The Ghost Apple (9 page)

David Herring, professor of physics, laughed cheerfully and moved that we “stage a demonstration.” Perhaps Depatrickson White could strike Mr. Pinkman III with a bullwhip! He could do it on the lawn in front of Pinkman Hall.

The president treated this motion as a joke, although Richard Carlyle, professor of English, had risen to second it. Mr. Pinkman III did not react at all. He sat with his soft hands clasped, his head inclined, his rounded belly rising and falling at regular intervals.

Broward Chamberlain, professor of religion, wanted to explain that there was extensive justification for such a punishment in biblical law. The phrase “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” which was usually dismissed as an ancient barbarity, was actually quoted out of context. The biblical passage was a revision of contemporary Near Eastern laws, which stipulated that perpetrators of violent offenses would be punished in kind (an eye for an eye) only if the victim was of an equal social class. Under biblical law, the idea was expanded to protect victims of a lower social class as well. It was actually a progressive measure, and one that obviously had a particular resonance here, where questions of slave and master were at issue. There was also a lengthy biblical precedent for the punishment of an individual for the crimes of his ancestors.

There followed a period of tense silence. The president frowned and looked at her hands. Was Professor Chamberlain joking?

Professor Herring was joking. He laughed again and asked us to consider how “cathartic” it would be to watch Mr. Pinkman III whipped savagely in front of the building that bore his name.

Professor Kabaka, on the other hand—the so-called conscience of Tripoli College—was not joking, nor perhaps did he ever joke. He summarized his own position as follows: He was furious. We were making a show of outrage over a trivial coincidence. More importantly, however, we were behaving as though slavery were a matter of individual rather than societal guilt—a crime that could be avenged by calling responsible individuals to account. Slavery was in fact only one expression of an ethos of exploitation that had preceded the invention of the plantation complex and the creation of distinct racial categories. That ethos persisted to this day, and companies like Big Anna® were only one of its present manifestations. We could not pretend to condemn slavery at the moment we allied ourselves with such a corporation.

The president, an honest person in an impossible position, thanked him for his remarks. She agreed with him. Unfortunately, we were not in a position to change the world, nor was ancient Near Eastern law “germane to the case.” Once again, all we had to decide this afternoon was whether the faculty would take any action. She thought it would be good if we could be seen to act in concert with the Athletic Association, which had its own interest in the matter, and toward that end she now called on Glenn Forrest, assistant to the deputy director of the Athletic Association, whom the faculty greeted with scattered applause and subdued murmurs of “Go Tyrants.”

“Obviously,” Mr. Forrest began, “we all want what’s best for the Tyrants.” He then expressed his hope that the whole problem would “just vanish,” adding that the Tyrants were a “postracial” football organization.

Jennifer Wilson, professor of biology, slapped the table and rose to her feet. “Here is the problem,” she said, and now she addressed herself directly to Mr. Pinkman III: “Your sinecure was paid for in blood.”

Mr. Pinkman III, rubicund under normal circumstances, turned beet red. “I cannot disavow,” he said, “the beliefs, principles, and convictions of my great-great-great-grandfather. It is feasible that it could be disputed that the strategies, procedures, and manner of the implementation of those beliefs and convictions were unobjectionable in some respects. However, I believe in heritage, not hate.”

This was understood as an endorsement of slavery, and Professor Wilson nodded sharply and said, “Case in point.” Perhaps we remembered her suggestion, at an earlier meeting, that we lock him up?

But now Professor Kabaka stood up once again. As he did so, there was at least one audible groan. The faculty had grown weary of hearing from its conscience.

Professor Kabaka had removed his Banana Bran Muffin® from its package. Now he lifted it above his head and solemnly crushed it in his fist. Bits of glistening muffin were squeezed out between his fingers. With his fist still raised, he said that he would like to resign his position, effective immediately. He meant to return to St. Renard and take up arms against the corporation that had degraded his countrymen and despoiled his island home. That was all. He let the muffin fall to the table and left the room.

