I was sitting in the quiet room on the first floor of Memorial Library skimming the history of World War Two, when a nearby couple's rapid, infuriated whispering broke my concentration.
In fact, their quarrel attracted the attention of everybody in the room. Like an extended drum solo during communion, the couple argued, I think in Chinese, while everyone in the room stared. I think most of us wondered why they chose this venue to dramatically reassess the nature of their relationship.
The man did all the talking, and it in that classic loudest-guy-in-a-quiet-room style-whispering loudly, meeting annoyed looks with the same unreflective stare he'd give a mannequin, then continuing with whatever he needed to say before everyone else so rudely started gawking at him.
When his tirade ended, he slumped like a spent faith healer and dug back into his book.
The woman stared at the top of his head while he read. He pretended he didn't know she was looking at him.
If it had been up to him, the argument would have been over when he spoke his last syllable.
But the fight was not over, because she hadn't spoken-which of course is worse for him than if she had stood up, belted out a minute-long torrent of the crudest obscenities and lit his hair on fire.
Silence is always worse. Met with silence from your arguing partner, you can only hope against the ego-breaker-that crushing and unanswerable attack only those closest to you know about. All you can do is wait to be sliced at your Achilles heel.
He pretended to read, aware that her response could come at any time, and when it did, it could be a real showstopper.
I sat and wondered what she would say.
This was no time for petty jabs-an assault against his haircut or job prospects wouldn't do. I figured she'd go after his mother or his drinking. If she wanted to risk the ensuing spectacle, she might question his sexual desire or prowess.
The man stayed intent on his book, unwilling to look into the barrel of the gun.
With her man's head still down, I made awkward eye contact with the woman. She shot me the same unimpressed glare the man had given me earlier. The only thing they clearly agreed on was that I should stop looking at them and read my book.
Just then, she spoke for the first time. The man responded with his best disgusted-boyfriend laugh, the one that says \Your single-minded, manipulative whims would be funny if I were not dating you. Are all women like you? I hope not.""
She had seen enough. Without hesitation, she dealt what she knew was the coup de gr??ce. She said something to him so powerfully unpalatable, he slammed his book, stood up and said, I imagine, ""We're through. Call me never. Bye.""
He stormed out of the room. She was left to sit looking embarrassed, with everyone still staring at her.
When I left, she was the only person left in the quiet room. She could have shouted the Gettysburg Address in a thick German accent, and no one would have noticed or been offended.
But she was silent. I think she needed to do some reading.
Dan is a senior majoring in journalism. He can be reached at dlhinkel@wisc.edu. His column runs every Thursday in The Daily Cardinal.
