Part 37 (1/2)
Dr. Putnam spent the first hour giving an introduction to the course, talking about ”slow-sync modes” and ”built-in slaves,” ”hard shadows” and the ”afterglow of filaments.” Sometimes Novalee knew what she was talking about, but sometimes she didn't.
”Now,” Dr. Putnam said, checking her watch. ”Our bus should be out front. Let's get going.”
Novalee had no idea where they were going, but she fell in behind the others as the teacher led them outside and onto a university bus.
From the conversation around her, Novalee learned they were going to an outdoor lab, whatever that might be.
The man who sat beside Novalee was friendly and they made small talk a couple of times, but mostly Novalee's mind was on a conversation she and Moses had had a few nights earlier.
”You go on and take that cla.s.s,” he said, ”and don't you be scared.”
295.
”But I might be getting in over my head.”
”You'll be fine, honey. Just fine.”
”Moses, I'm not sure about that.”
”Listen. They're going to teach you some things I can't. There's lots of technical stuff I don't know. But you remember this. You know something that no one can teach.”
”What's that?”
”You know about taking pictures with your heart.”
The bus trip, which took nearly twenty minutes, ended on a gravel road a hundred yards from the Illinois River. From there, they walked to a wooded area where Dr. Putnam stopped, the students fanning out around her.
”We're going to make our way upriver for a mile or so. You'll find plenty to shoot out there, but remember, the best part of a good picture takes place in the darkroom. That's where we'll be heading when we're finished. Any questions?”
Two hours later, when they crawled back on the bus to return to the campus, Novalee had a blister on her heel, c.o.c.kleburs in her hose and tree bark in her hair, but she was no longer worried about how she looked.
She had taken three rolls of film along the river and somewhere in those seventy-two shots of dragonflies and honeybees and h.o.r.n.y toads, she might have one that would tell her a secret. And her adrenaline was pumping with the odd excitement she always felt in knowing she was about to find out.
”Remember this,” Jean Putnam said, ”bleaching is a process that can't be learned from books. No one can tell you how to do it or show you how to do it. Oh, they can demonstrate. They can suggest and they can advise, but bleaching is learned by doing. Learned by touch.”
296.
The campus darkroom was large enough that every student in the cla.s.s had a separate work station at a counter with a sink. Jean Putnam strolled around those counters as she talked.
”Now you can use a Q-tip selectively to lighten portions of the print, spots with too much shade or small dark areas threatening black.”
Novalee had slipped off her stiff new shoes and her shredded stockings and was working barefooted, the tiles of the darkroom floor cool against her feet.
”Or you can use a sponge if you're working with a large area,” Dr.
Putnam said. She stopped then beside the man who shared Novalee's seat on the bus and bent close to the print he was working on.
”You've probably gotten that a little too light, but it's hard to tell.”
When she resumed her pace, she said, ”Remember, the bleaching process doesn't stop when the application does. Pota.s.sium ferrocyanide is like that rabbit on television. It just keeps on going.”
Novalee was working on one of the lizard prints, the first one she had shot.
She had been stumbling down a dry rocky gully in pursuit of a monarch b.u.t.terfly when she saw the h.o.r.n.y toad and when it saw her.
The lizard lifted hooded eyes in startled response, but it did not race away. As Novalee bent and swung the camera around, the creature backed up, but still it did not run, instead held its ground just at the edge of an outcropping of rock.
When Novalee pressed closer, the h.o.r.n.y toad puffed itself up in a show of boldness, the spiked horns at its neck menacing and dangerous. Novalee cut her eyes to the viewfinder just as the h.o.r.n.y toad hissed, a fierce little dragon in an ageless ritual of courage and dread.
297.
Now Novalee was remembering what Dr. Putnam had said earlier in the day. ”The best part of a good picture takes place in the darkroom.”
Novalee dipped a Q-tip into the mixture of pota.s.sium ferrocyanide, then began to move it in small, tight circles on a darkened area of the print, a shaded area in front of the h.o.r.n.y toad's eyes.
Suddenly, without Novalee realizing she was there, Dr. Putnam was at her shoulder. ”You'll know when it's right,” she said softly.
”Your fingers will tell you.”
”But how . . . ”
”Some kind of magic that tells you it's enough, just exactly enough to find what you're looking for.”
”I don't really know what I'm looking for.”
When Novalee wiped the Q-tip once more over the print, her fingers began to tingle and she pulled the swab away.
”You felt it, didn't you?”
”Yes. Yes, I did.”
As they watched, the shaded area continued to lighten and Novalee saw what she was looking for, a tiny arc of blood spurting from the eyes of the mighty horned lizard, Phrynosoma platyrhinos, Phrynosoma platyrhinos, and Novalee knew she had begun learning the secret of seeing into shadows. and Novalee knew she had begun learning the secret of seeing into shadows.
Chapter Thirty-Two.
W ILLY JACK dropped another quarter in the jukebox, punched B7, then slid back onto the stool at the end of the bar. He settled an invisible guitar on his lap, then strummed a few warm-up chords while he waited for his song to begin. When it did, he closed his eyes, played along with the melody and sang harmony with Wayne Deane to ”The Beat of a Heart,” which had climbed to number three on the charts. ILLY JACK dropped another quarter in the jukebox, punched B7, then slid back onto the stool at the end of the bar. He settled an invisible guitar on his lap, then strummed a few warm-up chords while he waited for his song to begin. When it did, he closed his eyes, played along with the melody and sang harmony with Wayne Deane to ”The Beat of a Heart,” which had climbed to number three on the charts.
”When you are without a friend And got no company The bartender, beefy and black, cut his eyes at w.i.l.l.y Jack. ”Jesus Christ, man, don't you know another song?”
299.
”World has kicked you over and over You're crying 'Woe is me' You're crying 'Woe is me'
”You got something against Whitney Houston or Tina Turner?”
”Well, you're not the Lone Ranger This I know for sure ”I'm about sick of listening to that cowboy s.h.i.+t.”