DEATH OF THE RAT
William McMurray
Copyright 2011 by William McMurray
"How now! A rat? Dead, for a ducat, dead! "
Hamlet, Act III, Scene iv, 23.
The sun's first rays gently brushed the parapets and pinnacles of Essex University’s mock gothic towers as Mr. Jackson Nicholas, lately director of the Board of Regents, and since the untimely demise of his predecessor, Acting Principal of the University, stepped from his car. He had an early meeting to convene, the last he hoped of the seemingly interminable wrangles to select his successor in office. Perhaps he owed it to the Institution to allow the other Regents to convince him to stay on as Principal, to provide some stability and sense to the place, and end the constant bickering among the Selection Committee. For he had brought an air of authority to his role, he reflected with some pride. Another year or so of his influence would bring the more fractious academic elements into line. He frowned as one of these, in fact the most awkward member of the Governing Council of the Faculty and its representative on the Committee to Select the Principal, Professor John Antwhistle, appeared at the entrance to Morton Hall and ostentatiously held the door open for him. He grudgingly muttered his thanks, and pressed on down to the Board Room, at whose entrance he stopped abruptly. The Professor, bringing up the rear, caught sight of the object which had caused the Acting-Principal’s lean, rodent-like face to turn pale: dangling from the lintel on a length of cord was a large, white rat; it was quite dead, and from its broken neck depended a small cardboard placard with the words - YOU’RE NEXT.
CHAPTER ONE
A knot of a dozen students surrounded Janet Gordon at the foot of the science amphi-theatre, while the remainder of the two hundred or so students in her third year Cell Biology class were noisily departing after the lecture. The aficionados with questions or arguments pursued her as she collected notes, transparencies, slides, and other pedagogical impedimenta to make way for the next class. They spilled out into the hall-way to escape the incoming tide for Physics 250, and carried on the discussion in fits and starts with students peeling off from the group as their points were satisfied. Finally they were reduced to Janet and one morose-looking male.
"Well, Leonard, what is it this time?" she asked, trying to keep the edge of exasperation from showing. Leonard was a two-timer, a recidivist, something of a hopeless case. His performance last year in Biology 333 was so abysmal Janet could not forbear to submit a number beside the letter grade-F. She had, in fact, been tempted to submit DNW (did not write) to the Registrar since Leonard's final exam paper could only barely be construed as a written response to the questions. Now he was back for another go, to Janet's aggravation and mystification.
"I only wanted to observe," he began, "that everything's so much clearer now. You have helped my understanding so much. And last summer's reading of course."
"That's very satisfying for you then,” Janet replied, warming somewhat though irritated by the boy’s obvious attempt to flatter her.
"Oh yes! You see I got off to a bad start last year with Professor A. He didn't take the time to explain like you do. “And then,” he went on as Janet tried to disentangle herself and walked along the hall, "he wouldn’t take time out of class to help us stupider students."
Professor A would not have put up with this syncophantic dribble either, thought Janet to herself. Leonard was in actuality the major problem Janet had inherited upon taking over John Antwhistle's usual first term portion of the course while he was occupied with the Selection Committee. Her old mentor was a superb teacher she knew from her own experience, and Leonard had proven no better in second term than first last year. She put on a burst of speed as they reached the staircase.
"See you on Wednesday," shouted Leonard as she took the stairs two at a time, muttering to herself about the dubious practice of permitting students to repeat their failed studies. There was little prospect for Leonard in science, or at least in biology. Perhaps she should try to counsel him to switch into psychology or politics. Janet swung out of the stairwell on the fourth floor, head down, and collided with the other subject of the discussion. As if to make matters worse her victim commenced to apologize for the accident.
"Habitual fault of mine my dear. Only exercise I get these days, leaping before looking I’m afraid. Clobbered the Dean the other day, spilled his coffee down his pants. Bought him another cup to atone, however. Lucky he wears brown,” and they tried to unscramble Janet’s notes from the contents of her Professor's file that now lay strewn together on the floor.
"Bring the whole mess into my office and we’ll sort it out over a cup of coffee," he offered. "I promise not to repeat my stunt with the Dean!" Janet gathered up the jumble of papers and followed, in some embarrassment.
