Part 8: Tuesday Evening

32. Elizabeth

The curvilinear fin de siècle marble staircase caught my eye as I stared down the entrance hall. This must have been one of the mansions commissioned by Hammondston’s timber barons during the Gilded Age. Why had I failed to deduce this from the facade? I had been too nervous to look up, of course. I barely felt Mr. Brown’s handshake as I looked at the dark wooden paneling.

I noticed Sam, wearing the same sundress as this morning, walking towards me. The muted pink formed a pleasant mean between her fair skin and bright curls. “May I take your backpack, please?”

I slipped it off my shoulders and, nodding, handed it to her. I should not be acting like a common rube, for I had seen historic houses before, and had also stayed at an upscale hotel during national MATHCOUNTS competitions. However, this house was different, for it was inhabited by people I hoped to impress.

I followed Mr. Brown through the first door on the left and into the dining room. A large mahogany china cabinet occupied one corner of the room. The silver light fixture hanging from the ceiling supported four crystal globes, each with its own lightbulb. I wondered how much was original.

A tall, sturdily built woman wearing glasses, a pale blue shirt, and a dark blue skirt entered. She extended her hand, saying, “Hello. I’m Ms. Klochkova-Brown. You must be Elizabeth.”

“Yes, I am. This looks like a beautiful house.” The wallpaper, which featured short golden curves diverging upwards from vertical blue stripes, was especially striking.

“Thank you,” she said.

Sam came in and pulled my chair out. She would sit at the head of the table, with me to her right. Ms. Klockhova-Brown had settled across the table from me, with her husband at her left. Sam’s mother had medium-length dark brown hair with flecks of silver, contributing to a distinguished appearance.

I swallowed. “So, what do you do?”

“Contract law,” answered the woman.

I turned to the father. “And you?”

“Risk analysis and actuarial tables.”

Sam asked, “Would you care for something to eat?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“We have a variety tonight. My father heated some chili, my mother boiled some eggs, and I created a Roman meal.”

Mr. Brown asked, “Which do you want?”

“Since Sam invited me, I’ll have what she made.”

Sam smiled. “I’ll get your food,” she said, as she left the room. Her father also went through the kitchen door.

Her mother asked, “So, what do you think of my daughter?”

“She’s more complex than I initially thought. She’s courageous, friendly, and apparently a great leader.” The lawyer smiled. “She’s also a good cook.”

“I think so, too.” I paused as I glanced at her plate – what about the eggs? She answered the unasked question. “Sometimes hard-boiled eggs are all I can handle after a hard day at work.” I nodded in response. “You won a state championship last year?”

“Yes, MATHCOUNTS.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

Did I have to? “Well, it’s arithmetic, algebra, and geometry designed to challenge eighth-graders. It’s not straightforward computation. In many math competitions, you have to be creative enough to apply material in new ways.” Many people mistakenly believe that mathematics involves the mere crunching of numbers and memorization of routines, and that faster equates to more knowledgable. I was grateful that Sam and her father returned with the dishes then.

Sam placed a pile of flat, square breads on the table, accompanied by a tan spread flecked with green. She then put two bowls on the table, one with small, nearly spherical lentils, and a smaller one with cucumbers. Her father placed his chili and cornbread at his seat.

Sam asked, “Care for a drink?”

“Do you have any skim milk?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I can also bring you a glass of hydromel.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s an early Roman drink,” she explained. “Made from water, apple juice, and honey.”

“I’ll try that, too.”

“Good. Help yourself while I’m in the kitchen.”

While Sam was out, her mother said, “Elizabeth was telling about MATHCOUNTS.”

Her father asked, “What about it?”

I explained. “It’s a math competition. I won the title last year, but, as I ninth-grader, I’m no longer eligible to defend it.” Still a little intimidated by the surroundings, I changed the subject. “Am I correct in assuming this was once a lumber baron’s house?”

Mr. Brown said, “Yes, it is. Fremont Campbell built it early last century for his family.” That was a little later than I thought. It seems Hammondston has long been late to adopt new architectural fashions.

Sam came in with the drinks.

Ms. Klochkova-Brown said, “We were starting to discuss the house.”

“It’s large,” commented Sam. “Handy for sleepovers.”

I said, “Pardon my asking, but it seems too large for three. Sam, do you have older siblings?”

