12. The Fly ... THE FARM EAST OF PINE VILLAGE

Robert was The Fly.

Not the unfortunate fly in the 1958 movie with Vincent Price.

Robert was a hero such as Batman and Robin, who appeared in a series that had recently aired on television. Joe’s cousin Jay had given Joe his Navy Peacoat from World War II, which Jay had outgrown, and Joe passed it along to Robert. At the auction of Flora Farden’s belongings, Robert had acquired a pair of amber dark glasses that were big and round with ivory-colored Bakelite frames. Wearing the black coat and the round glasses with the deep amber lenses, Robert was The Fly.

When Robert helped his father with the evening chores, he flew over gates. Well, he had to scale the gates’ horizontal panels and hop down on the other side, but he did it really fast, as if he were flying! On the other side of the gates, Robert fought crime. Often, he did so by cracking ears of corn in two or by spreading hay in the mangers of the barn.

Even though he missed games on the playground, Robert was enjoying his time in the seventh grade. He enjoyed jumping up when the bell rang and scurrying to his next class in another room. He enjoyed the lessons and the teachers and his classmates. He enjoyed having a locker instead of a desk.

And he enjoyed becoming The Fly after school.

For many generations, students from Rainsville had transferred to Pine Village for their final years of schooling. When Robert entered the seventh grade, a reorganizing brought Rainsville students into his class. A few of the teachers who had devoted their careers to Rainsville’s classes permanently transferred to Pine Village. One of them was the beloved Mr. Charles Lloyd Cavanaugh.

He stepped from a story by Washington Irving. A thin gentleman, he parted his gray hair in the middle. His reading glasses slid down his long nose. To see him on a windy day striding between the school building and the gymnasium was to see a scholar of skin and bones barely able to keep his footing while his trousers and coat flapped as if they might lift him into the sky.

Mr. Cavanaugh was named the sponsor of Robert’s class, and Mr. Cavanaugh remained the class sponsor all the way through the class’ senior year.

He taught English and mathematics. While Mr. Cavanaugh was of the old school that memorized everything and seldom (if ever) erred about a fact, he occasionally lapsed into an extraordinary pronunciation.

Once, Robert’s class was learning a mathematical principle when Mr. Cavanaugh thought an example might prove helpful.

“Let us say you have four cassaws,” Mr. Cavanaugh said. He went on to describe a mathematical equation involving the four “cassaws.” Then he called on one of the sharpest students—probably because he wanted the class to hear the correct answer—but the student blushed and apologized, saying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” Mr. Cavanaugh said, “That’s quite alright,” and he called on another student good at math. Fidgeting, the student said, “I don’t know, either.” Now Mr. Cavanaugh wondered what to do. He had hoped to demonstrate the mathematical principle so clearly that the class would see how very simple it was, but he had called on two students who should have known the answer and they had been unable to respond.

Meanwhile, Alan, with knitted brows, had been staring at his desktop. Suddenly, a smile flashed across his face, and he raised his hand.

“Yes, Alan,” Mr. Cavanaugh acknowledged.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,” Alan began, clearing his throat, “by your word ‘cassaws,’ might you mean cashews?”

“I mean those delightful nuts that can be found along with peanuts in a can of mixed nuts,” Mr. Cavanaugh replied innocently, not taking any offense at Alan’s question. The idea of taking offense at anything never could cross Mr. Cavanaugh’s wonderful mind.

At that moment, the student on whom Mr. Cavanaugh had first called, raised a hand, was acknowledged, and said, “Now that I know we are dealing with cashews, I can give the answer.” And the answer was correct! Mr. Cavanaugh beamed, and he went on to say how simple the principle was, after all.

From that day forward, Robert always thought of cashews as “cassaws.”

Robert liked every one of his classmates—and had since first grade. He was delighted that he liked all the new classmates that came from the Rainsville School, too. Among them was his cousin Pam. They were complementary in many ways. Pam’s hair was as dark as Robert’s was blond. Her complexion was olive, but Robert’s was pale. When Robert was serious, Pam would laugh, and, when Pam was serious, Robert would laugh. They initiated a mutually pleasant academic rivalry that, six years later, would bring Robert to be the Valedictorian and Pam to be the Salutatorian—with the two separated by hardly a difference.

In seventh grade, Robert relied upon Pam’s customary response to any of his ideas that she considered outrageous; “Now, Robert!” she would admonish him with her genuine smile. He continuously amused her, and, as she was so intellectual herself, she always kept him on his intellectual toes.

For Mr. Cavanaugh’s English class, Robert drafted a letter to Aunt Della in Georgia: "Several events have been happening on the farm. Pigs have been coming, chickens hatched, young calves have been born, and a zillion other creatures have entered into our life. I enjoy it all except for one thing—work! It takes energy to feed a mess of squealing pigs and squawking chickens. It’s work to get clean again; although I suppose it’s worth it."

To Robert, the year felt as if a long-awaited future had arrived to pay homage to the past. The fall was distinguished by a futuristic television series named Star Trek that acknowledged its roots in Old World myth and fable. The hallmark of the spring was the CBS telecast of Hal Holbrook’s stunning performance as Mark Twain. (In the distant future, Robert would meet Hal Holbrook and would tour the eastern half of the United States as Edgar A. Poe for over two hundred performances, and Robert would spend two days with—and sketch—Gene Roddenberry, the creator of Star Trek.)

Meanwhile, Joe called out, “Robert, it’s time to do the chores.”

“Robert?” Robert called back. “Who’s Robert? Don’t you mean The Fly?”