Alexander

"Alexander!"

The young centaur froze. He'd forgotten the hall monitor. Very little escaped the notice of a nine-headed hydra. "Yes, ma'am?" he mumbled.

All nine serpents' heads were turned toward him; all nine pairs of lidless eyes fixed him with a glare more baleful than usual. "Boy-colt, you're late!" her uppermost head hissed.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you think you could slip past me, then?"

Alexander decided the safest answer was no answer at all, so he just stood, head lowered, left hind hoof nervously pawing the floor.

All nine heads hissed in satisfaction. "March yourself down to the principal's office at once!"

"Yes, ma'am."

Alexander waited while she turned and lumbered down the hallway. He toyed with the idea of lurking in a quiet corner until after lunch and then slipping into class, but old Miss Hypaetus would never fall for that. Anyway, he noticed one pair of eyes still gleaming at him over the hump of the hall monitor's departing back. He sighed and dutifully marched to the administration offices.

"Yes? Oh, my goodness! It's little Alexander, isn't it?!"

Alexander liked the secretary. She was a tall, elderly dryad, still as straight and supple as her beech tree. She had a kind and sympathetic ear for the students, although she tended to flutter a bit, especially when there was a breeze in her grove. "Yes, ma'am," he answered. "I'm supposed to see Mrs. Pollifaxus."

"Mrs. Pollifaxus? You?" The long, root-crooked fingers of her left hand went to her cheek. "Oh, but there must be some mistake, my dear. I've known your family for centuries, oh my, yes, centuries! You'd never do anything bad, would you dear, of course not, there's a good fellow, then!"

There must be a gale in the grove today, Alexander thought. "I came in late," he explained patiently, "and the hall monitor caught me and sent me to see Mrs. Pollifaxus."

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the secretary, her hands flapping wildly. "What is this world coming to? Who would've believed it?" She jumped to her feet and tottered into the short hallway to one side of the main office, her voice rattling on. "It's incredible! That's what it is, my dear, simply incredible!" There was a moment of silence, and then she reappeared, voice first. "Yes, of course, of course, I"ll do that very thing, of course, of course! Oh, my dear," she twittered to Alexander, "you're to go right in, yes, right in, it's right through there, you know, there's a good boy-colt. Late! Well, I just know there's a good reason, yes I do, I know you'd never be late for school without a good reason, you're a good boy-colt, yes, a good--!"

Much as he loved the dear, old dryad, Alexander was almost glad when the door clipped off her voice. Then he faced the desk, and realized that he probably would have been better off in the outer office. Mrs. Pollifaxus was known to be fair, but strict, and many a student feared her.

"You are Alexander, the centaur?" The principal's voice was soft and musical. She stood silhouetted against the window, the snakes that wreathed her head asleep in the morning sun. When he nodded, she said, "Please sit down, Alexander." The young centaur obediantly lowered his horse's body carefully to the floor. His head was now level with hers. "I'm told you were late this morning. Is this so?"

"Yes, ma'am," mumbled Alexander. "Please speak up, young centaur. You do know that it's not polite to mumble?"

Alexander cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Very good. Now, I believe you had a high 'B' average last term, did you not?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, then, I needn't tell you how important an education is. You're a good student. I don't think I'll be breaking any confidences if I tell you that Miss Hypaetus considers you one of her best pupils."

Alexander was surprised. He'd never known that his homeroom teacher favoured him. He relaxed a bit.

"To the best of my knowledge," continued Mrs. Pollifaxus, "this is the first time you've ever been sent to see me, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I thought so. Centaurs are seldom mischief-makers. Not like satyrs. Which makes your tardiness this morning that much more puzzling. Tell me, why were you so late?"

Alexander hesitated. "I--I was looking for something."

"Ah, I see. Lost something, eh? I take it that it was important?"

"No, ma'am, I--I didn't exactly lose anything." It would have been easier to agree with her assumption, but lying came with great difficulty to centaurs. "It was something I saw. I--I wanted to see if I could find it again."

"I'm not certain I understand." Alexander couldn't see her face against the sunny window, but he could hear the frown in her voice. "You saw something on your way to school today? Then you lost sight of it?" Alexander nodded. "And you spent the next hour or two looking for it?"

