Free The Five Pearls by Barry James Hickey Page B

over,” John said.
“Any dizziness?”
“Some.”
She went downstairs to the kitchen and returned with a tray of different medications.
“There are so many,” he said.
“All necessary,” she reassured him. “Corticosteroids and osmotic diuretics to phenytoin to reduce ulcers.”
After taking the medicines, he slept through the day. Mrs. Powell woke him up in the late afternoon.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Much,” John said.
“Still up to teaching?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Take a shower and dress while I prepare you a late lunch,” Mrs. Powell said.
She gave him another dose of medicine before she went down to the kitchen. She heated up the soup she’d prepared earlier in the day. A faint singing sound resonated from upstairs. Mrs. Powell knew she had heard the song before. She went to the landing and listened.
John was singing an old spiritual song. “Swing low, sweet chariot,” he sang. “Coming for to carry me home. Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. I looked over Jordan and what did I see, coming for to carry me home. A band of angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home.”
During lunch, John seemed animated and full of energy as Mrs. Powell reminisced about her youth.
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“When I was a child, teaching was a profession taught by dedicated priests and nuns in private schools and in the public schools teachers taught until they couldn't teach anymore. Now? It’s all about the money,” she said with dismay. “Our current society, our politicians, they’ve dismembered the American family. Now look at the mess we’re in. We made our kids overweight, sedated them with television, now the Internet, MP3’s and Ipods, and video games. How can anyone teach? What is there to learn that has gravity?” She picked up a small camera and snapped a Polaroid of him. “A keepsake for you,” Mrs. Powell said. “Your first day of school.”
“You’re even more anxious than I am,” John realized with surprise.
After lunch, they visited the house library where John borrowed a box full of books and magazines. She helped him put them in the Toyota. While he was slipping on a tweed sport coat she had given him, Mrs. Powell gave him a few pills to keep in his pocket.
“We don’t want you to overmedicate,” she said, “but if you feel nausea or another headache, take these.”
John picked up his cane leaning by the door. “In case I fall down,” he joked.
“The weather is turning. Remind the kids to start wearing their mittens and scarves.”
“Teenagers don’t wear mittens and scarves.” John laughed. “Why, even when I was a teenager, we walked through blizzards in thin leather jackets, our hands tucked in our pockets.”
“Some things never change, I suppose?”
“Especially not the indiscretion and short sightedness of youth.”
“Remember to make a good first impression,” the old woman said.
John left out the back door for the SUV. His gait was uneasy, shoulders hunched.
“Loose in a world that he no longer understands.”
Mrs. Powell went to the cupboard. There was a pie to bake.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    Battle drove down the alley and parked in the small parking lot behind the red brick building. Only one car was still left in the lot after normal hours. It was an old blue Saab. Mr. Wirtz’s car.
    John reached for his cane but changed his mind. “First impressions,” he remembered. Instead he grabbed the box of reading materials. After locking the car he followed the sidewalk around to the front of the school and entered. He was surprised to find five teenagers waiting for him.
    Up close, they were such different sizes and shapes. Julio reminded him of a big brown bowling ball with jelly arms. Matt was a skinny carrot. Toby was a static ball of energy. Marie, a mousy over-dressed child. And Amber… He didn’t know what to make of the tiny girl dressed in hand-medowns. She had an eerie anger and