The Test

By Steve Weinberg

For most of human history, life has been nasty, brutish, and short. Even the most romanticized and glorified ages—the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, Ancient Athens—were still cauldrons of war, disease, poverty, and grueling labor. Of course, people expect epochs from the distant past to be somewhat cruel and barbaric, but what historians consider the late modern era was no less merciless on its population. The modern nineteenth century is associated with scientific advancement and the rise of democracy, but anyone who expected life to be something less than calamitous in these times was fooling himself. In the nineteenth century and into the twentieth, parents were still burying most of their children, men were working eighty-hour weeks in smoke-filled factories, and kings and tsars were nonchalantly sending fleets of peasants to the front lines of megalomaniacal wars. It was probably only after World War II that the West ceased being a place of acute and pervasive suffering.
In those times, people were captivated by the idea that an Eden lay beyond the grave, or that a Utopia lay beyond the revolution. These were almost necessary beliefs for people who knew nothing close to Eden or Utopia on Earth.
Fast-forward to a study abroad trip in 2007 in the South of France, where this novel takes place. By this point in history, life in the West is now not nasty, brutish, and short, but fun, pleasant, and very long. In fact, life itself is so wonderful and enjoyable in these times, that the joy of day-to-day existence alone can be a person’s raison-d’être. And for American college kids in a world of abundant sunshine, cobblestone villages, and sidewalk cafés, life is almost certain to be not only joyful, but blissful and euphoric.
Marie Weltstern, the story’s protagonist, comes into the semester with the highest expectations for her study abroad experience. She wants everything that the image of study abroad has to offer: an amorous fling with a foreign man or two, group photos in front of the Eiffel Tower and the Coliseum, candid shots of her and her girlfriends laughing hysterically while holding large glasses of beer, and a basic mood that oscillates between ecstasy and tranquility.
But as she sits in class on the first day of the semester, Marie realizes that the contentedness of her study abroad experience is under serious threat. As a freshman, Marie had engaged in unprotected oral sex with her boyfriend who had been somewhat promiscuous in the past with other girls. This sexual act, Marie knows, carries with it the very tiny chance of HIV transmission. To enjoy her semester to the fullest, Marie knows that she must remove this lingering doubt from her mind. She gets an HIV test on the first day of school. The test comes back negative, and Marie is able to enjoy France the way she pictured herself enjoying it—at least, for now.
A brief kiss at a party causes Marie’s unrest to return one hundredfold. She fears that the guy she kissed had blood in his mouth and that she is once again at an infinitesimal risk of having contracted HIV. But now she can’t decide whether to get tested, as she realizes that getting this unwarranted test will weaken her ability to forego unwarranted HIV tests in the future. This dilemma fills Marie with anxiety and fear. In this disturbed state, Marie watches with unhappiness as her carefree and beautiful friends enjoy the semester the way it was supposed to be enjoyed. Still, Marie remains determined to salvage her semester and figure out a way to stop obsessing about HIV.
As The Test journeys through Marie’s innermost thoughts, it also takes its readers on a tour of France. Marie and her friends travel all over the country together, from the south to the north, the city to the forest, and the dance club to the monastery. Through these adventures and the relationships she forms along the way, Marie slowly begins to understand and take control of her fears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Weinberg
• Release date: May 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311250971

