A New Life (39 page)
Authors: Bernard Malamud
He reveried accomplishment, Levin the leader; foresaw an effective if necessarily short career. What mightn’t he achieve at Cascadia if he devoted himself to the task: a hundred needed reforms—raising the department from mediocrity to excellence. And while at that, who knows if, working every which way, he mightn’t succeed in starting a campaign to bring back to Cascadia a liberal arts majors program? Easchester would flower. One good thing led to another once somebody dared. Good institutions proliferate good deeds. They might, in town, build a concert hall and public forum, start an art gallery, theatre group, show foreign films, even open a bookstore that sold books. An enlightened public opinion!
Easchester, Athens of the Northwest! And when Levin left to take up a new career (Why leave if he had created the conditions of his survival? A woman one was bound to meet sooner or later.), the good people of the town, inspired to communal gratitude would parade him up and down Main Street amid Lions, Elk, Women of the Moose, Odd Fellows, the Easchester Taxpayers Association, cheers, tears and a brassband. Levin, benefactor, Culture Hero, Seymour J. P. Bunyanseed, Fautor et Cultor Bonorum, American Patriot! He had to slap himself to leave off.
Easchester, Athens of the Northwest! And when Levin left to take up a new career (Why leave if he had created the conditions of his survival? A woman one was bound to meet sooner or later.), the good people of the town, inspired to communal gratitude would parade him up and down Main Street amid Lions, Elk, Women of the Moose, Odd Fellows, the Easchester Taxpayers Association, cheers, tears and a brassband. Levin, benefactor, Culture Hero, Seymour J. P. Bunyanseed, Fautor et Cultor Bonorum, American Patriot! He had to slap himself to leave off.
Though he detested asking people fur their votes, to raise himself above them, hated the indignity of campaigning, it was what he had to do. He counted, three, maybe four, votes in hand, but there was a way of inducing a half dozen others, even more if he could do the dirty thing he contemplated doing. If he did, it was doubtful he could make fourteen votes, but possible. If not, the trick was to prevent Gilley’s election in the hope that somebody neutral would be appointed acting head, though the instructor had doubts of that too, since Gerald was already serving. Still, Levin’s plan was to keep him from certain power until he had landed a job in another college. What happened after he left was their business; if they voted Gilley in, they deserved to have him. Gerald was sure he had the inside track but Levin, upstart shmo, had a photostat of Bullock’s shit-list; and since there was little time, began—an uneasy Machiavelli—(I’m telling them for their own good; ignorance is not bliss) to show it cautiously around. He had cut off from the letter Bullock’s signature. When people guessed who had compiled the names, he neither affirmed nor denied it, saying only that he had called the paper to Gerald’s attention but he had refused to take action against the perpetrator of the list, the original copy of which now reposed amid the football coach’s papers, a filed defilement. No one particularly hit the ceiling in surprise or indignation but several people were disturbed, Bucket and O. E. Jones to the point of
quiet misery. One or two were frightened to see their names on the list. “How can I get off?” they asked Levin.
quiet misery. One or two were frightened to see their names on the list. “How can I get off?” they asked Levin.
As if to compensate for the first document, he produced another, mimeographed in secret late at night: “S. Levin, PLATFORM: To maintain our self-respect, OUT with
The Elements
(as recommended by the composition textbook committee), ALSO the d.o., ditto the policy of unwilled favoritism to athletes; and censorship of responsibly selected texts; fear of the public and distrust of staff; the composition room and assorted gadgets. IN, a writing-centered comp course; one literature class to each man insofar as possible; the ideal of the humanities—foundation of democracy.” He went on, in talk, almost without meaning to: held these truths to be self-evident: there is more to democracy, even in the American West, than equalitarianism. Equality means equal justice under law, equal suffrage, equal opportunity through free education; it doesn’t mean every man is as good as the next-that there is no such thing as aristocracy of mind, spirit, attainment. Jefferson (his italics) to Adams; to Levin: “There is a natural aristocracy among men, the grounds for this are
virtue and talents.
