Riding With the Duke

Walter Peacock knew from his earliest days that he was not like the other kids. While they talked of growing up to be state troopers, firefighters, and race car drivers, he dreamed of becoming a scientist. And much more. Eventually, he would join the ranks of Alan Guth, Freeman Dyson, and Peter Higgs.

He was never sure where the passion had come from. But he’d always been fascinated by the surrounding universe. Why does water freeze from the top down? And is it true that had it been otherwise, there would be no life on the planet? Are there really extra dimensions? Why is the universe not simply a lot of floating gas?

High school was a debilitating experience. He had few friends, and the girls pretty much never noticed him. He took a cousin to the prom. After graduation he attended the University of Tennessee, where he majored in physics and went on to earn a master’s degree. By then he’d read The Double Helix, A Brief History of Time, Shadows of the Mind, and Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman! Among numerous others. And he’d come to a painful realization: The tangled complexities of his chosen field left him bewildered. How can the same particle be in two places simultaneously? Can space really be bent?

The truth was, he just wasn’t smart enough.

He pulled out of the doctoral program almost before he’d started. “Just as well,” his father had said. He’d never been happy with all the physics, had been warning Walter from the beginning that a career in law, like his own, would be a much more prudent course. “There’s no career as fulfilling as putting away thugs,” he’d said countless times. He was on the staff of the district attorney.

Walter took a temporary job in Knoxville as a taxi driver, a decision that disappointed his parents. And he launched on a course, he hoped, that would reorder his life. A young woman he’d been dating told him that sometimes you simply had to face reality. A few weeks later she said she wouldn’t be able to see him anymore. No explanation was offered. Walter was disappointed, but not surprised. It was not an uncommon experience for him.

A week later, attending another cousin’s birthday party, he met Diana Carter. She was gorgeous, with black hair, luminous blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. One of those women who take over the room when they come in the door. She’d been at UT also, a psychology major. He took a deep breath, fought down his usual fears, and invited her to dinner that weekend. She thought about it and said yes, and he’d had to restrain an inclination to wave both fists in the air. It went well.

He followed up, several nights later, with a show. She was energetic and smart, but he was cautious not to allow himself to become emotionally involved. It was, he thought, just a matter of time before she’d move on. But she surprised him when, a few days before his birthday, she called him, asked if he had any plans for that evening, and invited him out for a celebratory dinner. “How did you know about it?” he asked.

She laughed. “It’s on your Facebook page.”

“Of course it is.”

She took him to the Old Mill in Pigeon Forge, where he enjoyed himself thoroughly, until he discovered that she was also celebrating an appointment as an advertising sales consultant with Arbuckle Brothers, a major furniture retailer. So the evening was really about her. Still, the night went well, and he was encouraged when, as they pulled up outside her apartment, she invited him in.

“I’ve a birthday present for you, Walter,” she said. A package waited on a side table. She handed it to him and he unwrapped it.

“It’s a Quark-box,” he said, reading the packaging.

“You know what that is?”

It had been all over the networks. “It allows you to substitute yourself for one of the characters in a TV show or a movie.” Walter couldn’t see the point. High Noon with him impersonating Gary Cooper just wasn’t going to work. But he tried to look excited.

“I got one a couple of weeks ago. It provides a whole new experience.”

“So you’ve enjoyed it?”

“Have you seen any movies lately?” she asked. On their two dates they’d gone to a play and a concert.

“A few. Sure.” In fact, that was what he did when he wasn’t driving around in the cab: sat home watching movies and TV shows. He’d reacted to losing his girlfriend by treating himself to a new TV, which incorporated a virtual reality component. It used a sensor to analyze the color, shading, and general appearance of his living room and of the on-screen images. It then blended the two, projecting visuals across walls, floor, and ceiling, creating an illusionary reality that placed the viewer in the center of the action. Walter literally sat on the bridge of the Enterprise with Kirk and Spock. He saw that Diana’s television was equipped with the same technology. “Why do you ask?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Anything you enjoyed?”

He shrugged. “Let me think about it.”

Diana turned on the TV and the screen filled with movie titles. “Have you seen The Avengers?”

