First period Spanish 1 had gone well. First period classes almost always went well, with the exception of tardies, because students were still waking up. Last year Lynn was telling him about a student of hers who was just hellish, always sarcastic and disruptive, but Jason didn’t have any problems at all with the kid, and couldn’t figure out why, until it occurred to him that the guy was too tired first period to do much of anything.

In second period Spanish 2, he was right in the middle of reviewing the bellwork on the board, when a girl started crying and ran out of the class. Not long after that, another girl was distraught, and dashed out of the room. He was trying to finish the bellwork when he heard students out in the halls, some of whom were crying. What the hell was going on?

Then an announcement was broadcast over the intercom, “Teachers, please check your e-mails immediately for a message from the principal.”

Jason went to his desk and opened up the e-mail on his laptop. “Teachers, please be advised that Nash Kensington was killed in a traffic accident coming to school this morning. We are allowing students to be checked out by their parents, and the counselor will be available to talk to any students who may be traumatized.”

Once students found out that they could be checked out, there was a mass exodus of students, with runners bringing checkout slips from the attendance office, some students just getting up and leaving, or parents coming to the door to get their kids, leaving Jason with just a handful of students. What was he supposed to do, try to teach five or six students, and have everyone else miss the lesson or try to make it up, which only meant that almost everybody copied from a friend? So he checked with the few students who remained to see if they had any work missing, or if they wanted to do extra credit. The rest of the day was pretty much a loss.

Eventually Jason learned from the few students left on campus, who were all better informed than he was, that Nash’s brother Kyle was driving the two of them to school, when he dropped his cellphone. As Kyle reached down to pick up his cellphone, he lost control, in part due to the icy conditions, and the vehicle rolled, killing Nash.

Jason felt that cellphones would be the ruin of education, which made him afraid that he was turning into his grandfather. A kid was dead because his brother reached for a fallen cellphone while driving. Nash wasn’t the only teen to die because of a phone. A woman had come to the school to give a moving presentation at an assembly, telling her tragic story of how her daughter’s texting and driving resulted in her colliding with a truck and dying. In the past, the only way to contact students was by calling the main office or the attendance office, but now, because of cellphones, students all knew about Nash’s death, while teachers were still clueless. Jason feared that someday there would be rumors of a shooting or a bomb, and due to students’ cellphone network, there would be mass panic.

It was too easy for students to use their phones to take pictures of a test and broadcast them, so students arrived later in the day already knowing what was on the test, which is why Jason always had several versions of a test when he tested multiple periods. If a teacher assigned homework, one student did the work, took a picture of it, and broadcast it to the other 29 students. There were sites that solved math problems, or where students could use Google translate.

Even worse, students could take compromising pictures of another student in a bathroom stall, or in the locker room, and broadcast them to the world in an instant, or take naked pictures of themselves with their phones, only to find the nudes shared with the entire campus. At least one teacher, but not at Jason’s school, had been caught with nude pictures of a student on his phone, and a nude picture of Ms. Ylarregui’s son had been taken by his brother’s cellphone and posted on Facebook. Furthermore, due to the law, anyone caught with pictures of a naked minor on his phone, or sharing those pictures, was looking at charges of child pornography.

Students were constantly distracted by their cellphones, where they had access to a universe of porn, not to mention that studies showed students who visited social media experienced a marked decrease in their academic performance, lasting as long as an hour afterwards. Jason knew that students often posted nasty things about each other, which had resulted in one girl socking another girl in between classes for an offensive post.

Students would goad teachers, baiting them into lashing out, which they recorded on their phones and broadcast without any context. Jason had almost been the victim of a video trap, except Darcy warned him. Students were constantly texting each other during class and constantly checking in on their social media. Smart teachers were starting to ask for students’ phones before excusing them to the restroom, because students so commonly asked to go to the restroom so they could use their phones.

