Witches

Rose was reading a Latin book. Surrounded by dictionaries and grammars, she scribbled notes. Occasionally she laughed.

Oh no. Not this again, Ben said.

Yup. It’s the month of witches. I’m reading about witches in Priapus’s garden.

Ben groaned. She had written her thesis on witches in Roman literature. She would go on and on if he didn’t change the subject quickly. Who was Priapus? A fertility god?

He might have read some of this stuff in school. His parents had forced him to take Latin, though he had wanted to take French like his friends. Latin had washed over him pleasantly while he doodled in a notebook and breezily answered “ablative absolute” every time the sweet but strict young teacher inquired about the grammatical construction. His fellow Latin students called him Ablative Absolute Man. The teacher said, Come on, why not guess something else for a change? Sometimes he would stop fooling aroudn and give a correct answer. He had kind of liked Virgil, because the teacher was so enthusiastic. No, Aeneas is not a wimp, she said patiently. He’s a patriot, a suffering man with a mission. He believes in pietas. She made them read an essay by T. S. Eliot saying Virgil was the Man, the greatest poet of all time, in any language.

As for Rose’s witch poems, only one of them was by Virgil, said Rose.

Rose was completely enamoured of Latin poetry. Listen to this, she said. Honey, this is SO me. Here’s a rough translation. “I myself have seen Canidia (that means gray-haired woman) walking barefoot, with a black robe tucked up, with her hair loose.” Doesn’t that sound witchy? Couldn’t I be that Canidia?

Very witchy, said Ben, mussing her hair. At midnight, no doubt.

“As soon as the wandering moon shows her face,” Rose sighed. If only i could be a student again, slaving over my books all day. Instead, I’m an architect with a job interview.

I can see you as a classics professor, lecturing on witches.

Oh, they’d have made me do something different. I pulled everything together, but there were some raised eyebrows over the witches. They probably thought I would put a curse on them.

Ben was very fond of Rose, though some of his friends found her dull. Too bookish, too earnest, too gray-haired. She didn’t let anyone know she read Latin. She said she could imagine being burned at the stake if anyone found out. The thing about being married to an ex-classics major was this: she tended to be eccentric. Rose got very wtichy in October. She listened to Frank Sinatra singing “Witchcraft” and read her goofy Latin poetry. She watched the DVDs of THE CRUCIBLE and BELL, BOOK, AND CANDLE when she could find them at the library.

Rose closed the book and said, At the end of the poem the wooden statue of Priapus explodes with a giant fart and the witches run away in terror. Roman poets are big on farts.

So is Priapus like the Trojan horse or something?

Rose laughed. Quit teasing me. And no.

Ben picked up one of Binkie’s toys and tossed it. Binkie ran happily, snorting and slobbering.

I thought I’d take the day off. We can take a walk with Binkie. And then I have a gift for you.

Rose got up from the couch and kissed him. I’m so touched. Really. You’re so sweet. Let’s go.

Maybe I should get dressed?

Yeah. It might be too cold for boxer shorts.