To the wizards who left
And to those in the last row
WIZARDS
She had been studying the subject for almost three months, but she knew that at any moment she would collapse: the entire first term built of castles in the air if she did not really understand the mathematical concept of the bloody tensor. She did not doubt that the best gift she could ask them for was that mysterious secret. And she finally thought about writing the letter to them. But there was a problem: the exam was before Christmas.
That Tuesday afternoon she left her student’s residence up Seneca Avenue on her way to the university. She entered the driveway lined up with gum trees near the engineering school, which gave off a light mist of burnt leaves and an unmistakable aroma of late autumn. She crossed the stately atrium of the college and went up to the first floor, entering the differential geometry class, listless and head down. Suddenly, a sigh of inscrutable hope settled her composure and ignited her spirits. With nothing to lose, she urged herself to make one last attempt to save the term, and she accosted the teacher in the middle of the class.
Teacher, can you please explain to me what a tensor is so that I understand it?, said a solitary voice from the last row of the classroom emitted by a blessed naive with a hopeless face.
A tensor?, said the teacher, frowning and issuing a compassionate interjection, a prelude to the implacable sentence. My dear friend, a tensor is «an intrinsic entity of which a series of numbers are a pale reflection».
The banished student, begging for a few crumbs of consolation, saw in front of her the heads of the rest of the students turning in unison, like a lightning. The progeny of learned scholars returned merciless slaps of revelry; pitilessly.
Devastated, she glanced to her side. In the exile of the last row, her magical companions from the past, vanished and left without leaving a present.
Well, we continue, after this unpleasant interruption of those who have left behind, said the teacher.
She didn’t think anything else. She took out the paper she had prepared for the letter and slipped out a single line.
Thank you for the understanding of the past and I would like to beg you for the understanding of the present too, she wrote.
She put the paper in the envelope without indicating the address. It was not necessary.
To those wizards, she wrote.
She folded it up, put it in her shirt pocket (on the heart’s side) and left the class softly, levitating like a ghost.