“A few years ago, yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sure.”

“Would you be willing to try it again? I can promise you a surprise.”

“I’m playing Thor?”

She smiled. “I guess you have me figured out.”

“It wasn’t hard to guess.”

“That’s okay with you?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Now, I need you to stand in front of the television.”

Walter complied.

“Good evening, sir,” said the TV. “Please identify yourself by the name your friends use.” Walter nodded. “My name is Walter Peacock, and I appreciate the very nice birthday present.”

“Excellent. Please smile at me.”

Walter smiled.

“And provide me with some expressions, demonstrating how you might react to different emotional situations.”

He tried to look as if he sensed danger. “This is how I might respond if I hear a strange noise in the house at night.”

“Just provide the expressions if you will, Mr. Peacock. I can manage the interpretations.”

“Perfect,” said Diana. “You want a snack before we start?”

“No, thanks. I’m still full.” The Avengers didn’t seem right for the occasion. Diana just wasn’t the type who’d be a fan of action movies, but he was certainly not going to do anything to spoil the mood.

She tapped a keypad, picked up a remote, and dimmed the lights. “Off and running,” she said, sitting down beside him. The TV screen brightened.

A blue sky filled with white mist appeared. The mist filled the room but was quickly replaced by the Paramount trademark. Then Walter was looking up a flight of illuminated stairs. Far below him, the Earth turned slowly. An ominous voice was speaking, saying that humanity would be able to do nothing but burn.

The stairway vanished and the mist came back, inside a rotating cube. Then he and Diana were adrift in a dark sky, while a helicopter cleared a mountain, descended toward a cluster of buildings, and landed. An evacuation was under way. Someone who looked like a government director walked out to meet the aircraft. Nick Fury, played by Samuel L. Jackson, climbed out of the chopper, and the two engaged in a tense conversation. They were running out of time.

Walter sat back to watch but was surprised a few minutes later when the Black Widow showed up. She was being played by Diana. He turned and saw her grinning at him.

Despite being tied to a chair and outnumbered by the bad guys, she beat them to a pulp. “Guess I better not mess around with you,” he said.

Walter did not appear as Thor. Instead, he was Steve Rogers. Captain America.

“Beautiful,” he said. He almost fit the part.

She squeezed his hand. But when he moved closer to her, she was not receptive. “Stay with the movie,” she said. What the hell was going on? “Movies are a lot more fun than they used to be, Walter, now that you can put yourself in as any of the characters.”

“I could be John Wayne,” he said.

“Sure. And it’s not just limited to movies. You can anchor the CBS news, cover the Titans, take over the Scarborough talk show. Whatever you like.” She took his arm onto her lap. “Meantime, let’s stay with this one for a while so we can see how good you are at tossing that shield around.”

Walter wondered how Steve Rogers performed as a superhero while simultaneously earning a living. It was in his thoughts during the next few days as he drove his taxi through the Knoxville streets. At home, he couldn’t resist using the Quark-box to watch himself play Frasier on the reruns of the hit comedy show, and Sam Malone, the bartender on Cheers. He really liked to think of himself in a John Wayne role, or maybe Tom Selleck, but it didn’t really feel right. Somehow he’d been better as Captain America. Maybe because Diana had been there and hadn’t laughed.

A few days after his birthday, she called again. “I was talking this morning with Vince Scaparello.” Vince was a history teacher at Brackenwood Academy, a college prep school north of town. “He tells me their physics teacher hasn’t been feeling well and has decided to retire.”

The school would be opening next week. “That’s pretty short notice,” Walter said. “How serious is it?”

“I don’t think it’s life-threatening.”

“But they need somebody.”

“Yes. You’d be the perfect hire.”

“Diana, we’re talking about high school kids. I have no experience doing anything like that.”

“Your call, Walter. I’m not sure experience is critical. Every teacher has to start somewhere. I’m not pushing this. I just thought you might be interested. It’s the field you like. And you’re obviously not happy riding around in the cab.”

“Yeah. Well, thanks. I appreciate it. But I don’t think I’m the guy they want.”