Steve Weinberg

The anxiety of the blank page. Where do I begin? I suppose at the beginning. I was born on December 12, 1985, in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania, a suburb outside of Philadelphia. I went to a diverse, public high school known as Cheltenham High School. My affinity for literature began there. I was one of those students who reads Catcher in the Rye and believes that he is living a parallel life to Holden Caulfield. The Catcher in the Rye, though, stopped being my favorite book shortly into college. I attended Carnegie Mellon University, where I majored in English and History, and minored in Philosophy. While in college, I discovered existential literature, specifically the writings of Kafka, Camus, and Dostoevsky. When I graduated college in 2008, one of my immediate goals was to write a novel. It bothered me that I had spent my college years adulating other writers but had not produced anything of my own. I took a trip to Israel that summer on Birthright. I recall having tremendous anxiety during the trip, and the only method of calming down my mind was to think of ideas for a novel. After not more than a few hours of thinking, I stumbled on an idea. I would write a semi-autobiographical novel based on my college semester abroad in the South of France. I took a year off after college and wrote the first draft of the novel, titled The Test. I then began law school at Temple University in 2009. Throughout my three years of law school, in addition to constant studying, I fine-tuned my novel, at last finishing it at the age of 26. After law school, I began working at a law firm in Philadelphia. When time would allow, I wrote the lengthy short story, "The Coronation of Napoleon I." I then chose to take a break from law to teach English in Israel. For the 2014-15 school year, I worked in an elementary school in Be'er Sheva, Israel, teaching the English language and American culture to Israeli schoolchildren. I do not know where I will be in five years, or even five months. I hope that I continue to publish on Smashwords, and that the next biography of me will be significantly longer than this one, more expensive, and written by someone other than myself.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1

"Thank you, thank you, and welcome to France. You know, as I stand up here, looking at all of your youthful and smiling faces, I can really only think to myself one thing: These kids can’t even imagine how much fun they’re going to have.

"My name is Ben Williamson, and I’m the assistant director of the study abroad program here in Faubourg. My job, above all else, is to make sure you guys are feeling comfortable in your new environment. So if you have any problems or concerns at all, please, don’t feel shy about coming to see me. That’s what I’m here for.

"The American Institute in Faubourg took me on only about a year ago, but I actually used to be a student here myself. Way back in the spring of ’95—twelve years ago. So it wasn’t so long ago that I was sitting where you’re all sitting right now. I remember feeling scared, nervous, maybe even a little homesick. But above all, I felt determined to have the best damn time of my life. And that, my friends, I certainly did.

"I read great pieces of French literature like Madame Bovary, Le Petit Prince, and The Three Musketeers; I snuck out of my host family’s apartment late at night to see midnight showings of films; I drank wine in the park; I traveled to London, Paris, Rome, and Amsterdam.

"Best of all though, it was here that I met the woman who is now my wife. No, I did not marry some seductive and sexy French artist who was dressed all in black and wearing a beret—although that wouldn’t have been so bad! I’m kidding you guys, of course. To make a long story short, my wife and I fell in love with each other as we were both falling in love with the South of France. She was the girl who was always waiting in line behind me at the crêpe stand or at the pâtisserie; she was the girl sitting on a bench and sipping a glass of le vin rosé as I would enter the park with my own bottle, each of us carrying our own copy of whatever novel we happened to be reading. Coincidentally, I ran into her at the Louvre over our spring break. I think we both decided at that point that it had to be fate, and we shared our first kiss in front of the Mona Lisa. I know, pretty smooth, right?

"My point, guys, is this: You are young. You are in the prime of your lives. I wish I could be twenty or twenty-one again. So be sure to take full advantage of all this program and this country have to offer. Meet the locals, learn about concepts like globalization and multiculturalization, and travel all over Europe! Drink French wine, eat baguettes, fall in love, take tons of pictures! And most importantly, boys, please, watch out for the French women!

"Thank you so much.

Now I’m going to turn things over to Dean Schwarzkopf, so please join me in giving him a warm round of applause.

Chapter 2

Despite the sunny morning, long shadows were stretching down the cobblestone street. Four-story row houses lined the narrow path, and the Gothic cathedral a few blocks over towered high.

All along the street, pigeons were poking their beaks in little clumps of broken rock and dirt, hoping to recover the crumbs of breakfasts eaten in transit. The aroma of crisp baguettes baking in the oven of a nearby boulangerie meandered down the medieval street, and even drifted through the highest windows of the row homes. Though the air was cool, one needed only to find a place to warm his back underneath the sun to know that, in a few hours, the day would turn very hot.

The stillness of the cobbled street, of rue Dauphin, was abruptly broken as one of its olive-green steel doors swung open. Farther down the street, a crouched homeless woman and her child looked on as blurred and vibrant colors flooded out from the doorway, first dotting and then overwhelming the sandy, faded scene. It was like watching a landscape painter step up to his canvas and suddenly create a raucous crowd striding across it.

