Fran is from New York City, delayed a semester because her parents decided on a long family trip before they told her they were going to divorce, and she plays the viola. Kit, having asked, knows with dismay that she will have to tell her own story, but gets away with a shrug.
Her new roomate accepts that and heads for the real meat: What Kit will be studying.
Kit recites her list of courses and adds "poetry."
"You a poet?"
But Kit just shoves her hands into her coat pockets and is silent.
So Fran tells her there is a note and Kit finds the note tells her she really will be taking the course in poetry.
Falin's class turns out to be a large one and the poet starts off by asking everyone to recite a bit of poetry they remember. The first student gives a bit of Emily Dickinson, and they are off, struggling to think of the words that hold the thoughts that captured their imaginations. When it is Kit's turns she can do no more than give, "Je suis comme le roi d'un pays pluvieux..." the opening of a poem by Baudelaire and that bit brings her close to tears.
And finally, when no one else can or will speak, Falin recites. Not one of his, but a piece by Pushkin, the sense of which is—Falin will not translate—that Pushkin, asked to sacrifice by Apollo, is unworthy—until he begins to sing. The sound of the poem that they cannot understand is rich and strange.
Falin tells them about himself, knowing that some have come from curiousity and then he sets the material for the course. They will read and memorize all of the poems he has collected in his purple memographed handouts. The class is dumfounded.
The story returns to the older Kit, speaking to Gaviirl Victorovich, telling him they were surprised to be told that the only poems they would able to understand would be ones they had memorized. The old man understands the amazment but explains that all of the students only had to open a book to read any poem, whereas in Falin's world poetry had to be carried in the mind or not exist at all.
"You know," he says, "we have a view of poets unlike anyone's."
Kit agrees.
He goes one to explain that in Russia poetry was a secret, allusive language, shared thoughts that might or might not make it possible to trust.
Kit, knowing how different what she has created is from the originals, asks if she ought to have published translations.
Gravriil Victorovich says, "It began your career, I think?"
"Yes."
"So long ago." And they consider the matter, with Kit concluding, asking, When I meet them tonight, what will they say to me?
"Thank you for coming so far."
And the story returns to the young woman at college, coming out of her first class in poetry.
(to be continued)