“Everyone,” apparently, did not include Hank Lowery and his parents, or Joey Mayer and Tim Connelly and their parents. Ben Livingstone’s father, however, was there. He was a tall, balding man dressed in a blue blazer and gray pants; he wore a bulky Rolex.
Pinak and his father and Manetti and his father were there, too, sitting in a row of chairs along the left wall. Dr. Chander was dressed impeccably, as always, in a dark blue suit. Manetti’s father had a suit on, too, a black one, but it was too small, and he looked uncomfortable in it.
Mom, Margaret, and I sat in three chairs across from them. Father Thomas looked at all the adults in turn and introduced them for the benefit of the others. When he got to Livingstone’s father, he said, “Cal Livingstone is the attorney representing the Lowery family and the estate of the late General Lowery. He is also a member of the board of directors of All Souls Preparatory School.”
I watched the adults glance at each other and then quickly look away. Mom’s face showed surprise, even confusion. She leaned toward Father Thomas and asked him quietly, “Aren’t the others coming?”
Father Thomas thought for a moment. “The others? Oh, the other students? No, they have already been here. Some of the families had scheduling conflicts, so I decided to meet with you in shifts. Mr. Connelly brought Timothy, and Mr. Livingstone brought Ben, Joseph Mayer, and Hank Lowery in at noon.” He turned to Mr. Livingstone. “Did the boys all get a ride home?”
Cal Livingstone answered, “Yes, with Russ Mayer. I think he was dropping them at the mall.”
Mom sat back, blinking, clearly not satisfied with the answer.
Then Father Thomas began to, as he put it, “run down the facts and the repair costs.”
Cal Livingstone immediately raised his hand. “The Lowery family is willing to absorb the repair costs. The family is more concerned about the dedication timeline. They have been waiting a long time for the General to be acknowledged by his school, and by his country.”
Father Thomas assured him, “We’re still on schedule for New Year’s Day. The major construction phase of the Heroes’ Walk is now over. And that brings us to the reason for today’s meetings—the student vandalism at that site.”
Father Thomas held up a blue file. “We have collected statements from all of the pertinent parties.” He looked at Pinak, Manetti, and me. “As I did with the previous group of boys, I’d like you three to step outside now and take a seat by the Rembrandts. I’ll go over the facts with your parents and render my final decision. Then I’ll call you back in.”
Dr. Chander pointed Pinak toward the door. Pinak walked out quickly. Manetti’s father nodded at him, and he exited, too. I got up on my own and followed them both out the door, around the corner, and down to the plastic chairs.
Pinak sat on the right, facing a ghostly painting of a dead man climbing out of his coffin: Rembrandt’s Raising of Lazarus.
I sat facing Abraham and Isaac, the painting of the boy about to be stabbed to death by the crazy old man. The old man looked all too familiar.
Manetti remained standing.
Pinak soon spoke to me. “I don’t feel like one of the pertinent parties. How about you?”
I didn’t answer, so Manetti did. “I don’t even know what ‘pertinent’ means.”
“No. But miraculously, you know what ‘undulate’ means?”
“Hell yeah. That’s a very studly word. I’m surprised you know it.”
“I am surprised you could spell it. Amazed, really. You must have had a dictionary on your lap.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna have on my lap, Pinak. Tomorrow, at the mall. Two of ’em.”
“Please don’t. Please stop.”
Manetti laughed and looked around. His attention turned to the painting over Pinak’s head. “Look at that knife, man! What’s that crazy old dude doing?”
Pinak answered, “He is sacrificing his son to God.”
“Yow. That is cold.”
“But see how the angel has stopped him, at the last minute. It turned out it was just a test.”
Manetti touched the paint on the canvas. “Are these things real? I mean, are they by Rembrandt?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Pinak scoffed. “All Souls Prep can barely pay its bills. They could never afford to own real Rembrandts. They are cheap copies, in cheap frames.”
Manetti turned and pointed at the huge historical paintings in the entranceway. “So what about them?”
“Those are two paintings by Emmanuel Leutze: Washington Crossing the Delaware and Westward the Course of Empire Takes Its Way. No, they are not the originals. Now, please do not embarrass yourself by asking me about the van Goghs.”
“Hey. I know they’re not real.”
“Right. You do now.”
Manetti looked at the array of art pieces and laughed. “It’s like Father Thomas and Father Leonard went out one day to some art flea market and said, ‘Okay. Give us two of everything.’ ”
Pinak actually agreed with him. “Their obsession with symmetry does seem odd. Perhaps it is because they are twins.”
We stayed quiet for a minute after that. I listened to the sound of low, indistinguishable voices on the other side of the wall. Manetti, ever brazen, decided to creep to the door and press his ear to it. As he did, Pinak leaned forward and whispered to me, “I think it is pertinent that Father Thomas said all new construction is over. Don’t you?” When I didn’t reply, he drew the conclusion for me. “I think that means they don’t need Manetti Construction around here anymore.” After a long pause he added, “Martin, are you all right? You look very pale.”
