Ciaran McLarnon is a writer from Ballymena, Northern Ireland. He has several short stories published and twice been finalist for the Adelaide literary award and was most recently published in Rundelania, with the short story ‘Whistling through the Trees’. He has written a novel, ‘New Shores’, published by Atmosphere Place. For further information visit http://www.ciaranjmclarnon.blog.

A Lesson Uncovered

By Ciaran McLarnon

Evelyn Gaylord Kant struggled as a teacher. He’d never had much time for children and never put too much effort into controlling a classroom. He was arrogant, he considered himself to be the smartest person in most rooms he entered, and treated his pupils as if they were idiots not worthy of his time. His pupils lived in fear of the next homework he set, knowing that it would leave them scratching their heads and looking at each other for inspiration.

He seemed to relish those chances to mock his pupils, ‘this work is easy,’ he would say, ‘not something we’ve covered, but you’ve done similar. Anyone good at Maths should be able to do it in a few hours.’ Then he would place his thick-framed, black glasses on top of the stack of papers. He’d lean back in his chair, always smiling at his own cleverness.

In spite of his complete incompetence, E.G’s disciplinary record was excellent. He relied on being nice more than being an adept educator – he was always ready to supervise lunch, or to fill in for another teacher in an emergency, whenever a dependable overseer was required for detention he was sure to be the first to put his name forward. He was almost as smart as he thought he was too, but that kind of person who makes everyone around them feel stupid. Having a PhD doesn’t make someone a good teacher, and the staff were starting to feel the strain of supporting E.G. in the position he wasn’t quite right for.

St.Agnes’s college is an old school, over 150 years old. The original grey stone mansion was a stark and imposing, but a century and a half of hurried expansion to meet the needs of expanding student body had left the building confused and rambling, much like E.G.’s lessons. The various extensions, all constructed in the style that was fashionable at the time, were all referred by the staff according to the relevant era. The police officers were off to the 1920s, to a staff room found down a marbled hallway ed with a parquet floor constructed in a herringbone style, perhaps originally brown, but after so many years of fastidious varnishing it was difficult to be certain.

An institution as old as St. Agnes’s is bound to have picked up a few traditions. The tradition of staff members playing tricks on each other started with the very first educators. Over time the tricks had to become more elaborate to stay believable.

The police wrapped loudly on the door, the members of staff within immediately looked other searching for who was to blame – knocking that loud had to mean trouble for someone. A History teacher, Mr. Cunningham, answered the door.

‘Hello?’

The two uniformed police officers pointed to the gleaming badges fixed to their chests, ‘I’m Constable Reede and this is Constable Foster. We’d like to speak to Evelyn Gaylord Kant.’

‘E.G.? Are you sure?’

The shoulders of many of the teachers shook with laughter, as did Mr. Cunningham’s.

‘We just need to ask him a few questions, if you can get him for us.’

‘Of course,’ replied Mr. Cunningham, ‘he was just in the smoking hut. I’m sure someone will go outside and find someone to fetch him for you.’

Miss Kent volunteered, a fellow maths teacher and one of the few who discouraged the prank on E.G. There was a rumour among the children that Kant and Kent were an item. E.G. quashed the rumour as soon as heard it, declaring to all his pupils that he loved only Maths. She returned to in her armless lounge chair as other staff members crowded around the staff room door; jostling for the best eavesdropping position as the police had a word with E.G.

‘We’ve had a number of complaints regarding your conduct towards your pupils, Mr. Kant,’ said Officer Reede.

‘Oh really?’ E.G. looked towards the closed door behind him, ‘I think I can explain what happened.’

Both officers smiled and nodded, ‘we’re sure that it is nothing more than few anxious parents listening to childish exaggerations, but we have procedures to follow, such as searching your address. We can get a warrant, but if we had your consent things could be dealt with right away. I’m sure you would prefer that.’

E.G. saw the twinkle in Officer Reede’s eye and swallowed hard, ‘well, how can I say no?’

The teachers listening behind the staffroom door took deep, audible breaths; this wasn’t what they wanted. Ms Palmer-Lynch, the Science teacher, puffed out her cheeks as she announced, ‘the police are taking this report much more seriously than I expected. I thought E.G. would just get a slap on the wrist, enough to remind him to take his job more seriously.’

‘I’m sure this is stressful for you, Mr Kant,’ continued Officer Reede, ‘but we’ll try not to take up too much of your time, and if you could provide us with a sworn statement that would help to speed things along too. Do you have time to accompany us to the station now? We can wait if you want to make arrangements for the rest of today.’

‘Have I done something wrong?’ Asked E.G. ‘Do I need a solicitor?’

‘We can answer your questions at the station.’

The staff scattered as they heard footsteps coming towards the door. When E.G. returned, all of the staff taking a break were purposefully doing something else; everyone suddenly realised they had marking to do, or suddenly to ask of another about an upcoming. But they feigned surprise when their beloved colleague returned.

