The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The rhythm of bells and quiet re-asserted itself, and the serious business of learning went on as before. At the end of the day, the girl came like a frightened rabbit, and under Ms. Whipsnade’s vigilant supervision, repaired the damaged book, re-inserting the plate. Jim forgot about her quickly, neglecting to find out her name and the reason for her action, which remained unexplained. A jubilant Bill Marsh entered the office, waving the letter he had received from Mr. Shapiro, a human rights lawyer notorious locally as an unrepentant atheist. Instead of the protest against the radical speaker Bill had feared, it was a commendation to the WAC leadership for confronting thoughtful students with the implications of diversity in a changing society. It ended with, “To paraphrase Kipling, ‘what can they know of middle-class suburbia, who only middle-class suburbia know?’ It is good for our youth to have their values questioned, their assumptions challenged. Well done! I have always been a fiery contrarian, and I applaud you!”
Principal Leland smiled with relief. A bad day had ended well, much better than he would ever have imagined. To top it off with a remarkable symmetry, Dr. Grey had called to say his son Russ had admitted to plagiarism from the Internet. He would not have to approach Chris about this at all. Another crisis averted. He went home, well pleased with himself, visions of a possible belated promotion dancing in his head.
Some weeks later, he noticed a withdrawal slip attached to a student file in the re-cycling box next to the photocopier. The reason on the form for the withdrawal was given as ‘religious schooling required.’ The name on the form was not familiar, but he or she was gone now, whoever it was. Had he opened the file, he might have recognized a photograph of the former student he had terrified in his office a few weeks before.
Chris Cheam already knew the reason. Careful probing on his part had established that the girl who had damaged the library book was leaving Pearson because her parents had discovered that the school had approved the opening of an LGBT Club for students and staff the next term. On her last day at Pearson, she was alone in the corridor, clearing her locker when Chris spotted her.
“Well, Batool, this is good bye and salaam aleikoum. Did you know they mean more or less the same thing?”
“Oh, hullo, sir. I diden’t see you there. No, I diden’t know that. How they are the same?”
“Good bye is short for ‘God be with you.’ Too few people know that. But you and I have a secret.”
“We do?”
“Yes. We have the same God.” He winked.
A radiant smile, the first he had ever seen on that frightened little face, transformed it. She was struggling to say something, but could not articulate it. She bent forward with a shy smile. She wanted to confide something.
“Jesus– is a great prophet, sir. I have a pikchair of Him teaching the multitude, it says. My friend Jennie gave it to me. Jesus was a good man.” She smiled. “Some day I become a teachair like him, like you”—a pause—“if my husband allow it.” Then the frightened look reappeared. “Fi-aman-illah, sir. Good bye. God go with you.”
She slipped like a wraith between the doors.
