First published in BEST NEW WRITING anthology.

 

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“This isn’t the first time, Mrs. Fodor. Benedek has been failing his history quizzes and tests all year.”

“I understand what you’re saying. I heard you clearly the first time. But I’m also sure there must be something we can do. Something you can do about this. Isn’t that your job?” My mother’s voice reaches the same high pitch it always takes when she’s talking to my nagy on the phone.

It’s been twenty-three times this year.

I sit still. She asked me to wait out here. She won’t be long.

The door has been left open, either deliberately or accidentally, in just under ten-degree angle, providing me with ample sound effect of their conversation while making the adults believe they’ve excluded me for the time being, a pale blue wall clock and a typewriter for my only company.

Mother said she won’t be long.

The small hand on the wall clock in front of me moves slightly. Only seven minutes till noon. Today’s Tuesday. And on Tuesdays the cafeteria serves tortellini in lemon garlic sauce. Most people like garlic because it helps them lose weight and improves their immunity but Journal of Neuro-Oncology published a study in August 2013 that suggested that it could be an effective therapeutic agent in preventing tumor progression and in inducing apoptosis – cell death – in active human glioblastoma, without impairing liver function.

“Mrs. Fodor, I want you to take a look at this.”

“What is that?”

“This, right here,” I hear Mr. Rolling taking a piece of paper out of a folder, “is Benedek’s history midterm, which he’s simply refused to file accordingly.”

Silence.

“It was an essay question. How did World War I directly influence the beginning of World War II?”

Silence.

“Mrs. Fodor, what we’re trying to do here is understand the underlying problem.” Ms. Tinny cuts in, her voice usually sweet and calm. “And not accuse your son of anything.”

“Except maybe his inability to memorize any facts or names. Not one real fact or name. Not one. I mean, is this a joke?” A shuffle of papers. “Wait, where was it? Oh, yes. The Fish! Right here where he starts talking about forming an aquarium.” A long pause. “Take Tiger Barb, for instance. It’s a fish that needs company despite the fact that they chase each other around all day long, taking little nips to set up a pecking order. No damage is usually done because the aggression is spread evenly through the group or participants. But they may also start to damage each other. Groups of three or less are generally unworkable. With a group that small, a strong pecking order is set up with one fish getting all the trouble from the other two. Soon it dies, and there are two fish. Then the strong one picks on the weaker one until it, too, is gone.”

Silence.

“Is this a joke? Mrs. Fodor, I want you to look at me and tell me – does he think he can bully his teachers like this and get away with it? Because it’s midterm and I have to grade him and based on this…”

The small hand moves again. Four minutes till noon. Four minutes and thirty seconds till the bell will ring, because it’s always thirty seconds late.

Everything is still and silent around me. Even their voices behind the door have died down. Probably because my mother is reading, Mr. Rolling is biting his knuckles while gazing out the window and Ms. Tinny simply stares in the middle distance, her shoulders already fighting the day’s gravity toll.

Why is there a yellow Remington Holiday typewriter in Mr. Rolling’s office waiting room? He’s a history teacher, so he must think that placing an antique is appropriate but there isn’t one accomplished writer or politician, or any civil activist known to have used Remington Holiday. It was created in 1963 in Holland, though its case was made in Italy. It has no tabs, paper support, or soundproofing. And it’s yellow. No writer would have liked that. Jack London used a Remington, but he preferred the Standard model Seven. Mark Twain is believed to have written the first ever typewritten novel, Tom Sawyer, using a Remington model, though the manuscript was handed in handwritten.

Nobody would have liked a pale yellow typewriter, though.

How do you use a yellow typewriter to fact up a boy so young his cheeks are still silky and stubble-free, his mother in tears, his little brother still on her breast as he’s marching away, against his will, towards a sure death?

“Maybe it’s a language barrier thing?” Ms. Tinny suggests suddenly. “How’s Benedek doing with his other teachers? Does he need your help with his homework?”

A prolonged silence.

