Face on the Wall (8 page)

“S
o, Homer, you've got to talk to the police in Southtown. That's where Pearl lived. Find out if her husband's still there. His name's Small, Frederick Small. See if there are any charges against him. You know, like wife-battering. Find out who called
The Candid Courier
with information about Pearl.”

“Oh, no,” groaned Homer, “you're not back on that princess stuff again?” He made a pathetic face and waved a hand at the top of his desk. “Look at this!” A tippy pile of bluebooks landed on the floor with a slam.

“Oh, Homer, it's all right. I'm just saying do it when you have time. Just whenever you have time.”

“Time! Why don't
you
talk to the police department in Southtown? Go over there yourself and have a cozy chat.” Homer rolled his eyes at the ceiling and whirled around in his chair, knocking the rest of the bluebooks to the floor.

“Me? Oh, Homer, I can't do anything this week, nothing at all. And right now I've got to get over there to Weston Country Day and teach some kind of history to all those little girls in the fifth grade. What an idiot I was to agree to be a so-called Historian in Residence! How could I have been such a fool?”

Homer looked at her balefully. “Because you're sweet on Judge Aufsesser.”

“Oh, Homer, don't be ridiculous.”

When Mary walked into the private girls' school called Weston Country Day, she was greeted by the nervous headmistress, who shot up from her desk, clasped her hand, and propelled her down the hall to the fifth grade that was to be her headquarters.

“Mrs. Rutledge's class is so talented,” said the headmistress. “Charlene Gast is a champion swimmer, and Judge Aufsesser's daughter is in the class, and many of the others have very influential parents. Of course they are all a little high-strung, naturally, like thoroughbred racehorses. Perhaps you could be a steadying influenced?”

“I'll do my best. Did you say Charlene Gast?”

“Yes, do you know her? Such a brilliant child!”

“No, I don't really know her. My niece does.”

“Right this way. We're all so pleased you'll be teaching about the Greeks. It fits right in with our theme for the year.”

“The Greeks! Oh, well, all right. The Greeks it is.”

They walked into Mrs. Rutledge's homeroom without knocking, and Mary was at once confronted by eighteen pairs of eyes. Eighteen sets of parents were paying twelve thousand dollars a year so that their ten-year-old daughters could be exposed to teachers like Mrs. Rutledge and protected from the imperfections of the public school system.

Mary grinned cheerfully as she was introduced, and most of the little girls smiled back. Which one was Judge Aufsesser's daughter? They looked like good kids.

Mary wasn't so sure about the teacher, who seemed damp with insecurity. She was given to speaking in italics. “The class is so
excited!
We could hardly
wait.
Right, class?”

There was a pause—obviously the class was uninformed. Mary plunged in, saying how much she would enjoy telling them about the Greeks. (She would have to bone up in a hurry.)

“Shall we introduce ourselves to Mrs. Kelly?” said Mrs. Rutledge. “We'll start at the back. Cissie, will you begin?”

The little fat girl whispered her name. “Speak up, Cissie,” said Mrs. Rutledge sharply.

“Cissie Aufsesser,” murmured the little fat girl, looking down at her lap.

Beverly Eckstein, Carrie Maxwell, Becca Smith, Julie Ingledinger, Amelia Patterson, the names went on and on. They ended with a pretty child in the first row. “Charlene Gast,” said Charlene.

“Charlene is a champion swimmer,” said Mrs. Rutledge proudly, smiling at her.

“Well, good for you, Charlene,” said Mary.

Charlene was indeed a champion swimmer. Her bedroom in the house her parents rented from Annie Swann was a museum of medals and plastic trophies. She practiced obsessively, swimming laps for hours every day in the pool in the club her parents belonged to in Lexington. For Charlene the daily practice wasn't a chore, it was a joy. Like most people who are good at something, she loved it with all her heart. Water was Charlene's element. Last week she had beaten all the other young female swimmers from swimming clubs all over New England in the hundred-meter backstroke. Everyone knew she was headed for the Junior Olympics.

She always won. Well, not always. Last year she had lost one event, and it had been so shattering that nine-year-old Charlene had vowed never to lose again. Since then her record had been perfect. Losing was out of the question. Prizes fell into her hands, medals were hung around her neck. And it wasn't just swimming trophies, it was other things as well. Getting what she wanted had become a habit. After all, she and she alone was
Charlene Gast.

If her father, that ex-student of philosophy, had been paying attention, he would have identified his daughter's mind-set as a case of solipsism, the belief that the self is the only reality. Charlene was a living, breathing solipsist. All other creatures in the world existed merely to serve her needs.

