, over and among the random clusterings of jumping, running, and squabbling children, pulling the disorder of their movements into a whirling moiré pattern, like iron filings drawn together along the lines of a magnetic field. Fights dissolved, motion harmonized, and bouncing balls, thudding feet, and childish chatter knitted into a syncopated thrum of sound, like a beehive, as the invisible vortex drew more children into itself.

  At the heart of the un-storm was Penny Williams, smiling, nodding, laughing, and waving, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to be the eye of a benevolent human cyclone meandering about the playground of Harriet Tubman Elementary.

  I stared, dumbfounded, for some indeterminate period of time, until Penny happened to glance upward…and must have seen me staring at her through the window, mouth agape.

  She regarded me uncertainly for a moment, then her face lit up with an incandescent smile. A warm breeze seemed to wash over me, tangy with salt and citrus, comforting and familiar. My grandparents’ backyard in Monterrey…I sipped lemonade while we watched an orange beach-ball sun sink slowly into the ocean. The memory was so strong, it was nearly tangible.

  Penny waved merrily and skipped off in a new direction, order and harmony spinning along in her wake.

  I asked her to stay for a few moments after the last bell. “Penny,” I asked, “what happened out there on the playground this afternoon?”

  “Just playin’, Mister Joseph. Enjoyin’ the day. It was a fine day to be outside, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I suppose it was. Quite a wonderful day. You’re a bit of a wonder yourself, Penny. Things seem to go better when you’re around. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  She grinned. “Oh, sure. Mama says people just naturally like me. Miz Watkins at church told me I’ve got the gift of helps. She said that means God uses me to give people exactly what they need, when they need it. Daddy says I should just be a good girl and not get any uppity notions in my head.”

  “That sounds like pretty good advice. What do you think?”

  “I think I want to make people happy. They’re so sad most of the time. If I can do something to help people be happier, then I should do it, shouldn’t I, Mister Joseph?”

  I couldn’t argue with that logic. No matter the source of her mysterious influence, it didn’t seem to be harmful. “Of course you should, Penny,” I replied. “Better hurry along now. Your folks will be happier if you’re home on time.”

  For several days afterward, I wrestled with my discovery. Perhaps it would be better to simply go on as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Everyone seemed to be aware that there was something special about Penny Williams, but it wasn’t any more unsettling to them than the turn of the seasons, or gravity.

  But what of the possibilities? What was the extent of Penny’s ability? Did she use it consciously? Could she be trained to focus it for a specific purpose? Was it a skill that others could learn to employ? I imagined a hundred or so Pennys traveling around the world, ushering in the Peaceable Kingdom with pineapple-scented tropical breezes, and the vision was irresistible.

  Penny was right—if I could do something to make the world happier, I should do it. I’d need to speak with her parents.

  ~}~~~{~

  The First African Methodist Episcopal Church was an unassuming red-brick building one block north of Main Street, passed to the AME congregation when the United Methodists upgraded to a larger house of worship at the edge of town. There was no answer when I knocked at the parsonage next door, so I tried the main entrance to the sanctuary. The door was unlocked, and I could hear the whine of a vacuum cleaner inside the building.

  The interior was simply furnished and well-tended. There were two rows of oak pews, glistening with a fresh rubbing of lemon oil, the odor lingering pleasantly in the air. A low platform at the front held a small lectern, four folding chairs, and a set of three-tiered risers, presumably for the choir, with a large wooden cross on the back wall and two doors to either side.

  A stout black lady in a flowered dress and lacy white headscarf switched off the vacuum cleaner, and inspected me quizzically. “May I help you?”

  “I’m Darrin Joseph,” I said. “I teach at Tubman Elementary. Is Reverend Williams here today?”

  She frowned. “Pastor Williams is in his study. Take the door on the left, young man,
last room on the right at the end of the hallway.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If the door’s closed, Pastor’s workin’ on his sermon, so don’t knock ’less it’s an emergency, understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman smiled, nodded, and resumed her vacuuming.

  I found the pastor’s office easily enough, but the door was ajar, not quite open or closed, so I knocked tentatively.