She nodded. “Two brothers. Dan’s the oldest. He just earned a masters’ in electrical engineering, and is helping his girlfriend through graduate school in English lit. Pat’s in his first year at Wilmoth College, where he’s on the baseball team. He hasn’t decided on a major yet. Do you have any brothers or sisters, Elizabeth?”

“Just Victoria – Vicky,” I answered. “She prefers Vicky. She’s two years younger than I am.”

The mother asked, “Is she much like you?”

“Our personalities are diametrically opposed,” I said, “and our interests do not overlap.”

Sam said, “That must be tough.”

I nodded. “Sam, I thought you said this was Roman food. It doesn’t seem Italian.”

She smirked. “It’s ancient Roman.”

Click! We have a presentation subject!

33. Sam

I told her the meal wasn’t modern Italian, but “ancient Roman” instead.

Suddenly, her eyes moved up, and her face began to shine. For now, her fear had vanished.

I hesitated. “What are you thinking, Elizabeth?”

Her speech sped up. “Did you have the recipes, or did you look for them?”

“I borrowed a cookbook from the library. Why?”

“Because you just provided our presentation subject!”

My parents stared.

I uttered, “I did?”

“Of course,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Mrs. Marinus has been concentrating on political and military history to such a degree that she’s neglected social history.”

I wondered, “What do you mean by that?”

“Social history deals with daily life in ancient Rome. Everything from religion to technology to-” she pointed at my plate “-food. You’ve already started research on the subject.”

“Me?”

“Sam, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.” My parents smiled at that one. Elizabeth asked them, “Did she tell you about history class today?”

They looked at each other, then shook their heads no.

“Sam asked why the Roman Empire didn’t have a lengthy civil war after the end of the Julio-Claudian dynasty.” My father seemed lost, but my mother concealed her feelings behind her usual deadpan lawyer face.

I said, “When Nero died, there weren’t any descendants of Augustus left, so four people, each supported by part of the Roman army, tried to take the throne.”

Elizabeth continued. “The textbook didn’t say why the empire didn’t devolve into wars, as the late republic did, so he asked for an explanation.”

Mom said, “I like how you’re going beyond the textbook for more information.”

I said, “Too bad Mrs. Marinus forgot I asked the question. Elizabeth had to remind her.”

Pop commented, “That sounds like her. Dan used to complain she knew the material, but had trouble speaking without notes, and never tried to show how everything was connected. Is she still relying on scripts to cram all the chronology in?”

I responded, “It seems that way. I think I’ve learned more about ancient Greece in my World Lit class.”

“Furthermore,” Elizabeth said, “She skipped the chapters about ancient and Classical China and India. The cultural roots of the world’s two most populous countries don’t appear to be significant to her.”

I looked at Elizabeth. “How could she fit all that in without adding another year of history?”

“You have a point. It would be difficult under the current constraints.” She took a bit of food, then her eyes narrowed as her throat started throbbing.

Mom asked, “Is something wrong?”

“The spread is too acidic for my taste.” Elizabeth suddenly turned to me. “Sorry about that. The bread’s fine, and I really enjoy these lentils-”

I interrupted. “It’s the vinegar, isn’t it? The Romans used more of it than we do. It’s even strong by my standards.”

My father crumbled some cornbread into his half-empty bowl. “Then why did you put so much of it in?”

“Because I wanted to taste how the Romans made it.”

“I think I’ll try some of your bread,” Mom told me. “Just without the spread.”

“Eleanor, I thought you made those eggs because your stomach was upset”

“If it’s similar to the chapatis she made a couple of weeks ago, I can handle it.”

Elizabeth asked, “Chapatis?”

I explained. “Flatbreads from India. This Roman bread is different because it has barley flour.”

She nodded. “May I please have more of these lentils?”

“Certainly,” I answered.

“Elizabeth,” Mom asked, “What do your parents do for a living?”

“Plumber and beautician.” After a short pause, she added, “Both in accordance with traditional gender norms.”

Pop wanted to be sure. “So your father’s the plumber?”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “He’s self-employed. My mother works at Pulaski’s.” I’m not familiar with them; we go to Sergio’s in Harrison.

My mother picked this time to compliment me. “This is good bread. Roger, you ought to try some.”

“Perhaps later.” He scraped the bottom of the bowl with his spoon. “Any dessert?”

Mom said, “Can’t you wait a bit? They’re still eating.”

I swallowed some of my lentils. “Just some blackberries.” I turned to my guest. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Pop, I didn’t make anything fancy tonight. Bread and beans formed the base of ordinary people’s meals, with an occasional vegetable or cheese added for variety. When desserts were provided, fruits or nuts were enough. Rich people might have eaten fancy sweets with their feasts, but I’m more disappointed in having no yeast breads than in missing the cake.”

