Sight Unseen

Professor Emile read the next question: "8. Which part of the model is not shown in the photograph?" The model, standing next to a rough-barked tree, beneath an azure sky in which pink wisps of clouds were stretched thin, like pulled cotton candy, showed all of her luscious body except those listed as the possible answers for this question, so, by circling "D," for "All of the above," and thereby eliminating her back, buttocks, and feet in one fell swoop, I'd gained another ten points, making my grand total, so far, a solid, if not respectable, forty points. With only two questions left, I could still end up with a dismal 60 percent. Not good, but passing. At this point, I'd take whatever I could get.

What was the next question? I couldn't recall. The quiz's contents seemed to have been blotted from my memory by my anxiety about failing the quiz. Only as Professor Emile read them out loud did I recall the questions and my answers to them.

The effect was to heighten the suspense to an almost unbearable level. I didn't know what I'd do--or how I'd face the rest of the class--if I actually failed a quiz concerning a beautiful, naked female model. I'd be the laughingstock of the whole fucking Art Department. Were dunce caps still in use, I'd certainly have had to wear one the rest of the semester and maybe even for the two years that intervened between now and my hoped-for graduation date.

I was actually perspiring as Professor Emile read the next question: "9. Which item of jewelry does the model wear?" The laser pointer pointed at the necklace, the bracelet, and the ring she wore, and my heart started beating again as I let out my pent-up breath. I'd answered "D. All of the above." My score was now fifty percent. With but one question remaining, I could, if I'd answered it correctly, score a dismal, but passing, grade.

I closed my eyes with dread, lest I had missed the question, and heard Professor Emile's voice, seemingly coming from a great distance, through a fog of sound: "10.