The students were now emptying onto the square, la place Pouvoir, as from the mouth of a river. Their bronze skin glowed in the heat of the sunrays, which now fell from a steeper angle in the sky. Indistinguishable pairs of tall and firm and smooth-faced legs moved across the square. Topped by billowing skirts, bright and colorful, they moved gracefully and without direction. The girls to whom they belonged mingled, introduced, and laughed, all the while attempting to find the location of their first class of the day.

Above waist-level came the rush of color. The boys wore lime-green and lavender polo shirts, striped and solid tees which fit closely to their trim bodies, logoed tees that showcased the well-toned muscles of their arms and chests. Many had on lively baseball hats, which tended to face forward, as the sun that day was dazzling. Most of the girls were wearing dresses, but a few had on t-shirts or tank tops or tube tops. As their hair bounced and shimmered in the sunlight, onlookers were left unknowingly mesmerized.

The clattering of flip-flops on paved stone, bursts of laughter that exploded from small gatherings and spread like ripples in a pond, the simple sound of a crowd and commotion had grown to its crescendo in the plaza and was now fading and dispersing down the side streets as the students traveled in groups to the semester’s first classes. When the bells of the cathedral tolled at ten o’clock, only the most negligent students were still outside, either deliberating with one another or frantically searching for a staff member or a fellow lost student who perhaps still had with him his map and course schedule.

Chapter 3

The students became quiet as their professor entered the classroom. His silver hair was tied in a short ponytail, and he wore a cream-colored pullover, with a shallow v-neck. This intricately threaded pullover had the appearance of being handwoven, though it almost certainly was not. The professor had a well-tanned face and a well-tanned chest, which was dotted with silver and white curly hairs. On his feet were sandals, with thick, brown leather straps that overlapped and intersected dozens of times. Like several of the boys in the class, he donned a pair of khaki shorts, obstructed in various areas by his loose and draping pullover. His style was, perhaps, neoclassical: he tried to look as much like a civilian of the ancient Mediterranean world without appearing to be a complete anachronism.

"Bonjour, mes étudiants. My name is Professor Butler, and I’d first like to welcome you all to Faubourg. This will truly be a life-changing experience for you all."

Butler fell out of his stationary pose at the very center of the front of the room, and began pacing horizontally about four or five steps each way, his sandals lightly grazing and tapping the wooden floor.

"A little bit about me. I received my masters from Yale in Comparative Literature. I would have gone on to get my doctorate, but I was opposed to the postmodern, theoretical approach they were taking toward literature. Here they were taking these works of absolute perfection and interpreting them from perspectives of race, feminism, and sexuality. I thought to myself, ‘Who am I to tamper with these Classics?’ So I decided to take a step back and just humble myself before the text. Now—"

Professor Butler cut himself off. He was trying to see past the heads of the fifteen or so students seated before him. A group of pigeons had congregated on the ledge of one of the classroom’s opened windows, located behind the last row of students. The unattractive coos coming up through their iridescent necks and then out of their bills were easily noticeable within the stillness of the room. Professor Butler navigated his way through a series of desks, backpacks, and handbags on his walk toward the back of the classroom. A puff of air coming through the open window caused the professor’s long hairs to jump and play in unison for just a second, only to tumble swiftly down to his head as he yanked down the window with unmistakable finality. As one might have predicted, the pigeons scattered the moment the window came down like a guillotine. Professor Butler then returned to his post at the classroom’s head and resumed speaking.

"Two job openings at the American Institute of Faubourg brought me and my wife to France fifteen years ago, and I have been teaching here ever since. I am now a fluent speaker of la langue française, and I live in a little château on the outskirts of Faubourg."

Professor Butler paused and surveyed the room. Does anyone have any questions for me? he asked.

No hands went up.

No one ever has any questions, Professor Butler said, amused. Well, I want to talk to you a little about the course, but before I do that, I’d like to get to know you guys—

Without warning, a male student sitting in the back called out with glee, Can we play ‘Never Have I Ever?’