Elizabeth, as usual, was curious. “How did Roman breads differ from ours?”

“White flour would have been much rarer. I’m thinking what else. The cookbook I borrowed has grape juice, cheese, or goat’s milk in some of the bread recipes, but this spread uses feta cheese, not chèvre. To be honest, I wanted to have one type of Roman bread for this meal.”

“I understand. You can teach me more after the meal.”

Yay! If I can teach Elizabeth Dugan, school supergenius, something, then she’s not as intimidating as I thought. I wonder how often other students would have something to show her.

“That will have to wait until after the blackberries,” I said. I went to fetch them from the kitchen.

34. Elizabeth

Just some blackberries?

In my house, berries are a rare treat, not just because my father doesn’t like them, but also because four servings of berries are more expensive than four servings of berry-flavored ice cream. We do not have dessert every day at home. It’s worth sacrificing daily indulgences to save for vacations, if they are to interesting places. I do not consider a generic beach such a place, although I can think of specific ones worth visiting; Omaha and Anzac come to mind. If the family were to travel to Virginia Beach, I could use public transit to visit Cape Henry and the museums of of Norfolk.

I wondered where my hostess, who was just returning with the blackberries, would vacation. “Thank you,” I said, as she placed them in front of me. I slowly nibbled them, letting them rest in my mouth so as to better absorb the taste of their sweet juice. Thankfully, they weren’t as sweet as the hydromel.

After the meal, she invited me into her room. A low bed covered in pink sheets nestled against the far wall. A streamlined metal desk with a computer on it sat near a window opposite the door. The wall nearby was covered with photographs. “Are they all cheerleaders?”

“Not all of them. Some are from dance classes.” That would explain the open space in the center of the room. All of the furniture had been pushed against one of the walls.

“Could I ... do you mind if ... I’d like to check out the bookcase ... Please?”

“Go ahead.”

It was a small one, just four shelves, not all of which were filled. I saw a few novels and poetry collections, a guide to college, and, at chest level, an entire shelf of cookbooks. “So this is where the magic comes from,” I commented.

“Magic?”

“Your recipes,” I clarified. “Do you have a favorite cookbook?”

“Hmm. For sheer variety, the Madhur Jaffrey one would work, but I couldn’t part with the Silk Road cookbook.”

“Why?”

“You’ll have to see it for yourself.”

I scanned the books, finding it quickly: Silk Road Cooking: A Vegetarian Journey, by Najmieh Batmanglij. I flipped through, noticing paintings from China and Renaissance Italy, excerpts from Southwestern Asian literature, and an essay on the rose, as well as recipes from Spain to Indonesia.

“I just have to show you something in the book,” Sam squealed. She flipped the pages back to one recipe written in the original cuneiform. “That’s a 3,700-year-old recipe for turnip soup. The translation’s on the other page.”

I wasn’t familiar with one ingredient. “What’s samidu?”

“Some people think it’s a type of flour, others say it’s a plant related to the onion, and still others believe it was some type of spice. Nobody really knows.”

“It must have been a common ingredient, then.”

“I don’t understand how, if it’s unknown.”

“Let me use an analogy. Records from thousands of years ago would mention the great city of Nineveh, but they never stated where it was. Why should they? Very few people could read. For them, not knowing where Nineveh was is comparable to us not knowing where Washington and London are. Newspapers indicate where lesser cities like Youngstown and Leicester are, but indicating the locations of famous cities would be a waste of newsprint. Indicating Nineveh’s location would have been an even greater waste of papyrus. But Nineveh eventually disappeared, and, for centuries afterward, people had no idea where it was. Only the unusual needed to be defined.”

Sam smiled. “I get it now.”

“I think you can get a lot of things. You probably know more about central Asia than anyone else in class.”

“Not you.”

“Fair enough. Let’s make it the senior class to avoid any difficulties.”

“What about George Crawford?”

I thought for a moment. “He might be a possibility. However, the subject has received only cursory coverage in school. Without context, students might remember capital cities and country boundaries on a map just long enough to pass a quiz. They mean something to me because I follow international events. They matter to you because you make food from those places. Different reasons, same result.”

“So you’re saying I can understand the Roman Empire through food?”

“If it works for you,” I answered.

