I sense them all processing that. It’s the part of being a war photographer that haunts me—the walking away.
“What can you tell me about this photo?” I turn to the class. “Anything. There are no right or wrong answers. Tell me what you notice about the light, framing, composition. The moment I chose to click the shutter. Critique it.”
Their voices rise in eager discussion—the tilt of the frame, the backdrop of black smoke, the crouched angle that forces the viewer to look up at the scene, the blurred foreground.
From the back row, Nell raises her hand. It’s the first time she has since I’ve started teaching.
“Nell.”
“Did you know the man and woman before you took the photo?” she asks.
“No. I’d seen the woman in the marketplace, but I didn’t know her. This was the first time I saw him.”
“He was her husband.” Though she’s in the shadows at the back of the room, her voice is certain.
A few students shift to look at her. Anne rolls her eyes. Two kids in the third row whisper to each other behind their hands. I can almost feel Nell shrinking back into herself.
My spine tenses. “Interesting point, Nell. Why do you say that?”
“Because he ran into the building to save her, even though he probably knew it was about to collapse.” She twists a lock of hair around her finger. “And you can see in the photo…the way he’s holding her arm with both hands, like he won’t let go, and she’s turned toward him even though they’re running for their lives. And they’re an older couple, so culturally marriage makes sense. But there’s no way they’re strangers. They’re…intimate.”
The last word falls like a drop of water into the silence. Then several of the students snicker. Two girls exchange glances. Nell averts her gaze and writes something in her notebook. My hand curls into a fist.
“That’s an incredible observation.” I search for more words, better words, but can’t come up with anything to match her perceptiveness. “Very insightful. You should all be looking at a photograph that way. Beyond what you see on the surface.”
A few students have the grace to look abashed. To divert attention from Nell, I advance to another slide and continue the discussion.
After Hannah turns on the lights, we pass out 35mm cameras to each student. Excitement ripples through the room. Interested though they’ve been in the lectures, they’ve been more eager to start taking pictures.
“One of your goals is to become more adept with manipulating controls,” I call over the rising chatter. “When you master shutter speed and aperture control, you’ll be much more able to create the effect you want.”
“Can we finally start taking pictures now?” A boy in the front row aims his camera at the brunette sitting behind him. She sticks her tongue out.
“Your first assignment is to take a photo of different points of view,” I continue. “Consider the position from which the camera is looking at the scene. I want you to try bird’s eye view, worm’s eye view, eye level, and becoming the subject. Position yourself as if you’re interacting with the subject, and make the viewer feel as if they’re experiencing the scene themselves.”
“Everyone partner up,” Hannah orders. “You can go outside, but you need to stay within the boundaries of the quad and keep your voices low so you’re not disturbing other classes. You all have forty-five minutes. Don’t forget your journals.”
“Remember there is no right or wrong way to photograph,” I add. “There’s only your way.”
As they gather their cameras and journals and shuffle toward the door, the boy sitting beside Nell leans over to talk to her. Though her head is bent, her long hair falling across her face like a curtain, she darts him a quick glance and nods.
He pushes his chair back, waiting for her to stand and following her out the door.
At my desk, I click the slides off and pull the class seating chart out from my desk file. The boy sitting next to Nell is Simon Bellamy. Hannah had told me on the first day that he’s one of three new seniors in the school, which means he hasn’t known Nell before now.
“You’ve already got them in the palm of your hand.” Hannah rolls up the projection screen with a smile. “Nice job. If you can supervise the kids outside, I’ll prep for the intro class.”
“Sure.” I start toward the door.
“Darius.”
I turn back to her. She appears to hesitate, then says, “That was the most Nell has ever said in the three years she’s been in my class. Whatever you said that inspired her to speak up so eloquently, keep doing it.”
“I didn’t do anything. That was just Nell.”
Her forehead creases. “I don’t believe the other students know about your relationship with her family. Not that it’s any of their business—or mine—but if you have a chance to encourage her to pursue art outside of school, I think she’d benefit greatly. I know she’s not interested in the school art club, but there are some excellent community art programs and exhibitions where she’d be able to interact with local artists.”
“Does she know about them?”
“Oh, yes.” She fiddles with the pendant on her necklace. “I’ve been encouraging her for the past couple of years, but she hasn’t taken the opportunity.” She holds up her hands. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping here. I don’t want to interfere in your relationship, but she’s so talented, and it’s been frustrating to watch her stifle her potential.”
“Have you talked to her father?”
“Yes. He’s supportive, but he also has his own ideas about what’s best for Nell. As all parents do, I suppose.” She shakes her head, faint dismay crossing her expression. “I’m sorry, Darius. I’m putting you in a terrible position. That wasn’t my intention.”
“No. I appreciate your concern.” I back toward the door, suppressing the urge to push her for more information. I want to know why the other students reacted the way they did to Nell’s statement, why Henry is so narrow-minded about colleges, why Nell doesn’t seem to have friends or go anywhere.
But I can’t ask Hannah any of that, or I’ll cross the line between professional and personal.
Turning, I walk out to the quad. The students are milling around in pairs or small groups, aiming their cameras at either objects—a leaf, a wooden bench, a window—or each other. Nell and Simon are on the far side of the quad.
I make rounds, stopping at each group to find out how they’re doing and if they have questions. Before taking the job, I’d been worried I might not even be able to hold a camera for instruction purposes, but showing students how to work the controls and adjust the focus has been a nonissue.
It’s holding my camera and actually taking a photo that I can no longer do.
Tension crawls up my spine. I have no idea what happens if I can’t go back out into the field. I’ve never had a plan B. Never needed one. I don’t intend to make one now either, which means I have to get my head together before I leave Grenville and return to the world.
Simon is lying on his back, pointing his camera at a leafy canopy of trees above him, and chattering about a movie he wants to see. I stop beside him. After we discuss his composition and camera settings, I glance toward Nell. She’s standing a short distance away beside a flowering plant, her head bent as she adjusts the controls.