The MacKenzie Days

by Harrison Kim

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

The other parents were friendly at first. When the school year began, Danny’s mom, Monika, the school’s director, hosted Hugh and me for dinner.

“Always keep your fork on the left side of your plate,” said Monika. “That’s our Austrian tradition.”

She brought me over some hand-knitted socks. “This’ll help out in our frigid winter,” she smiled.

However, after a while she only invited Hugh to dinner. He brought back more socks.

“Monika doesn’t like the way you’re teaching Science,” said Hugh. “The kids spend all their time building a volcano out of chicken wire.”

“That’s they way they taught me in University,” I said. “Let the student lead. Besides that, isn’t this supposed to be an alternative school?”

“She also says you’re picking on Danny,” said Hugh. “And I must ask, where does ‘alternative’ end?”

“The volcano is almost ready for blast-off,” I said. “Everyone will have to write an observational report.”

Brodie and Leo stood the four-foot high papier mâché and wire structure on its sheet metal pedestal in the church parking lot and poured sulphur, baking powder, and other ingredients into the hole at its top.

“I’ll light it,” said Brodie.

Nicole giggled. “Guys always want to light stuff,” she said.

“Let’s throw some gas on first,” Danny suggested.

“Gasoline is not a volcanic ingredient,” I told him.

“You’re always against me!” Danny protested.

“Well, I have to set limits,” I explained, though according to the University profs’ philosophy, maybe I should have let him pour some on, just to let him find out how fumes exploded.

The volcano fired well anyway. Several students poked it with a stick, and it flopped over, billowing black and grey smoke like the pulp mill chimney.

“Observe carefully,” I said, “how the magma bubbles to the surface.”

Leo was taking copious notes. “I hope no one’s going to call the fire department,” he said, staring up at the rising plume. “That’s a lot of volcanic activity.”

Father Jim came running out of the church. “Put that out!” he yelled. “I didn’t know it was going to be an inferno.”

“It’s fine,” I said, running for the garden hose. “The kids are going to write a full report.”

I assigned them to extrapolate creatively about the volcanic experience, and to use poetry to explain how the volcano disintegrated over time.

“I’ve never had a teacher like you,” said Brodie. “My mom says a lot of the parents are talking about Mister Kim.”

Leo approached me a few days later. “There’s a rumour going around,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Well, the rumour is you carry cocaine in your suitcase.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Always say ‘no’ to drugs.”

“Didn’t you travel to Prince George last weekend?” he asked.

I’d hitch-hiked the hundred miles south to a fiddle concert, a getaway from the routine and the pulp mill stench.

“I picked up some sulphur for the volcano,” I told him. “That’s yellow, not white. Besides, I only make two hundred dollars a month.”

“It’s only a rumour,” he shrugged. “Are you into some more Dungeons and Dragons tonight? Walter’s looking forward to it.”

“Sure am,” I said.

The next day, the students played soccer.

Wes tore down the field past Danny, who tripped over the ball and fell on his pimply chin.

Nicole started laughing.

“You a**hole! You tripped me!” Danny screamed, and ran full tilt at Wes, pummelling blows at his head.

I grabbed Danny from behind and held him under his shoulders in what I thought was a half-nelson, as per Father Jim’s advice. The kid bucked and flailed and I let him go.

“You can’t be hitting people like that!” I said, rubbing my jaw where he’d caught me a good one.

We all headed back to the church basement school. I told Father Jim I had to put Danny in a nelson hold.

“Wow, I didn’t think you would take me so seriously,” he said.

Nicole piped up. “It was a full-nelson that Teacher Harrison put Danny in, not a half-one.”

She’d obviously been watching a lot of TV wrestling. “That’s an unsafe hold,” she concluded.

“I was freaking out, sure,” said Danny. “But he didn’t have to freak out, too.”

“Let’s all calm down here,” said Father Jim. “I have to get ready to teach religion class.”

I jogged back to the teacher residence and lifted Hugh’s guitar out of its stand, started thrashing away at Black Sabbath’s song “Paranoid.”

“Hey, what are you doing?” Hugh stood in the doorway holding yet another pair of Monika’s fresh hand-knitted socks. He’d been home studying, and I was in such a hurry for musical sustenance I didn’t check carefully to see he wasn’t around.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I had a terrible guitar urge.”

I jumped up and tossed him the instrument. He quickly caught it and began rubbing the body down with one of the socks.

