13, Rue Therese - Elena Mauli Shapiro [24]
Now that the words “woman he is undressing” have dropped from Xavier’s mouth like radiant orbs of sex, every boy in the room is rapt—for what boy’s ear wouldn’t be caught by such a string of words? Especially from a teacher.
“Now, look at the last stanza. He says he is eating memories. Why? Because he is gnawing on his beloved’s hair! Like some dog indeed: he eats her! And her tresses are long and black and heavy—perhaps she is an Oriental! He is making love to an Oriental—what scandal! Isn’t it wonderful? Don’t tell anybody.”
He laughs in pure delight now, and the boys laugh with him. All these males in the room are on the same wavelength now, all these males in the room suddenly abloom with maleness.
“Who is this woman?” the teacher asks the roomful of students loudly. He has gotten himself warmed up.
“Tell us!” a boy in the back shouts.
“She is the Orient itself! She is a body issued from the Orient—an Oriental body—the Orient itself is her body—it is all blended, do you see? The Occident is male and the Orient is female, do you see? The Occident must conquer, the Occident must subjugate, the Occident must possess and shape the Orient into what pleases it! The Orient must yield its resources—for its own good! This dark and dangerous and mysterious place must be civilized. It is rightful for us. It is our duty to do so: it is our burden as true men. Such is the nature of our peculiar power.”
Xavier is finished now and becomes quiet. His face is flushed to a high shade of crimson. Without realizing what he is doing, he removes his jacket and flings it offhandedly onto the back of his desk chair. The room has gotten so stifling all of a sudden. Is there something awry in the central heating system?
He leans back against his big heavy wooden desk and looks at his class. They have been aroused into a stunned silence by his lecture, though it is entirely possible that they didn’t understand most of it. There is nothing more to say, but this is all right. He has to assign them a new novel to read for next week. Since they are studying the nineteenth century, he was thinking of giving them some grinding, plodding novel by Victor Hugo. He has suddenly changed his mind; now that he has gotten himself all lit up over the Orient, he assigns a more obscure work: Gustave Flaubert’s Salammbô. It is a novel set in Carthage, before Christ. It is so saturated with blood and sensuality that he suspects he might receive complaints from some of the more literate parents who are familiar with the book—possibly he might get into a little bit of hot water with the administration?
He has been a talented and reliable teacher for many years, thus his career is truly in no danger. He could always feign puzzled innocence.
Even if he were to get into trouble, for some reason he seems not to care terribly much at the moment.
[NB: This is not part of the documentation; it is just a page spread from a book.]
Une femme dévergondée comme ça
THIS DAY (STILL TUESDAY) Louise has spent all afternoon working hard to prepare a beautiful meal. She serves it to three men, all mustached jewelers: her father, her husband, and their friend Pierre Cleper. The first course is fennel soup. They sip from their spoons and chat.
“Why do you not marry?” Louise’s father demands to know of Pierre, in a bemused tone. “You really ought to—think of all the widows and lonely girls in our ailing nation! There are so many women, and not enough men left to give them all children.”
“Why, it is precisely because of the sheer number of widows and lonely girls that I do not marry,” Pierre declares. “You cannot expect me to give up such plentiful hunting grounds!”
“You are a cad!” Louise laughs.
“Yes.”
They all snicker. Louise watches the curve of Pierre