A Rather Long Short--story 6 continued and to be continued

“Oh, then you are a teetotaler I suppose,” she said. I watched her for a moment to detect a trace of sarcasm. There was nothing but the freshness of adolescence in her bearing. So I ruled out sarcasm.

She saw through my doubt and while I was fumbling for an answer, she said, “There is nothing wrong in being a teetotaler. Your culture forbids you to drink perhaps.” I was not sure whether to tell her that I was not exactly averse to drinking, but I thought it best to let her continue with the impression she had formed; I am more at ease with myself and others when an acquaintance begins with an impression and not with an opinion.

I asked her if she would care to join me. “For a very little while,” she said. I got up and drew a chair for her, the one opposite me. I hurried back to my chair. I wanted to hold the thread of conversation but was not sure how to. I finally decided to let her take the lead and sat there facing her quietly, as if for a judgment.

“You were there at the choir-practice; I saw you,” she said plainly, without any coquetry. I was impressed by the poise which to my mind was rather remarkable for her age. I admitted I was there and that I was quite impressed by her singing. She nodded and said, “I know.” She was not excited over the compliment. There seemed to be a slight shadow of wistfulness in her eyes. She kept looking out at the rain outside and then in a slight whisper, as if talking to herself said, “Choir-singing is not my end really; it’s just a stop-over. I want to be a professional singer.” Though she showed no eagerness for a response from me, I ventured to say just in order to prolong the opportunity of being with her, though I regretted the moment I said it, “Oh, I would have thought that you were made out to be a nun.”     

She flashed a glance at me which I felt to be a look of disapproval, if not exactly of anger. “Oh, really? And what made you think so?” she asked with a determination to retaliate what she perceived to be an insinuation at her plain looks. Though that certainly was not what I had in mind, it gave me a secret pleasure to see her annoyed. But it was too fragile a moment to be wasted in silly overtures. I hastened to clarify, “I mean, you sang with such devoutness; it was heavenly.” Again a half-smile lit up her face and as if with a glint of comprehension in her eyes she said, “Really? Don’t expect me to believe that. I wasn’t quite born yesterday, you know?”

I silenced the voice in me that urged me to say, “ That was really the truth!”