The natural aristocracy I consider to be the most precious gift of nature,
for the instruction, the trusts and the government of society
.” Equality is not achievement of the identical average. Nor are “ideas” equal in value because they were thought up by friendly people. A man seeks excellence through education and accomplishment. When its leaders are great, democracy is. Levin, his armpits sizzling, was at this point usually stammering, on the verge of disconnected sentences, the felt disjunction of his worth with what he must say. When he was asked why he no longer supported Fabrikant he said he thought the department needed a stronger man, and when his auditor inspected him with a critical eye, in a canny moment the instructor offered to quit his candidacy if the dean would appoint as head a capable man from the outside. O. E. Jones said he and Ed Purtzer would at once suggest that to Dean Seagram.
The Elements
(as recommended by the composition textbook committee), ALSO the d.o., ditto the policy of unwilled favoritism to athletes; and censorship of responsibly selected texts; fear of the public and distrust of staff; the composition room and assorted gadgets. IN, a writing-centered comp course; one literature class to each man insofar as possible; the ideal of the humanities—foundation of democracy.” He went on, in talk, almost without meaning to: held these truths to be self-evident: there is more to democracy, even in the American West, than equalitarianism. Equality means equal justice under law, equal suffrage, equal opportunity through free education; it doesn’t mean every man is as good as the next-that there is no such thing as aristocracy of mind, spirit, attainment. Jefferson (his italics) to Adams; to Levin: “There is a natural aristocracy among men, the grounds for this are
virtue and talents.
The natural aristocracy I consider to be the most precious gift of nature,
for the instruction, the trusts and the government of society
.” Equality is not achievement of the identical average. Nor are “ideas” equal in value because they were thought up by friendly people. A man seeks excellence through education and accomplishment. When its leaders are great, democracy is. Levin, his armpits sizzling, was at this point usually stammering, on the verge of disconnected sentences, the felt disjunction of his worth with what he must say. When he was asked why he no longer supported Fabrikant he said he thought the department needed a stronger man, and when his auditor inspected him with a critical eye, in a canny moment the instructor offered to quit his candidacy if the dean would appoint as head a capable man from the outside. O. E. Jones said he and Ed Purtzer would at once suggest that to Dean Seagram.
Levin stirred up, during the last days of the term, a terrible discord. He was, and knew it, the subject of much talk and rancor. He lived on the edge of things, on edge, his nerves ragged, yet forcing himself to push his campaign to get himself elected. Those who agreed with his criticisms and suggestions for improvement of the department, seemed to be as much annoyed with him as those who disagreed, who thought The
Elements
was fine, Gilley’s policies fine, the way things went, fine. He was accused of starting trouble and disturbing people’s peace. He was accused of exaggerating, lying. He was called to his face by Leopold Kuck, usually a mild sort, “the main victim of your own presumptuous desire for power.” He quoted Lord Acton and informed Levin he had never trusted him. “You don’t understand us,” he all but yelled in his office. “You have no idea of decorum. You’re as bad as Leo Duffy, without his virtues. You oughtn’t to be teaching in a college.” Ferris Farper—Levin had been expecting this—called him a “lousy goddamn un-American radical.” I’m a poor substitute for one, Levin thought, but here a little goes a long way. He felt like a viper. His heart palpitated when he was doing nothing. He feared the name-callers, satisfied with what they had, wanted more of the same, three cars in every garage. Anyone who suggested that to be too contented with one’s life or society was a subtle form of death, was clearly off his rocker, alien, without doubt a Red.
