Part One, Reading 4 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks the student about a silence at the start of the reading. Montag comes home in the dark and will not turn on the light. Mildred asks, “Are you drunk?” and talks on for a long while, and he makes only small sounds. Then she gets up, comes to his bed, and puts “her hand down to feel his cheek.” When she pulls it away, it is wet. She says nothing about it, that night or the next day. At noon she says only, “But you were all right last night,” and “You acted funny last night.” The student decides why she never speaks of his tears. It takes up one part of the last written question: Montag will soon call them both empty, and here Mildred meets his grief with her hand and not her words. Do not make Mildred shallow and nothing more; she is the one who crosses the room. Do not say why she takes the pills later; the reading never gives her reasons.

One reading

She does not know what to say, so she does something instead. Her care comes through her hands, not her words. She crosses the room to him, and the next morning she asks about the night in her own way.

• come to his bed and stand over him and put her hand down to feel his cheek
• You acted funny last night.

Another reading

She does not want to know. Asking would let trouble into the house. Soon her Seashell is back in her ear, and by noon she tells him he was fine.

• her Seashell was tamped in her ear again
• But you were all right last night.

Listen for

• Notices that Mildred is the one who crosses the room and touches him.
• Uses what Mildred says the next morning, not only what she does in the night.
• Notices that Montag keeps quiet too: asked “Did something happen?”, he answers, “A fire, is all.”
• Does not make Mildred shallow and nothing more.

If stuck

• What does Mildred do when Montag makes the small sounds?
• What does she say about last night when he wakes up sick?
• Have you ever seen someone upset and not known what to say? What did you do?

A strong answer A strong response might say she does not know what to say, so she does something instead: she crosses the room to “put her hand down to feel his cheek,” and the next day her way of asking is “You acted funny last night.” Another might say she does not want to know: soon “her Seashell was tamped in her ear again,” and at noon she tells him, “But you were all right last night.” A careful answer may notice that Montag keeps quiet too. When she asks, “Did something happen?”, he says only, “A fire, is all.”

What it asks It asks the student why, of all things, Montag asks this. Lying awake late in the night, he thinks of buying a Seashell station of his own to talk to his wife, and then cannot think what he would say: “What could he say?” Suddenly she seems “so strange he couldn’t believe he knew her at all,” and he thinks of the joke about the drunk man who goes home to the wrong house and a stranger, “and neither of them the wiser.” Then he whispers, “When did we meet. And where?” Mildred cannot remember, and neither can he. Knowing becomes “more important than any other thing in a life-time.” Mildred says, “It doesn’t matter,” and he says, “No, I guess not.” The student decides what Montag hoped the question would tell him. It takes up one part of the last written question: a few lines later he remembers thinking that her death would be “the dying of an unknown, a street face.” Do not make Mildred shallow and nothing more for forgetting; he has forgotten too. Do not say why she takes the pills.

One reading

Whether she is a stranger. She suddenly seems like someone he has never known, as if he had come home to the wrong house. The first meeting would prove they really share a life.

• And suddenly she was so strange he couldn’t believe he knew her at all.
• He was in someone else’s house

Another reading

Something to say. He has nothing to talk to her about. The day they met is the one thing a husband and wife should both have, a place to start. When it is gone, it hurts more than anything.

• What could he say?
• It was suddenly more important than any other thing in a life-time that he knew where he had met Mildred.

Listen for

• Connects the question to what Montag was thinking just before he asks it.
• Notices that Montag cannot answer it either.
• Says what Montag finds out, which may not be what he hoped to find.
• Does not make Mildred shallow and nothing more for forgetting.

If stuck

• What is Montag thinking about just before he whispers, “Millie…?”
• Can Montag answer his own question?
• If you wanted to be sure you really knew someone, what would you ask?

A strong answer A strong response might say he wants to know whether she is a stranger: she seems “so strange he couldn’t believe he knew her at all,” as if “He was in someone else’s house,” and the first meeting would prove the marriage is real. Another might say he wants something to say: he has just asked himself, “What could he say?”, and the day they met is the one thing they should share. That is why knowing it becomes “more important than any other thing in a life-time.” A careful answer may notice that what he finds out is about himself as well, since he cannot remember either, and that a few lines later he pictures her death as “the dying of an unknown.”

What it asks It asks the student to see the parlour from Mildred’s side. Lying awake, Montag remembers an evening with the walls. The “relatives” shout, “Something must be done!”, but Mildred cannot say what it is all about; she will “wait around and see.” Then “A great thunderstorm of sound” pours from the walls. Montag feels thrown from a cliff and dropped down a waterfall into “emptiness and emptiness.” When the music dies, Mildred says one word, “There,” and stays in her chair. Nothing has been settled, yet “Something had happened.” Montag comes out “sweating and on the point of collapse.” The student decides what the parlour gives her. It takes up one part of the last written question: just before this memory, Montag asks himself, “How do you get so empty?” and “Who takes it out of you?” Do not make Mildred shallow and nothing more; ask what she gets from the parlour, not only what it costs her.

One reading

It gives her the feeling that something happened. She cannot follow the shows, but the storm of sound rises and ends. When it stops she has been through something, with nothing to settle.

