At the Woodchopper's Ball Bk. 01 Ch. 01

Mirrla droned on heedless of my confusion, "Anik says that during his last two years at school, he would spend hours and hours in the library ... on his own. I suppose his family ought to have been able to see what might happen, but then boys are boys," she observed airily. "Fixated on your whims, paying scant attention to the idiosyncrasies and odd kinks of your character — and so the trouble spreads."

"Idiosyncrasies and odd kinks?" While I still had no idea what she was getting at, I felt mildly offended on behalf of my sex.

"I suppose his folks used to tell themselves that he would outgrow his quirks, only to discover — too late — that he wouldn't," Mirrla expounded. "After coming of age and inheriting his income, he shut himself off in a small cottage and devoted himself entirely to study. His desire for solitude only grew. He is a society-shunning hermit now — living on his own in the sticks."

Good grief! I finally connected the dots. She was talking about the magazine article Mother had alluded to earlier, the one about the supposed propensity of boys to languish in friendless depression and whatnot.

"I don't suppose he has spoken to a girl in ages," Mother offered. "What a lesson this is for you, Fayard. Do not shut yourself away staring at books all day."

"There is no lesson here," I protested, "I have no intention of shutting myself away."

Annoyingly, Mother continued as if I had said nothing, "You can't be the dominant male if you do that sort of thing," she opined as if an expert on the topic. "In this life, you can choose between two paths. You can shut yourself up in the country and read books, or you can enjoy the company of the opposite sex. You can't do both."

Mother looked at Mirrla who nodded in solemn agreement, though I could tell she was struggling to suppress a grin.

I was a little miffed. "What were these two hens clucking about?" I thought to myself. Did they really imagine I was the type to succumb to Urbie Minko's fate? I had just returned from spending five arduous years at one of the Republic's most demanding military academies. At Fortunbrae, they made officers not loafers. And what the devil was all this tosh about the "dominant male?" What did they know about that sort of thing anyway?

I recalled something one of my history tutors at school had mentioned. He had postulated that since women became preeminent in the field of psychology, all sorts of ordinary male behaviour had come to be regarded as pathologies. Did a chap want to spend a bit of time on his own? Evidently, he was depressed. Had he little to say? Clearly, he was a man on the verge of suicide. Was he vexed by vexatious things? No doubt a dangerously deranged individual. Perhaps the old man had been on to something.

"Let's not ruin a beautiful morning with claptrap," I thought to myself. At any rate, it was time for me to depart and leave Mother to her preparations. I made my excuses and went downstairs to get things started with breakfast.

As I moved around the kitchen, trying to recall where things were, my thoughts drifted to our upcoming lunch appointment. I felt a rush of excitement at the prospect of seeing Enide again after so many months. However, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, there was a niggling sense of unease.

I found a loaf of bread and began slicing it. Once there were enough slices, I placed them in a bread basket and went rummaging in the cupboards for a suitable vessel to pour the milk into.

I wondered if Enide had changed much since we last saw each other — I wondered if I had too. Would we still have the same effortless connection?

I brought the butter crock over from the pantry. This kind of navel-gazing wasn't much use I decided. I couldn't wait to see Enide — everything else seemed trivial, and so I banished any lingering qualms from my mind and got on with what I was doing.

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