Tolstoy Lied : A Love Story (9780547527307) (45 page)

“I'm flabbergasted.”

“You ought to be. He was goddamn regal there for a moment, in a dusty kind of way. It was the professorial version of Rockwell's
Freedom of Speech.
When he sat down people were affected, you could tell. The conversation limped along while everyone absorbed the way he'd challenged them. People were uncomfortable. You could tell they were thinking about their own academic ambitions, wondering how they measured up.” Slowly Jeff shakes his head. “And then he goddamn threw it all away.

“I picked that moment to make my big speech. I'd saved it up.” He makes a wry face. “Everyone knows I'm now irrelevant. There's a limit to how long I can hold the floor before they tune me out—as Shakespeare understood, a ghost gets only one good monologue before the living take over. I said, before I leave this faculty, I need to make a stand for its future. Joanne immediately jumped in, of course, to say that was hard to believe, given my campaign to undermine the department's grading standards.” Jeff sighs, and raises a finger. “Which is a move I would not have made, Tracy, had I known Elizabeth was going to throw political bombs in your path. But no one supported Joanne, to her obvious shock. I talked about your publications and your invitations to conferences, and the interest your approach to departmental issues has aroused among the deans. I talked about what an uncomplaining kick-ass colleague you are, and I very respectfully submitted that Joanne was dead wrong about your stewardship of Elizabeth's academic inquiry. And I went for the heartstrings—I talked about how you defended Elizabeth, which is the most unselfish thing you could have done, given that you acted in full knowledge that you were about to be judged by this assembly.

“And when I said that, Paleozoic, who'd looked like he was asleep, gave this little chuckle. No one would have made anything of it, but Joanne pounced. She demanded to know—you know how she
demands
to know—what he was laughing about. I figured Joanne had just put the nail in her own coffin. She's always been too smart to bully the old man, especially right now when people actually were looking at him with respect. Paleozoic went a bit purple, and you could just feel the room turning on Joanne. Then he wheezed something apologetic about how he'd had to
smile at my indignation, because after all I've been courting both Elizabeth
and
you.”

“You're joking.”

Jeff doesn't answer.

“He must have been laughed out of the room.”

“That would have been better. Nobody laughed—not out loud. They just traded smirks. You could watch the whole room relax back into dismissing him.”

“Did you contradict him?”

“Of course not. Everyone knows it's nonsense. Paleozoic didn't undermine my testimony, he undermined his own.” With a frown Jeff considers me. “I went on the offensive,” he says. “I invoked my years in this department, said I hoped they all knew me to be an honest and fair-minded colleague. And I told them it was my firm and studied belief that Joanne was persecuting you out of her own psychological issues.”

“You didn't.”

“At this point, Tracy, there's nothing to be gained by holding back. I know a pile-on when I see it, and if your opponents play dirty you'd better be prepared to do it too. Whatever happens from here forward, Joanne's not coming out of this unscathed. I brought up her illness. I did it respectfully, but I said she wasn't acting in a rational manner. She countered that accusing women of irrationality was a time-honored sexist tactic, and I said be that as it may, the faculty can judge based on their own experience of her over the past four months. I was courteous, Tracy, I was bend-over-backward compassionate about her illness, I was deferential about contradicting a colleague at such a difficult moment in her life, but I did have my observations to report. I talked about your integrity.”

I wait for Jeff to subvert the compliment with a tongue-in-cheek aside, but he doesn't. He regards me soberly as he speaks.

“I talked about what a good role model you are for the undergrads and grad students. And how you've held your tongue despite poor treatment. I also said some Emory higher-ups had asked about you and had mentioned a salary that would raise pulses among our august assembly. I said I'd tried to lure you to Atlanta but you'd refused, expressing loyalty to this department.”

“They believed it?”

