Page 17 of A Noble Affair
With practiced deftness, she took control of the situation. “So let’s take a look at the first question. What are the cultural elements in the story?”
The hand of the brightest student in the class shot up. “One of the cultural elements is religious piety, which would cause an entire town to rush to the dock to meet the bishop, giving opportunity for a murder.”
“Great point, Samantha,” Louis interjected before Chastity could comment. “I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it. I was more focused on machismo and family honor.” He put his head back down and began to type madly again.
At this, the whole class erupted in laughter. Samantha was offended.
“Yes,” Chastity said evenly. “Samantha, you’re absolutely right. Religious piety is often overlooked as a contributing factor, but it’s true that it provided an opportunity for the murder. It also affected the way the people viewed the murder, as the priest did not publicly condemn it.”
“And you’re right too, Louis,” she continued smoothly. “Family honor and machismo are perhaps the two dominant cultural elements that contribute to Santiago Nasar’s death.” She turned to the class. “Now. Someone tell me—how is that so? How do they contribute?”
A student named Justin raised his hand casually. “The Vicario brothers couldn’t let Bayardo send their sister home because she wasn’t a virgin without going after the guy who did that to her.”
“She wasn't aviiirgin.” Louis played with the words dreamily, biting his lip on the V sound and then puckering his lips out for the rest. He said suddenly. “Hey. We don’t know whether she was a virgin or not. We don’t know whether Santiago did it. Whethertheydid it.”
People in the class started laughing again. “That’s half-true, Louis,” Chastity said, raising her voice over the noise. “It’s pretty well accepted that Angela was not a virgin, but it’s never sure whether Santiago was involved or whether it was someone else.”
“What are some of the other cultural elements?” Chastity prompted, trying to turn the teenagers from the runaway subject ofvirginity. Some of the kids in the class launched into a discussion, in which Louis didn’t participate. After having typed every word that had just been discussed, he stopped suddenly and scrutinized a spot on the wall near the ceiling. He stared, immobile, barely blinking.
Chastity kept the discussion going, and only glanced at him discreetly from time to time to see how he was doing. Her mind was turning over what should be done. Should she talk to his father again?Ugh.She didn't want to do that. She definitely needed to speak with the principal about this because his behavior was uncharacteristic. Should she offer student counseling in hopes it might encourage him to open up? She was worried and unnerved by his behavior.
Towards the end of the class, Louis snapped out of his trance and seemed to come to life again. He didn’t participate. However, he took furious notes and flipped through the pages of the book whenever the teacher referenced a passage. She had never seen anyone so assiduous in class, much less Louis.
When the bell rang, everyone shoved their books back into their bags and stood, talking.
"Wait. Not so fast." Chastity gestured for everyone to sit back down. "You should’ve all noted the questions. I want you to write a one-page reflective essay on how your perspective changed on at least two of these issues following our class discussion.It's due next class. Got it?"
A few students muttered their assent, and the rest of the class began walking towardsthe door. Louis did the same, making a beeline forMax and slapping him on the shoulder. “So. Max. Do you know of any parties going on this weekend?”
Max frowned at him. “Ah, sure. I’ll be sure and let you know.” He and his friend exchanged a look.
Louis followed them out of the classroom, waving to people in the hallway he barely ever spoke to, much to their amazement. “Hi, Tiphaine. Hi, Vincent.” They offered him tentative smiles and turned away.
There was not another class scheduled for the next period, so Chastity did not immediately gather her materials. She erased the board mechanically and chewed her lip. Setting the eraser on the metal ledge, she sat back down again. Suddenly she shuddered.I do not want to have to call that man back in here, but I don’t see how I’m going to avoid it.
8
Charles sat at a broad table that filled the conference room in the Town Hall—theMairie. He was following the committee members’ discussion, while simultaneously reviewing some research he had brought home for the weekend.
He looked up from his papers and unscrewed the cap from the water bottle before filling the crystal glass in front of him. He drank and didn’t look up again until they began talking about the art collection in the local museum.
“We haven’t found anything suitable for the main gallery starting in March,” the director said, tackling the subject frankly. “This is not the end of the world because we have the possibility of keeping Lenny Malinski’s work up until April.” The gallery director stopped speaking and tapped her notepad with a pen.
The assistant director, sitting to her right, had been overlooked for the title of director and had to content herself with replacing Anne Meurier, whom the board had decided to let go for unknown reasons. She tossed her silvery blond hair over her shoulder and turned to Charles coquettishly. “We usually have everything in place, and I’m not sure how it happened this time. We’ve always known what our next exhibit would be months in advance. That way we can plan a harmonious transition from one artist to the next.”
The director was too old to flirt with the viscount, and she put her colleague back in her place. “You know, as well as I do, that this wouldn’t have happened if our scheduled artist hadn’t pulled out.”
The silvery-haired Venus dropped her carefully controlled façade and snapped back. “Yes but if you had taken my advice and booked someone more dependable…”
Charles had no patience for internal squabbles. “I think I may have a solution for your next exhibit, and that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out some glossy photos. “I’ve discovered an artist, some of whose work I’ve already purchased for myself. His name is Randall Mooers, and he lives in New York. I’ve asked him if he’s willing to lend us additional paintings for an exhibition here, and he’s agreed to it. There’ll be plenty of time to get them sent over before March.”
He caught the director’s eye. “He’s good. I like his work a lot—it’s reminiscent of Cézanne. In addition to what we borrow, I’d be willing to lend the ones I’ve purchased from him for the exhibit. And I can also lend three Cézannes for the smaller room, adjacent to the main gallery.”
He waited for their reaction but was not worried about their refusal. His family had stood on the committee for two generations, and without their financial support, the museum would not be able to afford an exhibit at all. He was also confident about his ability to judge art.
“That’s excellent news.” The director smiled smugly at her assistant. “I knew we’d be able to come up with a solution to our dilemma.” She turned towards Charles. “When shall we begin the paperwork?”
“You’ll have to speak with my business manager to arrange all that, I’m afraid.” He stood and collected his papers and notepad, sliding them into a soft briefcase. “I need to get to the hospital.”
