Free Disturbances in the Field by Lynne Sharon Schwartz Page A

superseded,” said Esther. “Look, Anaxagoras says there’s a little bit of everything in everything else. Black and white have the seeds of gray. Food has the seeds of the blood and bone it’s going to help make. That’s pretty clever. It’s not so different from your periodic table of ninety-two elements or however many there are. Everything starts from—”
    A neighboring door snapped brusquely shut. Loud, ponderous footsteps.
    “Oh-oh, the witching hour,” Esther moaned. “Honestly, we ought to make a scarecrow some night, just to make Mrs. Ramsey’s job more exciting. She hardly ever gets the thrill of discovery.”
    The college had lately adopted the progressive policy of allowing males—presumably the boys from across the street—to visit in the dormitory rooms till midnight Thursdays through Saturdays, provided the doors were kept ajar. This was an advance over the former policy of allowing males only in the small ground-floor rooms known as beau parlors and equipped with floral-upholstered sofas, provided, again, that the doors were kept ajar and all four feet remained on the floor. (Nothing specific about feet was enjoined in the new rule.) For enforcement, Mrs. Ramsey, a short squat woman, made the rounds at midnight in her tight black rayon uniform and black oxfords. Mrs. Ramsey was wasted on us: her face was so impassive that she might have policed on a much grander scale, in a sheikhdom, a sultanate. Fortunately for some, her heavy tread gave a few seconds’ notice. She granted a warning knock before flinging doors wide. I wondered if anything could jar that face—a naked male, maybe with an erection, maybe inserting it into willing flesh ...
    “Hi there, Mrs. Ramsey,” Esther called brightly, springing from the bed. “Not a thing here to worry about! See?” She yanked open the door of the closet. One half was an orderly array of dark smooth clothes obediently on their hangers; the other a jumble of stripes, prints, peasant skirts swirling into each other, shoes heaped on the floor like abandoned auto parts, a green slicker painfully lopsided on a hook that pierced its shoulder, two enormous straw hats sliding from the top shelf. Esther dashed back to lift the bottom of the bedspread, inviting Mrs. Ramsey to have a peek, but the woman, unfazed, had turned to go. Maybe beneath her face she was contemptuous. Her toneless words trailed after her: “Please keep the noise down.” Esther leaned out the open door and called down the hall, “Cherchez l’homme!”
    “Listen, listen to this.” Gabrielle had been reading all the while. She would not object to such antics, nor would she take part. “Empedocles says some wonderful things. This is very a propos: ‘It is in the warm parts of the womb that males are born; which is the reason why men tend to be dark, hairy, and more rugged.’”
    “I guess that has been superseded by modern science,” I said, and Nina smiled faintly.
    “‘Abstain entirely from laurel leaves,’” Gabrielle read on. “Oh, and this one is very passionate: ‘Wretches, utter wretches, keep your hands away from beans.’ I wonder why. Oh dear.” She sighed and fluffed out her long hair, just washed and drying at the open window.
    “What’s the matter?”
    “‘I wept and mourned when I discovered myself in this unfamiliar land.’”
    She looked up, her eyes filled with tears. She had been brought to this strange land as a child of five. Her parents were French, her father in the diplomatic corps. Could a small child really feel that kind of pain? Or could she summon tears for Empedocles?
    “That’s how I felt,” said Esther, “when I came to New York, even though I was glad to leave home. That’s why I went to see the ocean with a boy I didn’t even like and let him paw me. I was so lonesome. That’s why I got mono, or whatever that sickness was, and the only thing that kept me here was imagining the satisfaction on my mother’s face if I gave up and