The Game - Part 3

I wasn’t sure what to expect after leaving him the blossom.  But sure enough, that night I found a flower on my desk, the same type as I had drawn for him, and a slip of paper marked with a simple X.

I sniffed the sweet scent of the blossom, then rushed to our secret place to find another note:

Your lovely sketch of the exquisite blossom left me wanting more & in return I will share one of my favorites.  

Sincerely, 

M. Marcus

Attached to the letter were instructions to go to a specific novel, Dante’s De Vulgari Eloquenlia and read Chapter 1-1:

Since I find that no one, before myself, has dealt in any way with the theory of eloquence in the vernacular, and since we can plainly see that such eloquence is necessary to everyone - for not only men, but also women and children strive to acquire it, as far as nature allows - I shall try, inspired by the Word that comes from above, to say something useful about the language of people who speak the vulgar tongue, hoping thereby to enlighten somewhat the understanding of those who walk the streets like the blind, ever thinking that what lies ahead is behind them. Yet, in so doing, I shall not bring to so large a cup only the water of my own thinking, but shall add to it more potent ingredients, taken or extracted from elsewhere, so that from these I may concoct the sweetest possible mead. 

Curling in the chair by the windows, I read through the passage numerous times.  Three thoughts drifted through my head in regards to Dante’s words here:

We are born with the water of our own thinking. Life, its experiences and interactions with others, help to flavor that water.

I know for myself that I can be influenced by knowledge and by those whom I admire.

The eloquence of man is something I'm not so familiar with. I express a lot about myself through my art more than words. Without my art, I do my best to enjoy myself and will always do so. But to put into words certain feelings in the way of the poets and great authors such as Dante? I shook my head. No, I can't do that. 

I close the book and hold it against my chest as I look out the window, my thoughts on the man who had directed me here as my eyes closed and I drifted off…