Here, the class seemed to erupt in laughter, though it was unlikely that even half of the students were laughing loudly.

What is this game, ‘Never Have I Ever?’ Is that what it’s called? Professor Butler asked. And tell the class your name.

"My name’s Russell. It’s basically that you say something you’ve never done and then everyone who has done it has to raise their hand. So if I said, you know, um, ‘Never have I ever done crack,’ then the girl sitting next to me would have to raise her hand."

The girl sitting next to Russell turned bright red, gave a quick snort, and then began to laugh without control. She was a petite girl, but despite her smallness, her legs, crossed at the ankle, stretched out far onto the floor. She was wearing a summer dress.

And it just goes around the room like that, Russell said. It’s really fun.

I don’t know, Professor Butler said. Seems like it could get a little personal.

Professor Butler maintained his eye contact with Russell here for an extra second.

Besides, I have a game that you might find you like more. I hate that system where every student just stands up and says where they’re from. No one ever remembers what people said, and I think we can do better. So I’m going to break you guys off into pairs, and you’re going to introduce your partner to the class. I want you to find out where your partner goes to school, where she’s from, what she’s majoring in, why she came to France, and… what her most embarrassing story is.

Chapter 4

Hey guys. I’d like to introduce you all to Gary Harrington.

Russell put his arm around Gary for a few seconds and then broke off from him. Gary grinned and leaned into Russell.

"He’s from Fort Wayne, Indiana, and he’s a student at Indiana. He’s also majoring in Psychology. He came to France because he’s always wanted to see Europe, and remembers some French from what he learned in high school. And… you guys are going to love this story."

Russell was smiling as he turned his head to look at Gary.

Tell it if you must, Gary said.

Russell laughed.

So one time, the innocent-looking guy you all see in front of you right now got really drunk at a frat party and woke up the next morning, completely naked, on the middle of the baseball field!

A wave of excited laughter swept the room—even Professor Butler was chuckling.

How did you get home? someone asked from the crowd.

I ran back to my dorm completely naked, Gary said, who was now laughing harder than anyone.

Several seconds later, the commotion around the classroom began to die down. But despite the stillness gathering around him, Gary was still snorting out laughter, which he then attempted to stifle by putting his hands over his face.

Okay, okay, Professor Butler said in a loud but calming voice. That’s enough.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Gary said with wrinkled eyes.

Gary, now you introduce us to Russell.

Okay, Gary said, quieting down. So this is Russell. Sorry, what was your last name again, man?

Grunwald.

Right, right! Okay, this is Russell Grunwald. He’s from Phoenix, Arizona, but he goes to Ohio State now. He’s majoring in communications, he wants to go to law school, and, um, wait. Gary paused. Oh, right. One time when he was at church, he fell asleep and started snoring.

A few coughs and giggles surfaced throughout the classroom while Russell’s hopeful eyes leapt from one student to the next.

Okay, why don’t we hear from… Professor Butler looked around. How about you two go next?

This pair lacked the enthusiasm seen in Gary and Russell. They traded private glances and let out sighs after they heard their names called, and were smiling grudgingly as they left their seats. The young man had a slight swagger in his walk as he made his way to the front of the room. The girl trailed behind her partner, and appeared to have her eyes focused on his back for the entire way up.

The young man was wearing tight blue jeans, a plain white undershirt, and a button-up, woolen sweater that looked at once hip and grandfatherly. The girl had on a black dress with white polka dots. The dress was a bit too big on her, and a small coffee stain could be found on the dress’ lower lining. She looked again into the eyes of her partner.

You go ahead, he said.

The girl suddenly straightened her shoulders and forced a smile.

Hey guys. Right, so this is Sebastian… Oh, sorry! What was your last name again?

She laughed and looked out at her classmates.

It’s Wright, Sebastian said.

Okay, so this is Sebastian Wright. He grew up in Portland, but now he’s a student at the Art Institute of Chicago. And, um. The girl shifted her weight. Once he started making out with a girl at a party, and he found out later in the night that she was his second cousin.