That afternoon Walter drove to the school. A security guard watched as he entered the administration office. One of the secretaries looked up. “My name’s Peacock,” he said. “I understand the Academy’s looking for a physics teacher.”

“Have a seat, please, Mr. Peacock,” she said. “I’ll tell Dr. Mullen you’re here.”

He’d barely sat down before she came over and asked him to follow her across the hall into another office. Dr. Mullen smiled and invited him to have a seat. “It’s good to see you again, Walter,” she said. “How have you been?” Francine Mullen had been the principal during Walter’s years at the Academy, but he doubted she really remembered him. Smaller than most of her students, she nevertheless possessed a commanding presence. Her once-black hair was now almost fully gone to gray. But her dark eyes retained the intensity he remembered from his first year.

“I’ve been fine, Dr. Mullen. The school doesn’t seem to have changed much.”

“Probably not.” She made herself comfortable behind the desk and indicated he should take one of the chairs. The walls were covered with framed photos of her with students in caps and gowns, with teachers, and with athletes. “I understand you’re interested in teaching physics for us.”

“Yes. I’ve been told you have a sudden vacancy. I’d like to help, if I may.”

“Do you have any classroom experience, Walter?”

“No, ma’am. I have a master’s degree in physics, though.”

“From Tennessee?”

“Yes.” Walter had been on the honor roll consistently at UT. He produced a transcript of his grades and gave it to her.

She studied it and nodded. “What else have you done?”

“I was a supermarket cashier during my college years. This past summer I’ve been driving a cab.”

“Do you have plans to pursue a doctorate?”

“Eventually.” Best to sound optimistic.

“Why are you applying for the teaching job, Walter?”

“Because it’s my field of interest. And I thought I could help.”

Her eyes locked with his while she considered her options. Walter tried to affect a confident manner while he wondered if anyone else had applied. And whether he really wanted her to accept his application. He remembered how much he’d hated the public speaking course. It was one of only two C’s he’d received. And that had been a generous grade. He loved physics, but he’d never been comfortable talking to an audience.

“Good enough, Walter.” She delivered a welcoming smile. “We’ll have a preliminary meeting of the faculty Monday at nine. Classes start Tuesday. Check with Melinda on the way out. She’ll have a copy of the curriculum for you.”

Diana was pleased. “I think you’ll enjoy yourself,” she said.

His mom tried to encourage him too, but his father sighed and suggested it was just another dead end. “I don’t want to sound negative. But teaching will never provide any serious money. You might as well stay with the cab.”

Walter suspected he was right. But he needed a start in a different direction. He thought about staying with the taxi while he tried his hand in the classroom. He drove at night, so it wouldn’t interfere with his schedule. But he’d probably need the time to prepare for his classes.

He called the cab company and let them know he’d be in that evening, but it would be his last night. Short notice wasn’t a problem for them. Drivers were easy to come by.

The curriculum looked simple enough. Motion and forces. Heat and thermodynamics. Electricity and magnetism. He’d have a lab available for each class twice a week. There was no list of reading assignments included, so he’d have to put one together. Find some books that the kids would both understand and enjoy.

He spent most of the weekend planning classes. He used index cards to write notes that would guide him through the material. And he put together some assignments. He’d start with Newton’s three laws of motion and tie them into conservation of energy.

He took a break Saturday night and used his Quark-box to watch himself infuriate his superiors as the disc jockey in Good Morning, Vietnam. The software gave his personality a substantial boost. Nobody had ever accused him of being funny, but on that evening he was hilarious. He sat, laughing more than he had in ages and wondering why the computer could make him that good while he couldn’t do it himself.

But he couldn’t. And he knew it. If he could go into the classroom and perform as he had in that film, his students would love him. And more to the point, they’d pick up some basic physics too. The teachers who’d been most useful to him had all possessed a sense of humor and an ability to instill laughs into the process. One of his more vivid memories was a history class on the start of the War of Jenkins’ Ear in the eighteenth century. The Spanish Coast Guard had boarded a British ship, and one of them had used a sword to slice off the ear of its captain, Robert Jenkins. Jenkins, according to the instructor, had picked up the ear, confronted his attacker, and said, “Sir, you’ll ’ear about this ’ere ear.”