• Something had happened.
• Well, said Mildred, wait around and see.

Another reading

It empties her out. The noise works like a washing-machine or a vacuum. What Montag feels as a fall into nothing, she has every evening, and her one word afterward sounds like a job done.

• someone had turned on a washing-machine or sucked you up in a gigantic vacuum
• into emptiness and emptiness

Listen for

• Answers from Mildred’s side, not only from Montag’s.
• Uses what the passage says happened, and what it says was not settled.
• Links the parlour to Montag’s question, “Who takes it out of you?”
• Does not make Mildred shallow and nothing more.

If stuck

• What does Mildred know about the fight in the walls?
• How does Montag feel when the music stops? Does Mildred seem to feel the same?
• Is there something loud you like because of how you feel after it ends?

A strong answer A strong response might say it gives her the feeling that something happened: she cannot say what the fight is about and will only “wait around and see,” but when the storm of sound ends, “Something had happened.” Another might say it empties her: it works like “a washing-machine” or “a gigantic vacuum,” and what Montag feels as a fall “into emptiness and emptiness” is hers every evening. A careful answer may notice that the passage says both, that something happened and that “nothing had really been settled,” and ask whether that is what Montag means by empty.

What it asks It asks the student about Montag’s first answer to bad news. He asks Mildred about “The girl next door.” She asks, “What girl?” and “What girl next door?”, then says, “Oh, I know the one you mean.” She meant to tell him and forgot. She thinks the whole family moved out, and “I think she’s dead.” Montag answers, “We couldn’t be talking about the same girl.” Mildred says, “No. The same girl. McClellan.” and tells him what she has heard. The student decides why Montag says it cannot be the same girl. It takes up one part of the last written question: here Montag meets a possible death, and the student watches how he takes it. Do not say that Clarisse is dead or how she died; Mildred is “not sure. Pretty sure.” Do not make Mildred shallow and nothing more for forgetting; a few minutes earlier Montag could not remember where they met.

One reading

He cannot take the news in. Saying it must be another girl keeps her alive a moment longer. Mildred answers by naming her, and he has to hear it.

• We couldn’t be talking about the same girl.
• No. The same girl. McClellan.

Another reading

He is right in a way. The girl Mildred knows is a family name and something she heard; she barely knew whom he meant. The girl Montag knows is the one he has counted the days since seeing.

• What girl next door?
• four days to be exact

Listen for

• Separates not believing the news from believing that Mildred does not know the girl.
• Uses how Mildred speaks of the girl, before and after his answer.
• Asks what Montag may have lost, and whether he can share it with Mildred.
• Does not say that Clarisse is dead or how she died.

If stuck

• What does Mildred say when Montag first asks about the girl next door?
• What name does Mildred use for the girl? What name does Montag use?
• Have you ever said “That can’t be right” when you heard bad news? Why?

A strong answer A strong response might say he cannot take the news in: saying “We couldn’t be talking about the same girl” keeps her alive a moment longer, until Mildred answers, “No. The same girl. McClellan.” Another might say he is right in a way: Mildred had to ask, “What girl next door?”, and the girl she knows is a family that “moved out somewhere,” while Montag has counted the days since he saw her, “four days to be exact.” A careful answer may notice that the reading ends on two Mildreds who “had never met,” and ask whether this husband and wife ever talk about the same person.

What it asks It asks the student about one small word at noon. Montag is sick in bed, and the “relatives” are shouting in the parlour. He asks, “Will you turn the parlour off?” Mildred says, “That’s my family.” He asks again, “for a sick man,” and she says, “I’ll turn it down.” She goes out, does nothing to the parlour, and comes back: “Is that better?” He says, “Thanks.” Then she tells him it is her favourite programme. The student decides what Montag is thanking her for, when nothing has changed. It takes up one part of the last written question: whether Montag, too, joins in the empty talk of the house. Treat his fever as real, and note that he is also afraid; he says so to himself a little later. Do not make Mildred shallow and nothing more.

One reading

For asking. He knows nothing has changed, but he is sick and tired, and a fight is not worth it. As in the dark, when she said it didn’t matter where they met, he gives in.

• He closed his eyes over the hotness.
• No, I guess not,

Another reading

For nothing, and he may not even know it. The parlour is never quiet, so he cannot hear that she did nothing. “Thanks” is just what you say, like the walls that talk and settle nothing.

• She went out of the room and did nothing to the parlour and came back.
• No matter when he came in, the walls were always talking to Mildred.

Listen for

• Notices that the reading tells us Mildred “did nothing to the parlour.”
• Decides whether Montag knows that nothing changed, and points to the words that show it.
• Asks whether Montag’s “Thanks” is any less empty than Mildred’s “Is that better?”
• Treats Montag’s sickness as real, and does not make Mildred shallow and nothing more.

If stuck

• What does Mildred actually do to the parlour?
• Can Montag hear the parlour from his bed?
• Have you ever said thank you for something that did not really help? Why?