“I told you not to use the Larrivee without my permission,” he said, holding the body up to the light and examining for scratches. “You’re moving around like you had six coffees. Are you sure you’re not on cocaine?”

“Not at two hundred dollars a month wages,” I answered. “I must go for a long run.” I pointed out the window at my hammock, still up despite the cool weather. “You can use my stuff anytime.”

I hiked down to the lake and stared across the tree-choked bay to the pulp mill’s bulk on the other side. A stiff wind blew across the water. I loped along the side of the lake as yellow-white foam collected on the half-submerged branches..

I’d been on some intriguing Dungeons and Dragons quests with Leo and Walter, and the scene reminded me of our imaginary journey with the game. There were always obstacles and enemies to overcome.

“What’s under the surface often comes up,” I thought, looking at the froth-covered water.

I loped up and down the lakeshore, observing the different colours of algae, watching for bones from the flooded graveyards that Leo told me about. It took several hours to wear myself out.

The next day Brodie approached me with a camera. “A photo for the school annual,” he stated. “We don’t want to forget you.”

“The school year’s barely two months old,” I said.

“Hey,” Brodie asked, “how are you going to top that volcano stunt? The fire department wants to know.”

I sensed something was up. That afternoon I went to see Father Jim.

“I can’t deal with Danny any more,” I told him. “I can’t live on two hundred dollars a month, I feel guilty Hugh’s buying all the food, and I can’t sleep at night from all the stress.”

“That’s quite a coincidence,” said Jim.

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“We’ve already hired a replacement teacher,” he said. “A substitute from the regular high school.”

“I see,” I said. “When were you going to break the news to me?”

“Pretty much today,” said Father Jim.

I looked at his desk. On it was the draft of a school annual, with my name beneath a blank picture frame and a caption that read “Temporary teacher Harrison Kim brought some new education methods to our school.”

Jim gave me a grim look. “We’re putting this together for posterity.”

“My time in this town was like part of a Dungeons and Dragons quest,” I said. “The dice I throw over the next few months will determine whether I reach my goal,”

“What is your goal?” he asked.

“I’d like to earn at least two thousand dollars a month,” I stated.

“You made a big difference for Leo,” the Priest told me. “He was such a shy fellow at the beginning. Now he’s really coming into his own.”

“Not so much with Danny though,” I said.

“His mom is not happy with you at all,” Father Jim said. “She says Danny went out last night with a can of gas and lit a big fire by the lake.”

“Well, he did learn something about volcanoes,” I told the priest.

“By the way,” Jim added, “what do you carry in your suitcase?”

I opened it up right there, like I was at customs. “See,” I said, “no drugs.”

He chuckled, we shook hands. Jim’s big paw crushed mine. “Remember, be confident,” he said. “Speak in an assertive tone.”

Hugh seemed happy I was leaving, too. “You can get a job tree planting like your friend Maurice and buy your own guitar,” he smiled and gave me a few free flat picks.

“Maurice is working in a salad factory over the winter,” I told him. “He’s on the lettuce mix assembly line.”

I shoved a couple of socks into my pack and looked through the window. “Snow’s falling,” I said. I went outside and folded up my hammock.

When I arrived back in Vancouver, I looked up Maurice.

“Yes, the salad people are hiring,” he told me. “I’ll give you a great reference.”

By this time, It was too cold to sleep on the side of the mountain. I stayed in Maurice’s broken-down van, using propane canisters for heat, until I rustled up enough money to rent a cheap room.

Leo wrote me a letter: “I hope you succeed in your employment quest,” he said. “We don’t have a Spanish teacher now, but I’m learning by correspondence. Walter misses your wizardly skills at D and D.”

I worked at various jobs: the salad line, a janitor, a tour guide. After six months, I found an education position in a niche area that fit my exact needs: teacher at the Forensic Psychiatric Institute, the hospital for the criminally insane. I worked there for thirty years. It was a slam dunk compared to my time in MacKenzie. The Institute guards did the limits and boundaries work. I never had to put any Nelsons, half or full, on anyone, and I didn’t need to snort cocaine to get assertive, not that I ever used the stuff.

Today I can still clearly visualize the tree crusher at MacKenzie’s entrance, the lake’s foam-covered branches, and young Leo telling me of the bones lifting up from underneath. I hope he quested free from that place also, played his game right, walked away with his brown suitcase and imagination intact.

I threw my suitcase on a summer bonfire twenty-nine years ago, lit that fire with the instructions on how to make a papier-mâché volcano.