Miss Bentley tried to understand, but he wasn’t talking. She told the class how he played a fine fiddle, and asked him if he wouldn’t bring his fiddle in and play for the class. He was too embarrassed to even consider that, so the children chased him around the schoolyard shouting at the top of their voices.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
He didn’t understand, only that it hurt. In his second year he fell far behind the other students and Miss Bentley wondered if she would have to hold him back. He was smarter than anyone in the school, but he hated being there so bad, he didn’t try.
Ailey didn’t go out to play with the other children. At lunch time he wandered off by himself or stayed in the school room and looked at pictures in the encyclopedia. The other teachers got so used to seeing Ailey wandering around, they stopped paying attention to him.
He found a closet in the basement, full of used books, sporting equipment, and broken musical instruments, among them a violin. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, there just hadn’t been anyone to teach it for years. His own violin had been without strings for a month and Granpa Joe didn’t have money for new ones.
Ailey wanted that violin more than anything. He thought about taking it, but couldn’t face the idea. That was a sin for which he might never be forgiven. He thought about it for days and finally admitted he would have to ask Miss Bentley.
What if she says no, he thought.
He wandered through the halls to Miss Bentley’s classroom where he and fourteen other second-graders were punished. He stood on his tip toes and looked through a pane of glass in the door into the room. She sat at the desk grading papers. She looked alien, a stranger, someone who wouldn’t want to talk to a little boy.
He wished he were as old as his grandfather. Everybody liked to talk to Granpa Joe Barkwood. He didn’t say much, but he was nice and people just wanted to talk to him. Old people didn’t want to talk to children, not about things that mattered. Ailey wondered why.
His ankles got tired and he stood flat-footed outside the door, frustrated, desperate. Old Moses, the handy man, said he intended to clean out that closet and throw all the junk away. Ailey didn’t realize Moses had been saying that for ten years.
Recess would be over soon and he would have to go back to making perfect circles and lines that slanted at perfect angles.
“Who cares, dumb circles, dumb straight lines,” Ailey muttered.
The bell rang. Torture again. “Class, this afternoon we will learn about the directions. We must know them or we’d never get home, would we?” Some of the students giggled obediently.
Mercifully, an hour and a half later the school day was over. Ailey hung around, fussing with his copybook until the other students left. He had twenty minutes before the bus came. He had to choose the exact correct moment. He would do it! He would ask her now. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to guess if it was time.
Just when he thought the moment was right, the principal came into the room. They started talking about the school garden, the Principal’s favorite project.
Ailey scowled with frustration. Why don’t you go away you old goat, he thought. You look like a goat with that white hair on your chin. Ailey drummed on the desk with his yellow pencil. Finally the Principal left.
Ailey started to get up. Miss Bentley glanced up and gave him the “look”. It startled him and he headed for the door, forgetting what he wanted.
“Ailey?” He looked back at her fearfully.
“Have a seat, I’ll be back in a moment.”
Ailey sat, wishing he’d just left with the other kids. She came back in a minute.
“Now, Ailey, we can talk.”
“I’ll miss the bus.” Last chance.
“No, I told the driver to tell Sammy Sue I’d drive you home, that you and I were doing some extra work.” She sat quietly and said nothing, waiting for Ailey to speak.
“Ailey, this isn’t punishment. You wanted to tell me something, didn’t you?” she asked.
How did she know? “Yes’m”, his voice descended to a whisper.
She waited for him to go on. He took deep breath.
“Miss Bentley, you know the closet where the old music things are?” She nodded. “There’s a violin there. It’s been there a long, long, forever long time. No one uses it. No one cares about it.”
“There is? Well I’ll be, I didn’t know that.” She smiled, and to Ailey it was a real nice smile.
“Is that it? You want to use the violin. Of course you do. Is something wrong with yours?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s busted, the strings all broke except the big one.”
“You should say, ‘the strings are broken,’ Ailey,” she reminded him. “Alright, let’s go look at your violin.” She got up and walked out of the room. Ailey followed like a shadow.
At the closet she told Ailey to get it. He brought out the case and held it protectively against his chest. “Wait a minute.” She went in the closet and rummaged through a stack of paper. Finally she found what she wanted.
“Bring it along, Ailey.”
Back in the classroom Miss Bentley sat at her desk. Ailey stood in front still holding the case. It was very large next to his small body.
“Do you know what is in these books, Ailey?”
“No, Miss Bentley.” He held the violin tighter, afraid she’d change her mind.
“Come here and I’ll show you.”
When he stood by her side she opened one of the books. He leaned forward. Suddenly he was very interested. There was a picture of a man holding a violin. He forgot that this was Miss Bentley, master of punishment.
She turned to the next page. It showed a large picture of a hand holding the bow in different positions. Ailey’s eyes were wide and his attention total.
“Oh, I don’t do it right.” Without thinking he put the case down carefully and moved in close to Miss Bentley’s side.
She opened another book of songs. He looked at the lines and notes, trying to imagine what they meant.
“What is it?” Ailey asked, not realizing he’d actually talked to Miss Bentley.
“This is music,” she said.
“Shoot, you’re funnin’ me.” He looked at her with disbelief.
“Here, I’ll read it for you.” She put her finger under the words at the top of the page. “The name of this song is, ‘Black, Black, Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair.’ ” She sang the words in a high, sweet voice, following along with her finger under each note.
When she finished the first verse he understood. On his face was a look of such delight and astonishment as one would expect from the most profound religious experience.
“Would you like to be able to read this so you can play all these songs?” She touched the stack of sheet music with her finger.
“Yes.” Total commitment.
“Good. I can teach you how to read music, but if I do, you must do something for me,” Miss Bentley said.
Ailey looked wary. Is she going to take back the violin if I don’t do something, he worried.
“What do I have to do.”
“Learn