On Math, Melville, and Moby

Density is a good thing, no?  Solid, substantial, packed full, intense, more per square unit: these are the descriptors that come to mind when I think of dense.

And then there is the state of being dense.  Thick.  Stubborn.  So compacted and extreme that nothing gets through.

Oft, I am of the latter sensibility.

It was the day of my freshman year Geometry final.  Summer would officially start in just a few days.  We were seated in our regular math classroom in the Red Building.  I guess you could say that we kept things simple at a Quaker school.  Our math teacher, the one who mockingly selected many a student's raised hand that year with a, "Yes, Wonder Child," (which I can assure you, none of us were) generously and unexpectedly tossed us a bone. There was extra credit to be had.

Against the white of his classroom's board, he wrote with a cool blue marker:

Who was the author of Herman Melville's Moby Dick?

Call me crazy, but shouldn't the extra credit question on a Geometry final be, um, I don't know, about math?  I saw "author" and I saw "Moby Dick."  All hopes for an extra point or two shattered, I sighed and returned to my test.  Classic literature was not my forte.

Lizzie smiled sweetly.  Of course she would know.  Adam stirred uncomfortably to my right and, as usual, started to open his big mouth.  But not before Mr. Darling instructed him not to ruin it for everybody.

Mr. Darling was just that, one darling mister.  A teddy bear of a man with a pale beard and rosy cheeks, he stood tall with broad shoulders and a belly to match.  His lilting nasally voice made him sound like a teenager when you'd least expect it, but that was part of his charm.  When he laughed, his whole body shook.  I liked him.  He was kind.  He was serious.  He brewed coffee that made his classroom smell wonderful.  Except for those days when he flushed vinegar through the machine.  That was not so wonderful.

I'm pretty sure I was the only one who didn't get extra credit on that final.  Mr. Darling laughed at me.  Adam did, too.  I guess you always lose when you give up before even trying.

It's appalling that I still have not, since that ego-bruising incident, read Mr. Melville's classic tale.  I have, however, managed to acquire just enough literary hodge podge knowledge to recognize that the clue from this weekend's Times Magazine acrostic, "Island from which Captain Ahab sailed" alludes to the same novel that did not get me extra points on my high school Geometry final.  But this is nothing to brag about, for that knowledge still falls short of providing the answer.  So thank you, internet, for NANTUCKET.

Next time I'm at the library, I should pick up a copy to end this embarrassment once and for all.