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a search for the invisible teaching materials.
"They're sitting on the shoulders of all the adults and probably, most of the kids."
"What?"
"The teaching material is in our heads. Everyone must know something they can teach to the rest of us.
Don't you? Lyda deliberately challenged the woman, hoping it would impel her to think.
"How? We don't even have anything to write with!"
"Don't be a defeatist, Mrs. Martin. At first, we shouldn't need anything. And when we do, we can think
of a way."
"Huh! Maybe you're smarter than I am, or maybe you've seen something here I haven't. I sure don't
know how."
"Well, would you be willing to start anyway? Lyda was exasperated but didn't let it show. She had
already thought of two ways to write, in just that moment. Not good ones, but workable. She was
rapidly finding out that just because adults might have grown in body, didn't necessarily mean they had in
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mind.  It would give the kids something to do besides fuss and eat and sleep."
"Oh, I don't know. I guess. She rocked the child in her arms, trying to quiet it.
"Okay, I'll talk to you later. Think about what you'd like to teach. And not just to kids, either. I bet you
know stuff other adults would be interested in. Lyda smiled as brightly as she could and moved on.
Behind her, Mrs. Martin followed her with her eyes.  What a strange girl, she murmured to the child in
her arms.  She acts almost like an adult and she can't be more than thirteen, fourteen at the most. She
would have been very surprised to learn that Lyda was only a few days past her twelfth birthday.
None of the watches were working. They had all stopped on the transport. And no night and day, either,
Lyda thought. That's going to make it harder to have classes if no one knows what time it is. She went
on, from person to person, talking to anyone who showed interest.
"What kind of work did you do? Lyda asked Horace Cherbub when he said he knew nothing anyone
else would want to learn.
He only shrugged, but Lyda was persistent.  What did you do before the aliens came?"
"I was a fireman. Not much need for firemen here! Nothing to burn, and nothing to make a fire with
anyway."
"What else? You weren't a fireman twenty-four hours a day, were you?"
"I just watched television."
"What did you watch?"
"Oh, all kinds of stuff. Movies, news, sports, the History Channel, Animal Planet, oh gosh, others I don't
remember right off-hand."
"The History Channel? I bet you remember a lot from it, don't you? I do. It was pretty interesting, and
Dad said they tried to be accurate."
Horace shrugged again.  What difference does it make now? We're probably not even on earth. God
knows if we'll ever get back, either."
"What parts did you like best?"
"On the History Channel? The military, I guess. Fat lot of good our military did us!"
"Were you ever in the army?"
"You're a barrel of questions! But he laughed.  No, I was in the navy. Served twenty years, too. I was
a signalman."
"I'd like to learn more about military life and what it was like, Lyda said.
"Really? What for, kid? That's all in the past."
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"My name is Lyda Brightner, not kid. And maybe it isn't all in the past. At the last place I was at, I had a
man on my council who had been in the army. He helped me train our group so when we were attacked,
we beat them."
"He helped you?"
"Yes. I was in charge, but he knew lots more than me about fighting, so I got him to organize us. He did
real well."
"You were in charge? Horace laughed, then realized that she was quite serious.  Really?"
"Yes. There were lots of bad people in the desert. Someone had to do something."
"Hmm, he muttered, still looking dubious, but no longer laughing.
"Will you help? Teach, I mean?"
"I don't know..."
"What else are you going to do?"
"I'll think about it."
"Think about what the History Channel said about how small units operated, not big armies. Like the
programs I saw about Mosby's Raiders and the Viet Cong."
"I'll think about it."
"Great. Thanks. I'll see you later."
It was hard to convince most of the adults, but Lyda had one thing in her favor; she knew what she
wanted and no one else did. The last person she talked to was a man who was short, but distinguished
looking, as if he carried something with him to trim his beard and cut his silver hair. He had been making
sporadic attempts at organizing the group so the children would be taken care of. Very few of them were
with their parents. Lyda remembered his name easily, Elijah Goldberg.
"What did you say your name was?"
"Lyda Brightner. I was in the desert camp in America back on earth."
"Back on earth? You think we're off earth?"
Lyda hesitated.  Until someone proves different, I think so. Don't you?"
"Hell, I guess so. Hardly anyone else here wants to admit it, though. They're so damn glad to be away
from wherever they were before, that they really don't care where they are now, just so long as they get
enough to eat and drink and aren't too cold or hot."
"Would you like to do some teaching, Mister Goldberg?"
He laughed, but not at her, which made Lyda Glad.  I heard you were going around trying to get some
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classes organized. That's more than most people are doing. Sure, why not? What do you want me to
teach?"
"Are you a Jew? Lyda asked, putting the question to him with the innocent directness of youth.
"Yes, though I'm not orthodox."
"Orthodox. That means, like ... the same?"
"Close. Traditional. There aren't too many orthodox Jews now. What brought this up?"
"I'd like to learn. I don't know anything about Jews, except they were killed off back in one of the big
wars."
"Hmm. Sometimes I think most people would be better off not knowing. A little knowledge being
dangerous and that sort of thing. Tell you what, how about a history of religion? I know quite a bit along
those lines and it doesn't upset people so much if you don't get specific." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]