least diminishing the trsssh trsssh of her broom, the latter simply responded: “People don’t like being reminded they’re people.” She pointed the handle of her boom to the façade of the building where someone had written the piece of graffiti Candelario would see repeated ad nauseum during the following days: “Candelario, you cunt, who are you going to humiliate next?” Taimado’s squad had done its job. The handwritten report detailed an incident the teacher thought had been long forgotten.
The official letter informing him he was to be relocated to a different school had stated that his only sin was naiveté. And possibly overzealousness. Each year a call went out for the Children’s Science Olympics, an event the authorities of the state primary school where Candelario worked as a fifth-grade teacher mostly ignored. In the year of the scandal, Candelario had among his students a very bright girl with a great talent for abstract thought. It was she who had brought the competition to Candelario’s attention. He began to pay her more attention in class, working with her on specifically designed tasks. As the difficulty of these tasks increased, the girl always rose to the challenge. Candelario put the case before the headmaster, who—after having made sure it wouldn’t involve any additional effort on his part—agreed to the teacher’s proposal: during the remaining month, the girl could stay behind for a couple of hours each day to prepare for the competition. The next step was to obtain the family’s permission.
The best procedure would have been to get this from the mother. The problem was that her job as a secretary prevented her accompanying her two children, so that it was their grandmother who took them to school each morning and collected them afterward. Even though Candelario’s proposal would mean taking the boy home and then returning for his elder sister, the grandmother signed the authorization without hesitation. Candelario promised to bring an extra sandwich each day so the child would not go hungry.
The children’s father had given up work at a very young age due to an accident in the laundry where he was working: he’d lost an arm in a supersonic rotary dryer while trying to demonstrate to a workmate there was no great risk involved in placing it there. The proprietors of the business had given him a modest payoff in order to avoid a lawsuit that was, in the end, completely groundless. From that time on, he’d spent his days at home, drinking in front of the television. His evenings alternated between episodes of violent behavior and yearning monologues related to the days when he’d been a whole man.
His children did their best to avoid him. Happily, he didn’t even notice the eldest wasn’t getting home from school until late afternoon. The dispute began during the week before the completion, while she was going over her exercises one night. The father staggered into her room to ask what the hell she was doing at that hour. No point in working hard just to get screwed like him. The child kept her eyes down. She attempted to defend herself from his invective by solving the problem with a trembling hand. The father tore the page from her notebook and left the room muttering incoherent insults. The child’s grandmother came out and he pushed her against the wall with his remaining arm. He then sat in the kitchen to finish off his plastic bag of pulque in giant gulps. Later, when the children and the old lady were deep asleep, it was his wife’s turn. She tried to control the explosion by explaining that the girl was preparing for a competition. Her teacher had chosen her and no one else. He couldn’t give a fuck. What did those frigging old ladies think? That they were better than him because they could ride a bicycle through the park? They were only good for one thing. His daughter wasn’t taking part in any competition.
His ban had little weight. First, because, by then, he had no practical authority. For his wife, he was like one of those intoxicated prophets of doom who shout in the streets, under the effects of a solvent-soaked rag. What’s more, he wouldn’t remember the episode the following day. His mornings were hostage to the hangovers that awaited the eggs his mother-in-law prepared for breakfast.
The tragedy was that the child had heard it all. Her mind paid no attention to the actual words and only processed what was not said: her dad had lost an arm and it was her fault. She stealthily hurried to her closet, being careful not to wake her grandmother or brother—with whom she’d shared a bed her whole life—took a plush turtle out of the plastic bag where it lived, and went back to bed, lying as near the edge as she could. She spent the rest of the night retching up acidic spume into the bag. In the morning, she got up early to rinse the bag out, but no longer had the strength to hide her trembling, the cold sweats and fever. Her grandmother put a damp towel on her head before taking her brother to school. The girl closed her eyes when she heard her father’s unsteady steps in the passage. She might as well not have bothered. He did nothing more than grab hold of the doorframe and then continue to the kitchen to sprawl in a chair and await his food.
On the third day of his pupil’s absence, Candelario begun to worry. At the close of classes, he asked the grandmother if he could accompany her home to see how the girl was doing. The elderly lady thought that was fine: she was delighted to be able to talk nonstop the whole way and slightly exaggerated her arthritic gait so the teacher would take her arm when they crossed road junctions. As they were nearing the dirt track where the family lived, they saw the girl playing with her dolls outside the house. Her grandmother’s shout brought her back to reality. When she realized who was walking beside her, she ran back inside. The schoolmaster picked up her two rag dolls before going into the kitchen.
“Who the hell’s this jerk and what’s he doing here?” was the father’s greeting to his mother-in-law.
“A very good afternoon to you, sir. I’m Severo Candelario, your daughter’s teacher. Delighted to meet you. It’s just a few days to the Science Olympiad and I wanted to see how…”
“My daughter’s not taking part in any competition. Get the fuck out and leave us in peace.”
“Sir, forgive the impertinence, but please allow me to tell you your daughter has studied hard and is very excited about the Olympiad.”
“Listen, you bastard, no one makes me look small in my own house.”
“Would it be asking too much for me to at least say hello to her?”
“Why the hell should you worry about us?”
“Sir, with all respect, it’s a good opportunity for your daughter. If she wins the Olympiad she can travel and get a scholarship.”
On hearing this last remark, the father lunged at Candelario. The teacher and the dolls leapt to one side and their aggressor tripped on a chair leg. He was unable to put his single arm out in time to save himself and his face smashed into the edge of the kitchen sink. The girl heard the noise and came in to find her teacher attempting to help her father to stand up. Seeing him there, his left eye closed and bloody, she gave such a shriek that the teacher’s reflex action was to let the victim fall again to attend to the child, who only stopped screaming long enough to take a breath and start again. The grandmother took her to her bedroom. Candelario attempted again to assist the father, who, in an effort to clean himself, had gotten blood all over his face. He lashed out one last time, with an accompanying stream of insults. The schoolmaster understood that it was time to throw in the towel. He managed to mumble, “I’m extremely sorry,” before hurrying out of the family home, consoled by the two sad rag dolls he still keeps as a souvenir of the only stain on his record.
Perdumes planted the story on a few fertile tongues. It immediately put out roots in multiple directions. In one version, Candelario had forced the girl to bring him a steak and cheese sandwich every day. In another, he’d tied the invalid father’s remaining arm and one of his legs behind his back. It was the most widely broadcast version that broke Candelario: he’d touched the grandmother and the girl in inappropriate ways, obliging them to carry out the fantasies he mimed with the rag dolls.
The haggard teacher abandoned the campaign without giving formal notification. He was so depressed
