you’re well and ready to learn. I’m going to help you with that. I am Miss Kinnick, Miss Etta Kinnick. And I am your new teacher. Then she smiled.
T here were fifteen girls in Etta’s class at the teachers’ college. They all wore the same burnt orange skirts, pleated like a Scotsman’s kilt. They could choose their own blouses, so long as they were white, and ironed. Some of the girls lived there, in dormitory rooms set above the lecture halls. When they were late, in the mornings, Etta could hear their hurried feet above her head, crescendoing down the stairs. Etta, though, continued to live at home with her parents. It was only a twenty-minute tram ride or a forty-five-minute walk in the mornings and evenings. It was cheaper, living at home, but that’s not why she did it. Etta knew her parents’ house would be too quiet, too still, with both daughters gone.
She was in her second year, of two years, when a junior called Caroline answered the door to a dusty, panting girl from one of the farms. Etta saw her while walking between classes; she looked terrified.
That afternoon, in Elements of Discipline, their lecturer read a notice from Gopherlands school aloud to all fifteen second-years. The sharp white noise of pencils taking down the details and of shortened breath around her prickled Etta’s ears like an itch. A job hadn’t opened up in the area for years. The vast majority of the college’s students graduated, got married, had a child or three, and stayed home kneading bread and singing lullabies for the rest of their lives. After reading the notice, the lecturer placed it on the front corner of his desk for students to examine, if they wished, after class, and continued with his lesson on Sticks and Stones. In her head, Etta counted up to one hundred, then back down again. When she got tozero she raised her hand, even though no question had been asked. The lecturer noticed her at the end of his phrase, when he looked up from his notes. Yes, Miss Kinnick? he said. The class turned from various directions to look at her.
May I please be excused to go to the bathroom? asked Etta. Her voice was tight with anticipation.
Yes, yes, of course.
The other students, now uninterested, turned back to the front of the class, their books, their own thoughts.
Once the door to the classroom was closed behind her, Etta broke into a run; out of the college, down Creek Lane to Victoria, down Victoria to Main, and then along Main, counting up the numbers: 121, 123, 125, 127, 127A, 129, 131, 133, 135, 137, 139, 141, and, finally, 143. She caught her breath. She repinned her hair. She wished she had thought to bring a hat. She counted to three and walked into the Civic And Meta-Civic Bureau Office.
I’m here about the position at Gopherlands. Her hands, held together behind her back, shaking. Her face composed, almost stern. Grown-up.
Oh, oh, yes, excellent. You’re from the college?
Yes.
You’re old enough?
Yes. Although Etta didn’t know how old was old enough. She felt old enough.
You can teach with the door closed?
Yes.
Okay, that’s fine then. Good. You’ll have to sign these papers. You’ll have a day to collect your things and move to the tutor house. You’ll start day after tomorrow.
Just like that. Etta signed the papers, shook Willard Godfree’shand, and walked out of the office, back onto Main Street. Then she blinked once, twice, and broke into a run back to the college.
After the day’s classes, each of the other fourteen girls went to 143 Main, and each found the same—
Thank you, Teachers, but:
The position has been filled.
Sorry.
W.G.
—note on the door. Some of the most eager also visited the third house on the left on the road into town, but there, on the yellow door, was another copy of the same,
Thank you, Teachers, but:
The position has been filled.
Sorry.
W.G.
6
J ames liked singing; he was always singing. Coyotes have voices a bit like oboes; they are not unpleasant.
T here were fifteen girls in Etta’s class at the teachers’ college. They all wore the same burnt orange skirts, pleated like a Scotsman’s kilt. They could choose their own blouses, so long as they were white, and ironed. Some of the girls lived there, in dormitory rooms set above the lecture halls. When they were late, in the mornings, Etta could hear their hurried feet above her head, crescendoing down the stairs. Etta, though, continued to live at home with her parents. It was only a twenty-minute tram ride or a forty-five-minute walk in the mornings and evenings. It was cheaper, living at home, but that’s not why she did it. Etta knew her parents’ house would be too quiet, too still, with both daughters gone.
She was in her second year, of two years, when a junior called Caroline answered the door to a dusty, panting girl from one of the farms. Etta saw her while walking between classes; she looked terrified.
That afternoon, in Elements of Discipline, their lecturer read a notice from Gopherlands school aloud to all fifteen second-years. The sharp white noise of pencils taking down the details and of shortened breath around her prickled Etta’s ears like an itch. A job hadn’t opened up in the area for years. The vast majority of the college’s students graduated, got married, had a child or three, and stayed home kneading bread and singing lullabies for the rest of their lives. After reading the notice, the lecturer placed it on the front corner of his desk for students to examine, if they wished, after class, and continued with his lesson on Sticks and Stones. In her head, Etta counted up to one hundred, then back down again. When she got tozero she raised her hand, even though no question had been asked. The lecturer noticed her at the end of his phrase, when he looked up from his notes. Yes, Miss Kinnick? he said. The class turned from various directions to look at her.
May I please be excused to go to the bathroom? asked Etta. Her voice was tight with anticipation.
Yes, yes, of course.
The other students, now uninterested, turned back to the front of the class, their books, their own thoughts.
Once the door to the classroom was closed behind her, Etta broke into a run; out of the college, down Creek Lane to Victoria, down Victoria to Main, and then along Main, counting up the numbers: 121, 123, 125, 127, 127A, 129, 131, 133, 135, 137, 139, 141, and, finally, 143. She caught her breath. She repinned her hair. She wished she had thought to bring a hat. She counted to three and walked into the Civic And Meta-Civic Bureau Office.
I’m here about the position at Gopherlands. Her hands, held together behind her back, shaking. Her face composed, almost stern. Grown-up.
Oh, oh, yes, excellent. You’re from the college?
Yes.
You’re old enough?
Yes. Although Etta didn’t know how old was old enough. She felt old enough.
You can teach with the door closed?
Yes.
Okay, that’s fine then. Good. You’ll have to sign these papers. You’ll have a day to collect your things and move to the tutor house. You’ll start day after tomorrow.
Just like that. Etta signed the papers, shook Willard Godfree’shand, and walked out of the office, back onto Main Street. Then she blinked once, twice, and broke into a run back to the college.
After the day’s classes, each of the other fourteen girls went to 143 Main, and each found the same—
Thank you, Teachers, but:
The position has been filled.
Sorry.
W.G.
—note on the door. Some of the most eager also visited the third house on the left on the road into town, but there, on the yellow door, was another copy of the same,
Thank you, Teachers, but:
The position has been filled.
Sorry.
W.G.
6
J ames liked singing; he was always singing. Coyotes have voices a bit like oboes; they are not unpleasant.
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