On the day Mary Kelly walked into Mrs. Rutledge's homeroom for the first time, Charlene was keeping a sharp eye on Alice Mooney. Alice owned something Charlene wanted, a princess doll. It was really
dumb
that Charlene couldn't have one of her own, just because her stupid parents kept saying no.

It was indeed a beautiful doll. Alice Mooney loved it. Her mother wasn't a cleaning lady, as Charlene had told her parents, she was a dietitian at the Concord-Carlisle High School, but she could not normally pay $69.95 for a doll. “This is your only present, Alice,” she told her daughter as she handed her the big box on the morning of her birthday.

“Oh, oh,” breathed Alice, tearing at the tissue paper. “Oh, thank you, thank you. I don't want anything else, not ever.”

She shouldn't have taken the doll to school. That was her mistake. All the other girls in Mrs. Rutledge's fifth grade envied her. They fingered the bouffant dress and touched the sparkling crown and stroked the silky hair. They watched as Alice tenderly removed the pretty little plastic slippers and put them on again.

“Now, Alice,” said Mrs. Rutledge, “put away your doll. After recess, class, I'll want your math homework. I hope you all worked hard. Report cards go out to your parents next week.”

There was a scraping of metal chair legs on the floor, an orderly parade out the door, then an eager rush for the playground.

Mrs. Rutledge was not on call that day for playground duty. Gratefully she beckoned to Mary Kelly, and together they headed for the coffee machine in the teachers' room.

Behind them, the classroom was no longer empty. Alice Mooney had crept back indoors. Holding her doll, she moved cautiously to the desk belonging to Julie Ingledinger. Julie was the best math student in the class. Her homework lay on top of her desk, ready to be turned in. Softly Alice put down her doll and picked up the piece of yellow paper.

“I see you,” said Charlene, appearing out of nowhere.

Alice's hand jerked away from Julie's paper. She stared in horror at Charlene.

“I'll tell,” said Charlene.

“No, no,” whined Alice. “Oh, Charlene, please don't tell.”

“Your doll,” said Charlene. “I want your doll.”

“My doll?” Alice's face flushed. Her frightened eyes opened wider. She picked up her doll and hugged it to her chest. “My princess doll? Oh, no! Oh, no, no! Oh, please, Charlene!”

“Well, then, I'll tell.” Charlene turned as Mr. Orth walked into the room, looking for Mrs. Rutledge. “Oh, Mr. Orth!”

Alice caught her arm, weeping. “Okay, it's okay.”

Mr. Orth looked at them. “What is it, Charlene?”

Charlene grinned at him. “Nothing, Mr. Orth. Never mind. It's okay.”

“Well, all right. Oh, Charlene, congratulations on winning that swimming meet last week. We're all so proud of you. Now it's on to the state level, is that right?”

“That's right, Mr. Orth.”

He was gone. Alice stroked her doll's nylon hair and straightened her pretty crown, then handed her over to Charlene. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Charlene hid the doll in her schoolbag. But at home she showed it proudly to her mother.

“Why, Charlene,” said Roberta, “where did you get that lovely doll?”

“Alice gave it to me. She has oodles of dolls.”

“Why, what a generous gift!”

Alice's mother wasn't so easily bamboozled. “Alice, dear,” she said, “where's your princess doll? I've got a scrap of velvet left over from your dress. We'll make her a royal cloak.”

“Oh,” said Alice, her voice hollow. “I left her at school.”

Next day she claimed to have forgotten again. The day after that she started to cry, and said she had lost it.

“Oh, Alice, how could you?”

Mrs. Mooney called the school. At once an announcement about the lost doll was made over the school intercom. Alice sat dumb and suffering, while everyone in the class turned to stare. Mary Kelly pitied the poor kid, she looked so desolate.

The doll was never found.

“Lord Fish,” cried the fisherman, gazing over the side of the boat, “I'm afraid my wife has another request.”

The great fish appeared at once, and looked up mildly at the fisherman. “What is it now?”

The fisherman was ashamed. “She is old and ugly, Lord Fish. She wants to be young again.”

A cloud drifted across the sun and cast a shadow over the sea. “It is done,” said the fish, sinking beneath the waves.

Chapter 13

Then she took up Hansel with her rough hand, and shut him up in a little cage with a lattice-door, and although he screamed loudly it was of no use.

The Brothers Grimm, “Hansel and Gretel”

T
here was a thump of feet on the porch steps. The door slammed. Mary was back. “So?” said Homer. “How did it go?”