The Lesson

Now, Why Do You Think…

— Now, why do you think that woman would ask such a thing?

— What did she ask?

— She wanted to come in and go upstairs to the window. She said the last balloon might still be seen.

— Was it the truth? asked Stan. I bet she just wanted to see the balloon.

— It could be, but these circus people: one never knows what they are up to.

She spat again on the floor. Some of the spit landed on the arm of her threadbare housedress. She wiped it with her hand until it was absorbed. Her look of disgust, though, was clearly for the circus people, and not for having spit on herself. Spitting on oneself: to her it was of no moment.

— Won’t you tell me more about the circus people?

— No.

— Oh, come, Loring, and tell me! If you don’t tell me, who will you tell? It will just be lost.

— Well…

She smiled.

— It isn’t their vagrancy that bothers me, but their costumes. I can’t trust people who wear such clothing. I knew a man once, Lemuel Jeffers. He got into a difficulty with circus people, and it didn’t end well. The circus had arrived in the town where he was living, and he went to see it, naturally, for who among us is not curious about a circus, particularly when we live in a town to which a circus comes. There are the posters and the general feeling of excitement, a feeling of excitement that quite possibly precedes the actual arrival of the circus. That is not beyond possibility. So, he went to the circus, and was made a fool of. There was one seat in the circus that the clowns had decided — whoever it is that sits in that seat, he or she will be the butt of all jokes. Lemuel sat there. So, the clowns threw things on him, they tugged at him. He took it all in good grace, but apparently this was the wrong way to behave, for it emboldened them. Finally, they bore him off into the middle of the ring and set a papier-mâché ass’s head on his shoulders. They made him cry out like an ass, like a donkey, and say, Oh my but I am an unfortunate one.

She cleared her throat.

— I don’t mean to overestimate the effects of this, but anyone can see quite clearly that it ruined Lemuel’s reputation in the town. He became very ill thereafter, and retired to a country house owned by his sister. What’s worse is this — the circus felt that the gag was so inspired that they found someone who looked like him at the next show, and humiliated that person, and again at the next show, and so forth. So, the persecution went on from him to everyone who looked like him. A sad state of affairs for Lemuel and for those with his visage.

— Of course, she continued. Of course, I like circuses very much. Don’t let me prejudice you. I have been to at least twenty different circuses, and they have often brought me great pleasure.

— But this one, said Stan. Why does it do that — in the street?

— Perhaps it is a roving circus that landed with some of the balloons. Or perhaps the town paid for it, and paid them to go about at the Jubilee, up and down the streets in celebration. The mayor is quite capable of such a thing. In any case, let us get to your lesson, for it is almost time for your parents to arrive.

They went in, and she took all the pieces off the board except the knight.

— How well do you know the knight?

— Pretty well.

— Yes?

— Yes.

— Then, let’s see you start here and go to every square on the board without repeating a single square. Call me when you have it.

The boy sat staring at the board.

Every now and then in the street came a great rushing sound and the circus passed again. It must have gone up and down the street, up and down all the streets (if one guess at a consistency of sorts) at least a dozen times. When the moment for the thirteenth visit of the circus came, instead there was quiet, and a knocking.

— Your mother, I believe, said Loring.

They went to the door and opened it. Indeed, the mother was there, and with her eight other boys and girls. These were Stan’s brothers and sisters, a motley bunch. Many of them wore hand-me-downs and went without food just so they could pay for Stan’s chess lessons.

Of course, that’s not so. The lessons weren’t really very expensive at all, and in fact, these weren’t Stan’s brothers and sisters. They were just a bunch of children who had taken to following Stan’s mother about. She had very fine features and this reassured the street children. They wanted a chance to sit with her and hear her sing. But, of course, she would never sing for them.

— Time to go, she said to Stan, and a hush fell over the children.

The street there by their feet was full of crepe paper and ash from the balloons. Why the balloons would leave a trail of ash was another question entirely. More came, and the group looked up from the doorway. Just ash falling through the open air onto their shoulders! There in the sky, high above, so high one could scarcely make out more than a dot, was the entire flotilla of balloons.

— I wasn’t aware balloons could go so high, said Mrs. Wiling.

— They can’t, said Loring. It will be the death of them. That’s far too close to the sun.

— That’s what the ash is, said Stan. It’s the end of them!

— Sharp, Stan, said his mother, patting him on the head.

The other children were all crestfallen. Why could they not have seen it at once, and said it, and been praised? What a miserable world it was, where poverty meant not only to wear old clothes, but also to lack the bravery to make keen observations about tragedies involving balloons.

— Next week, then, said Loring.

She went inside. A few moments later, she could be seen at the parlor window, this time with a telescope. What she saw is not reported.