When it was over, and the siege at the jail had been lifted, and the credits were rolling, he simply sat back and stared at the screen. There was no confusion in his mind, no sense that, in some way, he had been John Wayne.
Still, Diana hugged him. “You played the part beautifully,” she said.
Before the night ended, he’d begun to suspect it had been a setup. That Diana had hoped to use the technology to persuade him that he possessed the charisma and presence of the Hollywood giant. He was tempted to say something. Sheriff Chance would have done that, would have had it out with her. But in the end, he was still only Walter Peacock.
The only aftereffect he noticed arrived the following morning: In the classroom, he felt a bit less nervous. It wouldn’t have been correct to say he was at ease, but he was able to deliver his presentations and to respond to occasional student questions without having his stomach tighten. He’d watched himself the previous night performing at a level he’d never have believed possible. And he was beginning to believe he shared the same sensitivity and humanity that Wayne had portrayed so well.
He called Diana that evening. “It’s odd,” he said. “I didn’t feel this way after I’d watched myself do the comedy sketches.”
“You’re probably not a comedian by nature, Walter.”
“I don’t think I’d qualify as a John Wayne sheriff either.”
“It’s a different set of qualifications. You’re talking about courage and charisma. Most of us have a fair supply of both. We just don’t know it, so it doesn’t show up. Had you ever spoken before a group prior to starting at Brackenwood?”
“During my Boy Scout days. We used to tell stories around the campfire.”
“Walter, do you know that, if you start looking around for what people are most afraid of, death is not first on the list?”
“No, I had never heard that. What is?”
“Public speaking.”
“You’re kidding.”
“There’ve been several studies. It always comes in at the top of the lineup.”
“I never realized—”
“It derives from a lack of self-confidence. We all have the problem.”
He was tempted to ask if she was doing anything that night, but something in her voice told him she wouldn’t be receptive. “Well, anyhow,” he said, “I’ve got a lot of work to do this evening. Have to go.”
“I don’t guess you have time to watch a little TV?”
“Ummm. Sure. I can squeeze something in. You interested in watching Without a Clue? It’s hysterical.”
He wasn’t sure how it happened, but even though he brought Without a Clue, a Sherlock Holmes parody, somehow they sat down to watch Casablanca. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s my all-time favorite movie.”
Walter had seen it years before, when he was about twelve. It was okay. “You’ve got a pretty good part in this one,” he said. “What was her name? Bogart’s girlfriend?”
“Ilsa Lund.”
“Oh, yes. Ingrid Bergman. She was gorgeous. You’re a perfect fit. And you get to see me play Bogie.”
She looked particularly resplendent that evening. As if they were actually going to spend the evening at Rick’s Café. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor, Walter?”
“Sure.”
“Play Paul Henreid’s part instead. Victor Laszlo.”
“Really?” That was a surprise. “Okay. Whatever you like.”
Humphrey Bogart’s character, Rick Blaine, operates Rick’s Café in Casablanca during the early days of World War II, before the entry of the United States into the struggle. Victor Laszlo is a leader of the French resistance who arrives with his wife, Ilsa, ironically Rick’s one-time lover.
Nazis are periodically in the café, as well as pro-French customers, so tensions can get high. Walter watched himself as Laszlo easing past the Reich’s Major Strasser. And Diana trying to come to terms with her commitment to her husband while she struggles with her obvious passion for Rick.
He was enjoying it, cruising along while Rick tried to recapture Ilsa, who had been forced to leave him years before in Paris. His own role, as Laszlo, remained relatively quiet. Then, while Walter munched on a brownie, seated at a table not far from a group of Nazi officers, Major Strasser walked into the saloon and began to lead them in a rendition of “Deutschland Über Alles.” Laszlo overhears it, strides into the middle of the scene, and leads a group of pro-French customers in a resounding “La Marseillaise.” For a few moments, the two groups contend, but the Germans, overwhelmed, eventually give up.
He swallowed the rest of the brownie and sat watching himself striding victoriously through the saloon. For the first time, he understood why Diana had thought he should be able to handle a classroom.
The next day, at the Academy, he did something new: He stepped off script. He’d planned on discussing the mathematical aspects of gravitation. Instead, he started by looking out over his twenty-odd students and asking a simple question: “If you go up onto the roof and walk over the edge, why do you fall?”
Hands went up across the room. He pointed at Linda Markham, who had looked bored since the first day. “Gravity,” she said.
“Very good.”
She smiled.
He looked down at her. “Linda, what’s gravity?”
The smile faded. “It’s what makes you fall.”
“Okay. That’s true. Anybody else got something to add?”
Nobody did. Finally, Wes raised a hand. “So what is gravity, Mr. Peacock?”
“Okay,” he said, “you want the truth?”
Rich Armand, up front, grinned: “We can’t handle the truth.”
“You might be right, Rich,” he said. “But here’s the reality: Space is made out of rubber.” That brought snickers and rolling eyes. “I’m serious,” he said. They quieted, and he explained about how mass made it curve.
He went from that to other off-the-wall questions: “While we’re on the subject of the roof, did you know you weigh less up there than you do in the basement?”
And “Is it true you age more quickly waiting for the school bus than you do riding it?” That served as his introduction to relativity.
Later, he would look back on that day as his breakthrough. Not that everything worked, but for the first time he enjoyed doing the presentation. And it was obvious the kids enjoyed themselves as well. They had been tested. They had to use their imaginations. And, possibly for the first time, they began to acquire an insight into the complexities of the physical world.
He drove home formulating what he’d do next. “Everybody knows that some stars explode. How certain are you that the sun did not blow up five minutes ago?”
Or maybe this would be a good time to talk about the size of the galaxy.
“Let’s use a transporter to put Linda at the galactic center on her birthday, which is when, Linda?”
“April 11th, Mr. Peacock.” He had no idea of the actual date, but this one was as good a guess as any other.
“Okay. Linda’s there on April 11th, and she turns on a very large spotlight. We have a giant telescope. How long would it be before we could see it? Would it be a few hours? The next day? What do you think?”
“Beautiful,” said Diana. He took her to dinner at Dean’s Restaurant. “You’re on your way.” She raised her glass of Diet Coke to him.