But Walter was strictly a monotone kind of guy. Damn.

He spent additional time on the Internet reading about the qualities of a good teacher. Talk with the students, not at them. Take notice of what they do right, rather than spend your time pointing out errors.

Be aware that people spend a considerable amount of their formative years listening to authority figures, parents and teachers and bosses, telling them how they screw up. “Don’t touch it; you’ll break it.” The result is that most of us tend to underrate our own capabilities.

He went out with Diana Sunday evening and told her what he’d been doing. “Perfect,” she said. “You’re going to be one of the great teachers of our time.” They were on the observation floor of the Sunsphere in World’s Fair Park, with a magnificent view of the city.

“So, how’s life with your new company?”

“Okay.”

“What do you actually do for them?” She seemed a bit young to be an advertising consultant.

“I write commercials.”

“You have any background in that?”

She laughed. “I like to write, and I know what turns people on.” Her eyes looked elsewhere as she said it.

The Monday teachers’ meeting was short and generally inconsequential. Walter already knew he’d have five classes per day. There would also be a study hall. And he’d been assigned a freshman homeroom. Dr. Mullen spoke for a few minutes, welcoming everyone back from summer vacation and asserting her confidence that Brackenwood would enjoy another productive year. She passed out folders containing teachers’ schedules, students’ names, and a copy of the Academy protocols. Do not spend time alone in a classroom with one student. Do not under any circumstances use physical force. Announcements will be made over the PA system during the first five minutes of homeroom. Students will be dismissed within one minute after a bell rings. They are to be in the next class when the second bell rings ten minutes later.

Were there any questions?

There were a few. Had last year’s effort to include parents more actively in the educational process succeeded?

“We’re happy with the results,” said Dr. Mullen. “It worked. Largely thanks to the efforts of Harry and Jackie. We’ll be expanding the effort this year. Details are in the protocols.”

Somebody wanted to know whether they would restore the senior field trip to DC.

And had the issues involving Internet use been settled?

When it was finally over, most of the teachers dispersed to local restaurants. Walter received two invitations, but since he didn’t know anyone, he declined both.

He didn’t sleep well, staring for hours at the ceiling while going over his opening remarks in his head. He’d compiled some jokes. Like: What do you say to Schrödinger’s cat at the end of the experiment? “Make up your mind.”

Why didn’t Einstein’s lamps work? Because energy is always conserved.

Why did Heisenberg’s wife hate to go shopping? Because she could never decide what she was looking for.

Hell, no. He’d never be able to get away with any of those. He wished he could get into his Robin Williams persona. But he’d need the Quark-box for that.

On Tuesday he got up too early. He made breakfast, sat down to watch the news show he now thought of as Morning Walter, and finally set out for school. Had he stayed with the taxi, he’d be in bed now. By the time he arrived at Brackenwood and pulled into the parking lot, he was a nervous wreck.

He walked in through the front doors, showed his ID to the security guard, and arrived in his classroom twenty minutes early. But there were already three kids behind their desks. He put his briefcase down, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote his name on the board: MR. PEACOCK. Behind him, somebody giggled.

When he turned, they were all not very effectively hiding smiles. “Good morning,” he said, trying to be casual.

They all responded with “Good morning, Mr. Peacock,” followed by more snickers.

Get used to it, he thought. They don’t know they’re laughing at Captain America.

The homeroom was easy. And it was only fifteen minutes long. The classes ran three-quarters of an hour. In the first period, Walter tried his best to assume a confident stance and welcome everybody. He placed them into their assigned seats. “If at any time,” he said, “you have a question, please don’t hesitate to raise your hand.” He followed with a short description outlining what the program would cover. Then he gave them an assignment: “I’d like to know what you find most puzzling about physics. Think about it for a couple of minutes, and write your response in no more than four sentences.” The plan was to give them something to occupy them for a few minutes while he committed faces and names to memory.

