Home Schooling by Carol Windley

Author:Carol Windley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC019000
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2006-10-19T16:00:00+00:00

Well, Dr. Bergius said at last, neither did he know the exact meaning of the words. And yet, didn’t I feel, as he did, their wonderful musicality?

On Dr. Bergius’s desk, between a black telephone and an onyx pen stand, there was a framed portrait of his late wife, whose name, he told me, was Eva. With her prominent cheekbones and small, shrewd eyes, Eva seemed unnervingly lifelike. When he’d met Eva, he said, he’d been a medical student and she’d been studying what would now be called Home Economics at a girls’ academy in Leipzig. She was, he said, a lovely, lovely girl who adored nature, flowers, and animals. That was in 1934, in a very different world, he said, absently tugging at his bow tie.

In spite of his long interest in the subject, Dr. Bergius was a newcomer to the realities of commercial broadcasting. He might as well be honest about this, he said. The station had been on the verge of bankruptcy when he took over, and the situation was still precarious. He was going to need the help of the announcers, news director, music director — not that the station had a music director at present, but that would come, fingers crossed — and the salesmen. And the copywriter. “That’s you,” he said, beaming.

“Yes,” I said, nervously. I didn’t want Dr. Bergius questioning me about my qualifications. I’d been hired as a receptionist, but during the transition period, in the days before Dr. Bergius arrived, the previous copywriter had quit, and I’d been offered his job, no questions asked, no experience necessary. I’d inherited a desk in a corner near the coffee room, and an antique Royal typewriter on which to compose copy. I thought I was improving. As far as I could tell, it was all a matter of rhythm and timing, in order to transform the dull, repetitive half-truths of commerce into something that didn’t entirely offend the ear. A matter of musicality, as Dr. Bergius had just said of poetry. I thought of mentioning this, but I didn’t want to sound pretentious, as if I was trying to come across as more knowledgeable than I was, or worse, trying to compare myself to a famous poet.

At the conclusion of the interview, Dr. Bergius came out from behind his desk and took my hand. He was tall, with the slightest stoop. His bow tie was the same velvety midnight blue as his eyes. No doubt he should have gone into radio years ago, he said, but his mother had wanted a career in medicine for him. Such a devoted mother, how could he have disappointed her? Anyway, medicine had been good to him. He had no regrets.

And now he had his own little radio station. He smiled slightly and opened his office door for me. Before I left, I happened to glance at the window in the wall of Dr. Bergius’s office. It looked directly into the control room. One of the announcers, Brent, was at the microphone, reading a piece of my copy.

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