 

Ms. Tinny shifts in her seat, probably the left mustard green leather armchair that Mr. Rolling always appoints her to. It squeaks under each of her plump butt cheeks, her arms by now probably folded across her chest.

“Kurva életbe.” My mother says under breath. “Benedek was born in the United States and, frankly,” she inhales deeply and most likely brushes her hair back, ready for a fight, just like when my dad suggests one of his football nights with boys and she feels that she deserves a night off. It’s been seven times this year. “I’m beginning to lose my patience here. What you’ve just presented to me is a bunch of bull. It’s kutyafasza! Youunderstand? He’s a smart boy. His grades are high. He’s always had one of the highest GPAs in his class.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Rolling cuts her off. “That is exactly the reason we’ve summoned you up here for a meeting. Nobody’s suggesting that he isn’t smart, or capable.”

“You said he was incapable of memorizing facts and names.” Her voice jumps a notch.

“I did not…”

“Yes, you did…kurva életbe…”

“Mr. Rolling…Mrs. Fodor…if we all could just…”

“Yes, you did. I have it right here…”

“I was simply stating that as a means of…of…”

“Yes, you did. This time you won’t get away with your szar. I have it right here…”

“Mrs. Fodor…Mr. Rolling, please calm down…”

Silence.

Mr. Rolling’s voice replayed on a prerecorded device. Except maybe his inability to memorize any facts or names…

Click.

Silence.

The small hand aligns with its big brother. The clock strikes noon and thirty seconds later the bell rings, its loud shriek vibrating through my arteries and veins until my entire bloodstream is humming in alert.

How do you use a yellow typewriter to fact up German cannons, built by Krupp, sold to the Soviets in the 1930s and later used by the Warsaw Pact? These creations of mass death had no ringfinder and no gun sight so they missed more often than not. They would shoot a machine gun, gauge the distance and discharge. The only times they hit was from fifteen hundred meters. Soldiers were gathered up from simple town folk, informed about their unified enemy – the Stalinist Bolshevism – and ordered to kill, kill, kill. Is that a fact? His name Bloom or Blum? Are those facts and names yellow Remington Holiday worthy?

“Look, Mrs. Fodor, in general, I agree with you. With your frustration, at least. We simply gathered that you’re his mother and that you know him better.” Mr. Rolling coughs, a sound of a glass being placed on his table surface. “I mean, if I didn’t have to grade him on the World War admirals and the consequences of their doings, I might be thoroughly impressed with Benedek’s composition and storytelling abilities.” The sound of paper shuffle. “The Betta, or Siamese fighting fish, also known as Betta splendens, has a name that suggests it can be cruel, but this fish can mix very well into a community. The situation can be kept under control if you keep no more than one Betta per tank —males fight viciously and even females like to pick on each other, though not so harshly. Also, males may kill females that are unwilling to breed. Bettas are also known to be picking on fish of similar color. For example, it may be wise to avoid mixing Red Velvet Swordtails with red male Bettas to keep the Betta from biting them. Bettas are very territorial. Avoid mixing them with species that share the same territories, such as Gouramis. And do not mix Bettas with fin-nippers (such as the Tiger Barbs mentioned earlier). The long fins are too tempting, and the slow speed of the Bettas makes it too easy. Bettas are actually more at risk from the other fish in the tank than the other way around.”

“Mrs. Fodor, do you have an aquarium at home?” Ms. Tinny asks.

“Yes. What exactly are you suggesting?”

“I think that maybe Benedek’s case should be presented to the school’s psychiatrist.”

“I agree. I think what we’ve got here is a fish too big for our rod, so to say.” Mr. Rolling chuckles.

“I don’t follow.”

“Benedek might benefit from certain…he might need a sort of study aid or special support…”

“Are you suggesting that my son is mentally retardált?”

