I am winning. I always win. ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Because you don’t have to do maths homework.’ ‘What is wrong with maths homework?’ ‘It’s like chewing on broken bottles.’ ‘What?’ ‘Just an expression. Ignore me.’ ‘You are lazy today.’ But I never ignore you. ‘Show me how to do your maths.’ I take your queen’s bishop and you groan. ‘It’s hard,’ you warn me. I grin. ‘Good.’ I stop delaying your king’s demise and put an end to the game. After that day, I do your maths homework every Saturday while you read The Maltese Falcon and smoke cigarettes. You don’t want to work today. You are tetchy – a word I know because you say it to me. Don’t be tetchy, you complain when I sit on the bed with my back to you and watch the rain with my ears closed to your words. Today it is you who are tetchy. It makes me nervous. I am seated at my desk and write out the Greek alphabet in long smooth columns. It is very beautiful, though nowhere near as beautiful as the hieroglyphs of the Egyptian alphabet that I have taught you.