But the timing didn’t work. The kids—there were twenty-four of them—opened their notebooks, frowned at them, and, for the most part, shook their heads. Nothing puzzled them about physics because they’d never really thought about it. But each of them wrote something down. There were a few questions about how curveballs work, and when you fall off a building, do you pick up speed as you get nearer to the sidewalk? And several wondered why they needed the class at all. Well, Okay. It was a start.

Wes Calvecchio, who looked as if he might be a linebacker on the Academy team, was the exception. He raised a hand. "Why can’t we travel faster than light?” he asked.

“Good question, Wes.” Somebody said something about bad roads. Walter tried to explain. It violates causality. “If you could move at the speed of light, there’d be no sense of passing time. You’d get the impression you were traveling at an infinite pace. No way you could go faster than that.” He saw confusion in their eyes. “Maybe,” he said, “we better let that go for a while.”

It was, he decided, going to be a long day.

“I’m sorry I got near it,” he told Diana. “I’m just the wrong person for the job.”

“Give yourself a chance,” she said. “The first day is never easy.”

He didn’t like confiding in her, putting his weakness on display. But she’d called him again. He didn’t get a sense she was being swept off her feet by him, but something seemed to be going on. And God knew there was no one else in his life. “Got to go,” he said. “I have to prep for tomorrow.”

That was a lie. No amount of prepping was going to get him through the next day. Some people just aren’t good with an audience. He settled in to watch some Seinfeld. With himself in the lead. He tried to prevent Jason Alexander, as George, from confronting the Soup Nazi. He inserted Diana for Elaine and persuaded her that the original title of War and Peace was War: What Is It Good For? He watched himself and George unknowingly con a couple of Nazis into a ride home from the airport. But he shut the TV down midway through the episode.

Walter was magnificent as Jerry. If he could only, somehow, take that personality into the classroom, he’d become the best teacher in the state. But the jokes hadn’t worked. And that was the point. It was the personality that was missing. The delivery. He got off the sofa and tried to deliver a couple of the Seinfeld routines, but it was no use. Everything came out flat.

Well, it was going to be all right. He’d met his students and survived.

His topic on the second day was the difference between speed and velocity, and why it matters. Wes Calvecchio stayed with him, nodding occasionally, biting his lower lip. And Linda Markham’s bored eyes softened, as she leaned forward over her desk, obviously trying to puzzle her way through what he was saying. The others for the most part stared quietly out windows or down at their notebooks. They looked frequently up at the clock, occasionally whispering. They were obviously all relieved when the bell rang.

The rest of the week followed a similar pattern. He wanted to talk to Diana, but he didn’t call her. It wouldn’t be a good idea to let her see him feeling sorry for himself. He was beginning to think seriously about quitting. His father checked in. “How’s it going, Walter?”

“Fine,” he said. That night he left the TV off. Comedy is hard.

On Monday the assistant principal showed up minutes before the second period. “I’ll be sitting in, Walter. It’s just an evaluation.” His name was either James or Jack Delhorn.

“Sure, Mr. Delhorn,” said Walter. “I hope you enjoy it.”

The class headed in the same direction as all the others. They spent time calculating how long it would take a brick tossed from a twenty-story building to hit the ground. And why, when you removed air resistance, did everything fall at the same rate? Walter thought the topic should have been interesting to high school juniors, but he could see the boredom in their eyes. One of them, Wes again, actually looked sympathetic. Occasionally Delhorn glanced his way, but his face remained expressionless.

When it was over, the assistant principal got up slowly and watched the students leave the room. “Thank you, Walter,” he said. “You have any free time today?”

He’d have preferred to get the meeting with Delhorn out of the way immediately, but he had a study hall coming up, followed by a lab and two more classes. He could have offered to go down on his lunch break, but that would sound as if he were panicky. So he arranged to sit down with Delhorn when classes ended. It made for an unnerving day, during which he decided to open the conversation by offering his resignation.

He got the first name from a biology teacher before going down to the assistant principal’s office. It was James. He was bent over his computer when Walter arrived.

Delhorn had lost most of his hair, though he looked barely forty. He was short, a bit overweight, with thick glasses, heavy eyebrows, and a neatly clipped gray mustache. He wore a vest, with his tie loosened. “Come in, Walter,” he said. “Glad to see you.” He looked at an armchair. “Have a seat.” The notebook the assistant principal had taken into his classroom lay closed on the desk. “How was the rest of the day?”