This was a troubling development, to be sure, but the meeting had acquired a fiendish momentum, and the embarrassment occasioned by Professor Kabaka’s abrupt departure only reinforced the general feeling that something had to be done. And yet what could be done, now, this afternoon, about the legacy of American slavery? It was impracticable to dissolve our partnership with Big Anna®, which was conceivably the responsible thing to do. We were thus prevented by economic necessity from addressing the problem—whatever the problem was, for indeed the whole thing had become nebulous and obscure, and even supposing that the problem, whatever it was, could ever be addressed by anyone—in its larger dimensions. In all that followed, therefore, we proved Professor Kabaka correct and justified his criticism of us. There was no alternative. Our hands were tied.

Professor Beckford stood up and said that he agreed with Professor Wilson: It would be advisable to remove Mr. Pinkman III from public life until a solution to the problem of his existence could be found.

The president, looking glassy-eyed and sick, rose and remained standing for some time without saying anything. Then she sat down.

Professor Wilson said that there was a vacant office in Ulster Hall where Mr. Pinkman III could be imprisoned. What did we think of that?

Mr. Pinkman III rose and was no doubt on the point of uttering another abstruse formulation when Fitzgerald Simon, professor of francophone language and literature and himself the descendant of Afro-Caribbean slaves, came unexpectedly to his defense. Professor Simon reminded us that Mr. Pinkman III had not, himself, ever owned slaves, nor was there reason to believe that he had ambitions in that respect. He also wished to point out that in robbing Mr. Pinkman III of his natural rights, we were ourselves guilty of the very crime for which we were trying to atone. Perhaps we could distinguish the issues of reparation and revenge from the more practical questions of how Tripoli should deal with
1
) the bad publicity, and
2
) the gifts we had received from the Pinkman family?

This was very reasonable, and the secretary was sorry that in all the confusion we had managed to forget about Professor Simon. Surely he would have made a better conscience than the troublesome Professor Kabaka?

Professor Wilson agreed with him in principle, but she insisted that he was being idealistic. The issue was not whether or not Mr. Pinkman III was himself a slaveholder—she was willing to concede that, in all likelihood, he was not. The problem was that he was now perceived as a symbol of American slavery. The “publicity problem,” in short, was inseparable from the problem of Mr. Pinkman III’s existence.

Professor Herring asked if he had missed something. Had we decided that Depatrickson White would not be allowed to whip Mr. Pinkman III in a “cathartic public spectacle”?

The secretary, at least, could appreciate the appeal of this suggestion. He had been thinking again of his humiliation at the hands of the car salesman. He now recalled an argument he’d had with his wife the day before. Nothing in his life had turned out the way he’d once hoped it would. Someone—and why not Mr. Pinkman III?—ought to pay.

The president had begun to respond, but she was shouted down by Pierce Reynolds, professor of computer science. Professor Reynolds was incredulous. “I can’t believe we’re thinking of locking this man up,” he said. He cited the prohibitive cost of food, water, and basic chamber-pot service. There were also the bribes we’d have to pay to maintenance workers—“the cost of silence.” He reminded us that this was a time of financial hardship and proposed that we simply kill Mr. Pinkman III and dispense with the whole problem that way. He even had a knife in his boot.

This provoked a flurry of discussion: Professor Carlyle, though hastening to explain that he was “no fascist” and apologizing for his “protofascist aesthetic declarations,” was in agreement, saying that this was even better than whipping him or locking him up. Monica Fletcher, professor of economics, wondered if there might be legal repercussions associated with killing a member of the Tripoli community, “even if he
is
a slaveholder.” But Professor West was confident that there wouldn’t be any problem—she “knew some people” at the Tripoli Police Department. And indeed she did. The secretary had read her salacious memoir.

