Mr.
Tucker is the headmaster of my school. He does not wear glasses. His eyes
always frighten me even when I refuse to face them. They are sharp, hard, and
cold, and he uses them like a whip.
He always
washes his hands in an enamel basin in the corner of the room. After he has
washed them, he will walk over to his desk and stand behind it looking at the
pupils while he dries his hands on a small, white towel. He dries each finger
separately, beginning with the first finger. His fingers are long and white. He
rubs them briskly without losing the effect of deliberation and as he tubs
them, he looks at us with his eyes.
No one
moves while he dries his hands, no one speaks. When he finishes, he will fold
the towel and put it in desk drawer. Then, he will awkwardly smile at us.
He really
terrifies me.
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