Juan's peers applauded politely. One or two yawned.
"Very good, Juan!" said Ms. Chumlig.
It was as impressive as any advertising video that Robert had seen in the twentieth century. At the same time it was essentially incoherent, a garbage dump of special effects. So much technology, so little talent.
Chumlig talked the class through the components of Orozco's effort, gently asking the boy where he was going to take his work, suggesting that he collaborate (collaborate!) with other students in putting words to the composition.
Robert looked surreptitiously about the room. The windows were opened onto the brown and sere hillsides of North County autumn. Out there, sunlight was everywhere, and a slow breeze brought in the smell of honeysuckle. He could hear kids playing on the far side of the lawn. Inside, the classroom was a cheap plastic construction, utterly without esthetic sensibility. Yes, school was easy, but it could also be mind-numbingly boring; he'd have to reread his own poems about that. The forced confinement. The endless days of sitting still and listening to witless talk, while the whole world waited outside.
Most of the students were actually looking in Chumlig's general direction. Was that just an artful scam? But when the woman asked a random child a snap question, she got relevant — if halting — answers.
And then, much sooner than he had imagined:
"… quitting early today, so we have time for only one more presentation," said Ms. Chumlig. What has she been saying? Damn . Chumlig was looking directly at him now. "Please show us your composition, Professor Gu."
Juan slunk back to his seat, barely listening to Chumlig's analysis. She was always gentle in these public critiques, but the bad news was obvious all around him. Only the Radner twins had posted something nice. Someone who looked like a rabbit was grinning at him from the peanut gallery. Who was that ? He turned and plunked himself down in his chair.
"… so we have time for only one more presentation," finished Ms. Chumlig. "Please show us your composition, Professor Gu."
Juan looked back at where Gu was sitting. What sort of presentation could he make?
Robert Gu seemed to wonder the same thing: "I really don't have anything that the class would… appreciate. I don't do audiovisuals."
Chumlig smiled brightly. When she smiled like that at Juan, he knew his excuses would count for nothing. "Nonsense, Professor Gu. You were — you are a poet."
"Indeed."
"And I made an assignment."
Gu looked young, but when he cocked his head and eyed Ms. Chumlig, there was such power in his gaze. Jeez, if only I could look like that when Chumlig has me on the hot seat . The young-old man was silent for a second, and then he said calmly. "I have written a short piece, but as I said it has none of — " his gaze swept the class, nailing Juan for an instant" — the pictures and sound that seem expected."
Ms. Chumlig gestured him forward. "Your words will do splendidly today. Please. Come down."
After a second, Gu stood and came down the steps. He moved fast, with kind of a spastic lurch. Gossipy notes flew back and forth. For the moment, the class's attention was focused like Ms. Chumlig always wanted.
Chumlig stepped out of his way, and Robert Gu turned to face the class. Of course, he couldn't call a up word display. But he didn't look at his view-page either. He just looked at the class and said, "A poem. Three hundred words. I tell you about the land of North County as it really is, here and beyond." His arm twitched outward, toward the open windows.
Then he just… talked. No special effects, no words scrolling through the air. And it couldn't really be a poem since his voice didn't get all singsong. Robert Gu just talked about the lawn that circled the school, the tiny mowers that circled and circled across it. The smell of the grass, and how it squeezed down moist in the morning. How the slope of the hills took running feet to the creek brush that edged the property. It was what you saw here every day — at least when you weren't using overlays to see somewhere else.
And then Juan wasn't really aware of the words anymore. He was seeing; he was there. His mind floated above the little valley, scooted up the creek bed, had almost reached the foot of Pyramid Hill… when suddenly Robert Gu stopped talking, and Juan was dumped back into the reality of his place at the rear end of Ms. Chumlig's composition class. He sat for a few seconds, dazed. Words. That's all they were. But what they did was more than visuals. It was more than haptics. There had even been the smell of the dry reeds along the creek bed.
For a moment no one said anything. Ms. Chumlig looked glassy-eyed. Either she was very impressed or she was surfing.
But then a classic Pompous Bird flew up from the old farts' side of the room. It swooped across the room to drop a huge load of wet birdshit on Robert Gu. Fred and Jer burst out laughing, and after a moment the whole class responded.
Of course, Robert Gu couldn't see the special effects. For a second he looked puzzled, and then he glared at the Radners.
"Class!" Ms. Chumlig sounded truly pissed. The laughter choked off and everyone applauded politely. Chumlig held them to it for a moment, then lowered her own hands. Juan could see she was scanning them all. Normally she ignored graffiti. This time she was searching for someone to crucify. Her gaze ended up in the old farts' section, and she looked a little surprised.
"Very well. Thank you, Robert. That is all we have time for today. Class, your next assignment is to collaborate and improve on what you have already done. It's up to you to find local partners for this step. Send me the teamings and your game plan before we meet next time." The Ignominious Details would be in the mail by the time they got home.
Then the class bell — triggered by Chumlig, in fact — rang out. By the time Juan got himself out of his chair, he was in the tail end of the mad rush for the door. It didn't matter. He was a little dazed by the strange form of virtual virtual reality that Robert Gu had created.
Behind him he could see that Gu had finally figured out the class was over. He would be outside with the rest of them in a few seconds. My chance to enlist him for the Lizard . And maybe something else. He thought on the old man's magic words. Maybe, maybe, they could collaborate. Everybody had laughed at Robert Gu. But before the Pompous Bird had been launched, before they had laughed, Juan Orozco had felt the awed silence. And he did that with words alone …
When Robert walked to the front of the class, he was more irritated than nervous. He had wowed students for thirty years. He could wow them with the bit of verse he had composed for today. He turned, and looked out the class. "A poem," he said. "Three hundred words. I tell you about the land of North County as it really is, here and beyond." The poem was a pastoral cliche, composed last night and based on his memories of San Diego and what he saw on the drive to Fairmont. But for a few moments, his words held them, just as in the old days.