Here my pupil, struck by perfect understanding of my carefully chosen words, cried out in a way that did momentarily disconcert me, but I quickly recovered and continued my discourse.
MYSELF: How much farther the sphere of his duties may be extended—
She cried out again, but I continued, undeterred.
MYSELF: ...by a more fixed, a more profound and more accurate...
At this moment, I admit, I finally broke off my lecture entirely, overcome by my own argument for observing facts and precisely registering sensation.
In the quiet that followed, I heard her voice, joyful, close to my ear.
SHE: I still learn! My instruction is not yet finished. When will it be? When I shall no longer be sensible!
MYSELF: The true delight of virtue is the pleasure of having performed a durable service.
MARGARET HAD eventually arranged another lunch date with Till, who was now waiting for her outside the narrow restaurant. It wasn't just narrow, it was short, too. There were only four small tables in it, all of them, as always, taken. The restaurant was called You Are Hungry.
"Do you want to go someplace else?" Till said. "I don't want to go someplace else, but I will if you do."
"It's freezing," Margaret said, but she did not move. She had already slipped into the mild, semiconscious state adopted during the early stages of waiting in line. Later on, she might explode into a rage. But in neither case did she, or anyone she knew, ever leave and go to another place. "What are you working on?" she said. Till was her friend, she was used to having her as a friend, but Margaret rarely had that much she wanted to say to her.
"Well, it's about the space shuttle, actually. What people on a space shuttle really talk about, you know? Divorce, childhood, their children's reading scores. There's some singing, too. You know, Margaret, one of the characters is a little like you." Till looked at her in that way she had—deeply and with a single-minded purposeful attention.
"Really?" Margaret said, embarrassed, but also intrigued. "What am I like?"
"I don't know, actually."
Margaret blew on her cold fingers. Till was adorned by fringes today, beaded with jet. Was it a blouse? A jacket? Below she wore a long, tight black silk skirt, and her arms, waist, and neck were encircled by bands of Navajo silver and turquoise.
"So, have you seen Lily?" Till said.
"Mm-hmm."
"Oh."
Margaret thought that she could now easily begin to talk about what she always talked to Till about, which was basically nothing, a pleasant, comfortable code of small talk that said, We're old friends. But Margaret thought, Is that enough? Shouldn't I try to raise the level of discourse, and so strengthen, heighten, and enrich this friendship?
When she was younger, she talked to her girlfriends about boys. Maybe Till was going out with a boy and they could talk about it. Or a man. Or an old goat. Of course, maybe she wasn't going out with a man of any age, in which case the question would either offend her or depress her. And even if she was going out with someone, she wouldn't admit it, would she, being happily married and all.
What should Margaret say now, Margaret? Margaret should talk about current events, Margaret. Cold and confused, she tried to reconstruct her morning conversation with Edward. "So now the, uh, Nicaraguans can advance to a premodern artisan culture," she said.
"Jimmy Carter makes a wonderful ex-president, doesn't he?"
Margaret, you will have to remember that. It's more, well, more conversational than what you said. Premodern artisan culture indeed. She shifted from foot to foot. What now? She looked at Till, who jingled pleasantly, like a pony pulling a sled. Margaret smiled. And then Margaret, to her relief, had an inspiration, a conversational idea.
"You look great, Till," she said. "Radiant." She smiled again, proudly, waiting for a response.
"So you saw Lily?"
"Yes. She said menus are a sign of male domination. I think."
"Oh," Till said. She tapped her little foot. "That's all?"
"Well, some stuff about the library."
"Oh. Okay. Um, Margaret, do you want to know a secret?"
Margaret leaned her head down closer to Till's.
Till said, "Do you promise not to tell?"
"Doo-Dah-Doo."
"No, I'm serious. Promise."
"I feel that if you trust someone enough to tell them a secret, you have to trust them enough to know they shouldn't tell anyone, and if you have to warn them not to spread it, you shouldn't tell them in the first place."
"Oh, never mind, I can tell you. You'll forget it right away anyway. I'm seeing someone new."