Deep in the Heart of Me (3 page)

I take a piece of the orange peel out of the water. Not to eat…but to save.

I followed after Sobe and was the last in. To my surprise, my apple sits on Miss Charlotte's desk.

"Thank you for the apple Tonio," Teacher says blushing.

Mother of God—what? I didn't give the teacher an apple like a sissy.

Joseph's is the first face I see because he'll carry my embarrassment. We are Clannan men for God sakes.

I look down then. Sobe did this. It feels like betrayal of some sort. I gave that apple to her, and what did she do but run in here and in front of the whole class she gave it to Charlatan as I call her cause she masquerades as a teacher when she's really a ninny.

I can't look at Sobe as I go to my desk. I sit there, heavily, my legs spread out, my boots resting on their heels. I'm bewildered.

And as we begin lessons she turns, that Sobe, and looks at me and smiles.

I have my elbow on my desk, and my fist rests loosely over my open mouth. But I'm looking at her. After all my care I'm looking.

She gets busy then, tearing a little piece of paper from a page and writing. She wouldn't be passing me a note. I hope not. I hope…not.

She looks back at me and the passing begins, her hand to another's and another's, and it lands on my desk. I feel Joseph's eyes on me and yes, they are. I look at the note and unfold its million folds. I move and sit straighter, not so sprawled out, but hunched over this little piece of paper that holds the key to my life somehow.

"Don't be mad," it says.

Don't be mad? I look up quick, and she's looking sneakily at me, crouching behind the person in front of her so Charlatan doesn't see.

"Mister Clannan do you wish to share that with the class?" Charlatan says.

I am quickly refolding it and letting it drop into my sleeve.

I stand because I'm in trouble, and that's what we do here.

Sobe puts her head on her desk so she can stare at me. I feel bravery come over me. I won't betray her like she did me with the apple. Now where have I read something like that? Oh yes.

"Tonio?" Charlatan says.

"I am sorry, Miss."

"Who passed you that note?"

"My brother."

"Which one?"

"Joseph." I know he'll take it quiet. Until we get out of here.

Joseph stands.

"Sorry Miss," he says.

"I'm sure you are," she says.

"I must go for molasses before home," I say. "He's reminding me."

"See that it doesn't happen again. I will not pass notes in class two hundred times each due in the morning."

"Yes, Miss," I say damn it to hell anyway.

"Yes, Miss," he says, and I know he'll carry on how I need to write both. I'll get Elsie to do it.

Then her hand goes up. Sobe's hand. She stands.

"What is it Sobe?"

"I…I do not think the punishment is fair," she says.

Miss Charlotte does not know what to do with that word, 'fair.'

I have leaned forward to brace myself on my desk. I am staring hard at the back of her, of Sobe. She wouldn't, would she? Make me out to be a liar? I have handled it.

"I passed that note and…," she turns to meet my glare. She gulps and turns back to face Miss Charlotte, "…he is protecting me. But he's done nothing wrong. I should have the punishment." She looks at me once more. She's sorry, but she's not backing down.

"Miss Charlotte…," I begin, having straightened again.

"Sit down all of you," Miss Charlotte says.

We all sit although I more or less fall into my desk I'm so mad.

"Five hundred times, Miss Sobe. You boys the same," Teacher says.

"But Miss Charlotte," says Joseph, "I haven't…."

"You went along, Mr. Clannan," Teacher says.

And that's the end of it.

Not hardly.

I am a wounded boy. That's all I know. I don't hear a thing or see it, just her, and the back of that shiny head, that lovely…perfect head on that perfect girl who is not perfect. She is not.

I am slumped in my desk again. "You sweet on her?" Michael asks. He sits next to me. One look is all I give, and he shrinks back.

"No talking," Miss Charlotte says.

I know exactly how long five hundred sentences take. Forever.

But worse. I am a man of my word. It's all a man has that matters Dad says. And she as much stood there and told the class, my own blood in here too, told them me, and mine were liars. Good for nothing low-born, thieving liars.

She has gone on nice as she pleases then. She raises her hand and answers questions and laughs and smiles and does her lessons and smooths her dress under her bottom…round…and moves side to side…her round…. She's our new lady sheriff, and she's restored law and order in the classroom but thing is, she made all the trouble. All of it was her.