"Ah, good old Biol. 333!" exclaimed John Antwhistle picking up one of her overhead transparencies. I have to take some responsibility for lumbering you with this after all. And here's part of the reason,” he continued, brandishing an agenda labelled ‘PRIVATE/CONFIDENTIAL - COMMITTEE TO SELECT THE PRINCIPAL'.
"The Committee of No Return. All hope abandon etc," he continued, filing the papers randomly in their manila folder. Coffee with the added luxury of cream, sugar, and chocolate-coated biscuits appeared on a tray produced by Miss Rachel Grinley. The latter glowered at Janet with a flinty countenance. Miss Grinley was of the 'old school' and felt no encroachment upon her feminist rights to deliver the coffee for her Department Head and distinguished visitors: she drew the line at junior faculty members.
"How is Bob Hayes working in with your group by the way?" enquired the Professor.
"He lost a fair amount of time in the move. But we are getting along fine now," Janet replied, munching on a biscuit. This collaboration was certainly developing better than previous ill-fated work with Dr. Karl Elster.
"Also, Bob has been a great help to me in sorting out Karl's work for posthumous publication. I still find it hard to be objective you know," she went on apologetically.
"Yes, it is a delicate point. I'm glad young Hayes is proving helpful at it. And let me know if I can help."
"When we have a reasonable draft put together I'll get you to look it over, give us your opinion of whether we are presenting it fairly, that is if you agree?" she concluded quizzically. John Antwhistle had been reading and judiciously slashing her efforts at publication for so long that Jane began to wonder if and when he would tell her to cease bothering him about it. So long as he would bear it she would continue to count on his editorial assistance. As editor of three scientific journals and author of a dozen reviews and monographs, he possessed an instinct for clarity in expression and ruthlessly suppressed any additions of unnecessary verbiage or unwarranted speculations. John Antwhistle indicated his willingness to continue in the role of literary critic, and passed the biscuits.
"I wonder," he ruminated sadly, "how many members of faculty are aware of the decadence and corruption in the governance of this wretched institution."
"If you refer to the junior faculty, who have been pretty much excluded from any meaningful part in the University's affairs, I am sure that few would be shocked, but most would be indifferent," Janet responded quietly.
"Too true!" chuckled the Professor, roused from his despondency by this bit of cynicism. "Nonetheless, I believe it's time that someone leaked a story on the political machinations in Morton Hall for the Faculty Review column of our friend, Archaeopteryx." The last-named was the nom de plume of a presumed junior faculty member who had been anonymously making disclosures of autocratic practices in the administration, and advocating increased representative government at the University, in a regular column of the weekly faculty newspaper .
"If one heeds the portents, some of
the more radical reformers may have progressed beyond the point of public protest," he went on, relating the circumstances of the threat earlier that morning. "Poor old Jackson, the rat! He did not quite know whether to take it as an outrageous undergraduate prank, or a serious menace to his survival. At one point he considered calling in the police, until his colleagues among the Regents reminded him of the publicity that would create."
"He has a tendency to settle all student unrest by force," Janet reminded him, citing incidents of unruly conduct at residence parties and football games. "He has already added a dozen new security men to campus police to protect us. Why didn't he call in his own Captain Marvel?"
"I daresay he did after the meeting broke up in disarray. Selection Committee adjourned rather abruptly, which was one blessing at least! Nicholas and his tame Regents couldn’t push through his agenda with all the confusion."
"What I don't understand about all this selection business," mused Janet, "is the delay. Surely if Nicholas controls the Regents, and they make up the majority on the committee --" John Antwhistle nodded in the affirmative. "then why hasn't he simply pushed through his own choice? How long has your committee been meeting?"
"Since Spring."
"And now it's late September! What, if you don't mind my asking, has been going on?"
"Of course, my dear, I do not mind your asking. As a faculty member among many of this great institution who has been long in the dark concerning the corridors of power, you have every right to wonder. For my part I have been sworn to confidentiality concerning names of the illustrious candidates. So my response must be couched in general terms, and must go no further, at this stage anyway," he whispered conspiratorially. "Let's first recapitulate the events. That's on the public record at least."
"Right," nodded Janet helping herself to another cookie, and surreptitiously peeking at her watch. She would be lucky to get her experiment started before lunch-time at this rate.
