"James van Pelt - Nor a Lender Be" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pelt James Van)

crawling under his skin, the extra presence behind his eyes–he’s into the
story,
and he’s into her being into the story.
***
What sold William was Victoria’s picture of the product: "Imagine your
successes
happening with students all across the globe. More and more kids in love with
education, with learning, helped there by our simulacrums of you."
By this time they were sitting in the bar down the street from the school.
Victoria had bought drinks for them all, and they’d talked about education for
a
couple of hours. The lights hung low and dim over the tables. Victoria’s eyes
glistened with interest, and her face glowed. After a while, William found
her
to be totally sympathetic to his views. "Teaching’s about reaching," he’d
said.
"You have to touch the student with the material and your enthusiasm, or
nothing
happens."
She’d nodded encouragingly and ordered another round. Isaac took notes and
moved
empty glasses out of their way. "So how do you do it?" Isaac asked. "Are you
a
stimulus-response man? Do you teach ‘whole language’? Or are you into one of
the
more traditional, back-to-basics modes?"
William leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands on his stomach. Over
the
years he’d developed a slight paunch, but it didn’t worry him; it made him
feel
comfortable, like Pooh Bear or Bilbo Baggins. It was the way he imagined a
forty-year-old confirmed bachelor should look. He said, "When I first started
teaching, I played around with lots of theory, but I don’t think much about
it
anymore. I guess I’d have to say I’m pretty unconscious about technique. The
kids are there; the material is there. I teach."
Victoria said, "Like Mickey Mantle."
"’Scuse me?" said William. He nearly missed the table with his elbow when he
straightened up, and he realized he’d drunk a bit too much.
"Mickey Mantle was a great player. Maybe one of the best hitters ever but not
much of an intellect. One day he was giving a batting demonstration for a
bunch
of little leaguers, and he was trying to explain to them about foot placement
and how to hold the hands and where the elbows should go, and the longer he
talked the more tongue-tied he became and the more frustrated. Finally he
couldn’t stand it any more and said to the bunch of little kids, ‘Ah, hell.
Just
hit like this,’ and he tossed a ball into the air and belted it over the
fence.
He couldn’t explain it, but he could do it."