 He made a line on the blackboard,
 He made a line on the blackboard,
     one bold stroke from right to left
     diagonally downward and stood back
     to ask, looking as always at no one
     in particular, "What have I done?"
     From the back of the room Freddie
     shouted, "You've broken a piece
     of chalk." M. Degas did not smile.
     "What have I done?" he repeated.
     The most intellectual students
     looked down to study their desks
     except for Gertrude Bimmler, who raised
     her hand before she spoke. "M. Degas,
     you have created the hypotenuse
     of an isosceles triangle." Degas mused.
     Everyone knew that Gertrude could not
     be incorrect. "It is possible,"
     Louis Warshowsky added precisely,
     "that you have begun to represent
     the roof of a barn." I remember
     that it was exactly twenty minutes
     past eleven, and I thought at worst
     this would go on another forty
     minutes. It was early April,
     the snow had all but melted on
     the playgrounds, the elms and maples
     bordering the cracked walks shivered
     in the new winds, and I believed
     that before I knew it I'd be
     swaggering to the candy store
     for a Milky Way. M. Degas
     pursed his lips, and the room
     stilled until the long hand
     of the clock moved to twenty one
     as though in complicity with Gertrude,
     who added confidently, "You've begun
     to separate the dark from the dark."
     I looked back for help, but now
     the trees bucked and quaked, and I
     knew this could go on forever.