I was not all right. As he was speaking, I had found myself staring at Abraham and Isaac. I had become absolutely transfixed by the boy in the painting. His father had brought him there to kill him. And then the angel had intervened to stop it. Still . . . how could he ever forgive his father for that?
Suddenly we heard a loud, sharp “What?” through the wall. It was spoken by Manetti’s father. Manetti hurried back to join us.
A few seconds later, Manetti’s father threw open the door and looked around. He pointed at his son and said tightly, “Let’s go.”
Father Thomas, in the doorway, told him gently, “You can, of course, appeal this decision.”
“Yeah? To who?”
“To the board of directors.”
Mr. Manetti pointed back inside the office. “To him and his buddies?”
“No. Mr. Livingstone is only one member of a five-member board. They are all independent members, I assure you. They will give you a fair hearing.”
Mr. Manetti put one hand on his son’s shoulder and stood motionless. He sounded more embarrassed than angry when he finally said, “All right. I’ll think about that.” Then he led his son out the door.
Father Thomas pointed to Pinak and me. “You two can come back in now. The matter is settled.”
We took the same seats we had recently vacated. None of the adults looked particularly happy about what had just happened. Father Thomas summarized for us. “The students’ statements, and the eyewitness account by Father Leonard, and common sense all lay the blame in one place—on the boy who actually threw the rock that caused the damage. The final result of this investigation, then, is that young Mr. Manetti has been expelled from All Souls Preparatory School. I suggest we all leave this unfortunate incident behind us now and move on. Are we agreed?”
Pinak whispered something to his father. Dr. Chander spoke up. “Before I agree, I would like to ask you about the discrepancies between Pinak’s statement and the Lowery boy’s statement.”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“How did you reconcile these two different views of the same incident?”
“Well, they did disagree on the events leading up to the incident, but they did not disagree on the incident itself, that is, the rock-throwing that damaged the pedestal. I guess I am inclined to let the boys disagree on the peripheral facts as long as they agree on the basic
facts.”
Pinak whispered to his father again, and Dr. Chander asked, “Wouldn’t someone who lied about the peripheral facts also lie about the basic facts?”
“Yes, Doctor, that is an excellent point. That’s why I am thankful that we have these other statements to go on.” He picked up the blue file for emphasis. This caused an envelope to slip out of it and fall at Mom’s feet. We both stared at the handwriting on the envelope. It was Mom’s, just as she had addressed it on the last day of school.
Mom picked it up and examined it closely. She asked, “Why is this envelope still sealed?”
Father Thomas reached over and took it back, assuring her, “Because I remembered Martin’s verbal statement so clearly. This written version was just a formality. A backup, if you will.”
Pinak looked at me and slowly raised his eyebrows.
Dr. Chander took Pinak’s arm, stood up, and led him toward the door. He told Father Thomas pointedly, “My son and I must be going now. I rearranged my schedule for this meeting, Father. Unlike some others. I agree that you should punish the boy who threw the stone. Perhaps not so severely? But I would also look into punishing the boys who lied to you, whoever they are. Good day.”
Father Thomas took a step toward the door with them; he answered grimly, “Good day, Doctor. Thank you.” Then he turned back to us. “Perhaps the punishment today was so severe because the implications of this vandalism were so severe.”
No one disagreed, so he continued. “The Heroes’ Walk is the biggest construction project at All Souls since the Lowery Library went up twenty years ago. As such, it has implications beyond a mere construction project. We all hope that the dedication of the statue of General Lowery will be part of a larger, national tribute to our distinguished alumnus.”
He broke off and looked directly at Margaret. “We have received word that a major encyclopedia is about to include General Lowery in its new entries. Let us hope that this inspires other reference books to do the same. And I am delighted to report that another distinguished All Souls alumnus—I should say ‘alumna’—is actually working on this important entry. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”
Margaret seemed caught off guard. She answered, “Yes. That’s right.”
Father Thomas was speaking to Margaret, but he was looking at Cal Livingstone. “And your grandfather, Martin Mehan, is another great friend of All Souls Preparatory School, having taught history here for three years following his retirement from the government service.” He smiled kindly at Mom. “Martin Mehan served with General Lowery in London, did he not?”
Mom answered. “He did. With Ambassador Kennedy, too.”
Cal Livingstone spoke up. “Perhaps Mr. Mehan left memoirs or other papers that could shed more light on General Lowery’s contributions to the war effort.”
Mom said, “I believe my father did mention him. Didn’t he, Margaret?”
Margaret clearly was not pleased to be in this conversation. She answered, “There were one or two mentions of the General.”
Cal Livingstone smiled at Margaret. “That is interesting. I was not aware of that. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“No.”
He stood up and approached her. “My understanding is that you work for the Millennium Encyclopedia. Is that correct?” “
It is.”
“That is the encyclopedia owned by the Wissler family?”
“That’s right.”
“You see, my concern, and the Lowery family’s concern, is that General Lowery not become the victim of revisionist history. Are you aware of that term?”
“Of course.”
Livingstone explained it anyway. “Revisionist history is when the facts of the past get distorted to further someone’s agenda in the present. Stalin rewrote the Soviet history books to remove all mention of people he didn’t like.” He looked back at Margaret. “We just want to make sure no prejudice like that exists here.”