"Yes, ma'am. I--I kind of--lost track of time, I guess."

"I guess you 'kind of' did." Four or five of the smaller snakes on her head began to stir uneasily, and Alexander swallowed. "Tell me, young centaur. What precisely was it you saw that would keep you away from your lessons so long?"

Alexander blushed and whispered something.

"Please speak up, boy-colt. Remember what I said earlier. What was it you saw?"

"A human."

All the snakes suddenly awoke and some of them began to hiss softly. After a short silence, Mrs. Pollifaxus, her voice still low and even, said, "Alexander, do you know what a 'myth' is?"

"Yes, ma'am. It's a story about something that doesn't really exist."

"Well, that's a little simplistic, but yes, that's basically it. Have you studied myths in class yet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what do they say about humans?"

"Humans are myths," he recited, "based on inaccurate reports of centaurs or satyrs or merpeople or even the gods. But, ma'am, this one was real! I saw it!"

"Alexander, how old are you?"

"I'm--I'm 110 years old, ma'am."

"Well, young centaur, I have lived for over five centuries, and never once have I seen a human or heard of anyone of repute who has. Now, shall we drop this silly infant's game, please? Why were you late today?"

"I saw a human! I really did!"

"Boy-colt, you're lying!" Mrs. Pollifaxus' voice had taken on a brittle, cutting edge. The hissing above her grew louder. "I don't know what your game is, but I promise you, if you don't drop this pretense right now, you will be punished!"

"But ma'am," protested Alexander hopelessly, "I'm not lying! I really saw a human! It was as tall as my back, and wore some kind of gray cloth, and it was carrying some kind of rectangular brown--"

"That's enough, boy-colt!" snapped Mrs. Pollifaxus. "Follow me to the detention room!" She carefully raised the a gauzy, black veil to cover her face before stepping away from the window. Alexander tried to keep from crying as he scrambled to his feet, but a few tears tumbled down his cheeks anyway. In sixty years of school, this was the first time he'd ever had to serve a detention. In fact, this was the first time he'd ever been in trouble!

Mrs. Pollifaxus led Alexander from her inner sanctum, past the old dryad (who could only sit and exclaim "Oh dear! Oh my!" the entire time), and into the outer hall. His hoofs echoed mournfully as they walked along. He hoped the detention room would be empty, but it wasn't; two satyrs, a naiad, and a sprite were already there, standing against the walls. He was too embarrassed to do more than glance at them as he walked by.

"Stand there," Mrs. Pollifaxus ordered, indicating a spot next to the naiad. As he meekly obeyed, she sighed. "Alexander, it honestly hurts me to have to do this. You're a centaur, not a satyr or a sprite! Look at me. I'll ask you once more, and I want the truth. You didn't really see a human this morning, did you?"

Alexander sniffed. "Yes."

Mrs. Pollifaxus sighed again, shaking her head slowly. The snakes bobbed and hissed. "Look at me," she commanded again. Then she dropped her mask.

They unfroze Alexander just before lunch. The satyrs and the naiad were gone; the sprite was still there, joined now by an ogre and a minotaur. He hurried out of the detention room, hoping that none of his friends had seen him.

He stepped out into the playground just after the bell rang. Almost immediately, his best friend, Rufus, came skipping up, crying "Hey, Alex!" The satyr's goat-hooves rat-tatted merrily on the cobblestones. "What were you doin' in detention today?"

"How'd you know?" cried Alexander, mortified.

"Zeus's lightning bolts, Alex, it's all over the school! Didn't you recognize the naiad in there? That was Daphne!"

Alexander groaned. Some said that when Mercury had a top priority urgent message, he'd give it to Daphne, and she'd get it there yesterday. "I suppose she blabbed to everyone why I was there, too?" he asked gloomily.

"She would've, if she'd known," Rufus cheerfully agreed. "But since she was frozen when you came in, and you were frozen when she came out--or was it the other way around?--anyway, she didn't know anything about it. I bet she'd give a weekend on Mount Olympus to know, too!"

