The econometrics of Rwandan pear blossoms
(01/26/12 11:00am)
Genius glinted off every sentence she wrote. A sophomore in my first class at Duke University in the Spring of 1991, she sat in my office three hours each week, both wrists wrapped in bandages; we rarely spoke of that. She read to me from her stories; I read to her from Zora Neale Hurston. A natural-born English major, she majored in econ, for which she cared not a fig. Her tyrannical father refused to pay tuition for any major but econ. Hospital gauze hid the wounds of her war with him.