"Our lamented Principal dies at the height of summer. The Regents hastily convene and, against all reason, name their own chairman as Acting-Principal. Excuse promulgated; to have somebody who is already conversant with our fiscal affairs as interim chief administrative officer. True reason; to neutralize our Dean, who might have promoted academic interests and brought more faculty into the selection process. Later on in the Fall, with no show of urgency, the Regents announce the formation of a Committee to Select the Principal, composed mainly of themselves."
"This was what led to that stormy session of the Governing Council of the Faculty?"
"I think it was the fine hand of Dean Owens that brought that about," the Professor responded. "Brash as they were, the Regents couldn't exclude the Dean entirely from the Selection Committee. When Dr. Owens proposed that they balance their committee with some faculty, student, staff representation they just voted him down. It was in response to that you may recall, that Governing Council sent a unanimous demand for a substantial voice in choosing the Principal. And it took much public pressure, outraged letters and columns by Archaeopteryx and prolonged negotiations before it was agreed to add two senior faculty members, plus the Dean."
"But no students."
"Definitely not! Not to be trusted," nodded the Professor solemnly. "Even junior faculty, not to be trusted. Must be ossified antiquities, Department Heads at least, to qualify. That's, of course, how yours truly and old Professor Tupperman of Classics became the standard-bearers."
"So the balance is?"
"Five to three. Four Regents, plus their esteemed chairman. Then Owens, Tupperman, myself. They insisted on meeting when my morning classes were already scheduled, hoping to increase the odds further, no doubt. So you are indirectly striking a blow for faculty autonomy! With any luck we will be finished with it soon and I can, take Biology 333 off your hands."
"Don't you worry about that," Janet reassured him. "Apart from Leonard I'm quite enjoying it."
"That dud is back to haunt us again!" roared the Professor in anguish. "Perhaps I would prefer to stay with the Selection Committee after all."
“So your Committee has made no progress this summer?”
"That's true. I think that was also part of the plan. What with one person or another being off on vacation we could rarely get a quorum. You know that Jackson loves the pomp and power of office so much , I believe he is trying to extend his Acting-Principalship. "
A peremptory rap on the door followed by the appearance of Miss Grinley in the doorway terminated the discussion. She handed the Professor a sealed envelope.
"A gentleman wants to see you. Seems quite urgent," she added. Janet got up to leave as the Professor read the note with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Yes, I'll see him in a moment." Then as Miss Grinley departed to the outer office, "Janet, speaking of Bob Hayes, as we were a moment or so ago, I've invited him and Margot for dinner tomorrow. Can you join us?"
Janet accepted the invitation and made way for the Professor's visitor. On passing through the office she made note of the well-dressed young man in waiting. Too well-dressed to be a member of faculty, she thought, but he didn't have the expectant look of a salesman either. Janet hurried down the hall to her lab. Maybe she would get the experiment on before noon after all.
The Water-Hole was already fairly crowded with students when Janet arrived with several of her young protogés to cool off with a soft drink. Much against her better judgement she had allowed herself to be talked into taking on the task of coaching the women's tennis team at Essex U, and she had just spent an hour on the courts with several groups of aspirants for the team. In her own time as an undergraduate, Janet had managed to get into the finals twice, and had helped to bring the women's team trophy in intercollege competition to Essex University. Dorothy Miller, her old coach, had been ailing physically of late, and argued compellingly that Janet had a debt to repay as sole member of the championship team still associated with the University. Though she had reservations about her coaching skills and the time commitment that would intrude upon her other duties, Janet had to admit to herself that her contacts with these keen young athletes reminded her pleasantly of her own student days when she was playing up to form. Like teaching and graduate supervision, it was one of those aspects of university life that tended to preserve one, Peter Pan-like, in perpetual sophomorism. She took her charges to one of the large picnic-style tables near the river-bank as the setting sun cast a ruddy reflection upon the surface of the Essex River.
