When Women Were Dragons(99)
Did my grades suffer? Maybe a little.
Maybe it was worth it.
40.
Finals came, and went, and I pulled enough all-nighters to get my name at the top of the list when my professors posted the scores. My sour-faced recitation instructor offered me a lab assistant job. “It’s the sort of thing that a student who is likely pursuing a doctorate might be interested in. I assume that means you.” Even when he was complimenting me, it sounded like vinegar in his mouth. I said yes before he finished his sentence. I started volunteering a few nights a week at the astronomy lab. Mrs. Gyzinska, somehow, knew all of this, and sent me an old copy of Ideas and Opinions by Albert Einstein (it had been inscribed to her on its publication day with a personal note from the man himself—was there anyone that librarian didn’t know?) as well as a small potted plant. She enclosed a note that said, “This seemed appropriate,” and nothing else. Meanwhile, Sonja’s grandmother had forgiven me enough to knit me a scarf, and stitched a little felted troll at the end.
All in all, it was a successful conclusion to my first semester at the university.
I hadn’t forgotten my promise to Mrs. Gyzinska to pay a visit to Dr. Gantz. All semester long, I put it on my calendar and cleared some time. And each time, I found myself hesitating, and avoidant. I needed to see him, I knew, and not because of my promise. I had questions, many of which kept me up at night. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answers.
The day before Christmas break, I found the dumpy little building on the corner of the medical school complex and made my way down several flights of stairs to Dr. Gantz’s office.
I hadn’t called and hadn’t told him I was coming. It didn’t matter.
“Ah! A visitor!” he exclaimed. “Please come in!”
I’m not sure if it was the fact that I had previously met him in the dark, but he looked much older than I remembered. Shockingly old. His head was mushroom shaped and nearly entirely bald, with age spots scattered across his scalp. He had brown eyes that were likely warm once, but were now blurred nearly blue by the cloud of glaucoma. His tissue-paper skin folded over itself and his knotty fingers crawled across a stack of paper covered with tightly packed numbers and diagrams.
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
“How could I forget? You thought that dragons were cows.” I blushed, but he didn’t notice. “Or maybe it was birds. Honestly, I was a wee bit concerned that maybe our Helen was incorrect in her assessment of your potential.”
I shoved my hands in my pockets and deeply wished I hadn’t come. “I’ve often thought the same thing, to be fair,” I admitted.
A smile cracked across his round face, like a jack-o’-lantern. “I’ve been hoping to see you, actually. I do wish you hadn’t waited so long—I’m not getting any younger, you know. Men my age drop dead without a moment’s notice. Mrs. Gyzinska, thankfully, has kept me informed of your academic successes this semester.” Of course she did, I thought in amazement. “Congratulations.” He raised his teacup toward me as a salute. “You’re well on your way.”
He motioned for me to sit and immediately began busying himself with the electric kettle, calling out to the secretary to bring a small bottle of milk and two mugs.
“No, really,” I protested. “It’s not necessary. I don’t want to be any trouble.” (I had a question, deep in the center of myself, that wriggled and itched. But I wasn’t ready to ask it. Not yet.)
“Nonsense, nonsense,” he said. “Make yourself at home. I get so few students stopping in. We might as well make it an occasion.” He called for the secretary again. Hearing nothing, he shuffled off to find a teapot. And tea. And apparently a bottle of milk. I sat in the office chair and waited.
The walls were a riot of artwork and esoteric charts and old documents and framed photographs. A few old maps. Printed broadsides. There wasn’t a square inch that wasn’t occupied. Odd contraptions and instruments littered the shelves, along with heaps of assorted fossils and bowls of shining scales. An open wooden box sat on the floor, filled with what looked like massive teeth. There were sculptures and stained glass and whirligigs. Nothing looked like it belonged in a scientist’s office. There were several medieval engravings depicting dragons attacking villages or sitting serenely on mountaintops or guarding the mouths of caves. He had about a dozen photographs of ancient carvings and pictographs, as well as another photo of a tapestry that appeared to show both male and female dancers in mid-transformation. He had three separate pieces showing the anatomy of dragons: one modern, one from the Enlightenment, and one taken from an Egyptian papyrus. He had one blurry photograph of a woman halfway through her dragoning. Her hands were clouds. Her dress hung in strips. There was a look of fierce joy on her face.
The kettle sang and the professor trundled in and began to busy himself with the making of tea.
“As I said, I’ve been waiting for you to come by,” he said. “But more so, I’ve been hoping that you might do me the honor of extending an invitation to your home. I know that sounds bold. But I’ve been in this business a long time, and I have some . . . questions for you. Or rather, some points of curiosity, regarding the structure and organization of your household.” He stirred the boiling water into the leaves and covered the whole thing in a cozy. He set a timer. He noticed me staring. “Tea requires precision, you see, when made properly. I’m a scientist, after all. And details matter.” He winked.