Rameau's Niece

"How did you know?" John said, eager and earnest as a dog. He stood up and began to shake her hand heartily. "Wow! Margaret Nathan! It's totally an honor to meet you."

Gee, Margaret thought. Look at how he's looking at me. He's heard of me. He's excited to meet me. Why, he adores me! And isn't he cute, behind that little tufty scrap he thinks is a mustache. Look at those pretty, wide hands.

"Yes, quite an honor," Edward said.

Margaret was gratified by the boy's attention, but she was becoming alarmed at Edward's manner, and annoyed by it, too. How was she to woo him back if he reacted to her mere presence with petty sarcasm? What if she was a bad wife? She was in love with him and wanted him back. Wasn't that enough? She glared at Edward, her smile, and plan to continue smiling vacantly, quite forgotten. Then she turned her eyes back to young John.

"So this is why you teach," she said, insinuating, consciously suggestive.

Edward said nothing, but flashed her a look that said, Don't go too far.

She gave him a look that she hoped would say, I've already gone too far, so what's one more little misstep?

But she added, "This is why you teach. A student of such devotion, showing up on such a beautiful July morning."

John grinned.

"It's raining," Edward said.

"Is it?"

"Margaret, we really are busy. Perhaps you could conduct your own tutorial somewhere else."

"Perhaps." And she ostentatiously eyed John again.

There was another silence, then John said, "My mom likes your book, Ms. Nathan."

Well, aren't you sweet, Margaret wanted to say. You and your mom. But she limited herself to a soft thank-you, then ran her eye down his smooth young face to his T-shirt, which was decorated with revealing little rips, to his jeans and pointy cowboy boots.

She felt Edward watching her watch the boy, so she said, "I hope we'll be seeing much more of each other, Mr. Marsh."

"Wait'll I tell my mom," said John, and he shuffled out of the office, mumbling thanks and a promise to Edward to think over his advice and a shy good-bye to Margaret.

Edward looked at her. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk. "His mom. How nice. Well, my darling, welcome. Leaving so soon? You needn't tarry on my account. I know why you've come, so let's get on with it, shall we?"

"You know why I've come? You know what I want?"

"Such delicacy, Margaret. Such consideration. But I have another student coming. Shall we conclude our business quickly, then?"

What does he mean? A quick hump beneath the desk? Hardly. He was sarcastic and distant and bitter, an unfamiliar, eerie state of affairs. Margaret's confidence of moments before hardened into willfulness. She felt reckless and glib.

"Professor Ehrenwerth?"

Margaret turned toward the quiet greeting and saw the girl from the dinner party, the silky brown-haired girl who read Walt Whitman in the library. The girl, the one. Oh, really. That's why you want me out of here. Well, too bad, chump. I'm not budging.

"Professor Ehrenwerth, am I interrupting you? I just wanted to come by and wish you a happy birthday and drop off this paper for my incomplete."

"Come in, Eve."

Eve? Yes, that was her name. Naturally.

"You remember my wife?"

"Oh, yes, hello, Ms. Nathan."

"Hello, Eve. And please call me Margaret."

"Margaret also came to wish me a happy birthday, didn't you, dear?" Edward said.

The twelfth. Yes, yes. Edward's birthday. Yes, she supposed she had come to wish him a happy birthday. And she, Margaret, was the gift. Surprise! No returns, Edward. And no exchanges.

She looked at Eve. How did this wide-eyed child know about his birthday? Well, of course she knew. She was the one. But not for long, sister, Margaret thought. You're finished in this burg.

"So thank you and good-bye, Margaret," Edward said.

"Eve," Margaret said, putting her hand on the girl's arm. "Would you mind if I stayed and observed your discussion? I'm researching a new book about the relationship between teacher and student in Western culture. It's called From Socrates to Mr. Chips: Pedagogy and Desire."

"Margaret—"

"Oh, no, that's okay, Professor Ehrenwerth," Eve said. "It sounds so interesting. And if listening would really help..."

Margaret sat down on the one extra chair and crossed her legs.

Eve looked around for another, then shrugged and stood in front of Edward's desk.

"It's just that I really didn't have that much to say," Eve said. She put her paper on Edward's desk.

"Did you know that Professor Ehrenwerth was forty today, Eve? He certainly doesn't look it, does he?"

"No. But these days forty's young," said Eve. "The prime of life. I sometimes wish I were forty."

"You will be," Edward said.

"Yes, and I'm sure it will be wonderful for you," said Margaret. "The prime of life. Mid-life, in fact."

"My paper's about mid-life, Margaret!" Eve said. "'Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore'? You know it? And see, she's twenty-eight, the woman who's watching, and it's like a mid-life crisis? Because in those days twenty-eight was like mid-life?"

Margaret looked at Edward.

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