Elements
was fine, Gilley’s policies fine, the way things went, fine. He was accused of starting trouble and disturbing people’s peace. He was accused of exaggerating, lying. He was called to his face by Leopold Kuck, usually a mild sort, “the main victim of your own presumptuous desire for power.” He quoted Lord Acton and informed Levin he had never trusted him. “You don’t understand us,” he all but yelled in his office. “You have no idea of decorum. You’re as bad as Leo Duffy, without his virtues. You oughtn’t to be teaching in a college.” Ferris Farper—Levin had been expecting this—called him a “lousy goddamn un-American radical.” I’m a poor substitute for one, Levin thought, but here a little goes a long way. He felt like a viper. His heart palpitated when he was doing nothing. He feared the name-callers, satisfied with what they had, wanted more of the same, three cars in every garage. Anyone who suggested that to be too contented with one’s life or society was a subtle form of death, was clearly off his rocker, alien, without doubt a Red.
A few days before year-end exams began, George Bullock, his sharp face florid, encountering Levin in the hall, threatened to knock his block off. “Where the hell do you get your fat nerve copying my private correspondence and showing it around?”
“I cut your name out of the letter,” said Levin. “I didn’t mention whose list it was.”
“You mentioned it to Gerald.”
“The list, not your name. He guessed whose it was.”
“You can’t make a crime where none was intended,” Bullock said angrily. “The athletes are the only ones around who
achieve anything worth talking about. I have every right to protect them from the likes of you. Jesus, what a sucker I was to invite you to my home. You betrayed my hospitality.”
achieve anything worth talking about. I have every right to protect them from the likes of you. Jesus, what a sucker I was to invite you to my home. You betrayed my hospitality.”
“I’m sorry—I was grateful for it.”
“Like hell you were. You and that foul beard, the minute I laid eyes on it I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
“Don’t blame my beard—”
“You won’t get a single goddamn vote more than your own.”
Gilley, listening down the hall, smiled grimly; Fabrikant, on his way to the men’s room, glowered.
Levin’s isolation deepened. He was weary of making enemies, sick to death of fighting alone, living alone, of his lonely mind. The battle had become more than he could stand; he wanted desperately to quit.
But that same day Bucket came to him and said he had, after much contemplation, decided to support his candidacy.
“Ah,” sighed the instructor, “only don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for.”
“‘The more my uncle Toby pored over his map, the more he took a liking to it.’” Bucket cackled a bit. “I’ll do what little I can to help.”
As Levin, moved to celebrate the acquisition of an ally, was sitting in the men’s room later, a voice from the next stall asked, “Mr. Levin?”
“Speaking.”
“I thought that was you talking to yourself. This is Merdith Schultz.” Levin had seen him, other than at department meetings, maybe twice during the year although their offices were next to each other.
“I’ve been following your career with great interest,” said Merdith Schultz. “You have more friends than you know.”
Levin went home in an improved frame of mind.
During final-exam week some of the animosity seemed to evaporate from the air. Now and then people passing Levin in the hall, smiled. He had the feeling he might make it; it was “not impossible.”
On the Saturday night before finals Levin went to his office to average grades and after a few minutes became restlessly conscious of a scent he recognized. He put his head out of the window and breathed the cold air, then sniffed inside and was convinced the warm odor was orange blossom. His scalp prickled; he had lately got the feeling he was being watched—ridiculous. He had blamed it on his nerves—now he suspected Avis had been in his office. He quickly went through a mess of papers in his top drawer and was moved and frightened to find among them a letter of Pauline’s he was positive he had destroyed, the one she had written after running into Mrs. Beaty. The paper seemed alive in his hand and he sensed Avis had read it. Levin tore it up and burned it in the wastebasket. Then he opened a book and waited.
In about an hour he heard Avis shut her door and walk up the hall. She hastened past his office. He listened to her crooked heels clacking down the stairs, gave himself seven minutes, then let himself into her office. Her desk drawer was locked but he pried it open with a screw driver he had got in Marv Beal’s closet. In her perfumed, neat, old-maid’s drawer, he found several notebooks labeled “Lesson Plans.” Flipping through them one by one, Levin discovered that a portion of the most recent book had been converted into a rough diary of his “movements.” Avis had for the last month been listing his comings and goings. She had recorded the number of girl students who had entered his office, and whenever possible, the length of time each had stayed. She had also listed the names of colleagues who had been in to see him, Bucket’s name most often but at one time or another everyone on Bullock’s list. The last entry, dated tonight, was Pauline’s letter copied in Avis’ girlish hand.
