I am Amazon

Prepare to Hunt

Chapter Four

Damia and I arrived in school just a few minutes after the bell had rung. Almost everyone was rushing to their classrooms, so after arranging to meet at break, my cousin headed off to her physics lesson, while I steeled myself to cope with Dawes once again.

“How lovely of you to join us, Sefira,” my teacher said dryly as I sidled into the classroom.

“I thought so,” I returned, heading towards my seat.

“In fact,” Dawes continued, not missing a beat, “as we’re so fortunate to have you here, you can read page two of the first canto.”

I thought that was a pretty unfair punishment, especially as I was only a couple of minutes late.

As I began to dig through my bag for the books, Turner offered me his copy. Reluctantly, I accepted it – only because it would save time for the rest of the girls.

Dawes’ irritation grew stronger as I began to read.

“Enough, Sefira,” he gritted his teeth. “Your voice is flatter than a pancake.”

“Does anyone else suddenly want pancakes?” Turner glanced around the classroom, gaining some appreciative murmurs of assent.

“Mr Dawes, last I checked, this was an English lesson – not Drama,” I replied. “Surely it doesn’t matter how I read it, as long as the words are said?”

“But that’s where you’re wrong, Sefira…” It seemed I had unleashed a monster – and not the kind I could shoot. “Everything about this subject depends on the method of communication. You must convey the reality of imagination. The reader must hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs; the ‘whisper in the dark’. It’s the same with Shakespeare – the audience was expected to hear hooves when he spoke of horses. When we read Chaucer, you’ll find the words quite difficult to understand, until they’re read aloud. Literature is as much about communication as speaking. It’s like a politician delivering a speech…”

And it went on. By the time Dawes had bored everyone half to death, I’d found my copy of the Rape of the Lock, and pushed Turner’s back to his side of the desk. I didn’t like the way he’d been leaning over to my side, invading my personal space – even if it was to share a book.

“Right,” Dawes’ monologue was clearly over. “Can anybody tell me what sylphs are?”

There was a moment of hesitation, before Jessica stuck her hand up. “They’re the spirits of dead women who guide the living.”

“That’s correct.” Dawes headed toward the interactive whiteboard, where there were four images of women. They stood in different poses, seeming to represent air, earth, wind and fire.

Rather pleased with his copy and paste work, Dawes smiled proudly. “Pope describes four different kinds of women through the form of their spirit after death.”

Only four different kinds of women – that’s not antagonistic at all, is it? I gritted my teeth, knowing it could only get worse from here.

“The first kind is the salamander,” Dawes indicated the first on the board. She stood surrounded by fire, in a pose that conveyed strength. I rather admired her.

“The salamander,” Dawes continued, “is the spirit of the fiery, determined woman who can’t seem to control herself.” I saw his gaze dash briefly across to me, before he labelled the next stereotype.

“The nymph is described as the perfect woman,” Dawes now pointed to a girl crouching by a lily pond. She looked sweet and serene. “She is the most sophisticated, beautiful woman. Belinda is such a woman, as she is the kind who most easily submits to male authority.”