“Very well, Lady Georgiana, let us begin with a review of the Olympian family tree.”
That family tree twisted and turned in knots, fraught with infighting, violence, and incest.Andrew didn’t shrink from the facts of the stories.He made sure she understood which mother bore which hero and the circumstances (usually violent) of his conception.Unlike his explanation about the singing mountains, however, he didn’t seem eager to volunteer information or to speculate beyond the obvious.
“How can I do this if I don’t understand what is actually going on?What are they feeling?What is it they want?”
“That knowledge, my lady, won’t come from a book.”He wouldn’t look her in the eye.“Some knowledge comes from life.”He began to rearrange his notes.
What would Lawrence Watterson make of my questions?She understood, with sudden clarity, those pompous fools who found Greek translation dangerous to a well-bred woman.Those same folks would be apoplectic over the direction her work took today.
“You’re leaving?”She watched his graceful hands straighten the papers.
“We’ve done enough for one day,” he said without meeting her eyes.“You did well.Rewrite the mountain lyric.I will look forward to your final word choices.Perhaps the heroes fragment doesn’t give us enough to go on.Some poetry is simply dry.”
She doubted it but didn’t say.
“The day after tomorrow then?”He didn’t wait for an answer.He left her alone with her poems and her thoughts.
