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eats and when he drinks and even when he sleeps. Sophia likes his
thudding, she always has. When he thuds, the world listens and gets out of
his way. That is her whole understanding of men.
Sophia does not think Mr. Semengelof even knows how to thud. He
almost seems as though he could fly.
“At your service, Mrs. Lyon. Good afternoon, Mrs. Minke, Mrs.
Fische.” The music teacher inclines his head. “Hello, Sophia,” he says. Her
tears spill finally down her face. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Me?” Sophia whispers. Her throat’s gone so dry. She longs for Mrs.
Lyon’s tea back again.
“Yes,” the stranger says, and the other ladies sigh with excitement. “A
very great honor. I think we shall be seeing much of each other, now that we
are to be neighbors. For a time.”
“Oh, I doubt it. I’m such a bore, really.” Sophia blushes and waves her
hand. “I’m certainly not anything to be honored about.” She does not like to
blush; it makes her feel exposed. She hates her face for doing it to her.
“Won’t you give us a little recital, Mr. S?” Mrs. Lyon purrs, coaxing.
“There is nothing better in the afternoon than a meal and a bit of music.”
The music teacher glides across the living room to a piano with a
framed picture of Mr. Lyon on its lid. He sits at the bench and settles his
extraordinarily long fingers on the keys, yellowed as old teeth. His back
looms long and dark. But something about it almost glows. Something
lovely against his shoulder blades Sophia cannot quite see, even as she
stares into his spine.
Without looking round, he says, with a gentleness like a feather falling:
“Are you happy, Sophia?”
She blinks. She forgets instantly the scream shoving at her bones.
Is she happy?
She doesn’t understand. She has never considered it. It is possible to be
so entirely happy you never ask the question. She is a full glass submerged
in water. Neither nor both full and empty. The inquiry, though kind, has no
meaning for her.
“Oh, certainly she is, Mr. Semengelof!” Mrs. Fische interrupts quickly,
her voice floating up through the stuffy parlor air. “Terribly so!”
“Of course she’s happy,” Mrs. Minke snaps, dropping her spoon onto
her saucer with finality.