The History Man (22 page)

Howard examines Carmody's expression; it is civil, serious, rather nervous. ‘Of course they're fair,' says Howard. ‘Are you telling me I don't mark fairly?' ‘Not exactly,' says Carmody, ‘I don't think they're consistent.' ‘Of course they are,' says Howard, ‘Consistently bad. They're about the most consistent marks I've ever given.' ‘Not consistent with my marks in other subjects,' says Carmody. ‘My major's English; I get As and high Bs in that. I have to do Social History; I get mostly Bs there. And then there's Sociology, and that's all Ds and Fs.' ‘Isn't the obvious deduction that you're working seriously in English and History, and not in Sociology?' ‘I admit I'm not attracted to Sociology,' says Carmody, ‘especially the way it's taught here. But I do work. I work hard. You admit that in your comments on the essays. I mean, you say there's too much work and not enough analysis. But we know what that means, don't we?' ‘Do we?' asks Howard. ‘It means I don't see it your way,' says Carmody. ‘Yes,' says Howard, ‘you don't see it – sociologically.' ‘Not what you call sociologically,' says Carmody. ‘You have a better sociology?' asks Howard, ‘this Anglo-Catholic classicist-royalist stuff you import from English and want to call sociology?' ‘It's an accepted form of cultural analysis,' says Carmody. ‘I don't accept it,' says Howard. ‘It's an arty-farty construct that isn't sociology, because it happens to exclude everything that makes up the real face of society. By which I mean poverty, racialism, inequality, sexism, imperialism, and repression, the things I expect you to consider and account for. But whatever I do, whatever topic I set you, I get this same old stuff rolled out.' ‘In that case,' says Carmody, ‘isn't it fairest to accept that we disagree? And perhaps move me to another sociology teacher, one who might accept that there is something in this approach?' There is sweat standing out on Carmody's brow. ‘Ah, I see,' says Howard, ‘you think you could get better marks from someone else. You can't con me, but you might swing it with someone else.' ‘Look, Dr Kirk,' says Carmody, ‘I can't ever satisfy you, I can't ever be radical enough to suit you. I have beliefs and convictions, like you. Why can't you give me a chance?'

‘And what are these beliefs and convictions?' asks Howard. ‘I happen to believe in individualism, not collectivism. I hate this cost-accountancy, Marxist view of man as a unit in the chain of production. I believe the superstructure is a damned sight more important than the substructure. I think culture's a value, not an inert descriptive term.' ‘Beliefs, in short, incompatible with sociological analysis,' says Howard. ‘I'm not moving you. You either accept some sociological principles, or you fail, and that's your choice.' Carmody's head ducks; and in the light coming into the room from behind Howard it is suddenly apparent that there is a dangerous wetness in Carmody's eyes. He reaches his hand into the pocket of his pressed trousers, takes out a very neat handkerchief, unfolds it, shakes it, and blows his nose into it. When he has done this, he looks at Howard. He says, ‘Dr Kirk, you're not being either frank or fair. You know you don't like me. I don't hold the right opinions, I don't come from the right background or the right school, I don't look right for you, so you persecute me. I'm your victim in that class. You've appointed me that. And you turn everyone there against me.' Howard swings in the red chair. He says: ‘No, you're self-appointed, George. Look at the way you behave. You always come in late. You never do quite what you've been asked to do. You break up the spontaneity and style of the class. If I ask you to discuss, you read; if I ask you to read, you discuss. You bore people and offend them. There's a chill round you. Why do seminars with you in them grind away into the dust? Have you ever asked why?' ‘Oh, you get me every way, don't you?' asks Carmody, leaning his back against the door, ‘I fit in, or I fail. And if I try to fight back, and preserve myself, well, you're my teacher, you can tear me to pieces in public, and mark my essays down in private. Can't I exist as well?' ‘You can,' says Howard, ‘if you're capable of changing. Of learning some human sympathy, some contact with others, some concern, some sociology.' ‘You see,' says Carmody, ‘it's not my work, it's me. You're marking
me
. F for fail. Why won't you say it? You just don't like me?' ‘What I think of you isn't the issue,' says Howard, ‘I can dislike someone's work without disliking them.' ‘But it's both with me,' says Carmody, ‘so why won't you let me have someone else's judgment? Someone who doesn't dislike me like this? A different teacher?' ‘For the obvious reason,' says Howard, ‘because I don't admit your charge. That my marking of you is unfair. That is your charge, isn't it?'

