Chapter 16 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks the student to stand beside Samuel’s father in the memory. At the fair the crowd carries them into the square, and the father fights to turn back: “Let us out. Please let us out.” When the movement comes on the platform he presses the boy’s face into his coat, and the boy feels his hands grow rigid and tremble. At the pub his lips are “curiously blue” and there are tears in his eyes. He tells the boy, “They were killing a bad man,” and that the man did “things only a fiend could think of,” and he will not say what. Then the boy says, “I saw the golden man. He looked right down at me.” The father answers, “For that even more I thank God he’s gone.” The boy adds that the eyes put him in mind of a goat’s, and the father turns at once to sweety-milk, a stick with ribbons and a whistle like silver. The student decides why the look weighs so much. It feeds the hinge: on the ride the grown Samuel must decide what a look can carry, and this is the first answer he was ever given. The card must not say what the golden man did; the father refuses to tell.

One reading

He believes a look can carry something. He has just called the man a fiend, and the fiend’s eyes have rested on his son. To him that look is a kind of touch, and it makes him even more glad the man is gone. A man with trembling hands and blue lips is not speaking lightly.

• For that even more I thank God he’s gone.
• Not once but many times he did dreadful things—things only a fiend could think of.

Another reading

He is a frightened father thinking of what the boy will carry home. His whole day has gone into keeping the sight away, and the look got through his hands. What he fears is not the eyes’ power but the boy’s nights, which is why he will not tell “nightmare things” and why he turns so fast to sweet milk and a silver whistle.

• I’ll never tell you nightmare things.
• Drink your sweety-milk and you shall have a stick with ribbons and a long whistle like silver.

Listen for

• Notices that the father’s hands hid the hanging but not the look: the boy says “I didn’t see any,” and later, “I saw the golden man.”
• Hears what the father’s body does on the platform and after: rigid hands, held breath, trembling, blue lips, tears.
• Notices how fast the father turns from the eyes to treats, and asks what that turn protects.
• Keeps to the page: the father says only that the man did “things only a fiend could think of.”

If stuck

• What does the boy tell his father about the golden man?
• What does the father say back, and what does he offer the boy right after?
• Can a look frighten someone more than what they see a person do?

A strong answer A strong response gives the father a reason and stands on the pub scene. One reader says he believes a look can carry evil: he has just called the man a fiend, and he thanks God “even more” because those eyes rested on his son. Another says he is a frightened father thinking of the boy’s nights: the look got past his hands, so he refuses “nightmare things” and turns at once to sweety-milk and a whistle. The best answers keep both in view and notice that the grown Samuel, on the ride, has to decide the same thing about a look for himself.

What it asks It asks the student to take Samuel’s strangest step seriously. Back on the road he reasons it out: “It was the eyes, of course,” and “Only twice in my life have I seen eyes like that.” He blames “the night and the moon,” then his imagination, and warns himself, “This is how we can get trapped.” He tries an easy answer and throws it out himself: “Some accident of eye shape and eye color, it is. But no, that’s not it. It’s a look and has no reference to shape or color.” Then: “Well, why is a look evil then? Maybe such a look may have been sometime on a holy face.” The next sentence orders him to “stop this romancing.” The student decides what a saint’s face and the golden man’s could share. It feeds the hinge: if the same look can sit on a holy face, it tells Samuel nothing about Cathy and his fairness stands; if the thought is only a door out, he is talking himself past what he found. The card must not treat the memory as an omen that settles anything; the flattening risk is to skip this honest argument.

One reading

Eyes that look past ordinary people. The golden man’s eyes were “not like the eyes of a man”; a holy face may be turned to God and away from the crowd as well. Both stand outside the ordinary trade of looks between people. If so, the look marks someone set apart, not someone evil. Samuel’s father judged the golden man by what he did, and a look alone cannot tell a fiend from a saint.

• The man’s eyes had no depth—they were not like other eyes, not like the eyes of a man.
• It’s a look and has no reference to shape or color.

Another reading

Nothing, and Samuel half knows it. He asks himself why a look is evil and never answers. He says “Maybe,” and in the next breath calls it “romancing” and gives himself an order. A holy face is the kindest thing he can set beside a fiend’s, and he reaches for it because he wants a way out of his own question. The thought closes the question; it does not answer it.