The entire room seemed to gasp in unison.

Well, that’s a new one, Professor Butler said. Did that actually happen, Sebastian?

Sebastian chuckled. Nah, I just couldn’t think of anything. I just wanted to have a fun story for you guys.

Fair enough, Professor Butler said with a sigh.

Sebastian laughed again. But if you really want to know something embarrassing, well, I can’t swim.

The classroom laughed quietly together.

Sebastian waited a moment and then continued. Anyway, I guess it’s my turn. Okay, this is Marie Weltstern. Very cool girl—I just found out that she plays guitar. She goes to Hamilton College, a small liberal arts school in Upstate New York.

Here, Sebastian made eye contact with Marie and grinned. Immediately, two dimples appeared beneath his stubbly facial hair.

She’s double-majoring in English, and… what was the other thing, Marie?

History.

Right. And history. She’s also minoring in art history. She came to France because she loves European history and wants to get better at her French. And her most embarrassing story… Sebastian paused and collected himself. Marie looked at him with curious and trembling eyes.

So when Marie was a Freshman in college there was this guy who lived on her floor who she really liked.

Actually it was the floor below me.

Oh, right. The floor below her. So it was really obvious that Marie had a big crush on this guy. She wrote on his wall a bunch of times, she made him a few mix CDs, stuff like that. Basically, it was something people joked about every so often. Then, something happened with her dorm room. I think there was a problem with cockroaches…

Bedbugs, Marie said.

Sebastian laughed. Bedbugs. So the school made her change her dorm room and she ended up living next door to this guy she liked. And everyone thought she changed rooms on purpose.

The class chuckled together at this, and a few students were laughing heartily.

If I may ask, Professor Butler said, once the laughter had ceased. What ended up happening between you two, Marie?

Oh, Marie said, pulling at the bottom of her dress. Nothing happened, actually. He ended up getting back together with his high school girlfriend. The whole situation was kind of weird.

That’s too bad, Professor Butler said. Okay, thank you, Sebastian and Marie.

Marie and Sebastian walked back to their seats, Marie with her head down and smiling timidly.

So, who wants to go next? Butler asked the class.

We’ll go! two girls cried from one of the middle rows.

Come on up, Professor Butler said.

The two girls seemed especially comfortable with each other as they made their way to the front of the room, as though they had already been friends for many months.

Hiii guys. My name is Ariel, and this is Sarah Porter. She’s actually majoring in French, so that’s why she’s here. And her dad owns a French business or something so she’s been to France a lot in her life. She goes to Michigan—she’s one of those smart girls. And, okay, get ready for this guys. One time, Sarah was smoking up with her friends in her backyard really late at night. Her dad must have smelled it from the house or something, because, the next thing they know, Sarah’s dad is walking right towards them. So obviously they hide the bowl and everything, and they are all freaking out about what he’s going to do. But then he gets there, and guess what he asked them.

No one made any guesses.

He goes, ‘Sarah, don’t tell your mother, but can I take a few hits?’ So then he smokes with them for the rest of the night! Ariel said, her eyes flitting back and forth between the seated students.

Oh my god, it was ridiculous, Sarah said. So now I smoke with my dad like all the time.

Yes, you know, Professor Butler said, I am always astonished at how the American legal system comes down with such draconian punishments on marijuana users, and yet alcohol is completely legal to drink in America. With marijuana, you’re more likely to just fall asleep or something, but think about all of the deaths that alcohol causes per year. It’s ridiculous.

A few of the students in the class nodded their heads along with the professor.

Okay, so now I’ll do Ariel, Sarah said. This is Ariel Greenberg. She goes to Syracuse and she came to the South of France because of how beautiful it is. She’s also a communications major—like Russell.

Nice, Russell said from his seat.

Right. Sarah said. And for Ariel’s embarrassing story, well, it’s not a ‘story’ really. She just messed up a lot at her bat-mitzvah and it was really embarrassing because her whole family was there and stuff.

Sarah smiled nervously out at the classroom. Her teeth were perfectly