“No, nobody said that. It’s just that…”

“Then why don’t you simply mind your own business, and do your job What’s your job description anyway? A student counselor? What does that even mean? And you – why don’t you consider your stupid essay questions for a second yourself. Maybe longer than one second since you don’t seem as okos as you pretend to be because what Benedek has done is exactly what you’ve asked him. He’s answered your stupid idea of teaching history in a beautifully metaphorical way that…”

“I understand your concern, Mrs. Fodor, but I am also his teacher and I must grade him based on…”

“Based on your unalmas methods…”

“Mrs. Fodor, I’m afraid I can’t respond to anything you say in Hungarian. OK. Look! What do you want me to do? It’s history. It cannot be changed.”

Silence.

The small leg hasn’t moved since the bell rang. Mr. Rolling is in need of a new clock. He should buy one in yellow to go with his yellow typewriter. Maybe then he could match up all of his own facts that don’t add up otherwise – if only by the color of preference. Because if World War II was a war between nations of the world, then it should be noted that it did not, in fact, start in 1939 when Germany invaded Poland, but long before that when Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931, or at the latest in 1937 when Japan invaded China and organized the Nanking Massacre that raped and slaughtered hundreds of thousands of people and didn’t end until 1945. Because both Japan and China are nations of the world, maybe not visible on the globe if you’ve turned it to the US side, but Mr. Rolling doesn’t have a globe in his office waiting room. He has a yellow Remington Holiday that was manufactured in 1963 in Holland. And it’s not being used to write down facts, only to be aligned with his blue wall clock that’s now stopped forever. It doesn’t even have a name on it. Possibly made in Nanking, which is actually called Nanjing and only got its current name due to the widespread use of the Roman alphabet on machines like Remington Holiday that were manufactured in 1963 in Holland. But it’s unlikely that Nanking is producing wall clocks that stop abruptly because the city is nowadays bustling with information technology, energy saving and environmental protection, new energy, smart power grid, and intelligent equipment manufacturing. It’s become an attractive foreign investment hub for Siemens, Ericsson, Volkswagen, Iveco, A.O. Smith, and Sharp who have established their lines in Nanking, and also a number of multinationals such as Ford, IBM, Lucent, Samsung and SAP who have established their research centers there. So Mr. Rolling’s wall clock is unlikely made in Nanking.

“Mrs. Fodor, I’m going to need to ask you to sign this release form.” Mr. Rolling’s voice finally breaks the silence.

“About what?”

“It simply states that you’ve been informed. And that from here on it’s your responsibility to ensure Benedek’s successful completion of his history exams that further on would lead to successful graduation.”

“I don’t understand. What are you saying? That I should home school my son?”

“Not entirely,” Ms. Tinny pushes her chair slightly. Probably because the sun has reached Mr. Rolling’s office window at a ninety-degree angle just like every early afternoon, and is hitting her face uncomfortably. “Just about these history questions. Just so that your boy, whom we all believe to be a wise young man with great potential, can graduate in less than six months.”

Silence.

“Mrs. Fodor, I’m sure we’re on the same page here when I say that we all mean the best for Benedek.” Mr. Rolling is shuffling some papers. Judging by the ruffle, more than a slim stack.

“Yes, and nobody’s accusing him of anything.”

“I understand.” My mom’s voice has dropped to a low decibel.

She understands now.

I sit still. She won’t be long.

Two mustard green armchairs are pushed back, six shoes clack on Mr. Rolling’s yellowish pretend parquet and the door swings open right in front of me. I realize Mr. Rolling’s obviously a man who likes yellow a lot. He’s also worn a yellow shirt eighteen times this year. Actually, yellow shade, in the form of yellow ochre pigment made from clay, was one of the first colors used in prehistoric cave art, maybe it’s the archaic aspect that attracts Mr. Rolling to the color yellow. In any case, he needs to get his facts right. He should get himself a pendulum clock because it was the first wall clock invented in 1656. In Holland, just like his Remington Holiday here. Although it might have not been yellow since they mainly came in plain wooden shades back then. Anyway. He’s got to get his facts right.