Author's Note: Yes, I know it's been a reeeeeally long time. Yes, I am very sorry. No, I have not forgotten about this story.
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Ms. Diane Duane.
Chapter 15: Healing
The room was bright white and smelled of antiseptic.
The bed felt like it was permanently attached to his body.
His mouth was far drier than it had ever been.
His eyes were crusted in the corners with something that may have been dried tears.
It took all of his energy to open his mouth and force his vocal cords to croak out one word: "Water..."
Rick Kolibri had rejoined the world of the living.
It was his fifth day back.
For the first three days his students and colleagues had watched him like hawks for any signs of his imminent collapse. All he had disclosed to anybody was that he had been ill. It didn't sit well with him, but how could he possibly begin to explain anything that had happened? He knew he still looked rough around the edges. He knew that the skin under his eyes was transparent enough to produce dark purple circles. He knew that sometimes he shook with fatigue when he walked. He knew, although nobody else did because he wore long sleeves and long pants, that his numerous angry burns were only just beginning to heal.
On the fourth day he had let those students and colleagues know in no uncertain terms that yes, he was on the mend, and no, he was not so frail that he could not handle the everyday stresses of his job. Mr. Kolibri's tone must have been acerbic enough to put an end to the bets as to when he was going to topple over, because he felt a subtle shift in the way people acted around him. It was a relief. Without as much expectation of fragility, he no longer felt like an invalid.
He was tired by the end of the week, but luckily he had the weekend to rest. And on Monday, when he arrived at work for his fifth day after returning from the hospital, the chalkboard just looked so clean and inviting...but no, there was no time now.
Between each class he looked at the board longingly. But there was no time, no time. At lunch, then, he told himself. I have an hour break for lunch. And then, when the last class before lunch was let out, he couldn't bring himself to start.
It was ridiculous. He'd been wanting to draw since the beginning of the day, and now that he finally had the time he couldn't do it? Absolutely ridiculous. Maybe if I eat my lunch during my break? It IS lunchtime, after all. So he did just that. He ate his lunch. And then he looked at the clock, which informed him that he still had forty-five minutes.
Rick Kolibri shook his head and walked over to the board. He picked up a piece of chalk and slowly began to draw, hesitantly at first, but gradually gathering speed and surety.
When the bell rang he was still engrossed in his work. His students filed in as quietly as they could, openmouthed with surprise. Only Tom knew enough about his teacher to put his finger on the difference—though still not looking well, he finally looked fully alive. Chalk dust covered his hands and the edges of his blazer sleeves. And the board...the chalkboard was half-filled with wondrously detailed drawings. Birds, flowers, flames, a waterfall, complex designs of lines and curves that looked a little like Arabic but that Tom recognized as words and fragments in the Speech. Complete. Whole.
And one word that loosely translated to alive, but also encompassed all of the pains and joys of Life itself. It was not a gentle word, but a fierce one, one that had fought against all odds and won, emerging changed but unbroken.
In the center of this drawing, jointly held aloft in the beaks of a hummingbird and a dove poised in exuberant mid-flight, was the elegant wizard's knot—beginning and end, everything connected back to itself.
The quiet sounds of students settling themselves at their desks gently broke the teacher out of his reverie. He heard behind him an exclamation of "I didn't know he could draw!" from one of the girls. Mr. Kolibri took one more look at his creation, took a deep breath. Held it for a second. Let it out slowly.
He turned around and smiled a little sheepishly at his class. "Good afternoon, everyone," he said.
A couple students chuckled awkwardly. Most were still staring wonderingly at the chalkboard.
"Alright, fine, have it your way. It's a Monday afternoon, and most of you are miserable to be here and want to go home, is that it?" he said dryly. More general laughter from the class, some guilty looks. The physics teacher smiled again, more widely this time, and made his way over to the sink. "Well, I seem to have gotten some chalk on my hands. You have maybe another minute or two left for surprise and absolute admiration while I get the chalk off my hands...and once that happens you will have that quiz I mentioned last class. Consider this your warning."
There was a collective groan and a rush to pull out textbooks, notebooks, pencils, and paper for last-minute preparation. The teacher grinned to himself, took his time and made sure his hands were completely clean and dry, and walked back over to his desk to pull out a stack of papers. "That's enough, everyone. Books away, pencils out. Let's see how you do. Make sure you read each question carefully and answer in as much detail as you need to get your point across. Take a paper, pass it back," he said, passing out the quizzes to the first row.
He smiled to himself as he saw the astonishment and paper-flipping.
Tom looked at his paper with disbelief, turning it over to see if this was a joke. He nearly laughed aloud, muffling the sound with his hand.
Mr. Kolibri looked askance at him.
The freshman shook his head and grinned. There were four lines on the quiz paper:
WRITE YOUR FULL NAME (25 pt.)
WRITE TODAY'S DATE (25 pt.)
WRITE ONE OF THE BASIC KINEMATICS EQUATIONS AND MAKE UP A PROBLEM THAT COULD BE SOLVED BY IT; SHOW YOUR WORK (50 pt.)
TURN IN YOUR PAPER; CONGRATULATIONS, YOU HAVE COMPLETED THIS QUIZ.
Mr. Kolibri? he asked, testing out the mind-to-mind connection.
Mr. Swale? The physics teacher didn't give any outward hint that he was communicating telepathically. Tom was impressed.
You are the best. Teacher. EVER.
The final bell of the day sounded, and nearly all of the students in the school hurriedly stuffed their books into their bags and made a mad scramble to be the first out the doors of their respective classrooms. Tom, as usual, had been daydreaming, so he didn't bother to join the rush for the hallways. Instead he looked at his teacher, who was standing next to the board and staring at it, eraser in hand.
"Seems like such a shame to erase it," he said quietly.
Mr. Kolibri nodded, but nevertheless swept the eraser over the drawing, obliterating everything in its path. "It does. But I know that I can make another. It's not the end result that matters so much; it's the process."
Tom nodded thoughtfully and stuffed his books in his bag. "But isn't the end product important too?"
The teacher turned around and half-smiled at him. "Some. But let me ask you—if a machine had made this exact same drawing, would you still think it was impressive?"
"A machine?" Tom's eyebrows went up.
"Yes. Assuming it could produce the same result over and over again."
"Well...kind of?"
"Why kind of?" Mr. Kolibri's half-smile held.
"I mean...in a different way. The person who could get a machine to do that would have to be very talented."
"And there's your answer. We're more concerned with how you can get a result. Of course the result is important, but ultimately the result is only another part of the process."
Tom nodded again and picked up his bag. "Mr. Kolibri?"
"Hm?" the teacher asked, going back to erasing the board in brisk, efficient strokes.
"Are you okay?"
The strokes paused, and the man turned around once more. "No," he answered slowly. "No, I'm not. But I'm getting there. Finally." He shot Tom a smile then—one tinged with sadness, yes, but also hope. "Thanks for asking."
The student gave a small smile of his own and made his way out of the classroom.