“Okay, James.” He took a deep breath. “Before we go any further, I’d like to say something.”

“Sure, Walter.” James sat back and delivered an automated smile.

“I realize I’m not very good in the classroom. I thought I’d be okay, but it’s not working. So I thought I’d better—”

“The students aren’t giving you any problems, are they?”

“No, sir. I guess I’m just not equipped to be a teacher.”

Delhorn nodded. “I think you may be selling yourself a little bit short.”

“I wish that were true, but I think I have it right.”

“Walter, if you leave, we’ll be replacing you with a retired history teacher who has stepped in before for physics. But he knows about as much about physics as I do. We’d like you to stay on. Give yourself some time.”

“I’d like to, James. But I just don’t have what I need to make it work.”

“You’ve only been here a week. It’s never easy for a new teacher.”

“I’m sure you’d be able to manage if I leave. And I think it’s best for both of us—”

“Walter, you understand this isn’t really about you. We were relieved when you came on board right after we heard McLaughlin wasn’t coming back. Physics teachers are especially hard to find on short notice. We want you to stay. I understand it’s hard on you. But the students need you. I heard enough down there today to know that you have a handle on your field. The rest of it, connecting with the kids, getting the technique down, that’s all just a matter of time. It’ll come. You’ve got the important part, the background. Just give yourself a chance.”

He struggled through the next couple of days without noticeable change, other than that the signs of disaffection in the classroom were increasing, more kids rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. He told himself to relax. He was in charge. But his voice was acquiring an edge. He was losing patience with his students. He’d always loved his physics classes. How could these kids be so distant?

On Wednesday afternoon Diana called him while he was on his way home. That was a surprise. They were still in the very early stages of whatever relationship they were having. She should be maintaining a distance, letting him take up the pursuit. “How’s my favorite physics teacher doing?”

There was something in her tone that told him she knew. “Okay,” he said. “You write any commercials lately?”

“A couple. I’m beginning to think it’s what my life will be about.”

A long pause followed. Finally: “Nothing much has changed, Diana. Have you been hearing things?”

“My sister’s a senior at the Academy.”

“Oh.”

“She says she’s hearing you don’t seem comfortable in the classroom.”

“She’s got that right.”

“What are you doing this evening?”

“Not much. Trying to figure out what I’ll need to survive tomorrow.”

“Maybe a night off would help. You probably need to relax.”

“I guess I don’t have anything to lose. What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe a movie?”

“That’s not going to work, Diana.”

She shrugged. “I’m just talking about taking a night off.”

“Okay. How about The Big Lebowski?”

“I’m not sure I’m in the mood for a comedy. You mentioned once that you’d enjoy seeing yourself play John Wayne. How about we watch Rio Bravo?”

He took a bottle of Merlot over with him. Diana surprised him with a kiss. It wasn’t their first, but she hadn’t previously initiated the action. “You ready to play the Duke?” she asked.

He lowered his voice by about three octaves: “Ready as I’ll ever be, schweetheart.”

She grinned and backed away from the door, inviting him inside. “That sounded more like Bogart.”

He caught the aroma of pizza. And popcorn was on the coffee table. “This is exactly what I needed. A complete break.”

“That’s my guess too. Just relax and enjoy raising hell with the bad guys.” She brought the pizza out of the kitchen, set it on the table, and began dividing it.

Walter opened the wine and poured two glasses. He raised one in her direction. “For the loveliest woman in the West.”

She lifted hers, they touched glasses, and drank. Walter was feeling good for the first time in two weeks.

They finished off the pizza and started on the popcorn. “You going to play Feathers?” he asked. The role had originally been Angie Dickinson’s.

“No,” she said. “I thought I’d be Nathan Burdette.”

“He’s the head villain, isn’t he? That would certainly change the tone of the action.”

She was wearing a wide smile. “I suspect it would.”

“Well, let’s get it started, schweetheart.” Bogart again.

“You have to get your characters straight, Walter.”

They had another laugh, and Diana picked up the remote.

