Читать книгу The Hemingway Caper - Eric Wright - Страница 16

The news along the Rialto was all of the soon-to-be-vacant department chair. Before I reached the office I was waylaid in the cafeteria by Richard Costril, my old comrade-in-arms, now an establishment fink. Richard began, “You heard about Fred?”

I said, “Heard what?”

“He’s quitting. We’re looking for a new chair.”

“You are,” I corrected him. “I shall do as I’m told, whoever is in charge.”

I wasn’t being caustic. Richard had long been the angriest man in the college, suffering like the rest of us, only now released by a set of circumstances that would have provided the plot for a Gilbert and Sullivan opera, and thus in another space from me. I wished him luck but I saw no reason to help him feel comfortable. As far as I was concerned there was enough comfort for him in his newly accessed pension plan.

“I need somebody to talk to,” he said.

“Then I’m no use to you. I’m nobody.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You’ve been teaching The Odyssey for too long. Look, I have to talk to you. I need to think my way through this. Any day now they’ll be forming a committee to choose the new man and I will have to vote.”

“Surely the committee will do that? You elect a committee and they recommend someone. Isn’t that how it works? That’s what I heard. Maybe just hearsay, below-stairs gossip.”

“That’s how it used to be. But some of them are alarmed at what they see as the possible outcome and they’re canvassing me.”

“You mean they might not get their choice? That’s bound to happen to some of them, surely. It’s called the committee system, or democracy, in academe.”

I was enjoying myself. Having no power, I also didn’t suffer from not getting my way in departmental affairs, whereas the tenured faculty was more or less permanently seething as the factions tried to get control.

“I’m being courted,” Richard repeated. “They all want me on their side, but so far they don’t know if I’m available; they don’t know where I stand on anything.”

“Hoist with their own petard,” I said.

“What?”

“Because they had to give you tenure to shut you up, they didn’t interview you properly so they don’t know what you think about anything.”

“No, nor do I. That’s why I need you. Fact is,” he giggled, “I rather enjoy being an enigma.” He made a ‘Who me?’ face, a parody of an enigmatic look. “But I need your help. I need someone to talk with about the possibilities, someone who knows them, who overhears them in their unguarded moments, but who is himself objective.”

To his credit he blushed a little at this blatant flattery, but I let him off lightly. “Gossip from the servants’ hall, you mean,” I said. “We hear everything. We’re invisible.”

“When can we get together?”

“I have classes. Let’s say, three, for coffee, here?”