The Physiognomy by Jeffrey Ford

codified it and made it a mathematics of judgment concerning humanity.”
    â€œI always hoped to go there someday to study in the great libraries and perhaps even attend one of the universities.”
    â€œYou are truly idiosyncratic, my dear. No woman there would ever dream of going to a university; no woman has access to the libraries.”
    â€œAnd why is that?” she asked.
    â€œThey know full well that they are inferior to men in general, just as certain men are inferior to others. Not only do they know it, it is a law,” I told her in my softest voice.
    â€œYou can’t really believe that,” she said.
    â€œOf course I do,” I said. “Look, you’ve read the literature. Women’s brains are smaller than men’s; it is a scientific fact.”
    She turned away from me with a look of disgust.
    â€œArla,” I pleaded, “I cannot change nature.” I could feel her growing cold. She took a step away from me, and I tried to think of something that would bring back her tranquility. “Women have certain attributes, certain, shall we say, biological possibilities. They have a place in the culture, but …”
    She seemed to brighten and turned to face me. “Oh, I think I know what you mean,” she said, smiling.
    â€œYou do?” I asked. My mind reeled, and I felt gravity drop away. The beauty, the wine now thought for me as I put my arm around her and prepared to kiss her. In the back of my mind, I was wondering where I had left the leather glove I habitually employed in such crucial moments.
    Then it came, as unexpected and devastating as the loss of the Physiognomy. She slapped my face and tore away from my grasp.
    â€œWomen have their place in the culture,” she said, mocking me. “Just remember, it is I who am conducting this investigation. I may be a woman, but I am smart enough to know you have somehow lost your abilities.”
    â€œArla,” I said. I had wanted to speak her name sternly, but instead my word came like the cry of a child.
    â€œDon’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone. I will finish the investigation, because I want you to know, even if it remains a secret, that it was I who solved the case.”
    I could not believe what I was thinking, but I was actually going to apologize. By Harrow’s hindquarters, my world was shredding in every direction. “I’m sorry,” I said, and the words were like a pound of cremat on my tongue.
    â€œYou are sorry,” she said. “I will see you tomorrow at ten. This time, don’t you be late. Hopefully you will exhibit a more professional demeanor in the morning.” With this she grabbed her coat, crossed the room, and was gone.
    I was completely immobilized by both her revelation that she had perceived my loss of the Physiognomy and of her opinion of me. This was true humiliation—and worse, true loneliness. Because I felt the greatest need to get away from myself, I went next door, quickly put on my coat, and went after her.
    Outside, the darkness of the night frightened me more than usual as the brisk wind, following Arla’s lead, also slapped me in the face. I saw her distant figure as she made her way up the empty street. My plan, if you could call it that, was not to confront her—I knew that would be a mistake—but merely to follow her. I could not bear her leaving. Sticking to the deep shadows in front of the buildings, I ran, a skill I hadn’t utilized since childhood.
    She stopped once and turned around, standing and watching for a moment. I too stopped, hoping she did not see me. Then she took to the alley between the bank and the theater. I moved up to the end of the alleyway and waited until she had traversed its entirety. When she was out of sight, I made my move. In this manner, I tracked her from a distance through a thicket of pines and then across a small meadow, running along on the toes of my