I can see Joseph over there already writing. He'll try to get as much done ahead as he can. It will take three of the girls to do this for me now. I'll have to bribe them, or they will tell Mom. Only Elsie can do a fair hand to resemble mine. I'll have to teach the others.

But the damage she's done me…this Sobe.

I'm nudged from the side. Michael. I look, and I feel the mean in my face and God bless America. There is that French woman, stretched out like a statue, only flesh but worn from so much handling—the photograph I mean in Michael's shaking hand held against the page of his reader, a story about Benjamin Franklin's stalwart character, that's what's behind my first sight of the female…nipples…hair…flesh…form.

"Tonio Clannan," Miss Charlotte says. "What has captured your attention so much more raptly than the story in your reader? Please…enlighten the rest of us."

Michael is already moving the picture away. I hope he plans to eat it. I feel Dad's strap, and I'll deserve it. I welcome it even. Anything but standing now, in this place of shame and humiliation and degradation. She turns to put those big brown eyes on me. I make my back straight as I can and clench my jaw. I keep my eyes straight ahead. "I am thinking on injustice. That it starts in a man's own backyard," I say.

I look at Teacher now and swallow. I don't know what's coming next, but I'm as interested as they all seem to be.

"Injustice?" Miss Charlotte says pushing back her chair and getting onto her feet. "And what do you know of injustice young man?"

Well, I am trying to think on that. So I lick my lips. "The…government," I say. I love my country, but I hate my government like all good Americans.

"The government?" she says folding her arms. I know this stance of hers. It means she's ready to dedicate time.

I do not shift. My dad does not. He makes his points with a strong finger tapping the table or the desk of those whose collars have never known sun or chaff.

"There is injustice Miss Charlotte. Round here too, depending who you are."

She sweeps her hand toward me. "Tell us, Mr. Clannan."

"I'm saying…we got desperate times in these United States. Dad says most rare thing left in America is the family farm what with old deals and new deals and give outs and handouts and takeaways."

"And what do you say, Sir?" Her chin is up brows too. I've never inspired so much of her attention. Two years of laying low and now this on my second day back. All because…well, it doesn't help me now to say it, but my eyes flit there for a minute—to Sobe. She is watching me, her hands clasped on her desk over her reader.

"I say we need a co-op run like a business and not some farmwife's takings from eggs and butter," I say. "I go with Dad to the meetings, and I listen. And some of you here," I look at the row of boys same as me, "would do well to do the same.

“We're at the end of a long hard haul, and the family farm is near extinction if things don't change, and we can't have the money needed for saving our farms if we can't organize enough to market our products. It's the wealth of the land feeding us all. That's what it comes down to."

No preacher ever said come to Jesus with more than I just spoke on the co-op. I left this room for a minute, or I thought I was in Washington or something.

"And I don't know what I'm doing in here with so much to be done…writing sentences and apples and…oranges." I'm gathering my things as I say this. I might want to stop myself, but I might not be able to, so I stack my couple of books and my papers and one pencil. I straighten. "I'm done with school, Miss Charlotte. Enjoy that apple." And I walk past Sobe and past Miss Charlotte, who steps back quickly to get out of my way. I walk strong from that room then. I stop in the coatroom and get my cap and my sandwiches. I pull that cap on my head, low, like a gangster or an angry boy. I hear my brothers scrambling to follow me. But I leave that place, and I don't look back.

They follow me out. "You follow me you're not going back," I say to Joseph, ignoring Ebbie.

Joseph looks confused.

"Think hard," I say ignoring Ebbie. That fluffer is going back in, no question. I don't have Dad's permission to let the girls walk home without one of us. They never have. Anyway, he's too young to quit. Time he grew up some and watched the babies.

"I'm going with you," Joseph says, his eyes that serious way since birth.

"Get back in," I tell Ebbie.

"But…," he says.

"Get in like I said," I repeat. I'm squeezing the sandwiches in my bag.

"You gonna eat those?" Ebbie says noticing my hand.

I fling the bag at him. "Keep an eye on the girls," I say, and I never sounded more like Dad then.

'Keep your eye on the girls,' is all we hear when we're leaving the farm. It's hammered in.

