âWhere are you going for lunch?â
Sally never went anywhere for lunch. She usually brought something from home, a sandwich or some fruit, and ate in her office.
âIâm staying here,â she said.
âThat wonât do. I donât want to talk about this here. Iâll come by for you after class. Donât dawdle.â
Vera nodded and left. Sally went on to her class, but she could hardly keep her mind on the assignment, which was Euripidesâ Medea.
It seemed to Sally that she was encountering witches at every turn. Medea herself had been a witch, and a vengeful woman besides. Her husband, Jason, who had quite an ego, had decided to take himself another wife, and that turned out to be a big mistake. Heâd been sure that his wife would see nothing wrong with his plan and that she would understand why he was leaving her. She didnât. A witch like Medea would be a formidable enemy, Sally thought.
For the benefit of the class, at least those who were listening, Sally went into the playâs backstory before she began discussing the work itself. She knew that a hundred years ago, maybe even sixty or seventy years ago, college students would have had a solid background
knowledge of Greek heroes like Jason and that the story of his quest for the Golden Fleece, and how he had obtained it with Medeaâs help, would be familiar to them. You couldnât count on anything like that today, however.
Although she tried to be thorough, Sally was sure there were things she was leaving out or glossing over. Her mind kept wandering as she thought of Jennifer Jacksonâs smugness and of Harold Curtinâs death. And of the news that Harold had been a witch.
Harold and Medea. Now that would have been a pair, Sally thought.
And Medea and Sarah Good. Certainly the ancient Greek witch could have taught the hapless Sarah something about the power of witchcraft, though Sarahâs final curse seemed to have been pretty effective.
Somehow Sally muddled through the class and escaped before any of the students could trap her at the desk and ask questions. As a rule, she was glad to stay after class and talk, but today was different. She couldnât dawdle. Vera had given her an order.
When Sally got back to her office, Vera was waiting.
âMy carâs in the parking lot, and Jackâs already there,â she said.
Vera was dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, and black boots. She wore a black scarf around her neck. All she needed was a whip. Not many women could carry off that look, Sally thought, but Vera could.
Sally put her textbook on the desk and put her grade book in the drawer where she kept it. Then she followed Vera out of the building.
It was another swampy day, and Sally could feel her clothes wilting against her before they got to the Navigator, where Jack was sitting in the passenger seat. The windows were down, but that was only so Jack didnât suffocate. Having them open wouldnât make him any cooler.
Vera, appropriately enough, Sally thought, got into the driverâs seat, while Sally climbed into the back. She didnât want to dwell on the symbolism of that. As soon as the doors shut, Vera started the engine and turned the air conditioner on high.
âWhere are we going?â Sally asked as the cooling breeze from the vents poured over her.
âThe Tea Room,â Vera said. âIt was Jackâs choice.â
The unimaginatively named Tea Room was the newest restaurant in Hughes. Sally had never been there, but she had heard about it. The menu consisted mostly of different kinds of flavored tea and coffee, along with soup and sandwiches that Sally suspected didnât have any crusts on them.
âHave you been there?â she asked Jack, who didnât seem like the tearoom type.
Jack half-turned in the seat so he could see Sally. âI was there the other day. The owner is Rick Centner. You may remember him. He was a student
Sally never went anywhere for lunch. She usually brought something from home, a sandwich or some fruit, and ate in her office.
âIâm staying here,â she said.
âThat wonât do. I donât want to talk about this here. Iâll come by for you after class. Donât dawdle.â
Vera nodded and left. Sally went on to her class, but she could hardly keep her mind on the assignment, which was Euripidesâ Medea.
It seemed to Sally that she was encountering witches at every turn. Medea herself had been a witch, and a vengeful woman besides. Her husband, Jason, who had quite an ego, had decided to take himself another wife, and that turned out to be a big mistake. Heâd been sure that his wife would see nothing wrong with his plan and that she would understand why he was leaving her. She didnât. A witch like Medea would be a formidable enemy, Sally thought.
For the benefit of the class, at least those who were listening, Sally went into the playâs backstory before she began discussing the work itself. She knew that a hundred years ago, maybe even sixty or seventy years ago, college students would have had a solid background
knowledge of Greek heroes like Jason and that the story of his quest for the Golden Fleece, and how he had obtained it with Medeaâs help, would be familiar to them. You couldnât count on anything like that today, however.
Although she tried to be thorough, Sally was sure there were things she was leaving out or glossing over. Her mind kept wandering as she thought of Jennifer Jacksonâs smugness and of Harold Curtinâs death. And of the news that Harold had been a witch.
Harold and Medea. Now that would have been a pair, Sally thought.
And Medea and Sarah Good. Certainly the ancient Greek witch could have taught the hapless Sarah something about the power of witchcraft, though Sarahâs final curse seemed to have been pretty effective.
Somehow Sally muddled through the class and escaped before any of the students could trap her at the desk and ask questions. As a rule, she was glad to stay after class and talk, but today was different. She couldnât dawdle. Vera had given her an order.
When Sally got back to her office, Vera was waiting.
âMy carâs in the parking lot, and Jackâs already there,â she said.
Vera was dressed in black jeans, a black shirt, and black boots. She wore a black scarf around her neck. All she needed was a whip. Not many women could carry off that look, Sally thought, but Vera could.
Sally put her textbook on the desk and put her grade book in the drawer where she kept it. Then she followed Vera out of the building.
It was another swampy day, and Sally could feel her clothes wilting against her before they got to the Navigator, where Jack was sitting in the passenger seat. The windows were down, but that was only so Jack didnât suffocate. Having them open wouldnât make him any cooler.
Vera, appropriately enough, Sally thought, got into the driverâs seat, while Sally climbed into the back. She didnât want to dwell on the symbolism of that. As soon as the doors shut, Vera started the engine and turned the air conditioner on high.
âWhere are we going?â Sally asked as the cooling breeze from the vents poured over her.
âThe Tea Room,â Vera said. âIt was Jackâs choice.â
The unimaginatively named Tea Room was the newest restaurant in Hughes. Sally had never been there, but she had heard about it. The menu consisted mostly of different kinds of flavored tea and coffee, along with soup and sandwiches that Sally suspected didnât have any crusts on them.
âHave you been there?â she asked Jack, who didnât seem like the tearoom type.
Jack half-turned in the seat so he could see Sally. âI was there the other day. The owner is Rick Centner. You may remember him. He was a student
Similar Books
