Snail.

Perched atop the pine stump just off the curve of Duels Road, Renaldo swallowed a bellyful of breath to roar out over the din of the screaming school children, "THE BUS! THE BUS! YOU DON'T WAIT FOR IT - IT WON'T WAIT FOR YOU! With this, Aunt Hagar's children created their line, marked with bulky schoolbags. And what a line it was, peppered with all the colors of dusty Southern roads: Georgia red, tawny Alabama clay, bleached Mississippi Gulf sands, and Louisiana black humus. The line danced and sang until it unraveled itself on the grounds of Epiphany Grammar School.

This morning ritual began shortly after Epiphany purchased the used school bus from Orleans Parish School Board. The upperclassmen, largely responsible for the line's order, appointed themselves bosses with certain advantages for their labor. One important advantage was that only eighth-grade males were allowed to hold places for others. In the late sixties, skirts held fast to the line's rear, while khaki slacks proved a formidable opposition in the front. Twenty years later, a checkered line of khaki slacks and skirts connected in a bond broken only by the presence of the reconditioned but ever-decaying bus. And, unlike the sixties, when being first in line meant a seat in the front, now the most sought-after seats were in the very last row. Even a first grader knew that to prop oneself in those back seats was to be somebody - if only for the attention gained during the ten-block ride to school.

Abiku Waddell's first school day brought with it great trepidation and surprise; as he dragged his reluctance with him to take last place in line, he blinked twice, saw frowns rushing past him, and found himself standing in front of Renaldo. "Hey, you're new. That can be rough around here. You can sit next to me. Go on. Get on the bus. You're slower than a snail, Snail," Renaldo kidded, gently nudging Abiku.

"Snail? My name is Abiku, and it means..."

"Man, I won't remember that. You're Snail to me; walk up. Go ahead."

Abiku looked around eagerly as the older boys did a macho marck swaggering and rapping into the ears of unimpressed girls. He enjoyed the noisy confusion, music, and sudden popups, compliments of the bus's worn shocks and the potholed street. But, most of all, he was curious about the calmness in Renaldo's voice.

"You're African, huh? Must be in about fourth grade?"

Calmly and proudly, Abiku said, "No, fifth grade. And, yes, part-African. My mother is a Yoruba from Nigeria, she met my father here at the university. He teaches Zulu and Hausa, but he's American. I'm only going to Epiphany because my folks don't like the public elementary schools. We're not Catholic."

"Boy, you sure can talk. Ain't slow about that, huh, Snail?"

"I'm not slow; I don't want to go to school here. And my name is Abiku; it names..."

"Well, don't worry; you'll fit in. We're all Black'cept the nuns and Father Paul Look, there's the canal. Crazy stuff to laugh at always turning up - like panties and bras. And that shack? That's Couponbread's house. He don't like nobody, especially not Blacks. Always curses, chases us, and tells us to get off welfare. Ain't none of us on welfare, but he's mad at the world because he's still poor. Too close to us, says my Dad. And he'd know: My Dad went to Epiphany when there wasn't even a bus. Had to walk by Couponbread's house every day."

"What does his name mean?" Abiku asked.

"I don't know. Dad said it was a way to make fun of him for being poor like everybody else. Anyway, stay away from his house; he's got a shotgun, says my Dad. Shot a kid once and threw him in the canal. Well, here's Epiphany. Come on, Snail. We might sit in the back, but we always get off first. I'll show you your classroom. You have Sister Ephrem. She's the worst, but she's good at taming us, says my Dad. Watch out for spitballing, talking during prayers, and picking on the girls. Do any of those and you get Sire Paddle. You know about him?"

Abiku glanced sideways up to Renaldo, and said, "No. But he sounds like a whipping stick."

"Yeah. Same thing. Well, don't worry. You seem smart; that'll help. Ephrem pets smart kids. Here you go. Stand in the fifth line in front of her classroom. Fifth grade, fifth line - get it? See you at the bus line after school."

Abiku moved his hand slightly enough to approximate a wave and stood gawking until Renaldo cornered the far side of the gym. The entire line stared at Abiku as he approached Sister Ephrem's door, and one loud boy with knotty hair sneered, "Look at him. Where you come from talking like that? I heard you on the bus."

Abiku sucked his teeth and pretended the remark was not intended for him by walking to the end of the line and proceeding to rifle through his schoolbag for his pencil case. Others had hurled such questions his way before, he never answered.