Alexander sighed without answering, turning and heading out of the school yard. He wanted to look for a few mouthfuls of sweet grass or alfalfa to go along with the cold chicken his mother had packed that morning.

"Hey, Alex, wait up!" called Rufus, and together they trotted out to the meadow. It was a large place with plenty of grazing room where they could eat pretty much in peace. While Alexander lowered himself to the ground, unpacked his lunch, and plucked long grass from around him, Rufus quickly finished his own grape leaves stuffed with ambrosia and his bunch of sweet, purple grapes, then took his small set of pipes out of his pouch and blew himself a comical little tune to dance to. After a few minutes, when he saw that Alexander was in a better mood, he asked casually, "So what happened today, anyway?"

"I was late," Alexander sighed.

"So?" Rufus blew a cheery run. "I've been late dozens of times, and they've never put me in detention for it. Well, not for just being late, anyway. And it was only your first time, wasn't it?"

Alexander shook his head. "It was the reason I was late."

"And . . . ?"

"I saw a human."

"Really?" Rufus was delighted. "Where?"

"In the little valley near where Old Marcus the pegasus lives. The one with the waterfall in it."

"Wow!" The little satyr was clearly envious. "I wish I could see a human!"

"Well, the principal couldn't care less. She said I didn't really see it, and that I was lying."

"So she froze you because you were lying to her? Gosh! But you really did see the human, didn't you?"

The centaur nodded.

"Gosh, Alexander, you sure are lucky! To see a real, live--uh, oh!" Rufus suddenly stopped dancing. "What if the principal tells Miss Hypaetus about it?"

"Miss Hypaetus," snorted Alexander, "is a nasty, ugly, wrinkled old harpy who screeches when she talks."

"Alex!" gasped the satyr, giggling in horrified delight. At that moment, the warning bell chimed.

"Come on!" exclaimed Alexander. "I'm not going to be frozen again 'cause I was late from lunch!" And he cantered off.

"Wait for me!" shouted Rufus, pausing just long enough to pick a small, yellow wildflower and tuck it into his curly red hair before scampering after his friend.

Miss Hypaetus was a nasty, ugly, wrinkled old harpy who screeched when she talked. Actually, she was quite nice as harpies go; she really did love teaching, and was quite good at it. Unfortunately, harpies tend toward naturally unpleasant dispositions, and even she could not completely escape her breeding. She fluttered into the classroom and perched on her desk, tucking her wings carefully behind her back and arranging papers with her talons. Then she looked up and around with glittering yellow eyes. In her youth, those eyes had been called sparkling and golden, and her beauty, it was said, had made mermaids jealous. But that was another problem the harpies shared--no matter how lovely they were during their brief youth, not one of them had ever been known to age gracefully. Really, it was little wonder Miss Hypaetus had soured. Her comely woman's face had grown narrow and sunken, her forehead had broadened, and her nose had grown long and crooked and sharp. More than ever now, her face resembled that of some evil bird. She swept the class with her most withering glare, and her eyes gleamed as they rested on Alexander. His heart sank. She knew. Mrs. Pollifaxus had told her. And despite her feelings about him as a student, he knew Miss Hypaetus would be unable to restrain the harpiness in her.

It happened later than he had expected, during their literature studies at the end of the day. They had been studying the great classical myths and legends; that in itself should have been a warning. But when Miss Hypaetus began that day's session by saying, "One of the most fascinating and persistent myths in our culture is that of the Human." he knew he was doomed. He glanced at Rufus, who grimaced back sympathetically, then tried to keep his fitful attention on the lecture. His eyes, however, kept wandering to the window, through which he could see the large standing stone in the yard. The school day would end when the shadow of the oak touched the notch at the top of the stone. Alexander had never been a daydreamer, but today he couldn't keep his eyes away from that slowly lengthening shadow.

The shadow had made over three-quarters of its requisite journey when he realized that the classroom was utterly silent. Belatedly, he recalled hearing his name. He turned his head slowly, his mouth suddenly very dry. Miss Hypaetus was staring straight at him.

"Well, young centaur," she rasped, "welcome back to reality." A muffled giggle swept the room. "Perhaps now you'd give us all the benefit of your 110 years of wisdom?"