Margaret gritted her teeth. “Why does the family think there is prejudice against General Lowery?”
“I did not say the family thought that. The family wants to make sure that none exists.”
“But why would it?”
He shrugged theatrically. “Because the world contains prejudiced people.”
Margaret continued coolly, “But who could possibly be prejudiced against a hero of two world wars?”
Cal Livingstone sharpened his tone. “Someone who has never been in a war. Someone like your boss, perhaps; your Mr. Wissler.”
“I see. Well, to my knowledge, no one has ever questioned Mr. Wissler’s objectivity before.”
“And no one is doing so now. I apologize if it seemed that way.”
Margaret’s neck and cheeks flushed pink. Now she knew why Father Thomas had wanted her to come. It was to take a message back to her boss from the Lowery family.
The meeting ended on that note, with everyone staring at the face-off between Cal Livingstone and Margaret. Livingstone smiled tightly at her. Then he shook hands with Father Thomas and walked out the door.
Everyone else got up to leave.
I knew I had to do something or I would be back at that place on Monday, ready to start classes, so I spoke directly to Father Thomas. “I don’t want to go to this school anymore. I hate it here. I want to withdraw. Right now.”
Father Thomas’s brow furrowed.
Mom gasped in shock. “Martin! That is ridiculous.”
But Father Thomas answered patiently, “Nobody wants summer vacation to end, Martin. You’ll feel differently after you see all of your friends.”
“No. No, I won’t. I only had two friends here, and you just kicked one of them out. Kick me out instead!”
Mom held out her hands in supplication. “I . . . I don’t know what to say, Father. I am so sorry. I am so embarrassed.”
Father Thomas reassured her. “Don’t be embarrassed. Remember, we are dealing with children. They are very temperamental, and they wear their emotions on the outside.” He looked at me. “Martin, I know from my own experience, and from my brother’s experience, that one day you will feel differently about All Souls.”
Margaret spoke over my shoulder. “I don’t.”
Father Thomas looked at her, puzzled. “What?”
“I’ve been out for five years and I don’t feel differently. I hated All Souls when I was here, and that feeling hasn’t changed.”
Mom gasped again. “Margaret! That is not true. Why are you saying that?”
Margaret sighed. “Fine. It’s not true. I’m lying. But what can we do for Martin? He’s not coping the way I coped. As far as I can see, he’s not coping, period.”
Mom threw up her hands.
Margaret turned to me. “Tell them what’s going on, Martin. Don’t be afraid to express yourself.”
Buoyed by Margaret, I blurted out, “I don’t know what I’ll do if you make me come back. I might lose it!”
Father Thomas nodded, slowly and deliberately. “I see. All right. Here’s the essential question, Martin: Would you commit an act of vandalism, or an act of violence against another student?”
“I might. I really might. I don’t know.”
Mom was now in tears, so Father Thomas assured her, “Mary, you know how we bend over backwards to help some students. Why wouldn’t we do the same for Martin?” He turned to include me. “Perhaps he should pursue an independent study assignment for now. Would you like that, Martin?”
I didn’t answer.
“Independent study would give you time to resolve some of these personal issues. You would work on your own, at home, but you would also be keeping pace with your classmates. We’ve done this in the past for many students.”
“What would I study?”
He walked over to a high filing cabinet and pulled out a drawer. “You would have choices. You could study a life cycle, such as the life cycle of a certain pond. You would write about the history of the pond, the science of the animals and plants in i
t, and so on.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out two folded-up papers. “Can I study this? Can I study the . . . the science of a radio? A classic Art Deco historical radio?”
Father Thomas took the papers. “Hmm. Let me look these over. If the study is cross-curricular, I don’t see why not. We need to be able to give you credit in science, history, language arts, and reading.”
I pointed at the schema for the Philco 20 Deluxe. “It’s all in there—science, history, art. I can research tons of stuff and write papers, and Mom can shuttle them back and forth.”
“Father Leonard coordinates all of the independent studies. I’ll have to clear it with him, but I think this looks like a workable plan.”
Mom was too stunned to argue, so she quietly agreed. At that point she would have agreed to just about anything to get me out of that office and to keep me, even temporarily, at All Souls.
As we drove home in icy silence, I thought, I’ve done it! I’ve succeeded. I don’t have to start school on Monday, because I’m going to do independent study. I don’t have to face Hank Lowery, because I won’t be at All Souls.
When we turned in to the driveway, I added: Now, if only I didn’t have to fall asleep again and face that boy named Jimmy.
LONDON: SEPTEMBER 8, 1940
I’m going to describe this as best I can, just as it happened.
My first experience with time travel still remains a jumble in my mind. Images and words and sounds kept coming at me very quickly. I was disoriented most of the time.
I had just spent two days in the basement. I was doing a lot of Internet research on the workings of radio, the key to my independent study plan—the key to my avoiding All Souls Prep for as long as possible.
I had been up particularly late on Sunday night. I finally fell asleep in my usual position. I had my head next to the Philco 20 Deluxe. I had my eye on its amber dial. I had my ear tuned to its static hiss.