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Authors: W. Paul Anderson

Tags: #Fiction, #General

Hunger's Brides (128 page)

BOOK: Hunger's Brides
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By this point I had ample evidence that Beulah had been studying me so much more closely than I, her. She knew my tastes and my preferences, my work and my weaknesses, knew much more of my family life than I had ever intended, and things about my past unknown even to my wife. In notes, letters, poems, and in the work itself, I'd seen ample evidence she was baiting me, transmuting certain elements of our shared experiences, knowing I could not help but find touches of myself, of us, in those pages. This is what feeling people do. At first I assumed this was the main challenge, as she saw it—did she really think it would be so difficult for me to
feel?

But at some point I could no longer ignore the possibility that the work had a whole other component—plotting, real-world actions. Leading up to the final night there was a lot of this other component. Heroic gestures, deft devices—witness the academic charges, the early press involvement. But
after
that night? What outcomes could she possibly anticipate, which of my decisions and responses? And what was bothering me more?—how she had counted on me once, or the ways in which she'd been counting on me since. Troubling to contemplate, it made the work into almost the opposite of what it had seemed: not to lose myself in the fiction but to find the fiction in me. In my life, my Lie, the game was to compare my tribulations, always of course in miniature, to those of a great figure, and to find within myself the qualities of a Hawkeye, a Faust, a great conqueror—not, as it were, to identify with Napoleon but the little Corsican with myself. Yes, this felt more like her, the dare, the trap: and agreeing to go along with it, well, this was just asking to be made quixotic, a figure of fun, a Don of the Woeful Figure. It was all but asking to be locked up.

 

Transcript
Action #: 9504–56893
Judicial District of Calgary
Proceedings
5 April 1995

I've heard quite enough. Dr. Gregory, I've given you considerable leeway. In connection with this matter, you have already compromised–and may well have forfeited–a prestigious and I'm sure altogether satisfying line of work. Your sexual and professional conduct have been held up to public scrutiny and even ridicule in the national media. You must be under a good deal of stress.

Nevertheless your testimony here today has been evasive and uncooperative in the extreme. I will be forwarding the transcript to the Solicitor-General's office with instructions that it be examined for evidence of perjury.

At the Discovery last week, your attorney was to have brought in this young woman's journals, which you do not deny having in your possession. Why they're
in
your possession is unclear to me. What's more, it has come to my attention that these same journals were the subject of a warrant to search your home a few weeks ago.

I find this disturbing. What should have become clear to you by now, Dr. Gregory, is how much trouble you are in. You have just given dubious testimony, under oath, in a Civil proceeding; and I understand there may be criminal charges pending the outcome of a police investigation that you may very well be obstructing. Under normal circumstances I would not hesitate to find you in contempt on the basis of what I have heard today.

Instead, because of conduct that in the absence of anything like a reasonable explanation I can only find bizarre, I'm going to suggest to your counsel that you undergo a psychiatric examination–with a view to reassessing your defence strategy–and another for himself should he continue to work for you in the present circumstances.

I am giving you three days to bring this material forward. Three days to think about your rapidly deteriorating legal position.

No human being of good faith could look into the faces of this agonized family and not feel compassion. If your comportment here today was an attempt to protect someone, perhaps the girl herself, or to protect your own tattered reputation in this community, I suggest that you instead attempt to think about avoiding prosecution. Or about preparing yourself for it, if, when you next come before this court, your attitude has not changed….

D
ON
J
UAN
        

S
UNRISE OVER THE PLAINS
. The lights of Calgary in the distance. I need to pause for this, a celestial pageant that lifts me, however briefly, up from this place. I would not trade the mornings up here for any in the world. Is it only dust, high-altitude ice crystals? What lends the sunrises this quality that I find so stirring? Strokes of colour fanning out, a childlike reach—
how high is the sky?

Shades as beautiful as their own names. Vermilion. Fuchsia. Carnelian. Crimson.

Rearing up before me a scallop shell of cloud—lambent hollows, inky fingers—high-spanned, arcing east to west, splitting like a fruit's dark skin to reveal a fissured meat of light. Clumsy feet snagged in darkness, I turn to face west, where pressed hard against the western dark the sky distils its colour down from wine to Concord blue to greenish-black above the mountain battlements. Back in the east, a swirling forge of copper, brass—a seething diamondback of coals.

A day is made, but the human eye in its earthbound infancy perceives this red, primal rite as a crisis—of scale, orientation—a breech-birth of interstellar gases propelled
up
, projected onto still higher clouds of jet. And yet, from far below I can't shake the impression of looking
down
, as if over a molten plain … liquid floes of lavender spill over it, fading like a blush.

Day.

Things were not always so cozy between me and Eric Heffner, LL.B. A day or two after the family filed suit to have Beulah's papers returned, the
tonus
between client and lawyer was slightly charged. He had a musty smelling office on Kensington Road. Bad shag. A lot of pro bono work. The sort of place where one is grateful not to meet the other clients.

“Counsellor.”