Carmody puts his head down. He says, ‘I didn't come for that. You're making me say what I don't want to.' Howard gets up and looks out of the window. He asks, ‘What did you come for, George?' ‘I came because I've got a new tutor in English, and she looked back over all my marks and saw I was failing. I didn't know. And she told me to come and talk to you about it.' ‘I presume she didn't suggest you make these accusations?' ‘No,' says Carmody, ‘she thought you'd help me. She doesn't know you very well, does she?' ‘I don't think you do, George,' says Howard. Carmody steps forward, and puts his hands on the back of the grey chair. ‘I know more about you than you think,' he says. Howard turns and looks at Carmody. ‘What does that mean?' he asks. ‘All right,' says Carmody, ‘you're making me say this. But what do you think people outside universities would say if they knew the kinds of things you do?' ‘What things?' ‘Teaching politics in your classes,' says Carmody. ‘Getting all the radical students to your parties, and feeling them up, and getting them involved in causes and demos, and then giving them good grades. But the ones who won't play your game, the ones like me, you give them bad grades. I've got my essays here, in my bag. I've got the things you've scribbled all over them, “pure fascism”, “reactionary crap”. I want to know if it's right to treat me like that, treat anyone like that.' ‘You've made it quite clear now, haven't you?' says Howard, ‘You
are
accusing me. Let's be explicit.' ‘I don't want to,' says Carmody, ‘I just want fairness.' Howard sits on his desk and looks at Carmody. He says, ‘There are many things you fail to understand, George. One of them is the right to intellectual freedom.' ‘I don't know how you can say that,' says Carmody, red with anger, ‘doesn't that include me? Don't I get any? That's all I'm asking you for.' ‘No, you're not,' says Howard, ‘you're accusing me of political bias in my marking, and threatening me with exposure if I don't improve your marks. Aren't you?' Carmody stares. He says, ‘Look, give me a chance. That's all I want.' ‘No,' says Howard, ‘you're blackmailing me. I never want to see you in my classes again.' Carmody's eyes fill with tears. ‘I'm not blackmailing you,' he says quietly. ‘Of course you are,' says Howard, ‘I've given your work the marks it's worth, you can't accept the judgment, so you come to me, and accuse me, and threaten me, and question my fairness and competence in every possible way. We call that blackmail.'

Carmody's hands clutch on the back of the grey chair. He says: ‘I was just asking for a chance. If you won't give it me, I'll have to ask Professor Marvin for it. I want someone else to read these essays, and see if these marks and comments are right and fair. That's all I want.' ‘Well, you go to Professor Marvin,' says Howard. ‘Make your complaint, and I'll make mine, and advise him about this blackmail attempt, and we'll see how it all comes out.' ‘Christ,' says Carmody, ‘I don't
want
to complain about you. You've pushed me this way.' ‘But I do want to complain about you,' says Howard. Carmody bends down and picks up his briefcase. He says, ‘You're crazy. This'll look just as bad for you as it does for me.' ‘I don't think so,' says Howard. ‘Now get out. And don't ever come to a class of mine again.' ‘I think you're obscene,' says Carmody, turning and opening the door. ‘George,' says Howard, ‘who is your tutor in English? I'll have to advise her you're not getting any more sociology, and therefore have presumably already failed your degree.' ‘You're destroying me,' says Carmody. ‘I need her name,' says Howard. ‘It's Miss Callendar,' says Carmody. ‘Thank you,' says Howard. ‘Don't bang the door when you shut it.' Carmody drags himself out of the room; the door, predictably, bangs behind him. Howard gets up off the desk, and walks to the window. After a moment he goes back to the desk chair and sits down, pulling open the second left-hand drawer of the desk, and taking out a slim book. He opens the book, finds an entry that says ‘Callendar, Miss A', and opposite it a telephone number. He pulls the handset towards him, and begins to dial the number; but then a thought crosses his mind, for he stops, replaces the receiver, and gets up from the chair again. He crosses the room to his bookshelves, and finds, among the routine paperbacks on sociology, a slim Penguin. He takes it to the desk, thumbs through its pages for a while. Then he picks up the receiver, and dials Miss Callendar's number.

