(Dorfman’s short story appeared in the New Yorker 10/2.)

We watched him come in, how his steps faltered at the threshold of the classroom, how he just stood there, his first mistake, giving us enough time to size him up, not enough time for him to figure out who we were, what strategy might win us over.

He coughed, as if that could mask his heavy breathing, almost a sigh, and then, with false resolution, he walked in and sat down behind the desk.

He sat down where García used to sit, just like that, as if he had the right to do so.

He smiled at us, another mistake, and then: “Maybe we should introduce ourselves,” he said. Ourselves? Was he referring to himself, pretentiously using the plural for his own person? Or did he include us? Was it an invitation to the twelve of us, seated symmetrically in front of him?

We said nothing.

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/11/02/the-gospel-according-to-garcia

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