Walter had seen it twice before. He’d expected that watching it with himself in Wayne’s role as Sheriff John Chance would be different. Probably funny. Possibly absurd. But it wasn’t like that at all, at least not in any way that mattered. The software manipulated him, deepened his voice, mimicked Wayne’s stalwart responses, and somehow managed to retain the power of the film. Walter strode through the bar that was the center of so much of the action and performed in an utterly believable manner. He had to struggle to remind himself that it was a film. No lives were at stake. He was sitting beside Diana, downing popcorn and occasionally trading hugs. Neither of them ever laughed at his performance.

When it was over, and the siege at the jail had been lifted, and the credits were rolling, he simply sat back and stared at the screen. There was no confusion in his mind, no sense that, in some way, he had been John Wayne.

Still, Diana hugged him. “You played the part beautifully,” she said.

Before the night ended, he’d begun to suspect it had been a setup. That Diana had hoped to use the technology to persuade him that he possessed the charisma and presence of the Hollywood giant. He was tempted to say something. Sheriff Chance would have done that, would have had it out with her. But in the end, he was still only Walter Peacock.

The only aftereffect he noticed arrived the following morning: In the classroom, he felt a bit less nervous. It wouldn’t have been correct to say he was at ease, but he was able to deliver his presentations and to respond to occasional student questions without having his stomach tighten. He’d watched himself the previous night performing at a level he’d never have believed possible. And he was beginning to believe he shared the same sensitivity and humanity that Wayne had portrayed so well.

He called Diana that evening. “It’s odd,” he said. “I didn’t feel this way after I’d watched myself do the comedy sketches.”

“You’re probably not a comedian by nature, Walter.”

“I don’t think I’d qualify as a John Wayne sheriff either.”

“It’s a different set of qualifications. You’re talking about courage and charisma. Most of us have a fair supply of both. We just don’t know it, so it doesn’t show up. Had you ever spoken before a group prior to starting at Brackenwood?”

“During my Boy Scout days. We used to tell stories around the campfire.”

“Walter, do you know that, if you start looking around for what people are most afraid of, death is not first on the list?”

“No, I had never heard that. What is?”

“Public speaking.”

“You’re kidding.”

“There’ve been several studies. It always comes in at the top of the lineup.”

“I never realized—”

“It derives from a lack of self-confidence. We all have the problem.”

He was tempted to ask if she was doing anything that night, but something in her voice told him she wouldn’t be receptive. “Well, anyhow,” he said, “I’ve got a lot of work to do this evening. Have to go.”

“I don’t guess you have time to watch a little TV?”

“Ummm. Sure. I can squeeze something in. You interested in watching Without a Clue? It’s hysterical.”

He wasn’t sure how it happened, but even though he brought Without a Clue, a Sherlock Holmes parody, somehow they sat down to watch Casablanca. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s my all-time favorite movie.”

Walter had seen it years before, when he was about twelve. It was okay. “You’ve got a pretty good part in this one,” he said. “What was her name? Bogart’s girlfriend?”

“Ilsa Lund.”

“Oh, yes. Ingrid Bergman. She was gorgeous. You’re a perfect fit. And you get to see me play Bogie.”

She looked particularly resplendent that evening. As if they were actually going to spend the evening at Rick’s Café. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor, Walter?”

“Sure.”

“Play Paul Henreid’s part instead. Victor Laszlo.”

“Really?” That was a surprise. “Okay. Whatever you like.”

Humphrey Bogart’s character, Rick Blaine, operates Rick’s Café in Casablanca during the early days of World War II, before the entry of the United States into the struggle. Victor Laszlo is a leader of the French resistance who arrives with his wife, Ilsa, ironically Rick’s one-time lover.

Nazis are periodically in the café, as well as pro-French customers, so tensions can get high. Walter watched himself as Laszlo easing past the Reich’s Major Strasser. And Diana trying to come to terms with her commitment to her husband while she struggles with her obvious passion for Rick.