Sister Ephrem appeared in the form of a huge black-and-white swishing habit, replete with dangling rosary and too-tight wimple. Before Abiku had time to think more about the knotty-haired kid, Sister ushered them into the classroom and assigned seats-girls near the windows, separated from the boys by a wide aisle which easily accommodated her bulk. All students sat in alphabetical order, surrounded on all four sides by Saints Maria Goretti, Martin de Porres, Rosa de Lima, and various displays of Christ's life. Once this order was established, Sister turned their attention to the front center of the room and the huge crucifix which hung there. "As I dedicate this school year today through prayer, we will come before our Lord daily to start our work." Saying this with her eyes closed, Sister led the students in prayer as Abiku mumbled gibberish.

By the end of the sixth week of school the initial order of Sister Ephrem's classroom had given way to a completely new arrangement. It was her custom to separate the boys from the girls during the initial weeks of school. Not because she wished to avoid any sexual dalliance - fifth-grade boys, as she knew too well, showed their devilment mostly with other boys. From the pack the most notorious male artist in spitballing, tack setting, and booger shooting would surely emerge. The girls, when seated together, also produced their stars: the most talkative, the best whiner and copycat, the weakest bladder, and the loudest tattletale. Once these culprits had been labeled along with all the gradations from smartest to dumbest, Sister rearranged the room so that she could exercise complete control without lengthy interrogations. By the opening of the seventh week of school, she could easily fling a glance anywhere in the room to figure out what the problem or disruption was and who was at fault. In minutes, she could take roll (by scanning for vacant seats), collect lunch money, and check for proper uniform fit and color.

Abiku had taken the first seat in the first row - the honor given to the student who at the end of the six weeks' term was awarded a saint's medal for academic achievement. He found his advancement easy but had no appetite for the prayers he was forced to say or an honor-roll medal with St. Martin de Pores on it. Instead he wished for a way to avoid further confrontation with the knotty-haired Blaze Davis, the boy who jeered at him every chance Sister's back provided. He knew he must somehow find a way to shut him up. This preoccupied him every morning as Sister Ephrem called them to order for prayers.

"Let's stand and pray. Three Hail Marys, one Our Father, and the Glory Be. And, Abiku, I know you're not Catholic, but the unenlightened must pray too. So let me and God hear you," said Sister to the entire class. On the second Hail Mary, knotty-haired Blaze, who sat two rows from Abiku, snickered loudly enough for the undevout to hear. Yet, as Sister faced the crucifix in the front of the classroom and the other students prayed loudly, more fearful of Sire Paddle than God, the snicker, even after repeats, went largely unnoticed. This distraction, though, easily pulled Abiku's attention from the crucifix and onto Blaze, whose eyes were fixed on Charmaine Longiet's blackd shoes. Abiku, who mumbled fake prayers, latched his eyes onto Blaze's gaze, then switched back and down to Charmaine, who sat directly behind him. Just then, Sister blurted, "Amen," and planted her eyes squarely on the back of Abiku's head. His hands were still folded, and his mouth shaped for "Amen" when he turned around to see blackness.

"Abiku! What, tell Sister, is so entirely important behind you that you cannot pray to our Lord who died for you - he who hangs there in front of you?" Abiku rallied his thoughts against further agitation, but his urge to laugh at the thought of anyone dying for him was appeased by the redness in Sister's face. Swooping him up from his desk, she stood him next to hers, and continued, "This, class, is our smartest pupil, and look what happens to you when you turn your back on the Lord. You get dumb. Now, Mister Abiku, you must be our first lesson for today. Class be seated."

Suddenly Abiku became aware of his scrotum and did not know on what to focus his eyes. He knew Sire Paddle was going to pop out of Sister's bottom drawer at anytime, but his greater fear was what knotty-haired Blaze might do if he cried.

Before he could muster another thought, Sister had him touching his toes and saying "Jesus died for me" as she held his kinky head in one hand and slammed his behind with Sire Paddle. But he did not cry. "Return to your seat, gather your books, and take the seat behind Joanne Chalk in the very last row. Better conduct and good grades will earn this seat for you once again, if you obey the Lord. Charmaine, move into his seat, and remember: We wear the proper uniform as an example of Christian discipline; Epiphany's students are enlightened. We don't want to look like the public schoolers. Tell your mother to get pwper white-and-black shoes for you, girl."

Abiku spared himself further ridicule by intentionally missing the bus that evening. As he stalled near the pine stump, he spied Renaldo riding his bike toward him.

