The Administrator Took My Badge Beside The Empty Telescope Rack

Douglas Nettle set a plastic bag on his desk and told me to put my volunteer badge inside.

"Effective at once," he said. "Your access to the planetarium is suspended pending review."

Through his window, rain made the bricks of Scranton look dark as wet coal. I had come to change a bad bulb in the star projector. My tool roll stayed closed on my knees.

"What review?"

"The disposal of six donated telescopes."

"They were moved. You ordered it."

He pushed a letter toward me with one finger.

I was a thin Chinese American man of sixty-four, with silver hair cut close, brown age spots on my hands, and thick spectacles that slid down my flat nose.

Those spectacles had helped me earn my living. I ground optical lenses at a small shop off South Washington Avenue. Most days, I worked under a lamp, feeding fine grit between glass and iron until a rough surface could hold a clean image.

I also gave two evenings a week to the school planetarium. Children called me Mr. Shen. Douglas called me "the outside helper."

Douglas Nettle was a white man of forty-eight, with sandy hair combed flat, a pink square face, and a gray suit that pulled tight across his shoulders.

He tapped the letter.

"The district has received credible information that you sold the instruments for approximately $31,000."

"From whom?"

"That information is subject to administrative protection."

"Did you ask your brother?"

His finger stopped moving.

"Please avoid statements that could complicate your position."

I took off my glasses. From my pocket, I drew a square of old silk, hemmed by hand. Three blue stitches marked one corner. I made these cloths myself because store cloths often left rough edges.

While I cleaned the lenses, I read the letter without them. The big print said PROPERTY MISCONDUCT. Below it were my name, Wenhao Shen, and the date, September 19.

"I want a copy of the complaint."

"Submit an appropriate request."

"And the record of your transfer order."

He leaned back.

"There is no authorized shipment in our inventory system."

I folded the cloth with the blue stitches outside.

"Then your system needs work."

He seemed almost pleased. Perhaps he thought that was all the fight I had.

I put the badge in his bag. Then I asked for a receipt.

"For a plastic badge?"

"For what you took from me."

He wrote BADGE RECEIVED across a spare envelope and signed it. I waited until he added the date.

Outside his office, the school secretary kept her eyes on her screen. Two teachers stopped talking when I passed. By the planetarium doors, a handwritten sign covered my usual hours.

VOLUNTEER PROGRAM UNDER REVIEW.

A boy named Eli waited beside his grandmother. He carried the moon chart I had given him.

"Are we still seeing Saturn tonight?" he asked.

"Someone else will have to open," I said.

His grandmother pulled him closer. That hurt more than the letter.

The six telescopes had come from a closed hilltop observing club near Moscow. I had rebuilt their focusers, cleaned their mirrors, and fitted each case with blocks so the glass would travel safely. The donation papers valued them at $42,000.

I had asked the board for one simple rule when it accepted them: every move needed two signatures, one from the district and one from the volunteer custodian.

That custodian was me.

The board had agreed. I had spent too many years watching boxes leave workshops under promises of paperwork to follow.

At home, I put Douglas's letter beside my kettle. My kitchen table held a little ledger wrapped in brown paper.

I did not open it right away.

First, I called the planetarium teacher, Mrs. Bell.

"Were they told I sold them?"

She breathed into the phone.

"Douglas read a notice at the staff meeting. He said there was a formal complaint. Wenhao, I told him you wouldn't."

"Did anyone ask where his complaint came from?"

"He said questions might harm the investigation."

I thanked her. She sounded relieved when I ended the call.

Then I unwrapped the ledger.

The district kept scanned forms. I kept the original transfer register, as the donation agreement required. Douglas had signed page fourteen on September 12. His pen had pressed hard enough to leave dents on the next sheet.

Six telescopes. Temporary dry storage. Destination: Nettle Storage, Bay C, Taylor.

Under ordered by, he had written his full name.

Beside it, I had signed only for release to the carrier. I had added those words before giving him the pen.

He had laughed then.

"Nobody will ever read all that, Mr. Shen."

Now I laid his signed badge receipt next to his signed transfer order. The same steep N began both names.

Tucked behind page fourteen was my copy of the freight slip. Across its bottom, in green ink, a dispatcher had written a name and a direct number.

Janelle Foster.