• Well, why is a look evil then?
• Now, stop this romancing and never let it trouble again—ever.

Listen for

• Follows the argument in order and notices that Samuel throws out his own first excuse: “But no, that’s not it.”
• Asks what “romancing” covers: the holy face alone, or the whole night’s search.
• Hears how much the sentence hedges: “Maybe,” “may have been,” “sometime.”
• Keeps the look open: the chapter never says what Cathy’s eyes mean.

If stuck

• What does Samuel decide the trouble is not, and what does he say it is instead?
• What does he tell himself right after the holy face?
• Can two very different people have the same look in their eyes?

A strong answer A strong response names something the two faces could share, or argues that they share nothing, and stays with the last paragraph of the ride. One reader says both look past ordinary people, a saint toward God and the golden man toward nothing human, so a look alone cannot tell good from evil. Another says the holy face is a door Samuel opens to get out: he never answers why a look is evil, calls it “romancing” at once, and orders himself to stop. The best answers notice that Samuel has just refused the easy answer of shape and color, so whatever the holy face is, it comes from a man arguing honestly with himself.

What it asks It asks the student to weigh two ways of looking at a stranger. On the ride Samuel “built her face in front of him and studied her wide-set eyes, delicate nostrils, mouth smaller than he liked but sweet, small firm chin, and back to her eyes.” At breakfast Liza asks other things. “What was her name before?” and “Well, where did she come from?” He answers “I don’t know,” twice. She asks about the clothes, and when he guesses store bought she says, “You would not know.” Then: “Her hands, Samuel, her hands—what was she doing with her hands?” He has to search his memory, and finds “she had little hands and she held them clasped in her lap.” Liza sniffs: “Not sewing, not mending, not knitting?” The student decides what hands could tell Liza that a face could not, and whether these hands tell her anything. It feeds the hinge: Samuel traced his dread to a look, while Liza asks what a person does. Which of those is better evidence about a stranger bears on whether he should trust his warning. The card must not say Liza suspects Cathy; her questions come from her own habits about idleness, store clothes and riches.

One reading

Hands show what a person does. A face can be pretty and quiet and tell nothing; hands are busy or idle. For Liza, work is where a person shows what they are, and she names the work she expected: sewing, mending, knitting. She asks about the hands the way she asks about clothes: about things a person can see and check. Samuel studied eyes all night and has to search his memory for the hands.

• Not sewing, not mending, not knitting?
• Samuel searched his memory.

Another reading

Not much more, and Liza reads her own rule into them. Samuel has just told her that Mrs. Trask’s “time’s not far.” A young woman that close to her first baby may well sit with her hands in her lap. Clasped hands are as quiet as a quiet face. Liza finds idleness in them because idleness is what she always looks for; she sees sin in lying abed after light, too.

• Doing? Why, sitting, sitting in a chair under an oak tree. Her time’s not far.
• It was just as sinful to her to lie abed after light as it was to be abroad after dark.

Listen for

• Sets the night’s study of Cathy’s face beside Liza’s questions (a name, a home, clothes, hands) and hears his two flat answers, “I don’t know.”
• Hears Liza’s “You would not know” and asks what Samuel is good at seeing and what he is not.
• Notices that Samuel does remember the hands once asked, so he saw more than he had thought about.
• Keeps Liza’s questions as hers: they come from her rules about idleness, store clothes and riches, not from any suspicion of Mrs. Trask.

If stuck

• What does Samuel remember about the hands once Liza asks?
• What does Liza ask about, and which questions can he not answer?
• What could you learn from someone’s hands that you could not learn from their face?

A strong answer A strong response says what hands could show and weighs whether they show it here. One reader says hands show what a person does, busy or idle, and for Liza doing is where a person shows what they are; Samuel studied eyes all night and had to search his memory for the hands. Another says clasped hands, so near her time, are as quiet as a quiet face, and Liza finds idleness because idleness is what she looks for. The best answers notice that Samuel and Liza are both trying to read a stranger who gives them very little, and that neither reading settles anything about Mrs. Trask.

