Mrs. Deardorff kept her waiting almost an hour. Beth didn’t care. She read in National Geographic about a tribe of Indians who lived in the holes of cliffs. Brown people with black hair and bad teeth. In the pictures there were children everywhere, often snuggled up against the older people. It was all strange; she had never been touched very much by older people, except for punishment. She did not let herself think about Mrs. Deardorff’s razor strop. If Deardorff was going to use it, she could take it. Somehow she sensed that what she had been caught doing was of a magnitude beyond usual punishment. And, deeper than that, she was aware of the complicity of the orphanage that had fed her and all the others on pills that would make them less restless, easier to deal with.
Mrs. Deardorff did not invite her to sit. Mr. Schell was seated on Mrs. Deardorff’s little blue chintz sofa, and in the red armchair sat Miss Lonsdale. Miss Lonsdale was in charge of chapel. Before she had started slipping off to play chess on Sundays, Beth had listened to some of Miss Lonsdale’s chapel talks. They were about Christian service and about how bad dancing and Communism were, as well as some other things Miss Lonsdale was not specific about.
“We have been discussing your case for the past hour, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Deardorff said. Her eyes, fixed on Beth, were cold and dangerous.
Beth watched her and said nothing. She felt something was going on that was like chess. In chess you did not let on what your next move would be.
“Your behavior has come as a profound shock to all of us. Nothing”—for a moment the muscles at the sides of Deardorff’s jaw stood out like steel cables—“nothing in the history of the Metheun Home has been so deplorable. It must not happen again.”
Mr. Schell spoke up. “We are terribly disappointed—”
“I can’t sleep without the pills,” Beth said.
There was a startled silence. No one had expected her to speak. Then Mrs. Deardorff said, “All the more reason why you should not have them.” But there was something odd in her voice, as though she were frightened.
“You shouldn’t have given them to us in the first place,” Beth said.
“I will not have back talk from a child,” Mrs. Deardorff said. She stood up and leaned across the desk toward Beth. “If you speak to me like that again, you will regret it.”
The breath caught in Beth’s throat. Mrs. Deardorff’s body seemed enormous. Beth drew back as though she had touched something white hot.
Mrs. Deardorff sat down and adjusted her glasses. “Your library and playground privileges have been suspended. You will not attend the Saturday movies and you will be in bed promptly at eight o’clock in the evenings. Do you understand?”
Beth nodded.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“You will be in chapel thirty minutes early and will be responsible for setting up the chairs. If you are in any way remiss in this, Miss Lonsdale has been instructed to report to me. If you are seen whispering to another child in chapel or in any class, you will automatically be given ten demerits.” Mrs. Deardorff paused. “You understand the meaning of ten demerits, Elizabeth?”
Beth nodded.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“Elizabeth, Miss Lonsdale informs me that you have often left chapel for long periods. That will end. You will remain in chapel for the full ninety minutes on Sundays. You will write a summary of each Sunday’s talk and have it on my desk by Monday morning.” Mrs. Deardorff leaned back in the wooden desk chair and folded her hands across her lap. “And Elizabeth…”
Beth looked at her carefully. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Deardorff smiled grimly. “No more chess.”
The next morning Beth went to the Vitamin Line after breakfast. She could see that the hasp had been replaced on the window and that this time there were screws in all four of the holes at each side of the padlock.
When she came up to the window Fergussen looked at her and grinned. “Want to help yourself?” he said.
She shook her head and held her hand out for the vitamin pills. He handed them to her and said, “Take it easy, Harmon.” His voice was pleasant; she had never heard him speak that way at vitamin time before.
Miss Lonsdale wasn’t too bad. She seemed embarrassed at having Beth report to her at nine-thirty, and she showed her nervously how to unfold and set out the chairs, helping her with the first two rows of them. Beth was able to handle it easily enough, but listening to Miss Lonsdale talk about godless communism and the way it was spreading in the United States was pretty bad. Beth was sleepy, and she hadn’t had time to finish breakfast. But she had to pay attention so she could write her report. She listened to Miss Lonsdale talk on in her deadly serious way about how we all had to be careful, that communism was like a disease and could infect you. It wasn’t clear to Beth what communism was. Something wicked people believed in, in other countries, like being Nazis and torturing Jews by the millions.
If Mrs. Deardorff hadn’t told him, Mr. Shaibel would be expecting her. She wanted to be there to play chess, to try the King’s Gambit against him. Maybe Mr. Ganz would be back with someone from the chess club for her to play. She let herself think of this only for a moment and her heart seemed to fill. She wanted to run. She felt her eyes smarting.
She blinked and shook her head and went on listening to Miss Lonsdale, who was talking now about Russia, a terrible place to be.
“You should’ve saw yourself,” Jolene said. “Up on that stool. Just floating around up there and Deardorff hollering at you.”
“It felt funny.”
“Shit, I bet. I bet it felt good.” Jolene leaned a little closer. “How many of them downers you take, anyhow?”
“Thirty.”
Jolene stared at her. “She-it!” she said.
It was difficult to sleep without the pills, but not impossible. Beth saved the few she had for emergencies and decided that if she had to stay awake for several hours every night, she would spend the time learning the Sicilian Defense. There were fifty-seven printed pages on the Sicilian in Modem Chess Openings, with a hundred and seventy different lines stemming from P—QB4. She would memorize and play through them all in her mind at night. When that was done and she knew all the variations, she could go on to the Pirć and the Nimzovitch and the Ruy Lopez. Modern Chess Openings was a thick, dense book. She would be all right.
Leaving Geography class one day, she saw Mr. Shaibel at the end of the long hallway. He had a metal bucket on wheels with him and was mopping. The students were all going the other way, to the door that led to the yard for recess. She walked down to him, stopping where the floor was wet. She stood for about a minute until he looked up at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “They won’t let me play anymore.”
He frowned and nodded but said nothing.
“I’m being punished. I…” She looked at his face. It registered nothing. “I wish I could play more with you.”
He looked for a moment as if he was going to speak. But instead he turned his eyes to the floor, bent his fat body slightly and went back to mopping. Beth could suddenly taste something sour in her mouth. She turned and walked back down the hall.