Tidal Parallelism

The first three rows of the tiered classroom were occupied.

Mr. West sat in the middle of the first row. He was in his early fifties, with graying hair combed immaculately.

Beside him sat a female teacher Richard did not know. She wore thin-framed glasses and held a pen in her hand.

Seven or eight upperclassmen were scattered across the second row, the grade insignias on their uniform cuffs one year above Richard's.

One of the boys had an arm slung over the back of his chair, his eyes carrying the air of someone here to watch a show.

Lillian sat in a corner of the third row.

When she saw Richard come in, the girl blinked, then shifted her gaze back to her notebook.

Richard made a quick assessment in his mind.

The turnout was bigger than he had expected. Mr. Holland had not told him in advance there would be an audience, probably on purpose.

At the official Cicero Cup venue, there would be hundreds of people seated below the stage.

If he could not withstand even a dozen or so people, there was no point going to the Imperial Capital.

"All right, Williams, get up there."

Holland sat down in the first row and jerked his chin toward the podium.

Richard placed his schoolbag on a chair by the door and walked up to the podium.

Standing behind it and facing the room, he took in everyone's expressions at a glance.

Mr. West sat with his hands folded on his knees, his expression mild, as though waiting for an opening performance of a play he was not particularly looking forward to.

The female teacher—Richard guessed she taught rhetoric or public speaking—had her pen tip poised over the paper, ready to take notes at any moment.

Some of the upperclassmen were whispering among themselves, while others had already leaned their heads against their chair backs, wearing expressions that said, "Hurry up and get this over with."

Lillian sat by the window in the third row, the light illuminating one half of her face brightly.

She turned to a fresh page in her notebook.

Mr. Holland had told him that Lillian had originally been the preferred candidate, but the girl became so nervous onstage that she could not speak without a script.

The slot had gone to Richard, which should have been a relief to Lillian.

But after that relief, she probably still wanted to see just how capable the person replacing her really was.

"The first passage, paragraphs one through four." Holland marked out the range. "The complete speech, from the beginning."

This was the most classic and the most difficult passage.

Cicero had denounced Catiline to his face in the Senate. The opening four paragraphs were the climax of the entire speech and the text most repeatedly studied over the centuries.

Richard drew a breath.

The looseness in his lungs, opened up by the [Breathing] skill, allowed the air he inhaled to travel deeper than before.

His chest expanded, his diaphragm dropped, and his vocal cords readied themselves.

"Quo usque tandem abutere, Catilina, patientia nostra?"

(Catiline, how long will you continue to abuse our patience?)

The sense of rhythm was hidden within the cadence, long and short syllables alternating into a natural drumbeat.

When Cicero wrote these lines, he had arranged the word order around their acoustic effect.

"Quem ad finem sese effrenata iactabit audacia?"

(To what end will your unbridled audacity keep flaunting itself?)

One of the boys in the second row pulled back the arm he had draped over his chair.

"Nihilne te nocturnum praesidium Palat...(several parallel phrases omitted) nihil horum ora vultusque moverunt?"

(Could the night patrols on Palatine Hill not move you; the city guards not move you; the people's fear not move you;

the gathering of all honest men not move you; this most fortified place where the Senate convenes not move you; the faces and expressions of everyone present not move you?)

This line was a textbook example of Cicero's use of parallelism.

Six instances of "nihil" layered one atop another, from patrols to guards, from the people to honorable men, from the place itself to every face in the room.

Richard had made an adjustment while memorizing it: he slightly lengthened the interval between each "nihil," letting the repetition build up force.

It was a technique he had discovered through Mr. Holland's coaching.

Parallelism could not be recited flatly, or it would sound no different from reading off a list.

True parallelism was a tide, each wave rising higher than the last. When the final wave receded, the silence it left behind weighed more heavily than sound.

Mr. West's posture did not change, but his fingers left his knees and rested on the desk.

Lillian's pencil stopped.

She had originally opened her notebook only to take some notes, to see whether he made any obvious memorization errors or pronunciation mistakes.

But after four sentences, she realized she was not qualified to judge him.

She set her pencil on the notebook, folded her hands together, and began listening in earnest.

Richard continued on, entering the second and third paragraphs.

When the fourth paragraph ended, he lowered his gaze to the scratch along the front edge of the podium.

After a brief silence in the classroom, Mr. West was the first to applaud, half a beat faster than Holland nearby.

The female teacher clapped a few times, then lowered her head and began writing in her notebook.

The upperclassmen's careless postures had completely vanished as well.

Lillian applauded too.

Before coming here, she had anticipated only two possibilities.

The first was that Richard would perform terribly, confirming her judgment that giving him this slot was a waste.

The second was that he would do passably—able to finish the recitation, but rough around the edges. That was within her expectations too.

There had been no third possibility. At least, she had not believed one of her classmates was capable of it.

Being able to memorize it was nothing unusual, and accurate pronunciation could be achieved through hard practice.

But a speech was not the same as reciting a text. That control over rhythm and breathing was not something that could be trained in a few weeks.

When had this bottom-ranked student become like this?

She could find no answer.

"Williams." Mr. West spoke.

"Sir."

"Your handling of the parallelism has one small problem." Mr. West's reminder struck straight at the point.

"Of the six nihil, you built progression through the first five, and the way you pressed down on the last one was quite good.

But the spacing between the third and fourth was too even, so the momentum leaked slightly to the ear.

I suggest pausing a little longer after the third, making the audience think the parallelism is about to end. When the fourth rises again, the impact will be stronger."

Richard replayed the rhythm he had just used in his mind.

An expert's touch truly was different. West was indeed the Subject Group Leader; he had immediately pointed out something Richard had failed to notice.

"I understand. Thank you, sir."

West nodded and stood up to say something to Holland.

Richard's hearing was decent enough that he vaguely caught the words, "Worth a try."

After everyone else had left, only Holland and Richard remained in the classroom.

Holland raised his teacup and took a sip.

"West has a sharp tongue. If you can get him to say 'worth a try,' take it as praise."

"You flatter me, sir."

"It is not flattery. You have improved too quickly."

Holland set his teacup on the podium and gave him a measuring look, the surprise in his eyes stronger than it had been the previous times.

A student at the bottom of the class had brought his Latin up to this level in two weeks.

The word talent was too simplistic. He had taught for twenty years and seen quite a few gifted students.

Talent showed itself in high starting points, quick learning, and few mistakes.

But Richard's situation was different.

This boy's starting point had been extremely low. Two weeks ago, he had still stumbled over basic declensions.

Yet his rate of improvement followed an accelerating curve, as though a steam engine had suddenly been installed in his head, doubling its output every day.

Perhaps this was what people meant by finally getting it?

Holland did not press him for the reason.

Whatever the reason, there was no need to ask. Finally getting it was a good thing.

"Come with me. I have something to give you."