I would do anything for him—anything except dissect a frog, a requirement of biology class. My friend Sam stepped in for me when we were called upon to perform the dissection. I was grateful to Sam for this.
One morning, Mr. Kaufman stopped at my desk and said, “Please come see me at the end of the day.” Sam shot me a look, but I did not meet his gaze. He was not happy about my feelings for Mr. Kaufman.
Somehow, I made it through the endless hours of French, history, and algebra. At 2:45, the final bell rang. I walked down the long hall and stood in the doorway of Mr. Kaufman’s cubicle. There were stacks of books and papers everywhere, except on one bookshelf filled with a huge pothos plant.
“You can’t kill those plants,” I said. “My mother has one. It just grows and grows.”
“That’s true. I’ve had this one for five years,” Mr. Kaufman said, as he transferred books from one chair to another. “Have a seat. How are your classes? How do you like being in the chorus?”
He knew that I took chorus. That meant he had been checking my schedule. “Classes are fine and I love singing. I’m an alto.”
He nodded. “Alto, that’s great. But are you working too hard? You look extremely thin. Are you eating enough?”
“I don’t have much time to eat when I’m working on extra credit assignments. The Scientific American articles are really hard. I sit for hours in the library, reading and taking notes, and sometimes, I just forget to eat.”
“Why?” said Mr. Kaufman
“Why do I forget to eat?”
“No, why are you torturing yourself with those journals?”
“To impress you,” I said, not sure if I had spoken the words out loud.
He leaned back in his chair. “You have impressed me, but there’s no need to work so hard. You’re young, you’ve got lots of time. Pace yourself. Do you see what I mean?”
“Not really,” I murmured. His eyes were deep blue. I twisted the chain of my heart locket. It was the kind that opened. You could put a picture in it, but I hadn’t yet. “Are you going to send me to the guidance counselor?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Mr. Kaufman said.
“Are you going to call my mother?”
He tugged at his tie. “Only if you’d like me to.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I said, and he smiled. I loved how he looked when he smiled. In class, he was always so serious when he taught us about lysosomes and mitochondria.
He placed both hands on the desk and leaned towards me. “Here’s the deal. No more extra credit. Your class work is exemplary, except for that frog business. I’d like you to check in with me from time to time so I know you’re eating enough and that you’re OK….”
I wanted to say, “When should I check in? How? How often?” but I kept quiet. I stood up, and Mr. Kaufman stood up, too. He extended his hand across the desk but I didn’t dare take it.
And as I walked down the hallway, his voice echoing in my head, I was gripped by a hunger so strong that I feared I might never be satisfied.
Author's Comment
Sometimes stories simmer in my mind for years or even decades. For “Hunger,” I reached back in time to find my voice at age fourteen. I wanted to dwell in the world of reality suffused with fantasy where teenagers live, unbeknownst to their parents and teachers, a hazy world filled with confusion and also redemption.
It’s 2054 A.D., and the world needs a rest from men. Women have developed a novel solution, and the men can’t wait to leave. When my taxi driver tells me he has bullet wounds from the Russian police, speaks five languages, and is teaching at Harvard, I start taking notes. After the funeral, a widow loses all her married friends. Then karma sends flowers.
“Indra Kapur writes with clear insight and an acute sense of humor. The stories in A Year Without Men are varied, clever, and often delightfully surprising! Cue me rubbing my hands together with glee.” — Katherine Longshore, author of the Gilt series.
“The stories in A Year Without Men create a powerful sense of place with rich sensory and emotional detail. Characters are appealing in their humor and the compassion they inspire. I want to meet these people and be there with them! Some endings surprise us, and others give us a satisfying sense of the inevitable playing out. The stories have a depth of reality that makes them unforgettable.” — Ann Saxton Reh, author of the David Markam Mysteries
“Mickee Voodoo is a very entertaining parody of a “hardboiled” detective story in the mode of Chandler, Hammett, and, more recently, Robert B. Parker…witty banter ensues with the detective cracking wise in a colorful idiom both in dialogue and narrative…delights in wordplay…very clever, and is quite funny…Kapur is a talented and skillful fiction writer.” — John DeChancie, author of The Skyway Trilogy and The Castle Perilous series.
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Robin Mayer Stein started writing at age five and never stopped. She grew up in Jackson Heights NY, and moved to Boston to attend law school. Her work has appeared in Home Planet News, Fiddlehead Folio and the new renaissance. She received a poetry grant from the Massachusetts Cultural Council. She speaks at schools and libraries about her book, My Two Cities: A Story of Immigration and Inspiration. She loves sharing stories with Stella, Maya, and Liam, her grandkids.
After forty years in finance, Linda K. Allison is enjoying life as a writer, photographer, and explorer. Her work has appeared in Bright Flash Literary Review, 2023 Utah’s Best Poetry, Pose Anthology, and others. Her photography has appeared or is forthcoming in Burningword Literary Journal, The Sunlight Press, and others.
I like the concise combinations of two: Sam/Mr. Kaufman, no hunger for food with hunger for romance, pothos at home and in Kaufman’s office, playing with the locket/necktie. Thank you.