A strong answer A strong response might say he thanks her for asking: he knows nothing has changed, but he is sick, he has closed “his eyes over the hotness,” and, as in the dark when he said “No, I guess not,” he gives in. Another might say he thanks her for nothing and may not know it: she “did nothing to the parlour,” yet in this house “the walls were always talking,” so he cannot hear the difference, and “Thanks” is just what you say. A careful answer may notice that a few minutes later he says, “Yes, the bunch, the bunch, the bunch,” and ask whether Montag is starting to hear the empty talk in his own mouth.

What it asks It asks the student to judge Montag’s defence of himself. Montag tells Mildred the old woman’s fire will last him “the rest of my life.” She answers, “You should have thought of that before becoming a fireman.” He says, “Thought!” and then, “Was I given a choice? My grandfather and father were firemen. In my sleep, I ran after them.” Earlier that morning he cannot call Captain Beatty; “Because you’re afraid,” he thinks. He asks her, “how would it be if, well, maybe, I quit my job awhile?” Soon he says that last night he thought about “all the kerosene I’ve used in the past ten years,” and that he had “never even thought that thought before.” The student writes a judgment with evidence, in complete sentences, and answers the strongest case for the other side. It takes up one part of the last written question: whether the empty man Montag sees in himself is someone things were done to, or someone who did them. Do not say that Montag will quit; he only asks how it would be. Do not take his claims about books as proven; his reasons are feelings so far.

One reading

No. He was born into the job. His father and grandfather were firemen, and he followed them as if asleep. Even now he is too afraid to call in sick.

• My grandfather and father were firemen. In my sleep, I ran after them.
• Because you’re afraid, he thought.

Another reading

Yes. He is asking about quitting now, so a choice was there all along. He used the kerosene himself for ten years. Not thinking is not the same as having no choice.

• how would it be if, well, maybe, I quit my job awhile?
• Last night I thought about all the kerosene I’ve used in the past ten years.

Listen for

• Separates having no choice from never thinking about it.
• Uses Montag’s own talk of quitting and of the kerosene, not only his answer to Mildred.
• States the strongest case for the other side and answers it, in complete sentences.
• Does not say that Montag will quit.

If stuck

• Who were the firemen in Montag’s family?
• What does Montag ask Mildred about his job that morning?
• Can you choose something while you are half asleep?

A strong answer A strong response takes a position and tests it. A student might argue he had no real choice: “My grandfather and father were firemen. In my sleep, I ran after them,” and even now he is too afraid to call in sick. Another might argue he did: he can ask “how would it be if, well, maybe, I quit my job awhile?”, so the door was always there, and the kerosene of “the past ten years” was his own to pour. A careful answer may notice that he answers Mildred’s “thought” with “Thought!” and has just said he had “never even thought that thought before,” and ask whether not thinking is the same as not choosing.

What it asks This is the last question the student meets, and it gathers the earlier ones: why Mildred never says a word about his tears, what Montag hopes to find out when he asks where they met, what the parlour has done for Mildred, why Montag says they couldn’t be talking about the same girl, what he is thanking her for when she has done nothing to the parlour, and whether he was given a choice about becoming a fireman. Now the student judges Montag’s tears. Lying in the dark, he counts Mildred’s swallows and remembers the two technicians standing over her last week, “not bent with concern.” He remembers thinking then that if she died he would not cry, because she would be “an unknown, a street face, a newspaper image.” And he begins to cry, “not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman.” The student writes a judgment with evidence, in complete sentences, and answers the strongest objection. Do not say why Mildred takes the pills; the reading shows Montag counting her swallows, never her reasons. Do not make Mildred shallow and nothing more: she touched his wet cheek in the dark, and the reading ends on “another Mildred” deep inside, “so bothered, really bothered.”

One reading

For her. He has watched her lie still while two strangers worked on her, and he sees her being emptied. He counts her swallows and wants to call out to her. The tears come for a wife he is losing, or has already lost.

• he wanted to call out to her
• while the hungry snake made her still more empty.

Another reading

For himself. He cries “not at death” but at what the thought shows about him: a man who would feel nothing. He cannot remember where he met her, and he can picture her only one way.

• not at death but at the thought of not crying at death, a silly empty man near a silly empty woman
• He could remember her no other way.

Listen for

• Takes a side and holds to it, using the exact words of what Montag cries at.
• Uses more than one part of the reading: the dark bedroom, the forgotten meeting, the morning, the other Mildred.
• States the strongest objection and answers it, in complete sentences.
• Does not say why Mildred takes the pills, or make her shallow and nothing more.

If stuck

• What did Montag once think he would not do if Mildred died?
• What, exactly, does he begin to cry at?
• When Montag thinks “a silly empty man near a silly empty woman,” who comes first?

A strong answer A strong response takes a position and tests it. A student might argue he grieves for her: he counts her swallows, wants “to call out to her,” and watches “the hungry snake” make her “still more empty,” and at the end he remembers a Mildred “so bothered, really bothered.” Another might argue he grieves for himself: he cries “not at death but at the thought of not crying at death,” calls himself “a silly empty man,” cannot remember where he met his wife, and “could remember her no other way.” A careful answer may notice that he asks “How do you get so empty?” just after calling them both empty, and ask whether he can grieve for her without grieving for what he has become.