"Hey, Snail. Heard you met Sire Paddle today. Look, man. Now you're one of us," Renaldo said.

"She only paddled me because I don't say those prayers. I'm telling my parents."

"That won't help. Ephrem's paddled all our parents. They all think it helped them to be somebody. Dad say that all the time. And I believe them. Guess it's part of growing up right."

"Well, my parents don't beat me, and..."

"And Ephrem does. Grow up, Snail You can't hurt Ephrem. See you at the bus tomorrow."

As Renaldo wheeled away, Abiku sat on the pine stump counting the rings from the center outward. Just then, a beautiful blue mosquito hawk made an elegant landing and fell asleep. Abiku took note of the sparkled calm in its wings. With deliberate tenderness, he caught it, clipped its wings, and watched it hop from ring to ring atop the pine stump. "There, Abiku, that's how you grow up right. No 'Amandla' for you," he snickered.

Just before Thanksgiving, Abiku had earned his way to the seat just behind Charmaines. He moved with some regret, however, because he enjoyed the journey as he progressed through the class. He gave out test answers, passed his homework to those who could not finish theirs, and told everyone what his parents said about not praying and the foolishness of turning the other cheek. By the time he had managed to get close enough to reclaim his former first-seat honor, he had even gained the admiration and friendship of knotty-haired Blaze and had given Joanne Chalk enough confidence to advance herself to the second row. What pleased his rew friends most was how he did all of this without Sister's catching on. They all enjoyed his quicknees. He so deftly slipped answers on a breeze that he no longer waited for Sister to turn and write on the chalkboard. Sometimes he just timed the blinking of her eyes to accomplish his "devilment."

When the first graders were sent looking for signs of Spring, the only thing Abiku had not accomplished was unseating Charmaine. He had grown to despise her for holding Sister's great respect, never speaking to him, and her peculiar habit of flinging her long, silky braids across her shoulders. Invariably, from left or right, her braids attacked either his face or pencil, especially during test time.

On a crucial math best, the Friday before the last term of the school year, Charmaine did not bother to aim; she just fired and knocked Abiku's pencil out of his hand. His attempt to catch the pencil midair before it popped squeamish Joanne Chalk in the face caused such a commotion that, when he looked up, Sister looked down on him. As he was about to explain, Charmaine's smile beamed right behind Sister, he could only lock his teeth.

Sister heaved her anger in breaths that made Abiku notice her breasts as she deflated her cheeks screaming, "Abiku! I don't believe you. You bold, impudent piece! Cheating! Drop a pencil and pick up an answer. I was born years ago, boy. That one might've worked where you came from, but not here. Go stand next to my desk and make a crucifix with your sinful body." With this, Abiku's buttocks stiffened in preparation for the inevitable. He cemented an angry gaze on Charmaine, who sat meekly smiling with her head in her hands.

"Class, put your pencil, down. I want to talk to you about confession and leaving your sinning ways." Before continuing she collared Abiku without looking at him. "You see this boy? The devil's in him. He's smart in his school work and doesn't need to cheat, but the devil insists that the shorter road is always best. This little sinner believes this. The devil gets into your minds because you don't think about Jesus. All of you ... so busy shaking to those drum beats ... you're too busy to hear heaven's music. Well, I'm gonna shake some of this jungle out of you, mister."

Abiku's feet dangled as he nonchalantly peered into Sister's green eyes set against the near indistinguishable whiteness of her skin and her wimple. His arms fell against her breasts as her crucifix jabbed his chest. She shook him until her wimple loosened and her hair shot out at all angles. Abiku's blurred vision made the classroom a curious mix of colors. Easing her grip on his collar, she held him under her arm like a loaf of French bread and headed for the window. Her free hand sent the window singing upward. She then bent his middle over the window sill and held his head out toward the schoolyard. "Confess your sins to all who'll listen. Tell them you are a cheater."

Abiku was silent. He barely sucked in enough air for survival but resolved not to say a word, for he knew she would make him pray. His stubbornness and, more so, his weight assuaged Sister's anger. Plopping him onto the wooden floorboards, she said, "You won't confess, but you will pray. Sire Paddle will help you."

Despite the paddling, Joanne Chalk's crying, his nose bleeding, and constant prodding from Sister, Abiku uttered not one word. More from exhaustion than defeat, Sister muttered, "I'll see you after school mister." Abiku was happy to take the last seat in the last row, far away from Charmaine. And, although spared the after school ritual (thanks to Joanne Chalk's peeing on herself right before the dismissal bell), he could not unroll his fists or take a deep breath until he sat on the pine stump with Blaze patting him on his back.