Names of last year's team, Adams, Chang, LeBlanc, were familiar to Janet. The holdovers had performed rather well last Fall, though not well enough to prevail at the championship finals. Now there was a crop of unfamiliar names of newcomers hoping to fill gaps left by graduating team members, Metcalfe, Tanigawa, Bennett, Nicholas. The first two had not played tournament tennis before; the last two had considerable competitive experience, and after a brief inquiry the names rang a bell in each case. Diane Bennett was not in the same league as her younger sister, Stacy, who had held the Women's National Title for the past two years. Possibly Diane was trading on the reputation of her illustrious sister but she had put only a half-hearted effort into the tryouts. Judy Nicholas, on the other hand, was the scrambler of the group, chasing down every ball in the rallies, as if to prove that she would make the team by effort rather than as the daughter of the University's Acting Principal. The two girls sat opposite Janet now, Judy flushed and perspiring, Diane elegant and composed. The latter's appearance, a reminder of her languid approach to the game, brought a surge of irritation to Janet.
"You know that we have to cut down to four players for the the invitational next weekend," she announced in a level tone.
"Well, I'm doubtful about my ankle," offered Penny Adams, top ‘A' player from last season.
"I know," Janet sympathized, "and I wouldn't want you to take a chance on it yet. That leaves Mary Chang and Helen LeBlanc for the 'A' doubles team." The statement seemed obvious to Janet and the oth
er girls, yet she sensed a bristling of resentment from Diane. "Now for the 'B' team," she went on. "I want the other four of you out tomorrow for an hour. Six-thirty OK?" There was no demurral, but still the petulant expression on Diane's face. "We'll set up a couple of short-set round-robins. See how you all get on in a competitive atmosphere. Now let's finish this and get an early night."
Conversation around the table gradually wound down, the girls one by one, some in pairs, departing in the twilight. As she passed one of the tables in the gloom Janet heard a familiar voice hailing her, but it was not until she walked closer that she made out the fine features of Dr. A. McManus, Assistant Professor in the Philosophy Department.
"Come join us Jan," he called, then as she hesitated momentarily, "we don't have to consider the ethics of the situation! "
Janet sat down beside him with a chuckle. His last reference had been to their membership on a committee chosen by the Dean to examine the ethical acceptability of certain experimental projects in the University. The committee had met only once to establish its procedures for vetting protocols set out in investigators’ grant applications. Jan had heard enough of Dr. McManus's comments to be favourably impressed with his good sense and trenchant humour. He proceeded to introduce her to his companion .
"Terrence O'Meara, Janet Gordon. Jan is in the Biology Department. Terry labours on Political Economy, Free Trade and such."
Janet studied her new acquaintance while reflecting that she now knew more of O'Meara's background than that of his introducer. Apart from the fact that Dr. McManus had revealed an interest in science as well as philosophy, she really knew little of his academic pursuits.
"What news from the frontiers of biology?" inquired McManus.
Janet still hadn’t developed a stock series of answers to such questions from non-scientists. On some, albeit rare, occasions the questioner had a genuine interest to find an answer. Usually, however, the request was an unanswerable conversational gambit, and any serious attempt to provide an informative response would be received with the same dismay as a catalogue of ills would to the question, ’how are you‘?
"Well, we have an acute shortage of frontiersmen at present, but we're keeping the wild animals at bay."
"Including wild men of the Administration, I hope."
"I wouldn't know. I don't have to contend with them personally."
"You sound indifferent to the problems of dealing with the tyranny of Morton Hall," interjected O'Meara acerbically. The fervour shone through his bearded mien; he could have been the incarnation of Parnell or other fire-brands of his homeland.
"I have enough problems dealing with students and cell cultures," Janet retorted. "Anyway, Professor Antwhistle seems to have matters in hand."
"One of the more reasonable and sagacious Department Heads," nodded McManus.
"Not a difficult thing to excel at, considering the gerontocracy he belongs to," snorted O'Meara.
"Well, thanks be that we managed to get him on the Selection Committee. Though I daresay he and the venerable Tupperman will be simply steam-rollered by the collective weight of the Regents."
"Don't forget about the Dean," Janet put in.
"So that's the way it breaks, 5 to 3?" snapped O'Meara. "Though I'm somewhat surprised that Dr. Owens would have the guts to defy the Regents. He must have some aspiration for senior office himself after all."
Janet blushed furiously at her indiscretion. If she were quoted in this connection it could not help but be traced back to her conversation with her Professor. And any attempt now to downplay her comment would only add weight to it. She made no further remarks on the subject. After a few non-committal statements she made her withdrawal in the gathering darkness, she hoped with a minimum of damage.
Death of the Rat Page 1
