A Great Reckoning (Chief Inspector Armand Gamache #12)(20)

He’d smiled at them and then turned and wrote a phrase on the blackboard.

That had been the first day. And every day after that he’d written a new phrase, erasing the previous one. Except that first. It had stayed at the top of the chalkboard, and was still there.

Amelia wondered if this man with the graying hair and thoughtful eyes had any idea that he’d quoted a poem by her favorite poet.

I was hanged for living alone,

for having blue eyes and a sunburned skin.

Amelia could quote the whole thing. Had lain in bed, memorizing it. And when the wretched landlady had surprised her by suddenly opening the door that first night, Amelia had shoved the book under the bed.

Not food. Not dope. Not some stolen wallet.

Something far more precious, and dangerous.

The poetry book had joined the others hidden under there. Books in Latin and Greek. Poetry books and philosophy books. She’d taught herself the dead languages, and memorized poetry. Among the filth. Shutting out the sounds of sex, the mutterings and shouts and screams of other boarders. The flushing toilets and obscenities and stench.

All erased by poetry.

Oh yes, and breasts,

and a sweet pear hidden in my body.

Whenever there’s talk of demons

these come in handy.

The landlady was afraid of rats and cops.

But what she really should have been afraid of was words, ideas. Amelia knew that. And she knew that that was why drugs were so dangerous. Because they blew the mind. Not the heart. But the mind. And the heart followed. And the soul followed that.

Amelia leaned forward and, while the professor’s back was turned, she hurriedly wrote down that day’s phrase.

It is the chiefest point of happiness, she scribbled quickly, before the Commander could see, that a man is willing to be what he is.

Amelia stared at the words and then, feeling eyes on her, she looked up and saw him regarding her.

She put her tongue out, exposing the stud, and shoved it up, and down. For him to see what she was.

He nodded, and smiled. Then turned to the rest of the class.

“Who here knows the motto of the academy?”

“When’re we getting guns?” a kid yelled from the back. Then on seeing the look on the Commander’s face, he added, “Sir.”

Amelia snorted to herself. Be insolent or not. But don’t do it, then suck up in the same breath. It was pathetic. Either commit or don’t do it.

“I am giving you weapons,” said the Commander, and Amelia snorted again, louder than she meant to.

As she watched, the professor turned his considerable attention to her.

It was like seeing a mighty ship in a storm. Steady, strong, calm. It would survive not because it was anchored in place, but because it wasn’t. It could adjust. In that calm there was immense self-control. And with that, she realized, came power.

He was more powerful than anyone she’d ever met because he wasn’t at the mercy of the elements.

Now he stared at her and waited and she knew he was capable of waiting forever.

“Velut arbor aevo,” Amelia mumbled.

“That’s right, Cadet Choquet. And do you know what it means?”

“As a tree with the passage of time.”

It was the most she’d spoken since she’d arrived.

“Oui, c’est ?a. But do you know what it means?”

She was about to make something up. To say something either clever or, failing that, crude. But the fact was, she didn’t know and she was curious.

Amelia looked at the board behind the Commander, and the words he’d written there. About the chiefest point of happiness.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Would you like to know?”

Amelia hesitated, sensing a trap. But she gave one curt nod.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he said. “And see me after the class, please.”

Well, fuck him, she thought, sinking down in her chair and feeling the other students’ eyes on her. She’d exposed herself, shown ignorance and worse. She’d shown interest.

And he’d told her to go figure it out for herself.

Well, he could go fuck himself and fuck the academy while he was at it.

He was about to kick her out, she knew. For insolence. For her tattoos, her piercings, the stud in her tongue.

Whenever there’s talk of demons

these come in handy.

He was about to toss her overboard.

And she realized then, watching him at the front of the class, listening closely to some student drone on, that he wasn’t the ship. This apparently calm man was the storm. And she was about to drown.

At the end of the class, Amelia Choquet gathered her books. When the other cadets had left, she went to the front, where Commander Gamache was standing behind his desk, waiting for her.

“Mundus, mutatio; vita, opinion,” he said slowly.

She cocked her head to one side and stopped fidgeting with the skull ring on her index finger.

“My Latin isn’t very good,” he said.

“Good enough,” she said. She understood perfectly. “The Universe is change. Life is opinion.”

“Really?” he said. “That’s not what I meant to say. I thought I said, Our life is what our thoughts make it.”

He brought a thin book out of his satchel. Studying it for a moment, he extended his hand, offering her the tattered volume.