“Sit down—and why didn't you tell me about her papers? We were almost in the clear.”

“Wasn't germane.”

“Germane. I'm sure you've got some reason to think hanging onto this girl's personal effects is a noble act. No, no, I don't wanna know.
But I can guarantee you're the only one who's gonna see it that way.
I
see this civil suit bearing down on us like a fucking train.
Germane
. I mean, the press is already eating you alive, the headline writers are going wild.
Quiet Flees the Don
—this Don Juan thing is killing us.”

“She knew.”

“How's that?”

“Don Juan—she knew.”

“She planned all this.”

“I'm saying she saw it would go this way.”

“Smart, pretty, psycho—and now psychic, too. You can pick 'em.”

“You've never met anyone like this.”

“I don't know, I'm a lawyer, I meet interesting people. But okay you're a university don—name's Don, the press loves puns—let's say it's not beyond the realm of imagining. Now about these
papers
of hers.”

“I wasn't expecting you to understand.”

“Oh. Well I can't profess to understand her but I did get a look at this oracle of yours—”

“You
saw
her—why …?”

“It's my job, I'm good at it. Good means thorough. You wanna know what I saw in that hospital?—a child, a beautiful child. Or what's left of one—and that's how everyone in the courtroom from judge to gallery will look at it. I take it at least you haven't been to see her.”

“No.”

“So far it's the one smart thing you've done.”

“I go to the lobby sometimes. I talk to a nurse there.”

“You what?
Fuck. What does it take to get through to you—stay the hell
away
. If the family gets even a whiff of this—we're talking about a top-drawer surgeon, here. Yeah well I don't care what you see, Professor, the public sees a Great Healer. You seem to have no idea how deep you're in. Forget the criminal charges for a sec. Start with this civil case—
they can wipe you out
.

“And then these other little items. Breach of a fiduciary duty—from the Old Court of Equity, pretty creative stuff their counsel's digging up. And expensive. For them, for you. They're angry, I get the message. I was surprised the judge found sufficient grounds to entertain an action in negligence. I don't think she would've normally, but she smells a rat here and wants us to know it. If you haven't stopped to think about your wife and child in all this—baby's new trust fund,
the house, the fat termination settlement I just worked my ass off to get you, your entire estate—I invite you to start….

“So I have your attention. Good. Their guy tells me the family will agree not to press the civil thing. All you have to do is just return the girl's property—”

“Good of them.”

“It
is
good. If I were their lawyer I'd wanna go after you anyway. Every time we go in there I promise you it gets worse—what's the deal with these papers? They're an irritant, we've got bigger worries. Give them back.”

“Aren't you the least bit curious?”

“About?—and no.”

“Why they're so keen to get their hands on her diaries, for example.”

“I could give a shit—and why are you so keen that they shouldn't have them? What is it you don't want them to see? Call me out of touch, call me behind the curve, but I thought we had put this whole idea of academic theft to bed—this entire business of
who maybe stole what from who
. We've been over this, yes? Because if we haven't laid it to rest, it speaks to motive. Have we, Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I was beginning to wonder if I could believe you. This is not a good feeling for your lawyer to have. And it is precisely the feeling I did not want a judge to get. Which is why each unnecessary court appearance is so
regrettable
. But okay, say I'm really trying to understand now, I'm the least bit curious, I'm keen to know. Let's say you're protecting her. Why in Christ's name would you be ready to throw everything away on that, after what she's done to
you?”

“What if I'm protecting myself?”

“Protecting yourself is exactly what you are not doing.”

“Protecting my sources then.”

“You think this is some kind of joke? It's not a game, you're not a journalist and this is not a stand on principle—if I've missed something, clue me in. You're walking around in some kind of fog here. I'm not your therapist, I'm your lawyer and it's my job now to wake you up. We're not talking about saving your job, like before. You're about to be crucified—did you know they've found at least one student willing to come forward and talk about a past relationship with you?”

“There are pleasures I've never refused myself.”

“No, they're going to say it's professional privilege you've
abused
. If this witness decides to say you promised her better marks—”

“Something I'd never do.”

“No?”

“And Beulah wouldn't have needed it.”

“Fine, great, good for her. But the damage'll be done anyway. Listen to me. I took you on as a favour to Relkoff. And because I thought we could make things interesting, maybe win. Seems like open season in this country on you professor types lately. This civil thing, obstruction, perjury, okay—but the next stop is contempt. Not a damn thing I can do about contempt—bam, automatic.”

“So I've noticed.”

“You do drugs together?

“What?”

“Sexual stimulants maybe?”

“This would be your idea of a joke now.”

“No, literally, did you. I'm talking about the tox report, about the strangest recipe for a drug cocktail I've ever laid eyes on. If there's the slightest hint you two have a history of this kind of activity … She's half your age—it'll be way worse than the sex. Christ if the judge gets to hating you right off the bat, it'd be almost better if you'd killed this girl. Sorry, just making a point.”

BOOK: Hunger's Brides
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