10
THE TIMES-TABLES BUSINESS left me skittish, afraid each day that something else was going to come up in Mrs. Graham’s class that I wouldn’t know, and that I’d have to put myself through another crash program. Whenever Mrs. Graham began a new lesson with the words “Now, class,” I would reach for my camera and start chewing on my lower lip and praying that she wouldn’t want us to learn anything I didn’t already know. Mrs. Graham could see that I was anxious about something, and she became convinced that I was having trouble making friends among the fourth-graders.
She called me to her desk one day while the rest of the class was at work on a page of multiplication problems. I had finished early, but the work had required so much mental finger-counting that my head hurt.
“Peter,” she said. “How would you like to have some fun and really get to know the boys and girls in the fourth grade at the same time?”
Her cheeks glowed. She was so excited by whatever she was leading up to that I immediately became excited and eager myself.
“You bet,” I said.
“Well, each year the fourth grade puts on a production of King Lear, and this year I’m in charge. I thought that you might like to be the director,” she began.
From the frozen smile on my face Mrs. Graham reasoned that I didn’t know what on earth she was talking about.
“It’s a play,” she said. She examined my face for some sign that I was keeping up with her. She didn’t find any, so she elaborated. “The boys and girls put on costumes and act it out on the stage in the auditorium.” She examined my face again. “Have you ever seen a play?” she asked finally.
“No,” I said, “but I know what you mean.” I did have an idea of what she meant. After all, the annual production of King Lear was an event of long standing, and I had heard people talk about it. I had been an elf in a Christmas pageant, and I knew that a play was something along the same lines but longer and more elaborate. It wasn’t ignorance that had frozen the smile on my face, it was a tiny thought that had taken root in my mind while she spoke. It was the thought that King Lear was going to turn out to be a lot like the times tables.
“I think that you should be the director!” she said. “It will be just wonderful. You’ll get to know nearly all the other fourth-grade boys and girls that way.”
“Gee,” I said, “that would be great!” I meant it. It would be nice to get to know the other fourth-graders. “What should I do?” I asked.
“It won’t be hard, Peter,” said Mrs. Graham. She reached out to pat me on the shoulder, and her elbow struck the vase of flowers on her desk. I lunged toward it and caught the vase with one hand, just as it left the desk top on its way toward the floor. It was quite a feat, I thought. I hardly even spilled any water. When I set the vase back on the desk, I felt that I had in some measure repaid Mrs. Graham for the kindness she was doing me by putting me in a position to get to know the other fourth-graders. “Thank you, Peter,” she said, so off-handedly that the vase might never have fallen. “I’ll help you with all the work you’ll have to do.” She smiled at me, and a warm spot spread around my heart. She reached toward me again, and I reached for the vase at the same time, so that when her elbow struck it I already had a firm grip on it, and it barely moved. She patted me on the shoulder and said, “Everything is going to work out just fine.”
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