I would like to mention here that I sucked at math and barely remember my own high school math experience except that I sucked at it. More recently, while my daughter was taking Geometry in 10th grade, other people were taking Calculus. All I can say is Jumpin' Bob Howdy. So I'm not going in for too much real-life detail.
And another language thing that I forgot in the last episode. In my Ishval-verse, the honorifics saahad and zhaarad both mean "master". The first is strictly for priests and the second is secular.
Chapter 7
They stared at each other for a moment—she at his scar and he at her pink dye job. She looked away first; his eyes lingered a moment longer, primarily out of curiosity.
Introductions were superfluous at this point, but Mattas and Lucy seemed to find them necessary. Andakar guessed that Rose was less than happy about being here but, like him, she was trying to get on with her life, or at least was being convinced that she needed to.
"It's nice to see you here, Rose," Mattas said warmly. That was Mattas' style. Gentle, encouraging, but subtly relentless. It drew a small smile from Rose.
"You mean it's nice to see her wearing clothes!" Lucy remarked. Although he didn't know her well, it was plain that Lucy's rehabilitation strategy included teasing, albeit affectionately. It didn't always work.
Andakar glanced warily from her to Rose, who scowled at the cash register. "Thanks, Lucy!" she mumbled.
"I mean, as opposed to the pajamas she's been living in since she got back," Lucy explained for Andakar's benefit.
"Oh, yeah! That makes it so much better!" Rose retorted.
"Oi, dyevushki!" Gleb moved between the two sisters and hugged them. "Play nice, now!" He gave Rose and extra squeeze. "You know we love you, milen'ki."
"Yeah," Rose sighed grudgingly.
Andakar didn't blame her resentment. Lucy's teasing was clearly an unwelcomed intrusion, but he supposed it was to be expected from people who, however well-meaning, did not carry the same kind of burden.
Lucy turned her attention to him. "Did you try any of that lasagna Mattas brought back?"
"Not yet," Andakar had to admit. He had gone to bed as soon as he walked back from the temple.
Lucy planted her fists on her hips. "Oh, I like that!"
"He brought it with him for his lunch today," Mattas seemed to feel the need to add, as though speaking about a child.
"Oh!" Lucy smiled playfully. "Did you bring enough for the other kids?"
This was becoming tiresome, and Andakar didn't even know how to answer her question. The plastic container that Mattas had insistently shoved into his hands before they left the apartment held a slab of lasagna that could feed a small village. No clever rejoinder came to mind.
"I'm sorry I didn't come last night," was the best he could manage.
Lucy gave an easy flick of her hand. "Oh, it's okay!" She pointed at him. "Next time, though!"
Andakar nodded. He supposed he would have to. Mattas paid for their coffees and shared the usual parting kiss with Lucy. Andakar ventured a final glance at Rose, who had stepped back from the cash register and was leaning against the counter behind her, pointedly not looking at her sister's display of affection. He was moved to offer a gesture of fellow-feeling, but he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't be some empty platitude or take entirely too long to dredge up from his soul and which no one was likely to want to hear and was really no one else's business.
"It was good to meet you, Rose," was what he finally decided on.
She looked up at him and offered the same small smile that was probably the most she felt capable of. "You, too," she replied. Maybe she meant it, but it didn't matter.
Declining social invitations was one thing. Facing his classes again was something Andakar had no choice in. Zhaarad Ahirom, the headmaster of the school he taught at in Ishval, had stopped short of calling him mentally unstable, but his accusing look was full of it. This was now his last chance. He could not fail at this. He wasn't sure how much he cared for his own sake, but he wouldn't be able to face his brother or his parents. He had made one mistake after another, acting on what he thought were honorable impulses. He had to move forward, but he would do so now with caution. The least he could do, he would do well. What he felt called to do, he would think twice about.
The world may have felt like it had tipped, but only for him. His students didn't seem any different than they had the day before. Why, after all, should they? He had made no connection with them. He took them through mathematic exercises and that was all he did. He did not touch their lives.
When he first started teaching, it was a second best, but he still aspired to be a beacon to those under his care. He wanted to open their young minds and see the world as he saw it. He wanted them to see the wonder of Ishvala's creation and those things, by extension, created by man: literature, mathematics, philosophy.
He didn't see the world like that anymore. No, that wasn't quite true. The world was there, but the way he had once seen it was for other people now and he viewed it from a distance. And he was wrong when he thought he had made no connection with his students. He had, in fact, touched the life of at least one of them. A girl who had lost her parents in a senseless act that he could have prevented. He would try to tell himself that she probably wouldn't want to know the truth, but the truth was he simply couldn't bear to tell her.
So he would go on as he had been, doing what was needful, and nurture his guilt and let it eat at him. These students would move on to the next grade and then the next and then they would be gone and that was acceptable.
Once the bell for first period rang he took roll and told his students to turn to page eighteen where they had left off the day before. He had scheduled a quiz for the next day, and he would have a better understanding of who was at what level. These students purportedly had scored higher on placement tests so were the most promising, but that wasn't always the case. Those who were participating more, like Alphonse, Winry, and Lan Fan, were obviously more invested, but others might simply be the quiet ones. There were the gregarious ones, like Ling and Paninya, who, though somewhat distracting, did not seem yet to be struggling.
