Injustice and Mr. Rueben
Claire’s eyes burned and turned pink. She sniffed back the tears. Why was she even crying in the first place? She walked through the yard and into the hall, down another and another until she reached the door to a place that the students called Victory Tower. She opened the heavy wooden door with its iron hinges and bolts all still intact from last century. She then ventured up the narrow spiral stairs, a little more anxious with each step. Was her request too great? What would the response be? But before she could clear this in her own mind, Claire was at the top of the staircase and the second door was looming over her. She clasped the iron knocker, shaped like a lions head and slammed it twice against the door. After a moment Claire could hear a shuffle and then a click as the door swung open. There stood a tall woman whom Claire had only seen twice and had never before been introduced to.
“Good Afternoon Headmistress Victory.” Claire said, bowing her head a little.
“It is not yet noon child.” Said Mrs. Victory. She was a long faced, long nosed woman who was pale and plain and snobbish. She acted so authoritative that you would’ve guessed her to be elderly but she was in fact only thirty-seven. Her grey-brown hair was always in a tight bun and her clothing was long and straight and modest without any curves or patterns or hints of fashion. But she wore closed black shoes with high heels making her seem rather like a long pole. Today her grey dressed matched the bags under her eyes.
“I beg your pardon Headmistress Victory, Good Morning.” Claire said with a quivering voice.
“Yes, what do you need?” She then asked as if Claire had kept her waiting. She didn’t bother to ask for a name and she couldn’t possibly know who she was.
“May I please walk to town and use the telephone to call my brother?”
The headmistress looked shocked and insulted for a moment and Claire almost expected to be slapped.
“Is it urgent? Is there some sort of emergency?” She asked.
“No ma’am. It is only that I miss him.” Claire replied frankly.
“Miss him? How old is he?” She asked.
“Twenty ma’am.” Claire said.
“Twenty? You’ll only be pestering him. He is and adult and adults live their own lives.” Mrs. Victory scolded. Claire felt her eyes burning again.
“No Ma’am! It isn’t that way at all with us. My brother and I are very close, he is my dearest friend.” She said desperately.
“Dearest friend! Hogwash! Little girls are friends with other little girls until marriage. I suggest you choose one of your classmates to be your ‘dearest friend.’ It would be proper and much less expensive.”
Claire then bent her head and began to cry.
“You must not have a brother.” Claire said between whimpers.
“Stop that child! If you really must speak to your brother than you may, but you must be back before next period or you’ll be punished. Now go! I am dreadfully busy.”
So Claire didn’t ask anymore questions. She dashed down the stairs and into the classroom hall. She had to find someone else to ask for directions to Hat Shop. She had decided to go back outside when one of the classroom doors opened and out stepped a teacher. He was tall and lean but not lanky and carrying a cardboard box with both arms. He had dark brown hair which rippled over his head and a matching beard. His eyes were storm blue. “Just like my hat.” Claire thought bitterly that night. Claire wasn’t sure if he had seen her yet.
“What’s the matter?” The teacher asked as if Claire were his daughter or some dear niece. He met her gaze as if he had been expecting to see her there. Claire wiped her eye and smiled a small smile.
“Homesickness.” She said softly. “I am going to The Hat Shop to telephone my brother. Could you tell me the way?”
The teacher set down the box he had been carrying. Claire couldn’t help but glance into it. There inside were several odd mechanisms which Claire decided must be some sort of strange musical instruments. She expected Mr. Rueben to ask if she had permission or not.
“What is your name?” He asked. His sympathy was almost too much-she was only a homesick schoolgirl after all.
“Claire Winters.” Claire said.
“Claire Winters eh? What a beautiful name for such a beautiful girl!” Claire blushed. She didn’t exactly consider puffy cry-baby eyes beautiful. “I saw you on my roll. My name is Clifford Rueben and I shall be your history teacher. I was absent for some time-an urgent trip to Africa actually-but I am back now-at your service.”
Claire’s smile grew a little.
“Nice to meet you.” She said. “But about the hat shop…”
“Ah yes! Walk down that road which goes down hill from here-the one that took you here, and then take a left. Keep walking down that road a short ways until you meet up to a paved street. Take a right there and walk beside the pavement-I wouldn’t want you getting crushed, and soon you’ll find that you’re on Main Street. The hat shop is called ‘The Hattery’ and it is the third on your right.”
“Thank you ever so much!” Claire said in an embarrassing display of girlish excitement.
“You’re…ever so welcome my dear.”