He was enjoying it, cruising along while Rick tried to recapture Ilsa, who had been forced to leave him years before in Paris. His own role, as Laszlo, remained relatively quiet. Then, while Walter munched on a brownie, seated at a table not far from a group of Nazi officers, Major Strasser walked into the saloon and began to lead them in a rendition of “Deutschland Über Alles.” Laszlo overhears it, strides into the middle of the scene, and leads a group of pro-French customers in a resounding “La Marseillaise.” For a few moments, the two groups contend, but the Germans, overwhelmed, eventually give up.

He swallowed the rest of the brownie and sat watching himself striding victoriously through the saloon. For the first time, he understood why Diana had thought he should be able to handle a classroom.

The next day, at the Academy, he did something new: He stepped off script. He’d planned on discussing the mathematical aspects of gravitation. Instead, he started by looking out over his twenty-odd students and asking a simple question: “If you go up onto the roof and walk over the edge, why do you fall?”

Hands went up across the room. He pointed at Linda Markham, who had looked bored since the first day. “Gravity,” she said.

“Very good.”

She smiled.

He looked down at her. “Linda, what’s gravity?”

The smile faded. “It’s what makes you fall.”

“Okay. That’s true. Anybody else got something to add?”

Nobody did. Finally, Wes raised a hand. “So what is gravity, Mr. Peacock?”

“Okay,” he said, “you want the truth?”

Rich Armand, up front, grinned: “We can’t handle the truth.”

“You might be right, Rich,” he said. “But here’s the reality: Space is made out of rubber.” That brought snickers and rolling eyes. “I’m serious,” he said. They quieted, and he explained about how mass made it curve.

He went from that to other off-the-wall questions: “While we’re on the subject of the roof, did you know you weigh less up there than you do in the basement?”

And “Is it true you age more quickly waiting for the school bus than you do riding it?” That served as his introduction to relativity.

Later, he would look back on that day as his breakthrough. Not that everything worked, but for the first time he enjoyed doing the presentation. And it was obvious the kids enjoyed themselves as well. They had been tested. They had to use their imaginations. And, possibly for the first time, they began to acquire an insight into the complexities of the physical world.

He drove home formulating what he’d do next. “Everybody knows that some stars explode. How certain are you that the sun did not blow up five minutes ago?”

Or maybe this would be a good time to talk about the size of the galaxy.

“Let’s use a transporter to put Linda at the galactic center on her birthday, which is when, Linda?”

“April 11th, Mr. Peacock.” He had no idea of the actual date, but this one was as good a guess as any other.

“Okay. Linda’s there on April 11th, and she turns on a very large spotlight. We have a giant telescope. How long would it be before we could see it? Would it be a few hours? The next day? What do you think?”

“Beautiful,” said Diana. He took her to dinner at Dean’s Restaurant. “You’re on your way.” She raised her glass of Diet Coke to him.

“Premature,” he said. “I don’t want to push my luck.”

“I think we’re doing fine.”

“What exactly happened? What changed?”

“You’ve begun to believe in yourself. It’s all you needed.”

“And you arranged that by having me play John Wayne and Paul Henreid?”

“Not exactly. You had a chance to see what you could do. It fit within your essential parameters. It’s who you are, Walter. All you needed was to get acquainted with yourself.”

“I still don’t buy into it.”

“The technology has only been available for a few months, but there’s already been some research. Most of the people who fail in what they want to accomplish do so because they underestimate who they are. When they don’t believe they can succeed at something, they have little chance. Unless they get lucky. But show them visions of themselves exercising the qualities that most of us are born with, courage and a brain, and they tend to recognize the reality. After that, there’s no stopping them.”

“Well, Diana, I owe you. Maybe I can wander off now into the quantum world and win a Nobel.”

“It’s possible, Walter. But you’ve got a bigger responsibility at the moment.”

“What’s that?”

“Last time I looked, you had over a hundred students.” Their meals arrived. But neither was paying much attention to the food. “You want to watch a movie tonight?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Walter said. “Do we have a copy of The High and the Mighty?”

“Actually, we do.”

“Okay, let’s go for it.”

“By the way, I don’t think I told you: I’m quitting Arbuckle.”

“Really? Why?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t imagine Ilsa Lund spending her life selling sofas.”