PhD Candidate Faustus

12: begotten on a sunny bank

Mephistopheles

"Does he win?" I ask, bursting into Mr. Sly's office, still smelling of cigarette smoke, my school books in hand. It's late on a Friday before break and the halls are noisy with farewells as students hurry to get picked up by parents and chauffeurs.
"What?" My long suffering literature teacher sits up.
"Does he live? Odysseus? Does he make it home and get his wife and home back?" I ask, clutching the book to my chest.
"You haven't had it spoiled yet?" He chuckles.
"No! I was gonna watch a video and I started to to understand what was going on you know and I got half way and I'm halfway through the book and it's old and hard to understand and it's boring, but against my better judgement I'm getting emotionally attached 'cause all the guy wants to do is get home—he wants a home—he wants his home and his wife and his son and that isn't a lot to ask he's not a bad guy, except everybody is being horrible to him and at least two ladies raped him maybe more —my comprehension skills, not that great —anyway, he lies and he steals yeah but he's just trying to get home to the people he cares about and I'm getting emotional about it and last night I was reading it and some other fucked up thing was starting to happen and I realized that I can't emotionally take it if he doesn't win.
"And I was gonna read the rest on the plane because I'm going home with a friend, for the first time actually and I've never done that before and everything needs to go all right and I can't finish this shit on the plane if he fails and doesn't get his wife back and his home and his house when that's all he wants and he like, really loves her he cares about her, and I am sick and tired of the heroes always failing and getting killed every damn book you have us read the good guy always winds up floating in a pool dead—,"
"I didn't know The Great Gatsby was also going to be a surprise for you, though I'm still asking that you not shout profanities in class—,"
"Everything is a surprise to me and I can't take it anymore, so I'm asking you, right now—is this a happy book? I can't take your pretentious weighty smart person sad books where we learn tons of shit from our hero fucking dying after walked all the way down some fucked up highway with a kid actually caring about his kid—"
"All right, yes, I see your point The Road is not very happy either but the Boy does live—,"
"For like probably ten minutes, Christ, anyway, you gave me this book and I will read it, but I'm about to have a very weird week—,"
"It's break, child."
"—a very weird week for me and I need to know," I say, holding the book up, breathing a bit heavily.
"Yes," Mr. Sly says, a bit confused.
"Yes, what?" I ask.
"Yes, it's a happy ending, he lives, Odysseus wins," he says.
"You're not lying to me to get me to read it?"
"No, I promise you, google it, Odysseus wins."
"His wife doesn't kill him or turn out to be his mom or anything—,"
"I did not expect to emotionally scar you with my choices this semester, no, he wins. He gets his wife and house back. That's it. Happy ending," he says.
"Promise me? I need a happy ending—fuck, I need a happy ending," I say, holding the book up, as evidence, "It never seems to happen."
"No, in this one it does. He lives. I promise."
"Okay, okay, cool, thank you, thank you, I'll see you in week then?" I ask, backing out of his office.
"Yes, I'll see you in a week, have a Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Bye! It had better be a happy ending!"
"It is! Have a little faith, child, god," he says, as I close his office door.
"Wait, does his dumbass kid live?" I ask, half in and half out the door, "He doesn't get killed and eaten or whatever by the suitors, does he? What about the wife does she instantly die the minute she sees him and some bullshit?"
"No, I promise you, Jay, it's a happy ending. Odysseus and Penelope and Telemachus, they live, no strings attached," he says, shaking his head.
"But he's like, a trickster, he's barely a hero, no one in the poem really likes him why, Achilles, and Ag-menon-rapist person, they all died even though we were supposed to be rooting for them," I say, folding my arms.
"Read it, and you can tell me, but I promise you, this time, yes, we do get a happy ending," he says, "Now have a good Thanksgiving break, Jay."
"Okay, okay, I'm counting on you. I'm gonna be really pissed if it's sad—,"
"It ends well. This time. It ends well."