Phones went off in class all the time, and one’s girl’s phone went off just as Jason was speaking to the class, playing a ringtone of “Crazy Bitch.” Jason confiscated cellphones and put them in his cabinet, only to have the phones start ringing. Irate parents would storm into his class to get their kids’ confiscated cellphones, claiming how vitally necessary they were, and often parents were the worst offenders, texting their kids in the middle of class. Cellphones played music, often through the tiniest of earbuds, so students wearing hoods, or with long hair, could cover their ears and play music while Jason was modeling how to pronounce Spanish, or explaining a key concept. Sometimes Jason only caught students because the music playing in their earbuds was so loud that he could hear it as he walked by.

Jason believed that until the public schools either jammed phone signals, created shielded buildings, or imposed very severe consequences for cellphones on campus, education would suffer.

* * *

Jason cautiously approached the man, who wasn’t even trying to hide the knife in his hand. The man was thin, with a beard and curly brown hair. He held his coat together with one hand, and his fingers poked through holes in his mittens. The man had a nervous look, and if Jason looked deeper, a look of distress.

“I’m sorry about earlier, Father,” he apologized. “It wasn’t right of me. Sometimes I can’t help it.”

Jason moved toward the man’s left, away from his knife hand.

“I want you to take this, please.” He held out the knife to Jason.

The all-metal knife lay on his outstretched hand, which trembled. Studying the knife, Jason recognized it as a World War I standard issue trench knife, with a dagger blade and brass knuckles built into the handle. Jason took the knife and thought about the man’s words: he wasn’t so much giving Jason the knife, as he was pleading with Jason to take it from him.

“Sure, I’ll take the knife.” Jason carefully picked up the knife and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Come in and get something to eat.”

“No, I couldn’t, not after that ruckus of mine.” He wrung his hands and looked down.

“What’s your name, by the way? I’m Jason Whitlock.” He extended his hand to the man.

“Orville.” The man shook Jason’s hand.

“You know, when I first got to the city, I had gloves just like yours, and holes in my socks,” Jason confided. “I spent the night in a cardboard box. Nobody here is perfect: we’re all here because we’ve got problems and need help. Don’t worry about earlier—just get something to eat.”

Jason escorted the man to the cart, where there were still ravioli left over. Mrs. Stefanelli smiled as she fixed Orville a plate, while Angelo poured him a cup of wine, which caused Orville’s eyes to open wide. Jason led the guy to a table. “Hey, everyone, this is Orville. Please make him feel welcome.”

“You know, Father Jason, I’ve been in a lot of flophouses, but this is the best one ever.” Dwight beamed and raised his paper cup in a toast.

“Thanks, Dwight, that was very kind of you.” Jason patted Orville on the shoulder and went to the Stefanellis.

“Sorry, I don’t have any money to pay you two,” Jason said apologetically. “And you guys really outdid yourselves, went the extra mile, like last time.”

“It’s okay, you already pay us last time.” Angelo smiled.

“I really appreciate it. The mayor shut us down and it’s been a struggle to feed the men.” Jason tried to tamp down his anger.

“Calabrese,” Angelo said.

Jason knew that northern Italians disliked southern Italians, especially Sicilians, whom they regarded as hoodlums and gangsters, deriding them as “calabrese.” “Hey, can I get a couple of men to help the Stefanellis get back?”

Two men volunteered, and Jason was proud of them. The men had started to filter out, leaving Orville alone at the table. Jason sat down across from the man, who seemed on edge. “So where did you get the knife?”

“I fought in Europe during the Great War.” The man coughed and looked down at his food.

“So you’re a veteran. Thank you for serving.” Jason looked at Orville, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Why did you want me to have the knife?”

The man looked up briefly at Jason, then looked back down again. He picked up his fork, then set it back down.

Sister Mildred was starting to wash dishes, and Jason wanted to help her, but there was something about Orville that needed to be resolved. “Let’s go over to the heater, where it’s warm,” Jason suggested.

The two of them stood at the heater. Jason tried a different tack. “Tell me about the war.”