‘Is everything okay?’ Asked Miss Kent, ‘Why did the police want to talk to you?’

‘They didn’t say exactly,’ Said E.G. ‘But it can’t be anything serious. I just need to pop down to their station. Could you cover my next class? I should be back for the rest.’

E.G. walked outside, tapping his index finger against his lower lip as if he was deciding what to get from the vending machine. In that area was a shelter hidden by a bush where staff could smoke, unseen by pupils. The area also had a wide ramp for disabled access. The whole area was enclosed by a white, metal railing the height of E.G.’s stomach; a railing he looked over as he looked down over a gentle grass verge and towards the school entrance. He’d have to go with the police as soon as he left. His time was coming end, he had many more lives still left to mould.

He wasn’t sure how to act as he was escorted by the officers to what could be the end of his career. Should he come clean? Should he wait to see what the police found or should his statement be a confession?’

‘So, is this normal for you?’ He asked the officers with an arm on each shoulder.

‘You mean taking preliminary statements?’ Constable Reede considered her answer for a moment, ‘yeah, it’s quite normal; we have to be cost conscious and it really helps us meet those efficiency targets.’

‘Do you ever think that maybe criminal investigations shouldn’t aim to be fast investigations? Maybe courts would even work faster if they were more confident in their decisions.’

‘It can be complicated to do things formally, we might have a shorter investigation if we don’t have to. But…’ the Constable turned to look directly at E.G. ‘we always get the right person, however long the investigation takes.’

‘Why are you looking at me? I’m completely innocent, I’m just trying to be helpful.’

‘I’ve heard people say that the guilty always run,’ replied Constable Reede, ‘I’ve always thought the opposite myself.’

‘I’m not hiding anything, I just wouldn’t trust anyone else to clear my name.’

‘Great, your statement will be the end of it.’

The corridor was too long for E.G. It was usually too short, when he wanted to clip a few minutes off his lessons; but today he wanted to think for time than the length of the journey.. He had to get to his house before the police began their search, or give them a reason to not search.

They passed the windows where an icy breeze streamed in with the sunlight, air that mingled with that wafting up from the too-hot-to-touch radiators to create a pleasant temperature across the lime-green linoleum of the 1970s. I don’t need to get to the house, thought E.G., I just need to delay the police. I need to create a diversion, one big enough to make the police change their priorities.

All too soon the river of spotless linoleum and gleaming varnish had emptied into the entrance hallway. The double doors at the entrance/exit were drawing near. I have to try, thought E.G.

The hall was empty as all the pupils were meant to be in class, and E.G. bent down to tie the laces on his shoes. The two constables had continued into the carpark before they realised they had left their suspect lagging a few metres behind, brandishing a standing lamp from the waiting area. He waved to the officers he barred the doors with the standing lamp, then the shutters came down. The officers won’t be going anywhere, thought E.G., but it won’t be enough change plans. E.G. ran back through the 1970s and to the 1920s. The few people he encountered looked confused and suspicious, wondering what had inspired a man who was clearly a teacher to such an energetic display on a school day.

E.G. returned to the teacher’s lounge; he slammed the flimsy pine door behind him, twisting the lock. This the surprise on the faces of the staff were genuine, E.G. had never looked so alive, he’d never looked so deranged. Before the staff had another moment to think he grabbed Miss Kent by the shoulders, pulling her up from her armless lounge chair.

‘E.G., what are you doing?’ She said, ‘I’ll be late for the class I’m covering for you!’

Slowly, the other teachers were encroaching on his space; he needed to to move quickly or else they would. ‘Stay back!’ Screamed E.G., his eyes darting from left to right as he looked for anything he could use for a weapon. He grabbed a fork from a draining board beside the sink no one used, and held the prongs to Miss Kent’s throat.

‘I’m sorry, Karen,’ said E.G., ‘this bigger than a few classes now.’

The other teachers began to move away as E.G. pulled Karen towards him and raised the prongs to her neck. Only Mr Cunningham stayed motionless, aside from raising his empty palms towards E.G.

‘Be calm, and tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I can’t have the police searching my house! Anything, absolutely anything, would be better.’

‘Oh come on, it can’t be as bad as all that.’

‘You don’t know what they could get me on,’ E.G. laughed, ‘I almost wish it was hitting a few kids.’

‘You don’t mean that. But okay, I’ll help you out.’

‘You can help me out by going outside. Then go to the cops in the car park, tell them where Miss Kent and I are. I’ll be watching from the window. Don’t mess around, Karen’s life depends on it.’

‘You won’t hurt me,’ Karen said to E.G., ‘you couldn’t.’

‘I could, I’ve done similar. But you’re right, if things happen as they should I stay calm.’

