CHAPTER 11
The Special Needs teacher was ill, so the Special Needs group joined Mrs Garcia's class, which included nine-year old Eldred. Because she considered teaching children with learning difficulties to be a slight to her status, Mrs Garcia was giving a sharp lecture on equality.
‘There's no cause for anyone in this class to think they're anything special,’ she said, her eyes roaming round all the desks impartially. ‘Everyone is special in some way.’ Her gaze fixed itself momentarily on Jilly Martin, thirteen years old with the IQ of a child of seven, and quickly moved on. ‘Everyone in this class has talents,’ continued Mrs Garcia, ‘and individual qualities.’ This time her roving glance lighted on Matthew Evans, who gave her one of his individual quality bold stares. Matthew was playground champion of staring people out. His gaze never faltered.
Mrs Garcia looked round for help. Unconsciously she looked in Eldred's direction. Eldred was drawing diagrams with his finger in the air just above his desk.
‘Eldred Jones,’ said Mrs Garcia, 'what do you think you are doing?’
Eldred froze. ‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Garcia. ‘Nothing is what you are contributing to this class. But you're not meant to be doing nothing, are you, Eldred? You are meant to be listening to me.’
‘I am listening,’ said Eldred.
‘Then tell me what I have just said,’ challenged Mrs Garcia. Her discomfort with Matthew Evans’ stare was finding a familiar release. At the same time, she was annoyed with herself. The last thing she had intended to do this morning was single out Eldred, a child who attracted far too much attention outside her classroom to merit much of her notice within it. The boy could be very irritating.
‘You said that everyone in this room is special and has special talents and qualities,’ Eldred recounted.
‘And do you believe that, Eldred?’ asked Mrs Garcia.
‘Yes,’ said Eldred.
‘Then I'm sure you will be able to tell us about them, won't you?’ she said.
Eldred hesitated.
‘I see,’ said Mrs Garcia. ‘You don't really believe it. You think nobody has any talents except Eldred Jones.’
Jilly Martin's face bore an expression of acute anxiety and distress. Mrs Garcia grew more irritated. Mixed ability teaching was all very well but there should be limits. Putting children like Jilly and Eldred into one group, even for a day or two, was ludicrous. What was she expected to teach them? What on earth could such extremes of the national average have in common with one another? Having Eldred in her class was bad enough - out of his age group and often, she felt, out of her control - but Jilly! If the parents were unfortunate enough to have produced a child who was so slow witted that she gazed in incomprehension at the simplest remark, at least they could have had the good sense to have her adenoids operated on so that she would close her mouth while she gazed.
‘No,’ said Eldred. ‘That's not it.’
He wriggled in his seat. Jilly exchanged glances with him. Her eyes were brimming with tears. Matthew Evans looked at Eldred and mimed an enormous yawn. Eldred giggled and Jilly's anxiety lifted. She giggled too. Mrs Garcia felt the class was ganging up on her. The only way she knew how to nip that in the bud was to single out one child and make an example of him or her. It obviously wouldn't be fair to single out Jilly, so she chose Eldred.
‘As you find this funny, Eldred, you can come and stand out here until you can tell me one talent belonging to a child in this class apart from yourself.’
Eldred's brow cleared. ‘Oh,’ he said. 'I can do that. I thought you wanted me to say everybody's.’
‘You mean to say you couldn't?’ said Mrs Garcia with heavy sarcasm.
‘I would have had to think about it,’ said Eldred seriously, ‘and it could have taken rather a long time.’
Mrs Garcia could never be sure, at such times, whether Eldred was taking the mickey. She could, of course, put him to the test by making him go through every child in the class, systematically naming each one's strong points but if she called his bluff and Eldred was able to do this, she would have let him show her up.
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Garcia firmly. ‘It certainly would not take all that long to name each child's good points, Eldred, but in fact all I am asking you to do is name one, apart from your own, to prove my statement that no child is more special than any other.’
‘Danny Goldberg is conker champion,’ said Eldred.
The class cheered. Danny Goldberg stood up and clenched his hands above his head in a victory salute.
‘Hardly a matter of great significance,’ said Mrs Garcia, as Eldred moved to go back to his seat. ‘Now it's quite clear, Eldred, that you do not listen to me, because you rushed to answer then before I had told you which child's special gifts I wished you to name.’
Tension emanated from Mrs Garcia in small staccato bursts, communicating itself to the children. The bolder ones smothered laughter behind cupped hands and kicked each other's legs under the desks; the more sensitive ones quivered. Little Jilly Martin with the ever-open mouth and ever-drooping socks on skinny legs, quivered more than all the rest. She dreaded trouble in class even more than she dreaded going home and being asked, ‘What did you learn at school today?’
‘Jilly,’ said Mrs Garcia ruthlessly.
Jilly jumped. ‘What?’ Her lower lip trembled.
‘Eldred will tell the class Jilly's talents,’ Mrs Garcia said.
‘That's not fair,’ said Matthew Evans.
‘Thank you, Matthew,’ said Mrs Garcia. ‘When I need your opinion I will ask for it.’
‘Please Miss,’ said Danny Goldberg, ‘Jilly's educationally subnormal, her mum told my mum, and it means she doesn't have talents so it's not fair to make her the example.’
‘It certainly does not mean she does not have talents,’ said Mrs Garcia, ‘and I am the last person in this class who would make an example of Jilly. So, Eldred, we're all waiting. Stop fidgeting and speak up so everyone can hear you.’
Eldred moved over to Jilly's desk and took her hand. He waited. Mrs Garcia folded her arms and pursed her mouth. The ticking of the clock on her desk was audible.
‘Ah-huh,’ said Mrs Garcia, satisfied.
‘Jilly has a gift for sensing atmospheres,’ said Eldred, coming out of his reverie and speaking rapidly and without expression, like someone reading from an autocue, ‘which is why she is shaking so much at present. She also has the gift of sympathy for anyone who is down, and the gift of accepting people as they are.
‘Jilly doesn't put up any defences to protect herself and shut people out but lets everyone affect her. She has a gift of gentleness and doesn't ever want to hurt anyone; she would rather get hurt herself than hurt anyone else. She loves everyone even when they're not nice to her. She understands love. If someone talks to her without love, she doesn't understand what they're talking about, but if they talk to her with love, she understands everything. This probably means that she has perfect understanding.’
There was a brief silence, then Matthew said wonderingly, ‘Yeah, that's right,’ and Sunil added, ‘Right on, Jilly!’
Jilly smiled, a wide open-mouthed smile, her eyes bright.
‘Sit down, thank you, Eldred,’ said Mrs Garcia. ‘Now perhaps we can get on. We've wasted enough time for one morning. Come in!’ she shouted, unnecessarily loudly, as there was a knock at the door.
One of the high school girls entered. ‘Mrs Garcia, the Head says Eldred Jones is to come and join Mr Austin's class for the next double lesson of computer studies.’
The children gasped. Eldred sighed heavily.
‘Quiet, class,’ said Mrs Garcia authoritatively. ‘Eldred, go quickly, please. Stop fiddling about with pens; you won't need anything.’
‘Do I have to go?’ Eldred appealed.
Mrs Garcia raised one eyebrow. ‘If the Head says you go, you go, boy.’
Eldred left the other children muttering among themselv
es. Amazement and envy mingled in their reactions. Only Jilly Martin sat looking at the door through which Eldred had gone, with sadness in her brown eyes.