The president, who looked more disaffected by the moment, said that probably this was going too far. She was sorry that she had allowed the discussion to get so out of hand. The truth was that she had not slept more than a few hours in the last three days. She was feeling, she said, “deranged.” She then echoed Professor Fletcher: Murdering a member of the Tripoli community might have unwelcome consequences. Did the faculty not understand this?

The faculty did not, or would not, understand this, and ignored the president’s remarks. Professor Beckford then proposed a comprehensive solution: Mr. Pinkman III would be imprisoned in Ulster Hall. Additionally, Professor Beckford’s own committee, the Committee on the Committee on Committees (CCC), would undertake an investigation of the VWP, which was partly endowed by the Pinkman family, and it would also draft a provisional statement indicating the position of the college viz. slavery. It might be a good idea to change the committee’s name in order to reflect these new obligations. He proposed the following: the Committee on Curriculum and Core Programming (CCCP).

Francis Amundsen, professor of English, leapt to his feet in order to second the motion, commending Professor Beckford for his decisive leadership. But Michael Herman, yet another professor of English, and indeed one whose hatred for Professor Beckford was proverbial, demanded that we “repudiate” Professor Beckford before it was too late. He cautioned us against a policy of appeasement. We didn’t want today’s meeting to be “our Munich.”

To the surprise of the secretary, at least, who kept forgetting that he was in the room, Mr. Pinkman III now declared that he wished to speak in his own defense. He was not permitted to do so.

The president asked for a vote on Professor Beckford’s proposal, adding that she herself was “beyond caring” and that she would simply cast her vote and let the chips fall where they might. A vote was therefore taken and the motion passed almost unanimously, with no one except Professor Herman and Mr. Pinkman III dissenting, not even Professor Beckford’s many additional enemies. Despite her claim, the president herself did not vote.

Only now did Dev Gupta, professor of computer science, ask if we were empowered to make such a decision. Was the original idea not simply to make a recommendation?

The president shrugged and declined to answer. The provost, Alexander Kosta, recognizing that she had come to the end of her strength, took the reins: He said that he did not know—in fact, nobody knew—which cast the whole meeting, and all previous meetings, into suspicion.

“And yet there can be no precedent,” he said, “unless a precedent is first established.”

The faculty seemed pleased, but the president remained impassive. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, doing nothing and saying nothing. Her face was expressionless and pale.

The provost, who had now assumed command of the meeting, asked if there were any more announcements. There were not. Time was running short, after all. Many of us would have to hurry if we wanted to be home in time for dinner.

With an expertise that could only have derived from experience, Professor Carlyle seized Mr. Pinkman III and bound his wrists with an extension cord. The secretary found himself shouting encouragement. It seemed that the misfortune of another was indeed some consolation for his own disappointments.

Then Professors Carlyle and Reynolds dragged the prisoner away, and although the secretary would have liked to go with them, if only to make sure that there was nothing in the designated Ulster Hall office with which Mr. Pinkman III might contrive to kill himself, his duties were at an end. He said his good-byes, grabbed a Big Anna® brand Banana Bran Muffin® for the road, and skipped down the stairs and out into the dark. It was a cool night; it was good to be at liberty.

From: “Maggie Bell”

To: “Chris Bell”

Date: November 5, 2009, at 4:15 AM

Subject: (no subject)

 

C,

Kabaka is gone! Apparently he left everything in his office, coat and hat and books and everything. He took his laptop and that's all. What this amounts to is that he talks and talks and then, instead of just talking some more, he does something about it, which is why I admire him, I guess, but it's also kind of an insult, like we're not worth his time and effort. But it's not our fault that we were born American, is it? Should we really feel so guilty and awful all the time?

I got drunk and played basketball with Big Ben last night, and this morning I feel like a squashed bug. I've just been sitting here groaning and drinking tomato juice. Sometime today I have to do laundry. I did that thing yesterday of going to the store and buying underwear instead of just washing my clothes.