The telephone rings along the line; ‘Callendar,' says a sharp voice at the other end. ‘Hello, Callendar,' says Howard, ‘Kirk.' ‘Och, yes, Kirk,' says Miss Callendar, sounding very Scots, ‘I've got a class in my room. I can't engage in casual conversation.' ‘Oh, it's not casual,' says Howard, ‘it's a serious matter of university business.' ‘I see,' says Miss Callendar, cautiously, ‘Of an urgent kind?' ‘Very,' says Howard, ‘A serious problem has arisen with one of your advisory students.' ‘Could you ring me again after lunch?' asks Miss Callendar. ‘I presume you take your responsibility to your students seriously?' says Howard. ‘I do,' says Miss Callendar. ‘I think we ought to deal with it now, then,' says Howard. ‘Just a minute,' says Miss Callendar, ‘I'll ask my class to step outside.' There is a small babble at the other end of the wire; then Miss Callendar returns onto the line. ‘I hope this isn't part of your seductive campaign,' says Miss Callendar, ‘we were right in the middle of
The Faerie Queen.
' ‘I think you'll see this is serious,' says Howard. ‘You have an advisee called George Carmody.' ‘A big, fairhaired boy who wears a blazer?' says Miss Callendar. ‘An unmistakable boy,' says Howard, ‘the only student in this university with a trouser press.' ‘I know him,' says Miss Callendar, with a giggle. ‘You sent him to see me,' says Howard. ‘I did,' says Miss Callendar, ‘I saw him yesterday, for the first time, I looked through his marks, and found he was failing your course. I'm afraid he'd not seen his situation. I told him to come and talk to you. I said you'd assist him in every way possible.' ‘Well, he came,' says Howard, ‘and he tried to blackmail me.' ‘My goodness,' says Miss Callendar, ‘he wants you to leave some money in a phonebox?' ‘I hope you're taking this seriously,' says Howard, ‘it is serious.' ‘Of course,' says Miss Callendar. ‘What did he do?'

