Any questions? [Charlotte & Edita]

Being almost done with the last lesson of the semester, Charlotte thought, did demand some restlessness on behalf of her class. There was no rudeness, no bad attitude towards her, just the eagerness one might expect from young people, stuck indoors on a warm, bright May afternoon, to whom the prospect of a celebratory beer or two on the lawn is far more appealing than the name of some long dead Ydisian critic. I too was once like that, she mused, and while she was not much older than these people, younger still, than others, she suddenly felt very old, the desk on which she leaned a raft, floating out to sea, far and away from this, from youth.

She asked a question, and the discussion went well, sparked by a handful of students, who seemed unaware of the drowsiness creeping in on them with every breath, every heartbeat, every tick of a wristwatch. Modern Ydisian literature. And the warlock. Always the warlock. This is a time of unrest, of uncertainty, of change. But towards what? Perhaps not knowing was better. It was easy enough to forget that it was something she should care about. Although she cared very much. And now with Emily? How could she not? Perhaps it was silly of her to think herself capable of doing anything about it. Of moving horizons. But surely that was what literature was for? Exploring perspectives, and maybe, just maybe, it would end with the Nachons. Whatever they were like, she was nothing like it. Matthew knew, right? Her in-laws had to know. She was nothing like that. Yet this recent divide, this split attitude towards warlocks of all kinds was evident in the texts she had had them read for this lesson. Veneration or vengeance? And for what?

“And with that, let us end the discussion, thank you, Benjamin.” Her mind too seemed very far away, for she seemed already unsure about what had been said, but as she walked back around the desk, changing slides with a flick of her hand – these small acts could surely be explained with a small switch or the like – she caught the glimpse of the time, a minute to four. Surely no one enjoyed being held up, but they took it very well, only a single instance of someone packing their things and sneaking off, very well. The word, exam, did not look all that inviting, heading, as it did, this very last slide of hers. She did her very best to be brief, she had gone over this before; 12-14 pages on a piece of Ydisian literature, any questions? Secondary literature? Yes, they were allowed to use the theory they had worked with in class. Yes, they had to compare it to another Ydisian text. They could always email her, she said. But at that point the class was breaking up, and so she too began collecting her things.

Edita was scribbling notes down in her notebook as Professor Hayes held her lecture. She looked up from her writing when Hayes prompted them with a question that was obvious to spark discussion. Instinctively Edita glanced over at Benjamin, another student a few years older than her, and who Edita thought was annoying. Or perhaps just borderline racist. Oh well, racists and being annoying often go hand in hand so he might just be both. As she suspected he took on the question and started the discussion with a controversial opinion. Edita began absentmindedly to doodle abstract creatures in the margin of her notebook.

Edita had a bit of a love-hate relationship with this elective. She had taken it on since it specifically explored Yidsian literature. Something she loved, and found very nostalgic. She loved experiencing Yidsian culture outside of her family home and in the close community that were between Yidsian families. What she wasn’t so fond of in this elective was the people that were like Benjamin: people who go into the discussion with prejudice and no respect for the culture in which they are exploring. She had a hard time not taking his comments personally. His generalisations were often directed at an abstract ‘they’ of Yidsidians, but Edita couldn’t help but feel attacked under those blows aswell.

”It’s important to remember the context of the culture in which the text has been produced.” Edita finally spoke up when Benjamin once again made a rude generalisation based on his narrowminded and very much Ilomarian views. ”Benjamin has a great point, if this text was produced in Ilomar and an Ilomarian culture - which it is not.”

Benjamin once again had the last word, constructing a convoluted sentence that he could hide behind as it just seemed too long and unnecessarily full of advanced words for anyone to really understand what he said and could therefore not argue against him. Edita sighed leaning back in her chair, not willing to take up the imaginary fight any longer.

Professor Hayes ended the lesson - the last lesson of the semester in this course - with answering a few questions about the exam. Edita nodded along, scribbling down notes in her notepad to make sure she got everything correct. She glanced at her wristwatch, surprised that they actually were a few minutes over time. Damn, time had really flown away today. She packed her things as everyone else began doing the same.

”Don’t wait for me, Maria, I’m gonna stay for a bit,” She said to her friend as she swung her bag over her shoulder. ”See you later.” She smiled at Maria as she took her own things and left, probably running off to see her girlfriend for a while before meeting with everyone else later.

Edita then walked up to Professor Hayes by the desk.

”Professor Hayes?” She asked to get the attention of the teacher. ”I just wanted to say thank you for the lessons this semester, it has really been a joy studying for this elective.”

‘Professor Hayes?’ someone asked, making Charlotte look up from her desk and the books she was packing away. She had gotten into the habit of bringing along books to send around class as she spoke about them, in the hopes of inspiring her students to get into some extra reading she had not been able to fit on the reading plan. From time to time, a student would approach her after class, asking to get a second look at one of the books, or inquiring into translations or anything else she might be able to recommend. A student addressing her post class was not unusual. Even on a day like this, where everyone seemed eager to escape the confinement of the classroom.

A genuine smile lit up her face, as she realised who the approaching student was. Edita was the sort of student that inspired people to get into teaching. She was well prepared, or at least she seemed so, always handing her things in on time, engaging in class discussions, like the one just now, and she had made some excellent observations throughout the semester. And of course, the fact that Edita’s Ydisian was even better than Charlotte, has allowed the latter to ask for help on certain expressions, or alternative translations, whenever needed. So to Charlotte it meant quite a lot that Edita had enjoyed her lessons. “Thank you, Edita, it’s been a pleasure having you,” she said.

