Luckily Lexie was thinking ahead, she left me some food as well as a little map showing where the closest stores are. She drew a dollar sign and a skull and crossbones over a few of them. I get the message.
“Don’t be shy – if you need me, call me.”
“Don’t worry…”
“And don’t forget to introduce yourself to Mr. Delmonte. And make sure to thank him…”
“Of course…but why don’t you introduce me to him? Wouldn’t that be easier?”
“He’s out of town. When he gets back, I’ll probably be on my honeymoon. Don’t forget, okay? I don’t want him to think my cousin doesn’t have any manners.”
“Of course not! I wouldn’t do something like that!”
“Oh, Emma!” she scolds me, kindly. “One last thing. You probably should pay more attention to your clothes…”
She looks me up and down, like the governess did earlier. But my outfit couldn’t be any more ordinary. For a student who’s moving, I mean. Jeans, Converse sneakers, college sweatshirt…well maybe French students move into their new apartments wearing Chanel. Go figure…I get the feeling that I’m going to have plenty of surprises over the next few days!
2. Back to school
My appointment is at ten o’clock am in room 322. Mrs. Granchamps is waiting for me. She is exactly how I imagined she would be. She emanates wisdom and intelligence. She's calm, poised, you get the impression that each of her words is full of meaning, that every sentence is deliberate and deserves your utmost attention. I intuitively understand at the very beginning of our conversation that she’s already agreed to accept my thesis. I’ve been preparing for her questions for two months, but I’m afraid that my responses aren’t enough for her. The best thing I can do is be completely honest, completely thorough…
Why feminism? No doubt because I realized that people in the outside treated me differently than my father did, which is originally why I never thought of myself as a girl…or a boy, for that matter. My mother died during childbirth. It’s odd for that to happen these days, dramatic and romantic, but it’s not unheard of. Anyway, it was just my dad and I. No new wife, no girlfriend…My father is something of a nerd. His passion: dinosaurs. He devotes most of his waking hours to dinosaurs and I wouldn’t be surprised if he dreamed about them at night. He probably met the only adult human being in the world who shared his passion. They got married, she got pregnant…After the accident, my father was the only paleontologist in the university of Lansing, Michigan. I had a happy childhood. I spent a lot of time at the university, in the laboratory with dad or in my grandparent’s backyard. My father managed alright. Of course, when I see photos of myself in a flowered dress and rubber boots, I realize that he didn’t teach me much about beauty or fashion, but I never lacked for anything and I was always happily satisfied with my life.
When I was twelve years old, he solemnly summoned me to the kitchen, and announced that the time had come for us to divide up the household chores. From then on, I would have to make dinner every other evening. Same thing for the laundry. As for the housework, a chore that bored us both equally, we decided to keep the house as clean as possible and go on a cleaning rampage every other Saturday. There was just one basic rule to follow when it came to these chores. Whoever did it, did it the right way. Basically, what that meant was you couldn’t complain if the meat was too tough or a shirt badly ironed. This seemed naturally right to me and I naively thought that this was how it worked in every family. But reality soon caught up with me. When I went to dinner at my friends’ houses, I noticed that the division of chores between generations and even between adults was a myth. Actually, that’s not exactly true: the chores were divided between the generations, as long as the younger generation was female. I would come back home all wound up from these experiences. My father was perplexed. I could spend hours cursing society, the patriarchy, the bra and everything that I considered to hinder the freedom of women. When I came home like this, my father would tell me to calm down the ‘suffragette’ inside of me. But I know that he agreed with me, in his own way. When I told him that I wanted to study feminism, he supported me. He was the one who suggested I go see how things worked in other places. Which led me to Paris.
I had dreaded this meeting, and now I can’t stop talking. Mrs. Granchamps looks at me kindly. Alright, I think. She takes notes. After a certain amount of time, she interrupts me:
“I have to go teach a class, Ms. Maugham. I clearly understand what your motivations are, but I’m afraid we still need a little more time to pin down your subject. If you like, I noted a few classes you should attend – as long as you agree with me, of course. This will help you meet other students and better identify your research topic.”