"M-ma'am?" He blinked, feeling himself go pale.

"What I asked, Alexander, was if you agreed with the classical description of a human."

"I--I don't know, ma'am."

"You don't know?" she screeched in astonishment. "I was under the impression that you were our resident expert!"

"I--I don't understand, ma'am." The lie, though small, came very hard.

"Don't you?" Her smile grew broader and colder. Seeing it, Alexander realized his mistake, and felt a shiver run from his neck to his tail. "I believe you were late this morning, were you not?"

"I--y-yes, ma'am, I was."

"Perhaps you could tell the class why?" "I--it was no-nothing, ma'am."

"Nothing? My dear Alexander, it was probably the most astonishing news of this century! Please tell us!"

Alexander flushed. He was beginning to get a little angry. "I saw a human," he announced, almost as a challenge. He regretted his rashness when a hastily stifled giggle reminded him that Daphne's best friend Chloris sat directly behind him.

"You saw a human!" Miss Hypaetus seemed nearly breathless with excitement. "Well, I can certainly understand why something like that would be far more interesting than boring old school! Imagine! The first person in modern history to actually see a human! Of course we're all dying to know: What did it look like, what was it doing, what kind of markings did it have? Come, tell us all about the human that was more important than your studies!"

Alexander felt hot tears of humiliation well up in his eyes. He didn't know what to do. If he tried to speak, he'd cry for sure. But Miss Hypaetus was staring at him, waiting. The room was dreadfully silent, his classmates feeling his horrible embarrassment. He opened his mouth--and the bell chimed. For a moment, everyone sat frozen while the hall began filling with the sounds of feet and voices. Then Miss Hypaetus said, "Well, it appears we won't have time to hear Alexander's fascinating tale. I'll see you all tomorrow--on time, I trust. Class is dismissed."

Alexander pushed his way through the crowded hall. The word had already begun spreading with the speed only gossip could attain, and he tried to ignore the growing cries of "Hey, Alex! Tell us about the human!", and "Where did you see it, Alex?", and "Alex, did it talk to you?", and "Are you going to meet it again, Alexander? Can we go, too?". Rufus tried to reach his friend, but the young centaur was already out the door and halfway across the yard. And then he was gone.

Alexander galloped through the glades, tears wetting his cheeks, deaf to the greetings of the pegasi in the meadow and the mermaids in the lagoon, blind to the new spring colours. He smelled nothing of the delicate scents of the nodding flowers, felt nothing of the warm, tickling zephyrs. He paid no attention to where he was, until he found himself suddenly one valley over from where Old Marcus the pegasus lived. The place had seemed so magical that morning, with the early sunlight slanting in behind him and dancing with tiny shimmers of golden pollen, the cool mists rising from the damp grass, the tumbling water sparkling in the purple depths. Now it was just another dumb old valley with just another dumb old waterfall. He pawed at the turf, digging great, angry gouges in the emerald carpet until the fit passed. Then he walked slowly home.

He sat by himself in the glen outside their cave, playing half-heartedly until dinner. His mother had fixed some of his favourite foods--roast beef, buttered spring potatoes, fresh oats, and hot mash. But for the most part he just picked listlessly at his plate and half-listened to his parents' conversation as they reclined at the table.

"The latest polls came out today," his father commented. "Zeus is leading by a good 63%."

"That doesn't surprise me in the least," snorted his mother. "After that fiasco with Diana, you'd think Apollo wanted to lose."

"It's possible," shrugged her husband. "Anyway, Zeus is certain to be re-elected for another millenia."

"That's probably for the best. How are the vines coming along?"

"Very promising," he grinned. "It's already obvious that this harvest will be at least as large as the one at the end of last century. Let's hope it's as good a vintage!"

"That was a good year, wasn't it? Isn't that the wine they'll be serving at this year's Mid-Summer Bacchanal?"

"The same."

"May I be excused, please?" Alexander asked abruptly.

"Do have some chocolate-clover cake, dear," his mother urged. "You're nearly skin and bones!"

"No, thank you," he mumbled, beginning to struggle to his feet.

"Wait a minute," his father said. "We'd like to talk to you."