‘He claimed that he was failing because I marked with a political bias,' says Howard. ‘He didn't!' says Miss Callendar, ‘I'm afraid that's very rude of him. I'll urge him to apologize to you.' ‘That's no use,' says Howard, ‘it's gone much further than that. I, of course, refused to reconsider his marks. So he proposes to see my head of department and complain.' ‘I'm afraid we live in an age of dreary legalism,' says Miss Callendar. ‘Isn't the best thing for us all to sit down and talk it over?' ‘Oh, no,' says Howard, ‘I want him to complain. I want the man to expose himself. I want him out of this university.' ‘Oh, Dr Kirk,' says Miss Callendar, ‘isn't that a bit harsh? Aren't we all making a mountain out of a molehill?' ‘You say you don't know this man very well?' asks Howard. ‘I don't,' says Miss Callendar, ‘I'm new here.' ‘I think I do,' says Howard. ‘He's a juvenile fascist. He's both incapable and dishonest. I mark his work for what it is, totally devoid of merit; he then tries to solve his problems by accusing me of being corrupt. I think we need to make the real corruption here quite visible. It's the classic syndrome; arrogant privilege trying to preserve itself by any means once it's threatened.' ‘Is it like that?' asks Miss Callendar, ‘Isn't he just being rather pathetic and desperate?' ‘I hope you're not excusing him,' says Howard. ‘After all, he's just gone to see my professor and challenge my professional integrity.' ‘Yes,' says Miss Callendar, ‘but who'll believe him?' ‘Oh, many would like to,' says Howard. ‘Of course they daren't. He wants to destroy me; in fact he's already destroyed himself. He'll get no more sociology teaching, so he won't get a degree. And I think our regulations permit us to get rid of him.' ‘You make me feel sorry for him,' says Miss Callendar. ‘I thought you might feel sorry for me,' says Howard. ‘Here's a student of yours putting my career at risk. I have the rights of the victim.' ‘I'm sorry for both,' says Miss Callendar. ‘I've been looking at his file while you're talking. His father died. He had a period of depression and psychiatric counselling. He's kept up his work well. His tutors in English and History give him quite favourable reports.' ‘He said he'd been getting As and Bs in English,' says Howard, ‘I find it hard to believe.' ‘Well, Bs and As,' says Miss Callendar. ‘He's said to have a good critical intelligence. There's a person here, and a background. Oughtn't we to go into it?'

‘I don't think I want to go into it,' says Howard. ‘But you do take your responsibility to your students seriously?' asks Miss Callendar. ‘What are you proposing?' asks Howard. ‘Can't we talk about it?' asks Miss Callendar. ‘I don't know,' says Howard. ‘When?' ‘I could come to your room this afternoon, or one afternoon this week,' says Miss Callendar. ‘I've a department meeting today,' says Howard, ‘and a very full diary.' ‘Isn't there any other time?' asks Miss Callendar. ‘I did ask you to have dinner with me,' says Howard, ‘we could discuss it then.' ‘Oh,' says Miss Callendar, ‘I hope this isn't a scheme.' ‘Oh, Miss Callendar,' says Howard, ‘can we make it Thursday night?' ‘All right,' says Miss Callendar. ‘Try and be hungry,' says Howard. ‘Oh, can I just check a literary reference with you?' ‘My class is rioting outside,' says Miss Callendar. ‘It won't take a second,' says Howard, ‘I'm looking at the Penguin Poets
William Blake
, page 98, “Proverbs of Heaven and Hell”. Here's a quotation from the Proverbs of Hell: “Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires”.' ‘Yes,' says Miss Callendar, ‘what's your question?' ‘How you came to reverse it when we talked this morning?' ‘Ah,' says Miss Callendar, ‘I did it via the instrument of literary criticism.' ‘This is your good critical intelligence,' says Howard. ‘That's it,' says Miss Callendar, ‘you see, I was offering a paraphrase of its implicit as opposed to its surface meaning. You see, read the lines carefully, and you'll find the fulcrum is a pun around the words “infant” and “nurse”. The infant and the desires are the same. So it doesn't mean kill babies if you really have to. It means it's better to kill desires than nourish ones you can never satisfy.' ‘I see,' says Howard, ‘so that's what you people do over there in English. I've often wondered.' ‘I'm only saying it's not the seducer's charter you took it for,' says Miss Callendar, ‘and as for an interest in the substructure, I don't think that's confined to English.' ‘It's hardly the same substructure,' says Howard. ‘We're concerned with exposing the true reality, not with compounding ambiguity.' ‘It must be nice to think there is a true reality,' says Miss Callendar, ‘I've always found reality a matter of great debate.' ‘Well, we obviously disagree,' says Howard, ‘you keep your Blake, and I'll keep mine. You may find mine has something to offer.' ‘I doubt it,' says Miss Callendar, ‘but to quote again from the same source, “Opposition is true Friendship”. Goodbye, Dr Kirk.'