What it asks It asks the student to read one laugh. Liza has asked about Mrs. Trask’s hands. Then she warns: “I don’t know that it’s a good idea for you to go over there. Riches and idleness, devil’s tools, and you’ve not a very sturdy resistance.” The narrator adds: “Samuel raised his head and laughed with pleasure. Sometimes his wife delighted him but he could never tell her how.” He answers with a joke, “It’s only the riches I’ll be going there for, Liza,” and tells her of the wells Adam wants. Later he wins Joe a place on the wagon by having Joe report that his father refused him: “Let her do most of it. Meanwhile I’ll set my stubborn up.” The student builds a thesis about what delights him, meets the strongest objection, and revises. It feeds the hinge: the night before, Samuel argued himself out of a dread he could not prove; in the morning his wife names the devil’s tools at once and never doubts herself. The card must not say Liza suspects Mrs. Trask; her warning is about riches and idleness, her own habits. Nor should it treat the kitchen as filler after the ride: its warmth and play stand against the silent supper at the Trask place.

One reading

Her certainty. On the ride Samuel argued with himself and could not settle it, and he even borrowed her voice to do it: “Liza’s right.” Liza herself has no doubts. She and the Lord God hold similar convictions on nearly every subject, and she names the devil’s tools without a pause. After a night of doubt, a woman so sure of where evil lives is a joy to him, and perhaps a rest.

• It was well known that Liza Hamilton and the Lord God held similar convictions on nearly every subject.
• Liza’s right. My imagination will get me a passport to hell one day.

Another reading

She is right about him, and she knows him by heart. He does have “not a very sturdy resistance.” When he calls Adam a dreamer, she cuts in that the pot is blackguarding the kettle, and he agrees: “I know, Mother, I know.” Being known that well is the pleasure, and he knows her just as well. Later that morning he steers her, by having Joe report the opposite of what he wants.

• Hear now the pot blackguarding the kettle
• Meanwhile I’ll set my stubborn up.

Listen for

• Hears “he could never tell her how” and asks why a man so full of words cannot say this one thing.
• Hears that on the ride Samuel called on Liza himself, “Liza’s right,” and sets her sure sentences beside his long argument with himself.
• Keeps Liza’s warning as hers: it is about riches and idleness, not a judgment of Mrs. Trask.
• Revises rather than restates: a good revision may hold more than one delight and say which runs deeper.

If stuck

• What does Liza warn Samuel about?
• What does Samuel say back to her?
• Can someone delight you by being exactly who they always are?

A strong answer A strong response builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says her certainty delights him: after a night of arguing with himself on the ride, his wife names the devil’s tools at once and holds convictions similar to the Lord God’s. The strongest objection is that she is simply right about him, “not a very sturdy resistance,” and the pleasure is in being known by someone he knows just as well, as the game with Joe shows. A good revision might hold that he delights in a sureness he gave up on the ride, and weigh whether he envies it or is glad to have someone else carry it.

What it asks It asks the student to look at what Samuel’s choice costs and where the payment goes. The ride’s search began inside Samuel: envy of the fine ranch (he finds none), then his own “healed loss” (long forgotten, he says). It found its cause in Cathy, and in a memory that “came of itself.” It ends with the blame back on Samuel: “And Samuel Hamilton resolved to help greatly with the Salinas Valley Eden, to make a secret guilt-payment for his ugly thoughts.” At breakfast the secret stays kept. He tells Liza of the new floors, the roses and the blue dress, and nothing of the ride. Set beside this the father at the pub, who hid the sight, would never tell “nightmare things,” and paid the boy in sweety-milk and a whistle. The student builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. It feeds the hinge: the flattening risk is to praise or blame the choice without seeing that Samuel turns his doubt into guilt and pays it as labor. The card must say nothing of the well work itself.

One reading

Cathy is owed, and the work is the only way to reach her. Samuel set a quiet young mother beside a hanged fiend; he wronged her in his mind, even if no one heard it. He cannot apologize for a thought she never knew of, so he pays into the place she will live.

• Now what connection under heaven can there be between the golden man hanged so long ago and the sweet little bearing mother?
• And Samuel Hamilton resolved to help greatly with the Salinas Valley Eden, to make a secret guilt-payment for his ugly thoughts.