Orville was silent, then words started tumbling out of his mouth. “I fought in France. In the trenches. Constant shelling, you could hear them whistling, shrieking as they flew, day and night. There wasn’t a tree anywhere, not a blade of grass, just an endless field of mud and barb wire. We’d go out at night with trench clubs, shotguns, and knives, try to catch the krauts by surprise. It was hand-to-hand—I even bit a man once—and you had to be real careful if you shot, ‘cause you might shoot one of your own in the dark. The first knives were spikes, good for stabbing, but you couldn’t cut with ‘em. At the very end of the war we got the Mark I, the knife I gave you; those were beauties. You could use the brass knuckles to punch, but they were really designed so you could hold onto the knife and some kraut couldn’t take it from you. If the blade broke, which happened all the time if you stabbed a helmet, a rifle, or a trench club, you could use the skull crusher in the butt.”

“You think about the war a lot?” Jason had an idea what was going on with Orville.

“All the time.” Orville looked at Jason, then quickly looked away. “I’m having a hard time sleeping.”

“Are you afraid you might accidentally hurt somebody with that knife? Maybe yourself?” Jason knew he was asking a delicate question. “Nobody is making any judgments. The shelter is here to help men like you.”

Orville shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. He wrung his hands, and finally shook his head up and down.

“Let’s go get you a bunk.” Jason reached over to turn off the gas burner, then went to the other two and turned them off. “You about done, Sister Mildred?”

“I just finished. You two go ahead and I’ll get the lights.” The nun wiped her brow and closed the cupboard.

Jason and Orville walked across the lawn in the direction of the gym and dorm building. “Careful,” Jason warned, “a monk…er, Chihuahua, crapped on the lawn there.”

“You think I’m crazy?” Orville asked, crossing his hands under his armpits to keep warm.

“No, definitely not crazy,’ Jason assured him. “I don’t know how you managed to survive what you went through.”

Jason bitched about being a schoolteacher, yet what had Orville seen fighting in the trenches? The carnage of WWI was on a horrific scale, with tens of thousands of men dying, often in the most horrific ways.

“This is the gym,” Jason said as they passed the ring. “I’m training for a boxing match I got coming up the 22nd.”

“You’re a boxer?” Orville asked, looking around at the ring and the bags along the walls.

“We’ll find out, I suppose. It’s my first fight.” Jason pointed to a portrait on the wall. “That’s ‘The Fighting Father’ Milligan. He used to run this place.”

“What happened to him?” Orville asked as they climbed the stairs.

“He was murdered.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Orville thought a moment. “Are you sure you want the job?”

“Somebody had to step up.” Jason and Orville came to the head of the stairs, and saw the beds arranged in neat rows in the dorm room. “Do we have a couple of empty beds here?”

Grady pointed to beds near the stairs, which were farthest from the restroom and showers.

“Okay, you sleep there, and I’ll sleep here.” Jason sat down on the bunk and unlaced his shoes, then set them under the bed. He took off his coat and laid it over the tubing that served as the footboard, conscious of the men watching him, wondering why a priest was sleeping in the dorm. He unbuttoned his shirt and set it next to his coat, so that he was in just his t-shirt and slacks.

“You’re sleeping here?” Orville looked at Jason in surprise.

“Yeah, I had fleas in my bed and everything is being washed now.” Jason stretched out on his bunk. “Plus, I thought it would be good to get to know the guys, make certain the living conditions are comfortable.”

Orville didn’t say anything, but stripped down to his t-shirt and briefs, and slipped under the blanket.

Jason’s story was bullshit, and Orville must have known it, but it was a face-saving way of helping the man, who was having trouble sleeping. “If you need anything,” Jason told him, “I’ll be right here.”

“Lights out!” Luke announced, and shut off the lights, leaving on just the feeble light in the bathroom to enable someone to go to the restroom without stumbling in the dark.

Jason’s workout was more exhausting than he realized, even with the nap he’d taken this afternoon, so he didn’t remember falling asleep or even lying in bed. He woke in the middle of the night with the feeling that something was wrong. Looking over at Orville’s bunk, he saw the man was gone. Of course, the men who stayed at shelters were free, restless souls who often roamed as they pleased, and would think nothing of walking out in the middle of the night.

Still, something was wrong. Jason checked his coat pocket, and the trench knife was gone!

Jason had a panicked thought. “Oh no, have I invited a killer into the shelter?”