“I do have a reputation for honesty. But it made Joanne go for the jugular. Not mine. Yours. She'd been saving this for a last resort. She pulled out a report she'd typed up in November. Then she just passed the single page around the room.” Jeff rubs his brow. “It was a brilliant move, not making copies. You couldn't beat it for dramatic tension. You could have heard a pin drop while every single solitary person in the room read the page and passed it.

“It was a report paraphrasing a statement from one of your TA's, who apparently complained that you threw a book at a student who was misbehaving during class.”

I open my mouth. Then shut it. After a few seconds I try again. “Who would have said that? All three of my TA's know me.”

“And all three have a lot at stake in proving themselves to the tenured faculty. Besides, who knows how Joanne twisted the TA's original comment?”

“It was a joke,” I say weakly.

“I told them so. I pointed out that the
student
didn't complain, which corroborates that you didn't throw the book in anger, and in fact you intended for him to catch it. Joanne countered that the absence of student complaints doesn't matter, the point is you engaged in dangerous classroom behavior.”

“I threw it right
to
him. That's different from throwing something at a person. He
caught
it.”

“Joanne emphasized that he might not have. That hardcover book might have struck him or another student on the head. It might have caused injury.”

“Carole Highsmith said you weren't the type to act out, and she was sure the TA's words had been taken out of context and you probably dropped your book by accident. Joseph Yee said he wasn't sure, he'd gotten the impression you were a little off lately.”

“
Off?
”

“He said you quoted poetry to him.”

“This is an English Department.”

“He said he finds you dark.” Jeff curls and flexes his hand restively. “I said even if you
had
shown poor judgment with the misbehaving student, you'd had a lot on your mind this year and ought
to be forgiven a single thoughtless action. Joanne's response was, and I quote, ‘Plenty of people get engaged. Tracy's not special.'

“At which point every single person in that room was past his limit. No one could sit still. Carole made a motion for a show of hands to conclude discussion, Victoria seconded it, and everybody filled out their paper ballots in utterly rancorous silence. And here I am.”

Behind Jeff, the corridor is still.

“What about Victoria?” I say.

Jeff's expression darkens. “This is Victoria,” he says curtly. “In other words, she didn't cross lines of propriety. She stated your case firmly, but in respectful terms. A few times she commented about being
distressed at the nature of this dialogue.
She cautioned Joanne when Joanne got egregious—but she cautioned me too at several points. She performed her function as moderator with
admirable
evenhandedness.” The word, as Jeff pronounces it, could cut diamond. “She thinks highly of you, Tracy, and told everyone so. But she made equal time for Joanne's tirades. Fairness is Victoria's religion. She's too bloody well-bred to take sides. She could have—she's one of the few people who knows the whole story and is senior enough not to be intimidated by Joanne. But she was appropriate. Meaning her voice never rose above the indignant. Not even when it might have been the only damn thing to wake people up. She worked at protecting our
collegial tone.
She made a final statement about you being a solid scholar and good colleague, and told the group she trusted this would be taken into account.”

I splay my fingers on my desktop.

“I tried, Tracy. So did Jesse Faden. And Jim Lakes, which was a surprise. But I've never seen so many guilty-looking mutes. If it's any comfort, I don't think half the department's going to be speaking to each other after this.”

“I'm going to lose my job.” I loft the sentence in the air, expecting it to dispel. Instead it gains weight. “Because of politics.”

Jeff stays mum, though his answer is right there in his pained expression: What do you think I've been trying to teach you all these years?

“Do you think you swayed them at all? Maybe?”

Jeff shrugs.

I consider closing my office door, but don't. If my tenure is refused, I want every faculty member who chose the path of least resistance—every one too timid to stand up to Joanne—to have to walk past me.

A door bangs open down the hall. Footsteps follow as the conference room drains of occupants. No voices accompany the footfalls. At the sound of someone nearing the office, I swivel bravely to face the corridor. Joseph Yee, I think blankly. Or Henry Shillman. Or Jim Lakes.

Just before they reach my office, the footsteps stop short, then softly about-face.

