The Englishman - By Nina Lewis Page 0,61

far, perhaps you can go one step further and sit down?”

Logan lingers in the doorway—scruffy, cocksure, his ginger mop standing on end—and scans the group before he sits down in the row behind the last occupied seat. Knowing full well that I want people to sit in the front rows.

“In structuralism,” I continue, “these bits of meaning are called sememes; from the Greek denoting meaning. Semantics. So in the cut set we collect all the sememes that the deer and the lady have in common.”

“Semen? Do we talk about sex again today?”

I would ignore Logan, but several of the other students start sniggering.

“Actually, yes, we do—if you recall, we found out in the very first session that comedy is about sexuality, and a love sonnet is a sort of mini-comedy in one voice. So brace yourselves. Wyatt obviously uses ‘deer’—and the integrated pun, ‘dear’—as a metaphor for his beloved lady. But what do animal and woman actually have in common? How does this metaphor work?”

“Both run away from the speaker.”

“They run away because they are shy and wild.”

“No, they run away because they are being hunted.”

“Both are objects of desire to others besides the speaker.”

I fill the intersection of the two bubbles on the whiteboard as the students name similarities between a hunted deer and a lady at the court of King Henry VIII.

“Right, these are some of the similarities that Wyatt is encouraging us to consider or, to avoid the intentional fallacy, this is the area of overlap between these two semantic fields. Now, in a second step—”

“Sorry, ma’am, how do you spell that? P-h-a-l-l-u-s-y?” Logan is looking at me with fake innocence.

“Pardon me?”

“Well, you said it was all about sex, so I thought, phallus—phallusy…”

A groan of comprehension fills the air, and before I can muster the energy to relax, I snap.

“You thought? All we’ve had from you so far is adolescent wise-cracks!”

The perpetual sneer on Logan’s lips wavers as the corners of his mouth tremble.

“And all we’ve had from you is ball-breaking—but I expected nothing less from a J.A.P.!”

“What did you call me?”

“What everyone calls you.” He grins, back in his comfort zone. “Haven’t you heard? Though it’s a shame not all high-powered Jewish princesses wear tight little skirts and low-cut blouses when they boss others around. I can see you in a little skirt, you know…”

There is an ugly expression in his eyes, and for a few seconds something happens that ought never to happen in a classroom: I am just a woman, he is a man, and he’s threatening me. That’s what it feels like. He’s hitting on me, with all the violence that expression implies.

“Dude, you’re rude!” Ross the football player cuts in, but affably.

“Shut up, Logan, and let’s get on with it!”

The support from the other students helps me calm myself, but inwardly I’m so furious I could slap his self-satisfied face.

“Mr. Williams, if you find us boring, I’m sure we’ll survive your absence.”

“Are you throwing me out?”

The room has gone very quiet.

“Well, you were tardy in the first place, so we can’t be all that high up on your list of priorities.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll be counting how many balls you break in your first year, princess! You know what you need, don’t you?” He glares at me, his cheeks flaming, grabs his rucksack and storms out.

In the corridor, on my way—flight!—back to my office after class, I run into Yvonne; and in a burst of confidence I blurt out what happened.

“Honey—calm down! Why do you let them upset you like this? They’re just kids!” Her good sense makes me feel that I’m totally overreacting, as of course I am. “What did he say, anyway?”

“He—ah, it’s too asinine! He called me a Jewish princess. A ball-breaker! Oh, and I’m to wear shorter skirts.”

Now I have impressed her.

“He said that? Anna, that’s sexual harassment. You have to—well, you have to—” She stares at me, thinking fast. “That’s sexual harassment and anti-Semitic stereotyping! You should talk to Elizabeth Mayfield about this!”

“For heaven’s sake, don’t start. It was sexist, yes, but not—look, I don’t want to make a big thing out of it. Sorry, Yvonne, I’m seeing a student at my office, uh, five minutes ago, so—but thanks!”

I talk the student waiting in front of my office through her essay; she’s from the graduate class, unrelated to the recent troubles. But I lost it with Logan Williams back in there, and the fear of retribution from my superiors is like a scorpion in my guts.

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