The Lesson

The Third Visit, 3

Just then, a man was coming out of the house next door.

— I’m sorry to bother you, he said. But I believe this is yours. It was brought to our house yesterday and my daughter accepted the delivery. Of course, she shouldn’t have; it isn’t ours at all. But she did. In any case, here it is now for you.

He handed a long, flat package to Loring.

— Thank you, she said.

If the man was not a mortician, then it is impossible to say anything about him; he spoke soberly and quietly, dressed somberly, made persistent but nonconfrontational eye contact, and wore bifocals. His hair cut was so vague as to be indescribable. In general, one wouldn’t be wrong to mention that he gave the comforting effect of a tree branch.

— Shall we open the package? asked Stan.

— Inside.

They set the package (which was very light) on the floor of the parlor. A scissors was to hand. But first:

The package was not addressed to Loring. As anyone could see, the exterior was entirely blank. Why the man would have thought that it was destined for Loring was a fact completely unexplainable. They might as well open it, then, to see.

Open it they did. Loring handed the scissors to Stan. The boy proceeded to cut here and there enthusiastically. He soon had one end undone, then the other. He put the scissors down and unfolded the cardboard. Inside was the single wing of a large bird.

— But what can it mean? mused Loring.

— What will you do with it?

— Quite right, Stan. What will we do with it?

— It would be a good prize in a contest.

— A jumping contest, said Loring. For people who fall out of planes and survive.

— Do people survive that? asked Stan.

— From time to time. We can call it the Daedalus prize.

She put it back in the box.

— Stick this in the closet for me, Stan. Thank you.