“Jesus,” says Jeff.

I don't look at him.

“I'm sorry,” he says.

He leaves my office. A moment later he's back. “You lost it by one vote. And Grub abstained.”

“Grub never abstains,” I whisper.

A brisk, determined tread approaches, its owner unmistakable. I stand and, turning my back on Jeff, step into the corridor. Joanne nears, her face turbulent. She does not slow as she nears me. Only at the last minute do I understand that she is planning to pass without acknowledging my presence. A victory fly-by.

Blindly I step into her path.

She stops. The brisk walk I interrupted has left her grabbing for breath, her chest rising shallowly, sweat dampening the neckline of her blouse. Her thickened features are flushed. “Get out of my way,” she says.

“You've won.”

Joanne's mouth twists.

“Now admit it,” I say. “What you just did in that conference room was a crime.”

“You,” she says, “have an astonishing sense of entitlement. Who promised you tenure?”

“I never assumed I'd get tenure. I assumed I'd get a fair hearing.”

“I believe you just had one.”

“I had nothing of the kind.”

Joanne breathes. “Sour grapes.” Her voice is husky.

“Admit what you did to Elizabeth.”

At the mention of Elizabeth, Joanne smiles. Her face is frightening, nearly erotic in its intensity. “What precisely would you like to hear me say?”

Carefully I pronounce each word. “This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.”

Joanne's pale lashes bat her cheeks.

“Don't give me that shit,” she says after a moment. “I'm the one who's going to see Elizabeth through.”

Too late, I see that this is the truth—and I recognize the role I've played in this drama. Joanne never meant to destroy Elizabeth, only to bring her low enough to be forever indebted; only to make of her gratitude a monument to Joanne, defying mortality. I've misunderstood. Elizabeth was never the canary in the coal mine. It was me.

“Well?” says Joanne. There is a flicker on her face—a moment of choice. Then her eyes, rock-steady, fasten on mine, and decline to see a fellow human.

I start shaking. I can't stop. The trembling of my limbs is undisguisable. I've never been so cold in my life. Pivoting, I let Joanne pass.

A second later Jeff is standing beside me with my briefcase and my coat. He sets a hand on my shoulder. “I give you an A for outstanding use of Shakespeare.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “You give everyone an A.”

He seats the coat on my quaking shoulders. “I'll give you an A-plus. Come on, valiant warrior. Let's get out of here.”

I don't budge.

“Haven't you had enough? I know I have.”

I pull the coat tighter and, leaving Jeff without another word, set off down the hallway.

“You've heard?” Victoria says when I step into her office. Studying my face, she sighs, then motions me to sit.

I don't move.

“You know,” she says. “This is one of those rare occasions when I could really use a drink.” For a moment her gaze rises and settles on the wall behind my head. Then, with an expression of forbearance, she turns to me. “The incident with the book was what clinched it. People didn't know what to think. I believe there was a record number of abstentions. And while I respect people's decision not to vote, it didn't help the—”

“Why?”

She tilts her head.

“
Why
do you respect it?” I charge.

She's silent. Then she shutters her eyelids and opens them slowly, indicating her fatigue, and by extension implying mine: a pantomime choreographed to excuse my behavior. “I'm sorry, Tracy.” The words are an offer. She's handing me a good soldier's death, a restrained and noble farewell.

I turn to leave. At the door I stop. I know I should not say this, and know I'll regret it if I don't. “Victoria.” The shaking has quieted; my voice is surprisingly steady as I face her. “I used to respect impartiality. I now see it as cowardice.”

She shuts her eyes and does not open them.

Jeff is waiting outside my office. He drapes my scarf across my shoulders and buttons me into my coat. Carrying my briefcase, he ushers me toward the elevator.

“My God,” I murmur. As the elevator descends, bubbles of dread swim through me. “Don't they know—”

“In the back closets of their minds they do.”

“We could find that kid. He'd say I threw the book
to
him. For him to catch.”