A Place so Foreign Part 3

"Yes, Mama."

"Good boy."

Homework had been some math, and some biology, and some geology. I'd done it before I left school.

The report cards came out in the middle of December. Mr Adelson sealed them with wax in thick brown envelopes and handed them out at the end of the day. Sealing them was a dirty trick -- it mean a boy would have to go home not knowing whether to expect a whipping or an extra slice of pie, and the fellows were as nervous as long-tailed cats in a rocking-chair factory when cla.s.s let out. For once, there was no horseplay afterwards.

I came home and tossed the envelope on the kitchen table without a moment's worry. I'd aced every test, I'd done every take-home a.s.signment, I'd led the cla.s.s, in a bored, sleepy way, regurgitating the things they'd stuck in my brain in 1975.

I went up to the attic and started reading one of Pa's adventure stories, _Tarzan of the Apes_, by the Frenchman, Jules Verne. Pa had all of Verne's books, each of them crisply autographed on the inside cover. He'd met Verne on one of his diplomatic missions, and the two had been like two peas in a pod, to hear him tell of it -- they both subscribed to all the same crazy journals.

I was reading my favorite part, where Tarzan meets the man in the balloon, when Mama's voice called from downstairs. "James Arthur Nicholson! Get your behind down here _now_!"

I jumped like I was stung and rattled down the attic stairs so fast I nearly broke my neck and then down into the parlour, where Mama was holding my report card and looking fit to bust.

"Yes, Mama?" I said. "What is it?"

She handed me the report card and folded her arms over her chest. "Explain that, mister. Make it good."

I read the card and my eyes nearly jumped out of my head. The rotten so-and-so had given me F's all the way down, in every subject. Below, in his seaman's hand, he'd written, "James' performance this semester has disappointed me gravely. I would like it very much if I could meet with you and he, Mrs Nicholson, at your earliest convenience, to discuss his future at the Academy.

Signed, Rbt. Adelson."

Mama grabbed my ear and twisted. I howled and dropped the card. Before I knew what was happening, she had me over her knee and was paddling my bottom with her open hand, hard.

"I don't" -- whack -- "know _what_" -- whack -- "you think" -- whack -- "you're doing, James." -- whack -- "If your _father_" -- whack, _whack_ -- "were here,"

-- whack -- "he'd switch you" -- whack -- "within an inch of your life." And she gave me a load more whacks.

I was too stunned even to cry or howl. Pa had only beat me twice in all the time I'd known him. Mama had _never_ beat me. My bottom ached distantly, and I felt tears come to my eyes.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Mama, it's a mistake --" I began.

"You're durn right!" she said.

"No, really! I did all my homework! I pa.s.sed all the exams! I showed 'em to you!

You saw 'em!" The unfairness of it made my heart hammer in time to the throbbing of my backside.

Mama's breath fumed angrily out of her nose. "You go straight to your room and _stay there_. We're going to see Mr Adelson first thing tomorrow morning."

"What about my ch.o.r.es?" I said.

"Oh, don't worry about that. You'll have _plenty_ of ch.o.r.es to do when I let you out."

I went to my room and stripped down, and lay on my tummy and cracked my window so the icy winter air blew over my backside. I cried a vale of tears, and rained down miserable, mean curses on everyone: Mama, Pa, and especially the lying, snaky, backstabbing Runnyguts Adelson.

Mama didn't get any less mad through the night, but when she came to my door at c.o.c.k-crow, she seemed to be holding it in better. My throat and eyes were sore as sandpaper from crying, and Mama gave me exactly five minutes to wash up and dress before dragging me out to the horsebarn. She'd already hitched up our team and refused my hand when I tried to help her up.

I'd been angry and righteous when I woke, but seeing Mama's towering, barely controlled fury changed my mood to dire terror. I stared out at the trees and farms as we rode into town, feeling like a condemned man being taken to the gallows.

Mama pulled up out front of the Academy and marched me around back to the teacher's cottage. She rapped on the door and waited, blowing clouds of steam out of her nose into the frosty morning air.

Mr Adelson answered the door in s.h.i.+rtsleeves and suspenders, unshaved and bleary. His hair, normally neatly oiled and slicked, stuck out like frayed broom-straw. The muscles on his thin arms stood out like snakes. He blinked at us, standing on his doorstep. "Mrs Nicholson!" he said.

"Mr Adelson," my mother said. "We've come to discuss James' report card."

Mr Adelson smoothed his hair back and stepped aside. "Please, come in. Can I offer you some coffee?"

"No, thank you," Mama said, primly, standing in his foyer. He held out his hand for her coat and kerchief and she handed them to him. I took off my coat and struggled out of my boots. He took them both and put them away in a closet.

"I'm going to have some coffee. Are you sure I can't offer you a cup?"

"No. Thank you, all the same."

"As you wish." He disappeared down the dark hallway, and Mama and I found our way into his tiny parlour. Books were stacked every which where, dusty and precarious. Mama and I sat down in a pair of cus.h.i.+oned chairs, and Mr Adelson came in, holding two mugs of coffee. He set one down next to Mama on the floor, then smacked himself in the forehead. "You said no, didn't you? Sorry, I'm not quite awake yet. Well, leave it there -- there's cream in it, maybe the cat will have some."

He settled himself onto another chair and sipped at his coffee. "Let's start over, shall we? h.e.l.lo, Mrs Nicholson. h.e.l.lo, James. I understand you're here to discuss James' report card."

Mama sat back a little in her chair and let hint of a sardonic smile show on her face. "Yes, we are. Forgive my coming by unannounced."

"Oh, it's nothing."

Mr Adelson drank more coffee. Mama smoothed her skirts. I kicked my feet against the rungs of my chair. Finally, it was too much for me. "What's the big idea, anyway?" I said, glaring daggers at him. "I don't deserve no F!"

"Any F," Mr Adelson corrected. "Why don't you think so?"

"Well, because I did all my homework. I gave the right answers in cla.s.s. I pa.s.sed all the tests. It ain't fair!"

"Not fair," my Mama corrected, gently. She was staring distractedly at Mr Adelson.

"What you say is true enough, James. What grade do you suppose you should've gotten?"

"Why, an A! An A-plus! Perfect!" I said, glaring again at him, daring him to say otherwise.

"Is that what an A-plus is for, James? Perfection?"

"Sure," I said, opening my mouth without thinking.

Mama s.h.i.+fted her stare to me. She was looking even more thoughtful.

"Why do you suppose you go to school?"

"'Cause Mama says I have to," I said, sullenly.