Девять рассказов
De Daumier-Smith’s Blue Period
Exceptunderprettyrarecircumstances,inanycrisis,whenIwasnineteen,myfunnyboneinvariablyhadthedistinctionofbeingtheveryfirstpartofmybodytoassumepartialorcompleteparalysis.RidgefieldandMissKramerdidmanythingstome,buttheydidn’tcomeatallclosetoamusingme.ThreeorfourtimeswhileIwasgoingthroughtheirenvelopes,IwastemptedtogetupandmakeaformalprotesttoM.Yoshoto.ButIhadnoclearideajustwhatsortofformmyprotestmighttake.IthinkIwasafraidImightgetovertohisdeskonlytoreport,shrilly:"Mymother’sdead,andIhavetolivewithhercharminghusband,andnobodyinNewYorkspeaksFrench,andtherearen’tanychairsinyourson’sroom.Howdoyouexpectmetoteachthesetwocrazypeoplehowtodraw?"Intheend,beinglongself-trainedintakingdespairsittingdown,Imanagedveryeasilytokeepmyseat.Iopenedmythirdstudent’senvelope.
MythirdstudentwasanunoftheorderofSistersofSt.Joseph,namedSisterIrma,whotaught"cookinganddrawing"ataconventelementaryschooljustoutsideToronto.AndIhaven’tanygoodideasconcerningwheretostarttodescribethecontentsofherenvelope.Imightjustfirstmentionthat,inplaceofaphotographofherself,SisterIrmahadenclosed,withoutexplanation,asnapshotofherconvent.Itoccurstome,too,thatsheleftblankthelineinherquestionnairewherethestudent’sagewastobefilledin.Otherwise,herquestionnairewasfilledoutasperhapsnoquestionnaireinthisworlddeservestobefilledout.