“Just a word, dearest. I suppose you know?—I’m awfully sorry. I was afraid of something like this. I can’t tell you how bad I feel, God knows how I’ll get through the night. I’m
writing this in Erik’s room. Call me Thurs. between 9 & 10, no later. I just had to get in touch. I love you. I miss you so. Destroy this. Pauline.”
writing this in Erik’s room. Call me Thurs. between 9 & 10, no later. I just had to get in touch. I love you. I miss you so. Destroy this. Pauline.”
His impulse was to rip up the notebook, but he rolled it up and slipped it into his pocket. Pulling the drawer out as far as it would go, he discovered several packs of letters bound by rubber bands, arranged chronologically within the pack, going back to Avis’ first year in Cascadia. Levin sat down and looked through them. They were for the most part from her family and Louisville friends, reporting local chitchat. But among the letters he found an unstamped yellow envelope addressed “Avis” in strong, thick-stroked writing. Inside were two thin sheets of papers, short handwritten notes. The first, dated 18 October, 1948, read: “Dear Avis—I am most grateful for last night. Yours, Leo.” The second, 3 April, 1949, said: “Dear Miss Fliss: I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my business. Leo Duffy.”
Levin returned both notes into the envelope and pocketed it. From Milly’s office he dialed Avis, saying he wanted to see her. She answered, after a short pause, that she had already hung up her dress but would be pleased to see him in the morning.
“Put something on,” said Levin. “I’m coming over.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Not yet.”
She hesitated. “All right, you may come.”
She was waiting for him on the porch in her pink—he thought at first, nightgown—but it was a summer dress though the night was cold. She gave forth orange scent and her bosom was quietly agitated.
“Avis,” said Levin, “I would appreciate the truth. Have you already told Gerald about the letter you copied into your notebook tonight?”
She stamped her foot. “Oh, you are vile.” Her hand went to her chest and her knees buckled but as he reached out to help her she grabbed the porch rail. Her eyelashes fluttered
endlessly. At last she moaned and lowered herself into a chair. When she spoke her body was rigid, voice expressionless.
endlessly. At last she moaned and lowered herself into a chair. When she spoke her body was rigid, voice expressionless.
“No, I haven’t—”
“Good,” said Levin.
“I won’t promise not to. You both betrayed Gerald. I suspected it. I felt you were hiding something and when you began to take George’s letter around I thought you deserved a similar treatment. Not only do you want Gerald’s job, you want his wife. Your inhumanity knows no bounds—”
“The notebook,” said Levin, “also contains the names of some of our colleagues who have nothing to do with Pauline or me, and who might seriously object to being spied on. I also have two notes from Leo Duffy to you.”
Tears filled her eyes. “You contemptible, perfectly awful person, don’t you dare show them to anyone or I’ll have you arrested.”
“I have no intention to, but I ask the same consideration from you. The lady and I no longer see each other. She’s reconciled with her husband. It would help nobody if you told him about her letter.”
She sat motionless.
He said gently, “You were in love with Duffy?”
She seemed to come to after a while. “For a short time,” she said. “However I retained my virtue though he tried endlessly to persuade me to bow to his will.”
Other books
Addicted to You by Krista Ritchie, Becca Ritchie
The Highlander's Runaway Bride by TERRI BRISBIN
Beware, Princess Elizabeth by Carolyn Meyer
Deadly Abandon by Kallie Lane
Solbidyum Wars Saga 5: Desolation by Dale C. Musser
DeBeers 06 Dark Seed by V. C. Andrews
Get Happy by Mary Amato
Loving, Living, Party Going by Henry Green
Crazy for the Boss (Crazy in Love Book 1) by Ashlee Mallory
Pressure Head by Merrow, J.L.