  “Door’s open, come on in.” Pastor Williams smiled and rose to shake my hand as I entered. He was an imposing man, with a grip like steel. “It’s good to see you again, Mister Joseph. I enjoyed your presentation at Parents’ Night. Have a seat. Everything going well at school?”

  “Yes, sir. Some of the kids are struggling with math this quarter, but they’ll have it sorted out by report card time.”

  “And how’s Penelope doing? Working hard, I hope. Behaving herself?”

  “Always. Penny’s one of my best students. She’s a joy to teach. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I needed to talk with you about Penny…and her future.” I spent the next several minutes describing Penny’s uncanny effect on people around her and its potential applications.

  Pastor Williams listened without interrupting. His silence continued for a few moments after I finished, then he sighed. “Do you think you’re the first person to suggest my daughter has some strange power that must be harnessed for the good of mankind?”

  “Well, no, I just thought…”

  “No, you didn’t think at all,” he said. “I’ve had to relocate my family twice since Penny turned five years old. Her kindergarten teacher came to me with a story like yours. She suggested we send Penny to a research institute for evaluation. When we rejected her proposal, she called Social Services, claiming we were neglecting Penny. It was only through the grace of God and a sympathetic judge that our daughter wasn’t taken from us.

  “We moved to a different state, but one of the deacons in our church there took it into his head that Penny was possessed of a familiar spirit. He called the Bishop and demanded we exorcise her. The Bishop supported me, but the deacon carried a great deal of influence in the local community, so we had to move again.

  “This congregation loves Penny, and she’s happy here. I will not uproot my family again, nor will I subject my daughter to scientific analysis because some well-meaning person is convinced they know what’s best for her. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  The angry tone softened a little. “Just leave it alone. My daughter likes you, Mister Joseph, and by all accounts, you’re a fine teacher. Please restrict your efforts on behalf of Penny to her education. If she is doing well in school, we have nothing further to discuss. Good day.”

  So that was that. I kicked myself for becoming so caught up in my vain imagination that I’d alienated a parent and nearly sent a little girl back into a nightmare she’d survived twice already.

  I abandoned the detective game and focused on schoolwork. Fall turned into winter, and the children struggled through math, most emerging triumphantly with good marks going into Christmas vacation.

  It was a pleasant time, and ordinary enough, though I noticed a change in the air from cool seas and citrus to warm gingerbread and pine whenever Penny was nearby.

  ~}~~~{~

  Spring was tardy that year. Icy winds still lashed at the windows in mid-March. The fabric mill laid off a quarter of its work force, and many of the children came to school each day with eyes mirroring their parents’ fear and stress.

  When she wasn’t working on her assignments, Penny flitted around my classroom like a pigtailed hummingbird, wordlessly dispensing encouragement and hope, gently filling the air with the aroma of new flowers and the whisper of birdsong, just at the edge of perception. The effort of raising everyone’s spirits against so much despair must have worn on her, and she seemed tired at day’s end, while the rest of us returned home refreshed from our stay in Penny’s little oasis.

  I stopped her one day as she was packing up her books. “Thank you, Penny,” I said. “I know what you’re trying to do, and how hard it must be. You’re helping a lot of people get through a difficult time.”

  She sighed. “I can’t keep it to myself. Daddy wishes I would, but when I see somebody hurting, I want to take some of the hurt away. It’s not just in school. There’s lots of people hurting, and I want to help them all, but there are so many, and I’m just me.”

  “Well, there’s a lot of power in just being you. Don’t worry about saving the whole world. Just try to make it a better place, one smile at a time.”

  “Saving the world one smile at a time.” Her eyes regained their sparkle. “I like that.”

  “I suppose I’m trying to improve the world myself, one math problem at a time, but I think your way is more fun.”

  We both laughed. It would be a long time before I laughed again.

  ~}~~~{~

  On March 31st, the man with the gun came to Tubman Elementary. His name was Bill Stevens, and he’d been pink-slipped in the fabric mill layoff.

  After two weeks in the bottle, he staggered to our school with a loaded pistol, looking for his foreman’s son. He shot the security guard and two teachers on his way in, then put a bullet in my shoulder as I tried to stop him from pushing through the door into my classroom. Some of the children screamed as I went down, most dived under tables and desks. A few just stood frozen, jaws slack, tears running down their cheeks.

