Steckland Russ -- (Chapter II.v)

   
    (ix) --



      Quando leggemo il disiato riso
      esser baciato da cotanto amante,
    questi, che mai da me non fia diviso,
    la bocca mi bacio tutto tremante.
    Galeotto fu il libro e chi lo scrisse:
    Quel giorno piu non vi leggemmo avante
       
   
    'Do you mind if we share books? I forgot mine.'

    This was the intrigue: the instigation of my present situation. Since our first encounter in World History, Soraunen and I had not said a word to each other. So the surprise was mine when she asked for my torn, beaten second-hand copy of The Diviners. For a time we read together quietly, listening to the other students read passages aloud.

    'Soraunen, read the next passage please.' droned Mr. Calsuco, without even a book in front of him.

    She read the first sentence, and I discovered she was not speaking these words but carressing them. Her voice nurtured the language like a parent gently pushing it out into the world. I closed my eyes and there I was in rural Manitoba, revelling in a place I had no concept of while a sweet narration gave it all substance. Once she finished it took me several seconds to bring myself back. I didn't know anything could have such an effect on me, and it was obvious.

    'Steckland! Please read the next passage.' said Calsuco, likely repeating himself.

    I've never been superbly confident in my reading aloud abilities, but I was inspired to do my best by the elegance before me. There was the occasional description or word of dialogue I stumbled over, and I felt like the class was burning holes through me with their laser eyes. Still, my voice was clear and not once did I mispronounce anything. I know Soraunen glanced at me when I was done but I did not dare look back.
    The lesson went on uneventfully and at the end I thanked Calsuco for the escape route he had suggested some days before. He commented that often after teaching his Grade Nine class he would sneak to the top of that stairwell and read "The Waste Land" to restore his faith in the English language. I bid him a good weekend and set off down the hallway until someone cut in front of me.

    'You've a nice voice. Like, a British scholar or something.'
    'Oh uh, thanks! You were amazing, really amazing. I was totally mesmerized. You were great.'
   
    I realized I had come on too strong so I looked down at my shoes. Soraunen smiled, slightly embarrassed at the praise so lavished upon her. A bright light above the fire escape gave her black hair an irresistible shimmer.

    'So I'm guessing you like The Diviners a lot, eh?'
    'Yeah, sure. It's all right, I guess.' I answered.
    'Same. Don't you find there're a lot of sex scenes though?'

    My entire body became so warm that I figured somebody must've switched on a lamp inside me. I looked at my shoes again to hide my surely red face.

    'Sure, I, suppose so. I mean, I haven't noticed but, I bet that's the case, yeah certainly.'
    'Yeah.' nodded Soraunen. 'So what're you up to now? Just heading home?'
    'Yeah, looks that way.' I shrugged.
    'Well, do you want to hang out for a bit? I mean, if you want.'
    'Nah, my dad gets kinda annoyed if I'm not home in time for the news.'
    'Oh.'

    Everything happened so fast that it was only by the time I reached the stairwell I thought I might've made a mistake. By the time I was out the side exit I was certain of it. My father is not one to care if I were home by six or midnight: I had made up an excuse for no reason.

    'Do you dare eat a peach?'

    It was a man, balding, leaning his back against the yellow windowpanes of Highview. I turned to him, the escaping wind blowing into my hair.

    'Excuse me? Do I know you?' I asked.
    'Al. Or Alfie.' said he, shaking my hand.

    He was a young man in build and fashion, but visibly he had aged beyond that. His clothing was meticulous, most notably a pair of white flannel trousers which he rolled up even on this chilly October day.

    'Who are you?'
    'I am not Prince Hamlet, not that we were meant to be.'
    'I... don't follow you.' said I.
    'Oh but you do, so how shall we presume? I know these mornings, afternoons and evenings, know them all. I have seen them come and and I have seen them go, talking of Michelangelo. You do know, so we can go and make our visit without asking what is it?'

    This stranger understood me more than I cared to accept, but I did not care for a tedious argument.

    'Fine.' I admitted. 'So what could I have done?'
    That is the question on your plate. For after a hundred visions and revisions, after this time for you and time for me, there is still time yet for a hundred indecisions that rub their backs against the windowpanes.'
    'But that is not what I meant! Not it at all!' I protested.
    'It is impossible to just say what we mean. No, that is not it at all.'

    'In short, I was afraid.'

    I wandered home through some half-deserted streets, on my way noticing only the occasional restaurant and the smell of sawdust. A yellow fog grew thicker as my steps became shorter, until the evening spread out against the sky.

   
   
    (ix) --        The Girl and The Love Song