Demon's Door Read Free Page A

Jim through the circular window and he was sure that she lowered her eyelashes at him. He blinked back at her, but she was gone.
    Pull yourself together , he thought. You’re dreaming. She probably wears fifty-denier pantyhose up to her armpits and goes to bed every night with a mug of hot chocolate and a Mary Higgins Clark novel.
    He walked along to Special Class Two and opened the door. All of the students were out of their seats. Some of the boys were throwing a basketball across the classroom, while some of the girls were perched on top of their desks polishing their nails. Others were scuffling or pushing each other. A tall black boy in a spotted silk headscarf and impossibly droopy jeans had a huge boom box on his shoulder. He was playing a G-Unit song and mouthing along with it, with his eyes closed. Another boy was dancing and jumping and spinning on the floor.
    â€˜ Shawty you know I want dat cat – drop it now, pick it up, drop it, work dat back – hustle now, hurry now Shawty, make dat stack —’
    Jim walked across to his desk and put down his canvas bag. He rummaged inside it until he found the book that he was looking for. Then he sat down, opened it, and started to read. He said nothing, and didn’t even look up.
    Gradually, the class realized that their teacher had arrived. One of the boys caught the basketball and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and when his friend said, ‘Come on, man, throw it over here,’ he shook his head and said, ‘Wait up, OK?’ Almost all of the girls climbed off their desks and sat down, although one black girl with elaborate gilded cornrows remained where she was, one long leg raised up high, polishing her toenails in purple frost.
    The last to wake up to the fact that Jim had walked in was the boy with the boom box. He was still singing ‘ No discrimination – blacks and da Asians – even Caucasians – got dem all shakin” when he opened his eyes. Every other student was staring at him. Immediately, he switched off the music and sank down into his seat, although he stuck one leg out into the aisle, with a red Kanye West sneaker on the end of it.
    Still Jim didn’t look up. He continued to read, while the class watched him in silence. Over three minutes went by, and the students looked at each other and frowned and shrugged and started to grow restless. The boy with the basketball tossed it over to his friend, who caught it and tossed it back again. Jim turned the page, and sniffed.
    Eventually, one of the girls raised her hand and said, ‘Sir? Is you our teacher?’
    Jim tucked a Hot Tamales wrapper into the page he was reading, as a bookmark. He raised his head and looked around the classroom. ‘Do you want me to be?’
    A short black boy with a polished head and glasses said, ‘Aint down to us, sir, is it? If you da teach, then you da teach, whether we likes it or not.’
    â€˜What’s your name?’ Jim asked him.
    â€˜Arthur, sir.’
    â€˜Arthur What?’
    â€˜That’s right, sir. How jew know that?’
    â€˜How did I know what?’
    â€˜My name, sir. Arthur Watt.’
    Jim thought: This day is becoming more surreal by the minute . He stood up and walked around to the front of his desk.
    â€˜Do you know something?’ he said. ‘I ran over my cat this morning, before I came here. I killed him. Right now he’s lying on a sunbed on my balcony, and he’s dead.’
    â€˜And what?’ asked a sallow-faced boy with a large bony nose and masses of black curly hair. He wore an orange and brown T-shirt that was much too tight for him, with a picture of the Jewish reggae singer Matisyahu on the front of it. ‘Are we supposed to feel, like, sad or something?’
    â€˜No,’ said Jim. ‘Why should you feel sad? You didn’t even know him. But I am. I’m sad.’
    â€˜And this relates to us how?’ asked the sallow-faced