BACK    ABOUT    CONTENTS

Page 24.

Chapter 11

The doorbell rang, and Merile rose quickly from a flickering TV screen to don her house robe.

When Merile opened the door—knotting the belt of her house coat, conscious of the ungainly turban about her head—she found a short, stocky man with a smile standing before her. He had dark hair, bald on top, and an ingratiating smile; he wore a shirt and tie and hash-guppy shoes; his tweedy jacket bore the unmistakable sign of current collegiate fashion in that its sleeves had leather elbow patches. He held a sheaf of papers and bowed slightly. “Charley Anderson.”

“Won’t you come in?” she said reluctantly.

He swam into the apartment, wearing a mixed halo of academic respectability and lip-licking intent which no woman could mistake. But he was an older man, and subtle if not sneaky. “What a hot day! I am parched.”

“I have some cold water,” she said and went to the kitchen.

“That would be fine,” he allowed.

She served him bottled water in a dripping, raspberry-colored glass. They sat in the living room, he on the couch and she strategically on a backless stool. She thought of England’s island position in European politics. Evidently he was unconsciously picturing himself as Norman France, ready to invade. He held his glass in both hands like a potion tainted, if one cared to explore Shakespeare. “And how are you, Mrs. Doherty?” he said.

“Oh I’m fine,” she responded vaguely, toweling her hair and careful not to expose more than her ankles.

He carefully suppressed his nervous anxiety. “I came here on a rather sensitive mission,” he said.

“I am a sensitive woman,” she admonished.

“How true,” he said. “What I meant to get at. Well, Mrs. Doherty, what I meant to get at. Well, it’s certainly a warm evening isn’t it. Mrs. Doherty, what I meant to get at.”

She fanned herself.

He reiterated, holding his glass in both hands, “What I was going to say. Mrs. Doherty, we of the university are a small community. That is, we are like a family.” He paused to let this sentiment of closeness sink in. “We are devoted to the cause of archeology.” He pronounced archeology like archaeo-ohology pronounced with needless extra syllables for pretentious effect. He said, “Our wives are part of this closely knit community. Now as you know, often husbands are called to esoteric corners of the earth by their careers. That is to say, wives are separated from their husbands for long periods of time. And of course this is a situation not very dissimilar to that of soldiers. That is, I mean to say, husbands and wives are separated for long periods of time. And of course at all the faculty gatherings, when the husband is gone, it is the wife who is expected to fill in for him. Now this implies more than just what happens at parties. In any case, it is important to realize the effect a wife’s actions can have upon her husband’s career. Especially, that is, I mean to say, when the husband is far away on some vital field mission. Do you know what I mean?”

She answered his expectant pause with a casual comment, “You are not saying as much as you mean, and I suspect you mean more than you say.”

You randy old pervert.

He put his glass aside and moved closer on the couch so that he was barely two feet from her. “Mrs. Doherty, may I call you Merile?”

He pronounced it like “I feel” and she wanted to go take a shower to get his taint off of her.

She shrugged, meaning more than she said.

No, you asshole.

He continued, “I am a very liberal-minded sort of fellow. In fact, I am an admirer of the free-minded spirits who have been known to grace the annals of our university. In short, if there has ever been a person who, as Assistant Chairman of the Department of Archaeo-hology, was willing to further the aims of the science, it is I. However, there are certain social restraints which are always important to the advancement of a talented individual within our field. I refer to well—how should I put it—the strenuous efforts of your husband in the field while of course all of us wait with bated breath to learn of his results. Merile, a small indiscretion on the part of the wife of such an individual could have a very negative effect on the results of such an individual’s rise within the department. That is I mean to say, oh hell isn’t it obvious Merile, your associations of late have not contributed favorably to your husband’s career?”

She stretched languidly. “Oh?”

He smiled wretchedly. “Merile, my sweet dear little Merile, there is funding involved. As assistant department head, I can only be too painfully aware of circumstances which could lead to the cessation of funding and ultimately the suspension of a project due to the indiscretions of his loved ones.”

She curled her wrists dangerously in the cotton of her turban. “So?”

He nudged her knee. “You are a very attractive woman.”

She shrugged. “What’s that mean?” she seemed to survey flocks of shit birds passing over the ceiling on a migration south—literally and figuratively.

He nudged anxiously, “You are a needful woman like any, aren’t you?”

“You’ll have to speak English if you know how.”

He gestured secretively, “Your husband is going to be a famous man in our field someday. You wouldn’t want his name besmirched by any allegations, would you?”

“What sorts of allegations?” she asked.

Are you accusing me of murder, because I’m about to beat you to death with an aluminum mixing bowl?

He inched closer and closer, physically and verbally. She could begin to smell his breath—an unbearable essence of toe jam. “Darling, you are a woman alone. I know you have been seeing a certain individual who mows lawns around the university.”

“Serious allegation,” she said.

You sick fuck.

He said, “Said individual has been terminated.”

“I’m glad,” she said.

Poor baby. My fault.

He shook his head, denying any gesture of denial. “I don’t think you appreciate the seriousness of the situation.”

She stared at him directly. “What exactly do you want?”

He broke down and the game was over. “You.”

“Me.”

If I could shut my sagging mouth, I could still not talk.

“Yes. I’d give anything.” His eyes implored.

Will I be able to breathe again after he leaves?

She surveyed him. “Have you had your temperature taken lately?”

Will there still be oxygen?

He buried his face in his hands. “Mereel. The first time I saw you…”

She rose. “Get out of here.”

He threw himself around her knees. “Please.”

“Get out of here!” she bellowed. “One more word, and I will call the police.”

“What will your husband say?” It was his final, feeble threat before he walked dazedly out the door. She listened to him on the stairs, fighting tears of rage, humiliation, and terror. She watched him out the window as he went to his car down on the street.

She tore open a window and hollered out the worst curse she could think of, “Go screw your wife if she’ll have you!”