So I take off, and Joseph matches my stride. He's always one inch behind, and that's my preference cause it's my job to be oldest, appointed by God is what Dad says. In olden times, all the land would go to me. Now I have to share Dad says. It goes amongst the three of us, and we make sure the girls marry well and give each what we can. Hopefully, we see to it they marry land without the husband being the worst son of a bitch ever lived. That's how Granma puts it to Mom.

Granma always tells the truth, even if nobody wants to hear it. She curses in Italian though. And we figured out first time we got an Italian hand,
'Figlio di puttana
,' does not mean, 'God bless us, everyone.'

"He will rule over you," Granma says quoting Eve's curse every time she thinks the fairer sex get a raw deal. "And he does," she always adds with a sigh that lasts about ten seconds.

It's one big line of getting bit on the ass. That's what Dad says when he smokes with the men at the town meetings. I'm beginning to believe it.

My anger takes me most of the way home. Joseph is quiet. That's what I most like about him. Dad says even a fool is thought wise if he keeps his trap shut.

We turn on Clannan Lane and Joseph speaks, "Mom won't like it."

When we grow corn, you can't see the house from the main road like this. But the field is stubble now. Government wanted us to cut back on producing so Dad expanded the dairy and kept more in pasture. But this front field, he's sowing it in winter wheat this year. Soon it will be cultivated and planted. Very soon now that I'm done with school.

So there she sits, the place we were born. All of us. Makes me proud to see it, always does. Makes me know I'd do anything to protect it. It's my home. My family. Our farm. We've held on when others couldn't. Dad says we should be humble, but I'm just proud. That's all.

The house is tall, two-stories and white and been added onto more than a few times. Outhouse sits behind, and we move it pretty regular.

And we got some kind of building for everything. My dad loves to build. But our barn, it sits to the right, big and important.

Dad says God holds the world, but for me, he holds the barn.

So we are walking along, and this kind of dread comes on me, but it don't last. Dad will let me out. I think. Joseph, though.

Not sure.

"She got embarrassed," Joseph says.

"Who did?" I think he means Teacher.

"The new one. Sobe."

"What?" Did I embarrass her? How?

"When she came in from recess she had the apple. We…they all knew. Said, "Um." He draws out the 'm.'

I have to let it sink in. Comes to this new subject of Sobe I feel…average. The way others must feel at sums or even their letters. I always feel far ahead, always know the answers before the rest figure the question. But now I'm like them.

Average. I don't know what Joseph means. They couldn't know about the apple.

"She just got flustered," Joseph says.

"So?" I say. It's dumb but…I just don't know. No one could see us in the woods.

"She went in with an orange and came out with an apple. They were all watching."

"So…?"

"She gave you her orange. And…you took it."

"I hate this place," I say picking up a rock and flinging it far. I don't hate it. I don't hate anything for a minute.

I embarrassed her. She passed it off to the teacher.

"It wasn't a bouquet," I say in my defense. "It was just an apple."

"It's not the apple. It's the orange," he says.

Yes. We haven't seen those since Christmas. She went into the woods to share the orange with me.

And they all wanted it. And some of them, they wanted her.

Did she pick me then?

She picked me.

And I left school. I left her.

Oh.

"How you got from getting called out to making that speech…on the co-op? That's anyone's guess," Joseph says.

I stare at him, but I have no pride now. "How did I sound?"

He's shaking his head.

"Well, she said what was I thinking, and we had the sentences…," I say.

Now he's nodding.

"I just said…injustice. The way she picks on us every year. She don't like us coming in late ruining her little sewing club," I say looking for another rock. "She's damn lucky I flipped it to farming and didn't let her have it."

"Have it?"

"Tell her my mind," I say finally finding a rock I can throw.

He's shaking his noggin again.

"Well, why'd you follow me out then?"

He grins. "I didn't want to write those sentences."

We laugh. "Dad says you ain't a man until you can think long term, one season to the next. Ever think you might need more schooling?"

We laugh again.

We ain't laughed together maybe all summer. We've worked hard and I been in that mood. He stood by me today, and he'll be in trouble for it, but he's always true.

"Let me do the explaining," I say. I'm better at it. So we go up the lane to face the folks. And I think of that Sobe. And I reach in my pocket and touch that peel. I think I'm right about her.