Three weeks later, Blaze looked on in disbelief, "You gonna steal it, Snail? You just got your seat back behind Charmaine yesterday. You must like that last row. Well then, hurry up 'cause Mr. Itchd is coming right back. He always cleans our classroom first. Come on. I hear his keys."

Abiku grabbed Sire Paddle, slipped him into his schoolbag, and closed the bottom desk drawer with his foot before the janitor could get to Sister Ephrem's door. "Let's go before we miss the bus," he said as he sauntered confidently past Blaze and Mr. Itchd.

On the back of the bus, Renaldo talked on and on about going to St. Augustine High School as Abiku stealthily fanned away Blaze's stares. With Sire Paddle wiggling in his schoolbag, he fidgeted every time Renaldo said anything about how the nuns "shaped him up." Noticing Abiku's attention on Blaze, Renaldo said, "Snail what's up? You ain't listening to me. And what's with nappyhead Blaze up there?"

"Oh! He's acting crazy again. We're going down by the canal after we change out of our uniforms, and he bet me I wouldn't stay on Couponbread's porch till he counted to ten," he lied.

"Man, you guys better leave that old man alone. One of these days he's gonna really get somebody with that buckshot."

"Welk, hell have to catch us; he's like Ephrem - slow and old and..."

"Yeah but, Snail, a quick head and fast feet ain't enough against Couponbread's gun. That old white man got a lot to be mad about. All his family and friends made it out of our neighborhood, and he's still fighting little shits like you and Blaze. Leave him alone," Renaldo urged, pushing Abiku's head into his schoolbag. For the first time, Abiku noticed how much Renaldo sounded like Sister Ephrem.

When Abiku arrived, Blaze was beating the pine stump with his belt, screaming, "Take that, Ephrem."

"Blaze! Blaze! Let's go," Abiku coaxed. As they passed over the canal, Blaze pleaded, "Let me throw it in. I got busted more than anyone in our class. Anyway, I can throw it farther than you, Snail."

"No. I'm not going to throw it in the canal."

"What? You gonna keep it? I'm gone. You gone crazy! Damn African. If your folks find it, you ain't never gonna walk again."

"My folks won't find it. I'm going to put it in Couponbread's house," Abiku said calmly. At this, Blaze kicked the dirt, muttered profanity, and pushed his way down the block. "Wait, Blaze. You must help me. You knock on Couponbread's door while I go way back down the canal and in through his back door. By the time he chases you, I'll be in and out; I'll meet you at the stump.'

"Why you want to leave it in Couponbread's house? Tell me that."

"Because he needs to know why we bother him so much. They all need to know what Ephrem is teaching us."

"Look, I don't know what you talking about, but I might as well have some fun while I'm down here. But I ain't doing nothing else. Just getting Couponbread to chase me. That's it."

During the last three weeks of school, Abiku worked diligently against another reprimand from Sister. His threatening stares kept Charmaine's braids grounded; he excelled without interference. In fact, the entire class behaved well, and Sister had no occasion to discover that Sire Paddle's house was vacant.

On the final-test Friday, Sister stood in front of the class at the end of art period, and pleasantly said, "It looks like we might have a new first-seat medalist. I'm happy that Abiku has worked hard to improve in his subjects and conduct. The Lord has helped him and will help all of you to do well on this math test which you are happy to take in His name. Now clear your desks and say a silent prayer for support."

The students snickered behind their desktops as they shuffled construction paper, scissors, and crayons. Through the crack in his desktop, Abiku noticed Charmaine's tight lips as she turned slightly to deflect the other students' stares. He could not help chuckling to himself, at first, and then more loudly when Sister distributed tests on the other side of the room. Charmaine surprised him as she slapped both sides of his face with her swiftly flung braids.

Before Charmaine could retrieve her hair, Joanne Chalk's screeching and two loud thumps turned all heads to the floor of first row, where the two long, silky braids filled the aisle. As Sister emptied her desk drawers, Abiku stood on his seat, waving his scissors and shouting "Amandla." In a zealous but confused state, Joanne Chalk jumped on her desk shouting, "Yeah! Free Landelella." Blaze drummed the top of his desk, and the others joined in until their protest became a chorus to Sister's demands for order. And with no braids to follow her, screaming Charmaine bolted toward Sister, who stood clutching her crucifix.