Being Ydisia, the class discussion probably got rather personal, and Charlotte understood that, she felt the same way when discussing warlocks. There was alway someone who had to make their opinion known, and it wasn’t always an opinion that had to be shared. There were disagreements of course, whenever you let students have an open discussion, a fair deal of them, but she did not see herself as someone who was there to police what people should think. She was more of a meditator, and while she considered it, Charlotte brought up neither Benjamin, nor the tone of some of the discussions, instead she asked: “Do you know what you will be writing your exam on yet?”

She appreciated the smile that grew on Professor Hayes’ lips as she saw it was Edita who had come up to her. It seemed genuine, and Edita did like to be liked by her professors. It was always easier like that. She enjoyed the academic discussions with her professors, and had had many with Professor Hayes although mostly in class with everyone else.

“Yeah I have an idea on what I will write about,” She said, a sudden rush of excitement flowing through her body at the thought of it. ”I was thinking of analysing Ivar Babanin’s Królikta and then compare it to either The
Purple Stain or Pyatnitsa.”

She had thought long about this exam, actually, she had been mentally preparing herself for it since the first week of teaching this semester. She had to prepare early for her exams so that she would make them in time, especially with her side gig with the Family. So when she said that she ‘have an idea’, she really meant that she had already written the paper and only needed to ping pong the idea with Professor Hayes before settling on the final draft.

”I think those novels suit a gender studies analysis quite well - what do you think?” She asked, a slight smile on her lips as she looked at Professor Hayes. Did Edita have a need to hear Professor Hayes approve of her paper? Perhaps… Most definitely… Was it a healthy obsession of performing perfectly? Definitely not. But this was how Edita has been coping for many years, and it is very hard to break out of those habits. At least Edita was quite aware of her situation…

The excitement expressed by Edita when she spoke about her exam topic was a affirment of why Charlotte loved teaching. Art, literature, it brought such joy to people, and here she was, able to experience it first-handedly. If she herself could not be the one to write such stories, at least she could do this. “That is great! I think both could work, depending on what approach you want to take, of course.” She wasn’t worried. Edita was bright, and it wouldn’t surprise her if she had already begun writing. What a world it would be if every student was that motivated.

Her student went on to suggest a gender studies analysis, and Charlotte nodded as she spoke. They had touched upon the subject in class, not in relation to any of the works Edita mentioned now, but she was certainly right to suggest them now; and it reminded her of something. “They do; actually, you might have already read this, but Litvia Petrova wrote a book ‘Constructing gender: Ydisian literary tradition’, it came out this year I think, and she mentions both Królikta and Pyatnitsa, if I remember correctly?”  She picked up a novel from her desk, putting it away while she spoke. “Well, I can recommend you read that. No matter what, I am looking forward to seeing what you will come up with. I am sure it will be interesting.”

Professor Hayes’s approval of her thesis sent a wave of dopamine through Edita’s body. Giddy with excitement she could not hold back a smile that danced across her lips. She took in a silent breath while she nodded at what Professor Hayes said, just to calm herself and conceal her eagerness. Nodding along, her brows furrowed in thought as the woman before her spoke.

”I think I saw the advertisements for its publication, but I never got around to reading it.” She said. She would most definitely try to get her hands on that book now. She had to. She must include it in her paper if Professor Hayes thought it suitable. ”I’ll definitely take a look at it, though.”

As Professor Hayes put away the novel from the desk, Edita suddenly remembered that this woman had a life she probably wanted to attend to, and Edita was obviously holding her back with chit chatter. Edita herself shifted the bag over her shoulder, quickly gazing towards the door, where Maria had rushed out. Yeah, no, she would not be able to catch up with her, she thought. She was probably also snogging up her girlfriend at the moment, and Edita had no intentions of thirdwheeling that.

”Thank you,” She said as she looked back at the woman before her. She felt like she was thanking her for more than just the feedback. It was a thank you for the professor's dedication to her heritage, albeit it was not intentional to be Edita’s heritage. But nonetheless, Edita felt appreciative of Professor Hayes’s interest and dedication. Edita looked down at the almost empty desk before her for a moment, then back up at the professor with a smile. ”I’m looking forward to writing it,” She said as if she hadn’t already written the first draft. ”But I won’t hold you back with anymore question, you probably want to get home as well.”

She gave a last smile before she said: “I hope to see you after the summer break.”

There was no better way to end her workday, end this semester really, than this; Edita standing here in front of her all giddy, and wanting to read the book recommended. A young, passionate woman who was sure to do alright in the upcoming exam. That had been Charlotte once; and for the second time that afternoon she felt youth like a nostalgic dream. Like the voices on the other side of the door from the now almost empty classroom; where afternoon plans were being drawn up. It was so silly; she was still young; but it was a different kind of youth; one where she was settled, had figured out her life; life was no longer infinite possibilities. She kept her attention fixed on Edita and her plans to get Petrova’s book; “Definitely, do that!” were the words accompanying her approving nod.

Someone leaving the room had caught Edita’s attention, and Charlotte got the rest of her things packed up; It was Edita’s ‘Thank you,’ that made her look up again; and it made her smile, although it took her back a bit; a part of her felt like she should be thanking this young woman instead; for making what she did feel worthwhile; but instead she just said, “Anytime,” and she picked up the dirty coffee mug she would have to take back to the staff kitchen, and meet her student’s smile; “I suppose I better get going, yes.” And with this as her cue, she moved towards the door, “I hope so too; good luck with your exams!”