A day like this, filled with uncertainty and consternation, teachers walking
around dazed, wondering what is to become of us – this atmosphere of
fearful anticipation seemed scripted for the becalming talent of Pete
Plimpler, English Department chairman. Sitting in his office, minutes before
his department meeting, he scanned the agenda he’d prepared; and he
gazed through the window as he’d done so many times: first down below at
the streets where fierce windows pummeled anyone out walking; then across
the rooftops and over the trees into the chilly grey distance.
It was a kind of mental warm-up exercise. He’d let his mind float off in
travel through the sky. At some far-off astral point he’d feel ready to start
the day. His mind would return with the speed of light and set off a spark
that sent energy flowing through his body. He’d step out of his little cubicle,
rubbing his palms with odd excitement, and he’d say to Felicity Rudder, his
secretary, “Alright, where do we start? What dangers do now beset us?”
What dangers! Last September he’d returned to find his radio missing. It
was an old German Grundig, with a distinctly pleasing sound; it had served
him for over ten years. It sat on a bookshelf tuned in to WQXR, a classical
music station; it played even when no one was there.
He’d sip his coffee and listen to the announcer’s measured phrasing and
introduction. He felt in a zone of tranquility. Were a tornado to descend and
rip the roof off the building, leaving him exposed to the elements, he’d
remain unperturbed, his knees crossed, fingers touching his lips.
He’d gone downtown to look at the latest Japanese transistor imports.
They had sharp trebles, good for talk, but in the lower frequencies music
sounded tinny. In any event he’d grown attached to the German Grundig
sound. He wanted the Grundig back, not something new.
Felicity Rudder peeked in to say the department was waiting; she was on her
way with copies of the agenda. He nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
They were a fine troop, an intimate troop, his department. He’d worked
with them all these years. He knew their eccentricities and loved them all for
precisely those wonderful contradictory oddities of character that made them
individuals.
Irene, Hermione – and Carmen Agulnick with her awful transparent wardrobe
considering how old she was; Felicity Rudder, of course, and Jeff and Peter.
Mrs. Boneskosky, Mrs. Helmsclaw; Mrs. Ballancharia from India, still speaking
in her old Indian accent, a delightful generous-hearted soul; and Bilicki who
had been with him almost from the beginning, who had strayed in recent
years, behaving more and more like a mobster. Even Bilicki, despite his
decision to pitch his tepee outside the pale, remained a trooper, dedicated
to the development of the mind.
They’d stuck it out – this was what he truly liked about them – they came in
to this building to do what was necessary; they loved books and agile minds and
wished to bring the two in fertile union – even the students so lacking in basic
reading skills. Through all the turmoil, the concern for one’s physical safety,
the car thefts, they’d come through as brave souls through a storm.
When he entered the room for the meeting there was a satisfying hum of
concern among his staff, not the scenes of teeth-gnashing he’d witnessed in the
auditorium at the close of the faculty meeting. Understandably his department
was worried. As their captain he’d do what was necessary to set the right
course.
He cleared his throat, he reached for the box of tissues and blew his nose.
There was a diminishing hush.
“And so we beat on, boats against the current,” he began with words he
knew they’d recognize from The Great Gatsby. He lowered his head and
appeared to study his notes. The department searched his face for errant
feelings. He cleared his throat again.
“Good morning. I’d like to welcome each and every one of you back… to
what promises to be an interesting… if not perplexing…year…I must say, you
all look in fine fettle.”
(from “Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!”, a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 