Since his talk with la guida, Armantrout became clear about what he had to do. He didn’t want to, or like the idea, had even tried to convince himself otherwise, but woke up the next morning and the morning after that feeling a need to travel to the city of giant buildings and tall towers.
If the Pool of Knowledge were to survive, he had to convince the board to recommit to its original vision of a school instead of going off on this Devil’s Forest tangent and all the stuff about a theme park, but open it up to the larger community with classes and educational resources where people could listen to speakers and share their knowledge instead of each family trying to make it on their own. In other words, an educational hub with the Pool of Knowledge at its center.
The last time Armantrout had been to the city had been during the year of the creepsaw weevil when things had gotten so bad, they almost had to shut down altogether. But there came publicity surrounding Davie D., a boy who’d sipped from la guida’s silver cup and ended up in a 72-hour non-stop marathon seeking to dislodge the creepsaw weevil from every corn field and pumpkin patch within a 10-mile radius. His efforts did not go unnoticed. During those first three days followed by three sleepless nights, Davie D. had discovered that weevils did not like loud noise. How he discovered this fact is unimportant.
After drinking from the Pool of Knowledge, Davie D. led the charge with a group of townsfolk banging drums, teakettles, washboards, and whatever else was available, and drove those weevils back into the ground, and in escaping the racket, the insects buried themselves so deeply into layers of the earth, they were unable to come back up for air. Later, Davie formed a band from that original group. Music had always been his passion and to this day, the Evil Weevil Whackers, play at major events throughout the larger Oakside area.
Armantrout used the occasion to convince board members that their efforts in supporting the Pool of Knowledge had merit. Even so, there had been questions by one member who owned several of the city’s tallest buildings, Gilleguy Ronstone, who gabbed on and on about expanding the school, and wanted to move it in the direction of a theme park and not an educational center.
“It’s one and the same thing,” he said. “The Devil’s Forest will provide a chance for youngsters to figure out how to get through the maze without burning themselves. No one will get hurt. The forest resets after every visit.” He sat down and signaled a thumbs up to his supporters.
The board members turned their heads toward the other side of the oval table where Armantrout sat wearing a suit and tie. He felt uncomfortable. Board members folded their hands and waited for the school’s director to respond.
“As you know,” he began, “an anonymous donor funded the school several years ago as a place where his son and other children in our area could get a solid education. We’ve been in existence for more than ten years and judging from our most recent graduate, Davie D., I think we have a pretty good track record.” Armantrout waved his hand toward the seated youngster. “Davie, would you like to say a few words?”
Recognizing his cue, Davie stood up and looked at the seated members of the board, all wearing black T-shirts with the slogan, Education is More Than a Mind Game. Davie D., a sweet-looking youth with skin the shade of a clay pot, blue jeans patched to look presentable, hadn’t prepared a speech; he only knew that he’d be able to visit the city for the first time and had agreed to come along.
“Thank you,” he cleared his throat. But something happened in those few moments looking down the table at board members, some blowing noses, others staring out the window. True to his calling, Davie D. connected with his audience and began to perform. “The Pool of Knowledge is no ordinary place,” he said, waiting a few moments for those words to be absorbed. “It’s where I found my calling on that single most day when I was offered a token bearing the same inscription you have printed on your T-shirts—Education is More than a Mind Game. Everyone looked down to their chests and confirmed that fact. “For on that day, as scared as I was, I understood a terrible a beauty was being born inside my bosom, my heart with one purpose only—to rid the fields of a legion of invaders. You could stand in one place and hear the sound of jaws opening and closing gnawing away at roots and creating famine throughout the countryside, babies crying and mothers who could do nothing, but chew the very dirt in which failed crops wilted.” The eyes of several board members began to water.
“When La guida stepped from the pool and offered me her cup,” he continued, “and I’d be lying if I didn’t say how scared I was—how I wasn’t sure that I wished to put the vessel to my lips. But I’m not going to stand here before you today and lie,” he said. “The moment I drank, I knew I’d done good,” Davie D., was beginning to tire, “because I’d understood why I’d been born. I come here before you, in gratitude for your support of the Pool of Knowledge.”