All the people from the staff room had moved to the parking area. The Music teacher, Barry Horne, was embroiled in a deep conversation with the police, ‘I might be able to explain how everything got like this. It was just a joke; most of the staff got the same when they’ve been here about three years. Well, maybe not quite the same. So anyway, we phoned you up, me and some other teachers. We all made the same complaint, figuring you’d need to do something. We just wanted to give him a bit of a fright. It was meant to be harmless fun, not a hostage situation!’

‘Wasting police time is a serious matter,’ Sargent Walsh had arrived to take control of the situation, ‘but I’m sure you realise that. Do you know anything that could help explain his behaviour?’

‘Sorry, but I don’t think I do. To me and most of the staff he doesn’t say very much- he isn’t interested in anything anyone had to say unless it was about mathematics, and maybe sometimes he would talk about teaching. He did once say that basic mathematics was a life skill no-one should be allowed to live without.’

‘Shouldn’t be allowed to live?’

‘His words, not mine,’ replied Barry.

‘We need to get that place searched straight away,’ said Sergeant Walsh, ’to find out what this guy is up to, or at least to find what we can speak to him about.’

‘It’s all Maths with E.G.,’ said Barry, ‘all Maths. That guy doesn’t care about anything else.’

‘I keep a journal,’ E.G. explained to Miss Kent, ‘nothing I do can make things worse for me than what will happen after they find that book.’

‘Are you sure? I think you worry too much sometimes.’

‘I put all my thoughts and all things I’ve done in the book! And they’ll be able to get into my computer too. If they have a look at my browser history, and the files are on my hard drive.’

Miss Kent wrinkled her forehead. A.G. still held her by the throat and was gripping hard, she really didn’t have any other way show concern, ‘what kind of files? Pornography? A lot of people watch porn these days, it’s nothing to be worried about.’

E.G. laughed, ‘if that was all there was, I wouldn’t be worried. But I also have files on how to make poisons, explosives, and all kinds of weapons. And one of the forums I use might raise eyebrows. It’s called numbers matter; it’s a place where people can share ideas on how to act against falling numeracy standards.’

‘Thats not so bad. The police can’t hold it against you for being a little concerned about something like that, especially as you’re a mathematics teacher.’

‘It just makes me so mad when people allow computers to make all the calculations for them, that’s the kind of thing I put in the journal. And where I write about killing all the people who are happy to go through life without even basic Maths qualifications; they are the ones who should be vilified by society. I’m just trying to protect us from a future where people no longer regard mathematics as a valuable skill set.’

‘I don’t think too many people will see it like that. And you, E.G., what have you done to yourself? I’ll do my best to help you in this, but need to promise to make changes. Forget everything you read on that website.’ It didn’t take Karen long to persuade E.G. to remove the fork from her throat, ‘finally I can breathe again,’ she said, rubbing the red mark the prongs had left on her throat, ‘I’d had enough of sounding like a duck with a limitless supply of helium.’ At that moment, a very tough-looking mobile phone handset crashed through a window to the outside and bounced to a stop on the staff room floor.

He picked up the phone as it began to ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Am I speaking to Evelyn Kant?’

‘You are.’

‘Good evening, Mr. Kant, I’m Sergeant Jane Walsh of the Northbrook Constabulary. We find ourselves in a very serious situation this evening, and the Constabulary would like to bring this matter to a peaceful conclusion. What can we do to help?’

‘Have you searched my house?’ Asked E.G.

‘Yes, Mr. Kant, and I think I understand why you created this situation. We found the journal.

‘I want a solicitor.’

‘We anticipated that; one has already been called.’

‘I’ll go quietly, you have my word that Karen won’t be harmed; but I have some demands. First, I want to surrender myself, I don’t want to see a S.W.A.T. team. I hand myself to one officer on your side of the car-park.’

‘It might be tricky for a dangerous criminal, but I should be able to do it.’

E.G. laughed, ‘if you want a peaceful end, make it happen.’

The officer paused for a moment, ‘okay. Anything else?’

‘I want to make a statement, on national T.V.’

The officer paused for a moment, ‘okay.’

’19 is a prime number, indivisible and undeniable. In time you will hear of the 19 people I killed, an undeniable number. I devoted my life to studying numbers and championing their importance. 20 years ago, the vital importance of numeracy was undeniable, it had been a cornerstone of our civilisation for 10,000 years. It pains me to see numeracy, once so hard fought for, cast aside and delegated where it was once revered and cherished. My crimes were great and I now realise I must atone for my mistakes, but I believe in Mathematics. I believe that ignorance of it makes our society weak, and all in society should carry a part of that knowledge. Those 19 held no knowledge, but I know I should’ve given them knowledge rather than taken life.’

E.G. knelt on the tarmac of the car park as Miss Kent was ushered into a waiting ambulance. The circle of officers with bulletproof vests and assault rifles tightened around him as one moved forward to help him to his feet, ‘thank god you’re so quick, the pain of kneeling was almost unbearable!’

All the students watched him as he walked past, hatred in their eyes. School had ended hours ago, but they’d been detained until everything reached the conclusion he demanded.

THE END