  “Shut up!” Stevens roared. “I want Joey West! Where is he?”

  Joey was curled up in a ball at the back of the room, and I prayed he was too terrified to respond. I could feel blood pooling beneath me, and every movement was agony as I tried to keep both the gunman and my students in view.

  Then I saw Penny. She crouched under her desk, her face tear-stained but set in determination, not fear.

  She locked eyes with me, and though her lips were quivering, she managed a smile. A gentle breath of air mingled with jasmine and chocolate wafted over me, and I knew what she was planning.

  “No, Penny!” I hissed. “Stay down!”

  Stevens began stumbling around the room, turning over desks. “Where are you, Joey?” he crooned. “I’m gonna make your old man sorry. Tossed me out like a piece of garbage. That job was all I had. Time for him to know what it feels like to lose everything.”

  Penny stood up. “Please don’t hurt anybody else, mister.”

  Stevens turned, looked Penny up and down dazedly. “You ain’t Joey West. Where’s Joey?”

  Penny turned on her million-watt smile. “Put the gun down. You don’t need to hurt anybody. You just want…you want…” The smile faltered. Something was very wrong.

  “What’re you doing?” Stevens shook his head, as if trying to regain his equilibrium. “Stop it! Get outta my head!” He lifted the gun, his hand shaking.

  Penny’s determination vanished. She backed away from Stevens, her face a mask of shock and panic. “No, please. Don’t,” she whimpered.

  I struggled to get my feet underneath me, to put myself between Penny and this lunatic, but a wave of pain surged through me, and my knees buckled. As my vision fogged and tunneled, I could hear sirens in the distance, moving closer, far too late.

  Stevens pulled the trigger.

  ~}~~~{~

  There were lights in the parsonage windows this time as I knocked on the door, wincing as the vibration snaked through my body and sent a lance of pain into my bandaged shoulder. Pastor Williams and his wife answered the door together.

  Mrs. Williams was the antithesis of her husband, petite and delicate. “Thank you for coming, Mister Joseph,” she said, as she helped me struggle out of my jacket. “It’s been two weeks now, and she hasn’t spoken a word. We thought maybe she’d talk to you, since you were…there…together.”

  Pastor Williams seemed shrunken, his face drawn, shoulders bent. “It’s like
the life’s been sucked out of her,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen her like this before. We’ve talked to her, prayed over her, tried to explain. She doesn’t respond.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. “It was a terrible shock. No child should have to go through what she’s experienced. I only wish I could have stopped him somehow.”

  The pastor gently laid his hand on my shoulder. “You did what you could, Darrin. No one can ask for more than that, and we’re grateful.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me. Where is she?”

  Mrs. Williams led me to a tiny bedroom where Penny lay under a white down comforter, flowers and stuffed animals crowding a table beside her bed. She didn’t acknowledge my entrance; her eyes were open, fixed on some indistinct point on the ceiling.

  I sat on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Penny. How’re you doing?”

  Silence.

  I pressed on. “The doctor says I can go back to school next week, though I think it’s going to be a while before I can play dodgeball again. Your friends are all asking about you.”

  She blinked, but maintained her focus on the ceiling as she said, on the verge of tears, her voice choked, “There was nothing there.”

  “Nothing where?”

  “Inside the man. The man with the gun. I looked inside him for what would make him happy, and there was nothing there. It was cold, and dark, and empty.”

  “I think he lost hope, Penny. There wasn’t any joy left in him.”

  “I killed him, Mister Joseph. I saw all that nothing, and then I realized that I was making it bigger, just being there with him, and I tried to make it stop, but I couldn’t. I tried so hard, and then he…he…” Penny flung her arms around me and sobbed.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered. “He came to the school knowing that was how it would end. There was no way to change his mind, no matter how hard you tried. He chose to take his own life. You didn’t make it happen.”

  “But what good is it, if I can’t even save one person, when it really matters? I thought I could fix anybody, Mister Joseph.”

  I gently turned her head so I could look her in the eye. “You did save somebody, Penny. You saved Joey and a whole room full of somebodies, including me. You stopped the man from thinking about us. You were very brave. Braver than anybody I know.”