Another reading

No one is owed but Samuel’s own peace. The memory was not chosen; it “came of itself.” A debt with no one to collect it is a way to close the books on a warning he would rather not keep. Paying it keeps the dread buried, and he keeps it even from Liza.

• He strove to find it and then it came of itself.
• Let me dig this nonsense out, else I’ll be searching that poor child for evil.

Listen for

• Notices that the search began with Samuel suspecting himself, envy and an old loss, and ends with the blame back on himself.
• Sets the payment beside the father at the pub: the sight hidden, the nightmare never told, a treat in its place.
• Hears “secret” and asks why a payment for a thought must be hidden, even from Liza.
• Revises rather than restates: a good revision may name who is owed and also what the paying lets Samuel stop doing.

If stuck

• What does Samuel resolve at the end of the ride?
• Whom were the ugly thoughts about, and whom will the work help?
• Can you owe someone for a thought they never knew you had?

A strong answer A strong response builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says Cathy is owed: Samuel set “the sweet little bearing mother” beside a hanged fiend, and since he cannot confess a thought she never knew of, he pays into the house she will live in. The strongest objection is that the memory “came of itself,” so there was no choice to repay, and a secret payment may serve mostly to bury a warning he does not want to keep. A good revision might hold that the debt is real to Samuel and paid to the wrong person, or that it is paid to his own conscience, and weigh what the paying costs him.

What it asks It asks the chapter’s whole question. Samuel does the hard work first. He searches himself for envy and for an old loss and finds neither. Then he finds it: “Now he had pinned it down in time and place and person. It had come at dinner and it had come from Cathy.” Her eyes “had no message,” and they bring back the golden man, whose eyes were “not like the eyes of a man.” Then he argues: “It’s the night and the moon.” “Liza’s right. My imagination will get me a passport to hell one day.” “Let me dig this nonsense out.” “This is how we can get trapped. Now think hard and then lose it.” He throws out the easy answer of shape and color, allows that such a look may have been on a holy face, calls it “romancing,” and orders himself never to let it trouble again. He shivers, jokes about “a goose fence around my grave,” and resolves on a secret guilt-payment. The student builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card must not say the dread is proved right or wrong (nothing Cathy does in this chapter confirms or clears it), must not say what the golden man did, and must not make Liza suspect anything. Nor should it read the memory as a simple omen and skip Samuel’s honest argument.

One reading

Yes, or right enough. A look is all he has. Cathy has done nothing but sit silent, and “many women were silent.” The only other time he saw such eyes was long ago, on a man his father knew by many dreadful deeds. To treat a young wife as a fiend because of a memory would be the very trap he names. Fairness asks him to judge people by what they do.

• She was silent, but many women were silent.
• This is how we can get trapped.

Another reading

No. He did the work of tracing the dread to its source and then threw the finding away. He rejects his own easiest excuse, and the argument ends in an order, not an answer: “think hard and then lose it.” He shivers after the vow. A warning that survives his best argument deserves to be kept in mind, not paid off in secret.

• Now think hard and then lose it.
• He shivered.

Listen for

• Weighs “This is how we can get trapped”: which trap Samuel fears more, being fooled by Cathy or being unjust to her, and whether he walks into the other.
• Notices that he pinned the dread down “in time and place and person” before he called it nonsense.
• Asks whether a memory just “mined out of the dusty past” can be lost again on command, as “think hard and then lose it” asks.
• Keeps to the page: nothing Cathy does in this chapter proves the dread right or wrong, so the answer judges Samuel’s reasoning, not her.

If stuck

• Where and when does Samuel decide his dread began?
• What reasons does he give himself for dropping it?
• When is it wise to trust a feeling you cannot prove?

A strong answer A strong response builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says Samuel was right: a look and a memory from long ago are all he has, “many women were silent,” and to search a young wife for evil on that ground is the trap he names. The strongest objection is his own argument: he throws out the easy excuse of shape and color, ends with an order to “lose it,” not an answer, and shivers after the vow. A good revision might hold that fairness forbade him to act on the dread but not to remember it, and weigh what it costs him to turn a warning into a secret guilt-payment.