Savage Tales

that even though he would not find his cassette, and even though the cleaning woman was in her fifties and not his type, the day would not be a total waste, as long as he released his seed in someone. He closed the door to give them privacy, and began to work on the pleasant woman.
    "I am a star in my country," he said. "A star, America, a star! I will make you understand."

HOME REMEDY

    I met my new students today. We had an Indian summer so they were all antsy to get outside, but once they were out they wanted to get back inside the air conditioned environs and I just put on a science film and let it roll. They put their heads down if they wanted.
    One boy named Eric seems a bit odd. When I tell the kids something I think they'll find exciting, like the field trips we'll be taking or the parties we'll be having, he doesn't light up like the rest. He only laughs and smiles when he absolutely feels like it and doesn't care what the other kids or I think.

    A few months into the school year, and I know the kids so much better now. But in looking over my notes from that first day of class I remember Eric and my initial perceptions of him. I thought there was something wrong with him. Now I see that he was just willful, even for a young boy.
    For Halloween he came in as a cowboy and talked like a cowboy all day. But not with a humorous drawl, not at all. Everything was done with precision and he never smiled. The other kids laughed at him and I could tell that Jennifer Dupre likes him and looked at him in that Stetson with all the admiration a nine-year-old can muster. And Eric is a handsome boy. If only he would smile more.
    The day after Halloween he kept up his voice, with that cowboy lilt. I don't know where he learned it, probably from cartoons, and I don't know why his parents didn't tell him to talk normal again, but I suppose it's just a youthful fancy that will fall away with time. I will be meeting his parents next week for parent/teacher conferences.

    His father came in around five p.m. and looked serious. He wore a 1980s jacket and pants too short – floods – and sporty but unpleasant sneakers. I'm not trying to judge, just to point out what I saw when that man came in. He looked around 40 and had gray hair and a gray mustache, bronzed Hispanic skin, even though Eric looked paler. Perhaps the mother –
    But she was not present at the conference, for whatever reason.
    I smiled as best I could and tried to explain the situation, that nothing was wrong and Eric was doing fine, not in trouble at all. The father had some trouble understanding. And not because of his English, which was fine, only a minor accent, a plain vocabulary that worked like hammers and nails, getting the job done.
    "So you see, I just wanted to show you some of the work we've been doing."
    "That's okay," he said. "I trust you. Long as my boy's not getting into trouble, we don't need to talk."
    "Well, we at the school think that good communication is essential for a good learning environment."
    He snorted just above the threshold of detection. I smiled and pressed on.
    "We've been learning about the continents and your son chose South America for his presentation."
    "Okay."
    "Here's his diorama about Che Guevara."
    "What? Are you kidding me? Why on earth is he wasting his time with this stuff? He should be learning about George Washington and you're teaching him about Che Guevara?"
    "We think that a variety of influences is important. Another student did a George Washington biography and presented. We strive for diversity."
    "Che Guevara was an anarchist."
    "Che Guevara is dead," I said. "Whatever he was, we can learn about him."
    "I don't want my boy influenced by anarchists. They're uneducated, fat, ugly, and stupid. And if you cared about your students you wouldn't allow this kind of garbage to be learned."
    I smiled. The rest of the conference trickled on through inertia. I changed the topic to other subjects, and Eric's father said little else.

    A few weeks later I learned that Eric had joined a baseball league and played short stop. I only learned because I had the students keep journals and didn't tell them that I read all of them. I never heard Eric mention it to the other students. When I asked him about it, he admitted it, almost ashamedly. I asked him when his next game was.
    "Mrs. Marz?"
    "Yes?"
    "It's Saturday."
    "Do you mind if I come to watch?" I said.
    "Ma'am?"
    "Yes, Eric?"
    "Okay."
    I went with my husband and we