Alexander sank back, dismayed. They knew! How?!

As if she'd read his mind, his mother said, "I ran into Rufus's mother while gathering this evening. Rufus told her about what happened in class today."

"What do you think, sport?" his father encouraged him gently. "Think you can talk about it?"

Alexander wasn't going to say anything and risk getting into trouble with his parents, too, but they were so nice about it that he found himself telling them everything. When he got to the part about Miss Hypaetus, he nearly started crying again, but he was able to hold it back until he was finished. Then a fat tear fell onto his plate.

After a moment of silence, his mother asked softly, "Alexander, did you really see a human today? Really and truly?"

"Mama," cried Alexander, "I'm not lying!"

"I believe you," she said.

"And so do I," added his father, smiling.

"You--you believe me?!" Alexander was stunned.

"Well," his father amended, "we believe that you believe you saw a human. Whether you truly did see one, or whether you saw something you thought was a human, we can't say."

Alexander pondered this briefly. "Do you think something's wrong with me?"

"You mean madness?" His mother laughed. "Not at all! It's just that sometimes we might see something--shadows, maybe, or the sun striking a stone just so--that fools us into thinking we saw something else."

"It's also possible," added his father, "that you saw another centaur, perhaps, or a satyr, or a merperson, but only from the waist up, and in the uncertain light of early morning, you took them for a human."

Alexander shook his head vigorously. "That's what Mrs. Pollifaxus said. But I saw the whole thing, not just the top of it! And it was standing out in the open, not in the shadows or by any rocks. Papa, it was a real human, I'm sure of it! Why won't anyone believe me?"

His father scratched his beard. "Well, son, can you really blame them? When human sightings are so rare?"

"Lucius the Kraken has seen them. He stuck his head out of the sea once and scared a whole bunch of them in a boat."

"Lucius is very old," his mother cautioned, "and it's not always easy to tell which of his stories are actual memories and which are things he's convinced himself have happened."

"Well, mine's not just a story." Alexander could feel his throat tightening again. "I really did see a human."

"If you really, truly believe you saw a human," his father said, "then no one will ever be able to persuade you otherwise. But I think it might be a good idea if you didn't say any more about it. Don't lie; a centaur is bound by his honour to the truth. But don't volunteer anything, either. Let the furor at school die down of its own; it will, you know. I'll have a talk with Mrs. Pollifaxus tonight and have her speak to Miss Hypaetus; I promise you that you won't be humiliated in class again."

"I won't lie," promised Alexander, "but what'll I say if they ask me about it?"

"Would you want to talk about it?" asked his mother.

"No!"

"There you are, then." She smiled. "Without lying, you can simply tell them that you'ld rather not talk about it. And if they persist, just walk away from them with all the dignity we centaurs know how to muster. They'll soon tire of it, and then they'll forget it altogether."

"Really?"

A peculiar, almost wistful smile crept over his father's face. "I personally guarantee it," he said.

Alexander stared at the table for a moment, then looked up, smiling. "Thank you, papa. Thank you, mama."

His mother returned his smile. "You're welcome. But do promise us you won't be late for school again." He nodded vigorously. "Good. Now, how about that cake?"

Alexander's father came into his stall that night to see that he was properly settled and to wish him pleasant dreams. He piled the straw a little higher around the young centaur--the nights were still cool--and Alexander stirred a little.

"Papa?" he asked sleepily, "Do you think it really was a human?"

"I don't know, son. It could have been. This is a very strange world we live in."

"It seems so much like a dream now. I'm not going to forget it, am I?"

"No. No, you'll never forget it. Now, good night." And he kissed Alexander lightly as the boy-colt drifted to sleep. No, he thought as he opened the lantern and snuffed out the candle; no, you'll never forget it. He smiled tenderly at the shadowy form, then left, thinking about another young centaur on another spring day, almost two and a half centuries ago.

--------

The young executive kissed his wife almost absent-mindedly as he walked in the door. "Have you," he murmured, and there was a far-away, dreamy expression in his eyes; "have you ever heard of centaurs . . . ?"

THE END

Copyright ©2001 by Stephen M. Larson

Read more of my stories at Acoustic Words.