The Lesson

The Fourth Visit

— And now we are going to try something, said Loring.

The two were in the bedroom, where they hadn’t gone before.

— And now we are going to try something. Please, go, stand there by the window.

Stan went and stood by the window. A light fell now on the front of his face and shoulders.

— Would you mind, she said, putting on this jacket?

It was one of these very light jackets that aren’t really for wearing outdoors, and have buttons like those on a shirt. This one was grey.

— All right, he said. Is this for me?

He put the jacket on. It fit quite well.

— It is, she said.

— Thank you.

Loring watched him there a moment.

— Keep looking out the window, she said. Don’t turn around.

She was wearing unusual clothing: a Chinese style shirt that buttoned on one side, in muted but iridescent green like a fish seen in muddy water; a pair of broad khaki pants; and her hair was tied up in a kerchief. The matter is confused, but becomes clear when one sees the photograph that she then took out of her pocket. In it, she, a younger woman, is wearing the same clothing, the Chinese shirt, the pants, the kerchief. She is standing by the window of a bedroom, beside a man who is wearing a light grey jacket. The light is falling on their faces, on their shoulders. It would seem the hour is before noon. She has one hand on the windowsill, the other on his shoulder. In the man’s hand is a folded wallet, of thick red paper tied with string. It hangs, held there by his fingers at the bottom right of the photograph. They are neither one young anymore.

Loring went over to the window. The room was small, and one had to go around the bed to get to the window. The floor creaked whenever it was crossed, and she crossed it then.

— Hold this, she said.

She handed him a paper wallet. It was red.

— In the other hand, she said. Now, look out the window.

She took a deep breath, and then stood by him, looking out the window. One of her hands went to the sill, and the other to his shoulder.

— The other hand, she said again, a bit harshly. Put it in the other hand.

— I’m sorry.

He took the wallet and held it in his right hand.

On the bureau, the photograph lay flat, and by the window, her reenactment was a mirror. The light fell on their shoulders, on their faces. Whether her eyes were opened or closed in the photograph, one can’t say, but now they were closed, now they were open, and she was desperately trying to find something, struggling without moving at all.

The boy seemed to sense this. He stood, stock-still, like a deer.

The sound of the clock in the parlor climbed the stair and entered the room.

— I am, she began to say, and stopped.

Open the window, she thought. Open it.

There was a painting on the wall by the bed of a religious procession in a Spanish mountain town. Everyone was hidden under cloth masks, and carrying torches. They were on a steep incline and the village spread out below, its own lights visible in the painted darkness.

He opened the window and turned to look at her.

She took her hand off his shoulder.

— You know, he said. When I came here with my mother, I felt that I had been here before. But now I think that I was never here.

— Never? she asked.

— Either never, or so many times that the place disappears. Aren’t they close to being the same? I think this is an awful place. Many places are awful. I am told I should come here. My mother tells me to; she brings me here. Then I am here, and I do not have the feeling that I was brought here. I know she is my mother, but I do not see why, or why I should go with her, except when she brings me here. Then, I feel — she is serving me, because.

He put the wallet on the windowsill.

— Because, I want to be here, however awful it is. I am very tired. I just woke up, but I am tired. Why is that?

Lie down on the bed, she thought.

Through the open window came the noise from a kitchen in the house opposite. Just bustling kitchen sounds, things being placed atop one another, things being cut, water poured, cabinets open, shut.

Lie down on the bed.

The boy went and lay on the bed.

— Take a nap, she said. I will be back in a little while.

She went out and closed the door.