“Would you like to look through the Roman cookbook? I can go through these other books I borrowed.”

I nodded in response.

I didn’t pay attention to how much time we spent reading. Eventually, I asked Sam, “What about olive oil?”

“Its uses? I think they might be interested in seeing how people used it to clean themselves.”

“It was certainly versatile. Then we could mention how the area around Rome couldn’t produce enough to meet the city’s needs, so the government had to ensure that other regions would produce it, even if the production of oil for export would push residents of those provinces closer to famine.”

“Wouldn’t the famine cause revolution?”

“Imagine you’re the emperor. If there has to be a revolt, where do you want it to be?”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “The residents of Rome could hurt me, but the North Africans are too far away. So that’s why we need bread and circuses for Rome.”

I smiled.

She continued. “So how do you keep those regions under check?”

“Sam, I think we would benefit if you came up with your own answers. They might be different than mine.”

We then discussed the basic uses of olive oil, which wasn’t difficult, for we only had to mention the what, and not the why. We disagreed over applying it to the human body as part of our presentation.

“Elizabeth, if you don’t want to get dirty, I’ll be the one who gets the olive oil on me.”

“I don’t want to get dirty,” I replied. “However, it would make more historical sense for you to clean a portion of my skin.”

“There’s a good reason behind it, right?”

“I don’t think you’ve heard it before. Do you know how often Aristophanes has a slave named Xanthias in his plays?”

“He doesn’t have one in Clouds, and that’s the only one I’ve read.”

“Well, Xanthias meant ‘Goldy’ or ‘Red, ‘ depending on the context. The stock slave character in Greek and Roman comedy had red hair. I would find it easier to get dirty than to invert their norm.”

“I’d be the slave, but I’d remain clean,” Sam mused. “I could handle that.”

I had just committed myself to being naked and dirty in front of an entire classroom. What had I just done?

35. Sam

So I’m a slave for part of the presentation. Sounds better than being filthy and having to walk around without a shower.

I can’t tell if Elizabeth’s getting dirty means she’s loosening up. Last week, she acted as if everything had to be in place. I don’t know if I’m correct. I wasn’t paying much attention to her last week, anyhow. If we got wigs, and she wore the red one, would she be willing to be the slave? Who pays attention to 2,000-year-old stereotypes, anyway?

“Let’s go back to keeping the provinces calm,” I said. “Why don’t you handle that part of the presentation?”

“I am,” she answered. “However, my answer may be incomplete, or fail to reflect all available information.”

“And I’ll have to learn something, too?”

She said calmly, “That’s what education is. It’s not always about getting the right answer. Sometimes there isn’t one. Sometimes it’s about asking the right questions.”

“Speaking of right answers, can we talk about math for a while? It’s all about the right answers. I know you’re good at it.”

“For a high school student, yes.” Does she have to be so modest about it?

“Could you look over my homework and see if I got the right answers?” We just started differentiation, and we’re working on powers of x.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Schumer said I can’t help you on problems we’ve been assigned.”

Oof. “Bummer.”

“However,” she continued, “He never said anything about problems he didn’t assign.”

“Why would I do problems that weren’t assigned?”

“That’s an interesting question. I would have to think about it.”

“That was a rhetorical question, Elizabeth.”

She kept her even demeanor. “Rhetorical or not, it’s still an interesting one.”

“Can I just pick one from the book and solve it?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll try problem 8: f(t)=t²+2t-3. For t², I put the 2 behind the t, reduce the exponent by one, and get 2t. For 2t, I multiply 2 by 1, knock t down to t⁰=1, and get 2. The derivative of any constant is 0. Therefore, f’(t)=2t+2. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Elizabeth wasn’t convinced. “Here’s a true or false one. If y=π²+x, then y’=2π+1.”

“Simple. The derivative of π² is 2π, the derivative of x is one, thus y’=2π+1. True.”

“Would you care to graph the function and show its tangent?”

“Is it really necessary?”

“Sam, I think you’ll find it interesting.”

“Let me get some paper,” I grumbled. “Can I use a calculator?” She nodded. “At x=0, y is 9.87+1, or 10.87.” I plotted a few more points. “I’m getting a straight line. The slope everywhere is one. But I know that x=0, y’ should be 7.28.” I checked my figures. “At x=1, y’is 7.28. At x=2, it’s the same. It’s always 7.28.” I raised my voice. “We should get that only if y=7.28x.”

“Or if y=7.28x plus a constant.That’s a problem. What could cause it?”