The Book of Chimera

      Rica’s relationship with Freaks worked out right away. At first, she was a bit afraid of a possible extreme interrogation: who she was, where she was from, how she’d been living before — bottom line, every stereotype from those few teen student comedies she had managed to watch. But no. This well-knit trio reminded her of her bushmen friends from the tribe. First, they also accepted the foreign white girl as their own; and second — they didn’t ask any questions. “When you’re ready to talk about this, you’ll talk,” X-Ray shrugged, answering the unspoken question. “Everyone has history here. And not many are ready to stir up their past upon the first call.”       All the more so as Rica’s study began, and she had to get used to the new schedule. For now, it was general, without electives and active directions. Ororo explained to her that first, she needed to jump into the basic education process. That was one. And two — for her to follow the course of the sports, the lab had to give results of her tests defining her mutation and who actually Federica Clayton was in the not-so-human world.       To her surprise, the girl was in the same class as the Freaks. However, she found out soon enough that Catie was also 16 although he looked older. Conrad was older even if she didn’t say the exact number, but she began her study later. And Elf… well, who would ask an elf about his age!?       Double periods in here were longer than classes at school although they had a little break in the middle. But for that, there were three of them every day. Rica worried that her lack of habit of such a load would make her sleepy and lag. But the first double period was biology taught by Hank, and she was lifted in spirits: she was happy both with her favorite subject and with her familiar teacher.       Math was taught by the very same fair-haired guy with a little beard and frosty powers. Everyone called him Bobby, simple as that. He was smiley and friendly. However, he bombarded his students with material in such an intense way that after she left his class, Rica desperately tried to blink away numbers, letters, and signs that were dancing before her eyes.       “That’s because our Bobby is a certified accountant,” Conrad grinned and tapped Rica’s shoulder. “That’s okay, you’d get used to it. Come along outside, you should rest during the break. I’ll share some chocolate with you; it’s helpful for your brain.”       “And then, there will be the most interesting part!” exclaimed Elf, his eyes glistening with agitation. “English literature!”       “I don’t like reading very much,” admitted Rica as they were threading their way in the stream of students.       Elf shot her a glance and snorted, “We will fix this defect in time. As soon as you see the way Professor Wagner teaches his class, this subject will become one of your favorites. That is inevitable.”       “Well, let’s see…” Rica mumbled incredulously trying to remember where she heard that name.       Three friends changed looks on their way.       “It shows you don’t know Professor Wagner,” Catie said with a strange smile. “That’s okay, you’ll meet him. Everyone loves him. Elf is right: it’s inevitable.”       “Is his mutation the reason everyone loves him?” asked the girl, just in case.       “No,” chuckled X-Ray. “He doesn’t need that. He’s just Kurt Wagner.”       And then Rica remembered who she heard this name from…               

***

      Professor Kurt Wagner actually turned out to be blue: both by the color of his skin and by the color of his short fluffy fur — just as Gambit had described. But he hadn’t mentioned that Professor Kurt Wagner had piercing yellow eyes, pointed ears, a long prehensile tail with something of an arrow on one end, and also two-toed feet and three-fingered hands. And Gambit hadn’t said for sure that such a look isn’t the only mutation of the honored teacher of literature and acting in Xavier’s school.       Professor Wagner appeared near his tribune when everyone took their seats. He just appeared from nowhere, with a slight bamf, in a plume of violet smoke. For a split second, this smoke smelled like burnt sulfur but then it dispersed right away. And the Professor immediately smiled showing all of his snow-white fangs. As she shut her mouth, open with astonishment, Rica still managed to think (surprisingly detached) that this guy knew his way around the dramatic entrance. And also, that this casual white shirt and dark pants are too simple and plain for him. He needed something more… more.       “I never’ fail to be happy to see all of’ you in goodt’ healt’,” he said with a clear German accent and violent burring of uvular R. “For’ those of’ you who ar’e not awar’e or’ for’got’, I remindt’ you: my name ist’ Kur’t’ Wagner’. But’ in the Munich cir’cus, I was’ known as’…”       He made a theatrical pause, and the whole class responded in unison, with the same accent and burring as they could, “The Inc’rediple Night’crawler’!”       Wagner knitted his brows jokingly and wagged his fingers at the students. And then he shifted his gaze perfectly on Rica.       “I hasten to warn you that’ jokes’ about’ my pronunciation are a more rar’e oc’curr’ence rather than frequent’. It ist ap’prop’riat’e now but’... I would ask’ you not’ to over’do.”       Rica nodded obediently just in case. Trenchant, abrupt speech… breathy consonants… he says them voiceless where they are voiced in English… I haven’t got it through and through yet but it’s so catching!       “Mac’bet’!” Wagner clapped his hands deafeningly, and then he collapsed onto himself and appeared already behind the tribune. “Open your’ books’ where we shtoppedt’ last’ time. Those who missedt’ a lesson or just’ joinedt’ us’, you get an assignment’ right’ away: read it’ from the shtar’t’, by all means’. Andt’ now — beginnen wir!”       “Let’s begin,” prompted Elf to Rica, sitting next to her. And they began.       After the five minutes of the lesson, the girl already had a distinct understanding of why the literature class was so loved in this school. And she couldn’t quite understand what difference the acting class would make. Because Wagner combined.       He role-played a fragment of Shakespeare, and his funny German accent vanished momentarily, replaced by correct British pronunciation.       “—andt’, of’ course, we understandt’ that’ the Scottish ac’cent’ wouldt’ be more ap’propr’iate, both with King Dunkan, andt’ with Mac’bet’, andt’ wit’ the witches’, but shtill, this’ ist’ scenic’ speech…”       He did the voices, changing his posture, mime, and gesture, and they couldn’t help but see someone else in his place: now a superstitious general who wasn’t removing his hand from the pommel, now a noble elderly king, now a nasty giggling old hag… And then, at some point, he chopped in the notorious Scottish dialect. And he explained that if his students didn’t understand a thing in this case, that was absolutely normal!       He explained intonations, emphasizes, guttural pronunciations of some sounds, order, and alternation of syntagms (and Rica didn’t expect it from herself but she remembered the meaning of this odd word right away), the meaning of pauses, difference of senses one could make of the same words…       When students began to read, he corrected them without confusing them and praised them without distracting them. And silly mistakes were ridiculed by him — but in a completely kindly way, so that they could laugh at their slips, and it was not just easy but really funny. He liked to listen and watch from the walls or the ceiling: he stuck to them like a chameleon, in a remarkable manner. There, he bent his joints and spine and crouched to the surfaces like a wild animal. Sometimes, Rica couldn’t help but wait for him to begin whipping his sides with his tail, but — no. Apparently, it was not his habit.       Also, he said that literature was a living history both of language and culture, and a social tool, and lots of other things. He clarified the grammar, artistic-expressive means, context, and so on, and so forth… And Rica realized with reverent foredoom that after the end of the class, she would go to the library, and then to their house. There, she would surround herself with Shakespeare and read the beginning of the story of the Scottish general who was predicted to become the king.       It was needless to say the small break in the middle of the period was happily forgotten by everyone.       Because the class was taught by Professor Kurt Wagner. And there was nothing to add.