Others would be harder to gauge until some tangible results were in. There was Edward, who paid attention despite a certain apathy. There was Rik, who seemed to be wanting to escape notice, possibly because his teacher was straight from Ishval and he was somehow uncomfortable with that (or perhaps Andakar was overthinking that). There was Nicolo—sorry, N.V.—who appeared to be both apathetic and desirous of escaping notice. Time and tests would tell, and he had the option of recommending that those who were struggling be transferred to a less demanding class.
They finished up the first chapter, he answered questions from those who took the trouble to ask, and he reminded them about the quiz on Friday. Several of the students groaned that they were already having quizzes in some of their other classes. Perhaps the look on his face said more than he meant it to, but even as he expressed indifference—mildly, he was sure—for their other obligations, they withdrew their objections.
The bell rang for the passing period, the students filed out of the room. Andakar closed his book, not expecting to engage with any of them, but out of the blur of moving figures in his peripheral vision, one stopped before the table he used as a lectern and he looked up. Winry Rockbell stood before him, her backpack perched on her hip and her blue eyes politely expectant.
"Excuse me, Mr. Ruhad?" she began, her tone just as polite as her expression. She was not here to accuse, no matter what the fraction of a second of unreasoning fear made him believe. Then he wondered with a measure of suspicion, which he had to admit was unworthy, what her purpose was.
He schooled his features to not let anything show. "Yes, Miss Rockbell?"
"Um…we're going to be starting this project in my history class about foreign countries, and I was wondering…" She gave a little apologetic grimace. "I mean, I know that Ishval isn't a foreign country…I mean…not anymore…and I was wondering…if it's okay…if you could recommend some good resources…I mean…" She continued on at a pace that was both rapid and halting, showing both determination and inhibition. "I know I can get whatever I want from the library or the internet, but I…I wanted to see if you…I mean, I know that sometimes history can be kind of biased 'cause it's written by the victors, you know? And I…um…I want to do this right so if there's anything that you could recommend that would be more, you know, um, authentic, then I'd really appreciate it 'cause I want to do something, um, original, and…well…for other reasons…"
Her voice died away a little at the end, leaving him to speculate on what these "other reasons" might be. He was astonished, to say the least. He was also, from a strange, feral corner of his soul, terrified. What did she really want to know? Why Ishval? Wasn't that something she would want to shy away from, to say the least? Why him?
But another part of him, the one small piece he had managed to salvage, the one where he was a light in the darkness of ignorance, a scholastic mind, a teacher, raised its weary, beaten head to answer a call for help.
"I would be happy to help," he heard himself say. Would he, really? "If I had a better idea of the sort of information you would need…"
She must have thought he would be more reluctant. So did he, but he had committed himself. She perked up. "Oh, well, I was going to sort of see what I learned as I went along. I mean…I could ask Rik, you know, but he's…I mean, he knows a lot of cool stuff, and he does go to Ishval, like, once a year to visit relatives, but he was born here and he's only sort of into the culture and it's mostly the stuff that most people know about already."
Well, that explained that, Andakar supposed. "I guess what I want to find out," Winry went on, "is the stuff that most people don't know about, or don't care about, or whatever. I want to put together a picture that's…um…" She chewed on her lip in thoughtful concentration. "Looking out from the inside instead of looking in from the outside," she said quickly. Her brows furrowed. "Does that make sense?"
He wanted to tell her. He wanted to blurt it out and lay his sins before her as though she were the very stone of the altar. He nodded. "That makes admirable sense," he replied. "When is this project due?"
"Just before the winter break."
Andakar nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Are you mainly looking for printed material?"
Winry's shoulders bobbed up and down. "It doesn't have to be. Anything that I can cite as a source." She beamed a smile. "Thanks so much, Mr. Ruhad! I think you'll be proud!"
That shocked him, and that showed a little in his expression. She seemed a little surprised as well. "I mean, I promise I'll do a good job!"
"I'm sure you will." He was sure. He couldn't say exactly why, but he was. It went beyond the fact that she was a typically "good student." This, in particular, meant something to her. He wanted to ask her, to challenge her, why she said that, and he very nearly began to open his mouth, despite part of him that begged him not to. But she spoke first.
"Okay, so if you could let me know when you find stuff, that'd be really cool." She began to head for the door since the passing period was dwindling. "I mean, I'm gonna do my own research and everything," she added firmly.
"Come and see me on Monday," he said. "I'm here fairly early before school."
Winry bobbed her head. "Okay!" And with that she slipped out the door.
As she left and his second period students began to make their way in, he sat down at his desk, forcing himself to focus. He realized that his hands were shaking just a little and he clenched his fists. What had just happened, really? He was afraid to put too much emphasis on it. It was just a student asking a teacher for help, which was commonplace enough and was part of his job. But it was simply too coincidental, too uncanny. He had no doubt at all that he could supply the girl with exactly what she was looking for, much more than that, even. But he also had no doubt that he was diving into something he wasn't ready for. He almost began to sympathize with those students who felt they were being cruelly overburdened by having to take yet another quiz on the same day. But it was something they all had to face.
The whole "history project" thing came to me in the middle of writing this chapter. It was just one of those organic things. That's kind of how I roll. I have certain things that I know I need to make happen. Other things are sort of nebulous and have to be given form. So that's what happened, and it's really cool when it does. I wonder if there's a name for that.
Oi, dyevushki=hey, girls
milen'ki=dearie
