Free Persecution (9781609458744) by Ann (TRN) Alessandro; Goldstein Piperno Page B

Professor Pontecorvo was at the height of efficiency and charm. He had even given some signs of exuberance in explaining how an excessive and sudden rise in the levels of alkaline phosphatase in the blood test of a child of eight or nine can already signal a diagnosis of rickets or some other bone deficiency.
    Until he saw a student, a kid with an Afro and garish, to say the least, glasses, annoying a girl. The two were laughing in the third row. For a second the idea crossed his mind that they were laughing at him. For a second he was tempted by the idea of not intervening.
    Nothing to be done: he lost patience.
    â€œWould you like to share with us your private joke or would you prefer to take it outside?”
    â€œI’m sorry . . . professor . . . it’s my fault. I asked her a question.”
    â€œIt was of vital importance?”
    â€œWell, I asked if she had a pencil and paper.”
    â€œAh, so you are telling us that you came to class without a pencil and without paper.”
    â€œIt’s that . . . ”
    â€œWhat is this for you, an outing in the country? Do you take this class for an amusement park? To me it seems a university classroom. And, as you do not seem to have realized, a class is in session.”
    Leo could have stopped there. He could have considered himself satisfied. But something drove him to keep going. To play the role, so unsuited to him, of the petulant professor.
    â€œDon’t you think that a university classroom is a place where paper and pencil should be at home? Or perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps you have a completely different perception of this place. Maybe you’re right? What do you others say? Maybe your colleague is right? Maybe this is a campground where we pitch our tents and tell jokes?”
    It was the first time the students had seen Professor Pon­tecorvo indulge in that type of bitter, pedantic remark. Yes, they all knew that he insisted on certain things. But his reproaches always possessed the gift of lightness. Like the time he had reprimanded a girl who was chewing on something in front of him: “Are you full now? Are you refreshed? May I offer you something else? Coffee? A
digestif
? A cigar? A nap?” And they had all laughed (including the professor). Because Professor Pontecorvo’s scoldings never crossed the line into humiliation and insult.
    This time, however, he seemed eager to make trouble for that kid. His words were sharp and his voice was dripping with hostility. As if that terrible hair and the ridiculous glasses had aggravated his already strained susceptibility.
    â€œSo, will you answer me? How can you come to class without paper and pencil? What sort of behavior is that?”
    And then Leo had said it. He couldn’t contain himself. He had let slip the type of comment you should never let slip. Because it can always be turned against you. He waited a few seconds and then in a peremptory tone had said to the boy, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
    â€œAnd you, professor, aren’t you ashamed of the billions of lire in taxpayer money you’ve stolen?”
    This was the phrase the incessant memory of which had kept Leo awake for three straight nights. This was the epilogue of the incident that Leo had not had the courage to tell Rachel. No, he had said nothing to her, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a second. That little hippie bastard had put it out on the carpet in front of everyone. He had done in the classroom (or rather in the enchanted kingdom where for twenty years Leo had exercised his temporal power with great irony) what everyone would soon do in public: he had judged him summarily and, just as summarily, condemned him. That was why in the following days Leo could not help reviewing all the answers he could have given that provocateur, and hadn’t.
    Contrary to what usually happens when we think back over a missed chance to reply adequately to a provocation, to