HOLLYWOOD—A crackling resounded throughout the brick and concrete hive of the Jefferson Campus; it echoed and reverberated the preamble to the Voice from the Sky, or rather a cloud: “This is vice principal, Ms. Cloud,” said the spacey, soothing female voice.
“Excuse the interruption. Hurry up staff so we can all go home. I’m sure it may have been difficult coming back from vacation and starting all over again”¦”
Jason growled back at the intercom. Ms. Cloud continued, undeterred:
“So let me share some inspiring words from the noted self-help guru, Mylanta: we would be lost children in the night without the searchlight of adversity.”
He wadded up a paper and angrily hurled it at the speaker. A voice tapped him on the shoulder.
“Teacher?” came a voice from the doorway.
“Hi, uh, hello. It’s very cold. Shut the door.”
“Happy New Year.”
“It’s awful late for New Years.”
“I, no understand. I no understand nothing.”
“Come in. It’s cold. Shut the door. You have alcohol on your breath”¦”
“What teacher?”
“Oh, nothing. I wanna get out of here. It’s already 10 after. Speak, speak to me. I gotta get my kid from the babysitter. I traded Kit’s night with Suzanne for Thursday.”
“I go to jell for two week. Beeg problem. I have no money. I spend all my money on bell.”
“Bell?”
“Bell you know, money you give to the jell.”
“Bell for the jell?”
“Yes, leave the jell.”
“Bell for the jell. Oh, jay-ill. Oh, jaiiiiil!” Jason enunciated with the obscenely exaggerated lip and tongue movements to which ESL teachers were prone. “They locked you up and you paid bail?”
“And then I have to pay bell for my car. So I have no more money for to pay the coyote for my sister. She coming from El Salvador. I’m afraid. She call and call before. I no answer because I’m in the jell.”
“J-A-I-L.”
“I afraid they take her and hurt her.”
“I didn’t see you, Jose. There’re no paint flecks in your eyebrows. Are you working? Were you sick?” said Jason.
“First jell. Then no work. Many rains. I no work. No money to pay the coyote. I go look for her. Go look for her tonight. If she alive. She could be dead? What I do, teach? What should I do?”
“Look, I really gotta get out of here.”
“I go look for sister in San Diego.”
“Your kid needs you, Jose. You need a job. Your sister comes here, she won’t know where to find you if you’re gone looking for her. You won’t be any good for your kid if you’re gone and don’t have a job on top.”
“I no have my kid. They take her away. She with her mudder. Crazy lady. She takes drugs. I find my sister.”
“Me: gringo. We think more with minds than the hearts,” said Jason pointing a magic marker-smudged finger to the aforementioned organs. “Maybe it’s cold hearted. Your sister is a needle in the haystack.”
“I no understand, teach.”
“It’s a wild goose chase. I see that blank look. How do I explain? San Diego: very BIIIIIIG, your sister very smaaaaaall. Wait for the phone to ring. If she’s alive she’ll call. If she’s dead there’s nothing I can do. Nothing nobody can do.”
He stooped to outlaw grammar in the vain quest to be understood. The Voice from the Sky crackled to life anew, blew into the microphone: “Excuse the interruption. Mr. Finch and Mr. Perlmutter, please hurry to the bungalow. We’re ready to lock up!”
“Listen, Jose. Gotta go,” said Jason. He scattered his books and papers back into his backpack, which seemed to have shrunk in the course of the night. In a final flourish to boost attendance, he penciled in the dots for three other phantom students on his roll sheet.
“Thank you, teach.”
“You’re welcome, Jose.”
“My name is Juventino.”
(to be continued)
