Between Cups of Coffee

by Tajalli Keshavarz

  ‘It is my marks.’

  ‘Ah, non-negotiable.’

  ‘Yes, I know. It is not that. I want to talk with you about my course, my marks,’ she laughed, ‘just about everything.’

  ‘Come over to my office and I’ll check my diary.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Why not?’

  We went to my office. It was tidy. I was surprised at myself. Somehow I had managed to keep the paper junk out of reach.

  ‘What about next Thursday 3:30?’ I said.

  ‘Just like now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her phone started ringing. She began a long search into her bag.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and continued the search. I looked into my bookshelf for a text. She found the mobile, looked at it and turned it off.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘That’s OK; at least you didn’t answer it!’

  ‘I am sorry. I forgot to turn it off.’

  ‘Do you mind me asking you a question?’

  She looked alarmed. ‘No.’

  ‘What is the attraction of this? This gadget?’ I hinted at the mobile.

  She was relieved, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What is this endless toing and froing of messages? Can’t you people see each other? Meet, Communicate over a coffee?’

  ‘Yes, but not always, that’s different.’

  ‘And what do you have to say to each other, always?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s fun!’

  ‘See you next Thursday,’ I said.

  She left. There was a ray of sunshine coming in. I thought of the girl, her mobile phone and her bag.

  Am I becoming irrelevant to young people’s lives? Am I part of a boring stage in their lives as someone whom they have to face irrespective of their real interests? If their issues are becoming alien to me, perhaps it is me who has gradually lost something in the process of getting old? But have their issues ever been part of my life anyway? And, is what I see a real part of their lives? The time they spend with their mobiles, computers and other gadgets? As we get involved in this life of keyboards and screens, are we distancing ourselves from flesh and blood? What does it mean when we see all those famous video clips of peoples in hunger, war, natural disasters? Do they remain as a picture on a screen, on the cover of a fashion magazine with an “artistic” angle and expert rendition of light and shade?

  There was a knock at my door. It was the same girl.

  ‘Sorry sir.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I am sorry but I have something to do next Thursday. Can I have another appointment?’

  ‘I am busy now, come over some other time, we can arrange a meeting then.’

  She left. I crossed her name out and dialled my lab to see how my people were doing.

  As I was walking up the stairs to my lab I felt a sudden sadness. I couldn’t think why. Was it because of the short meeting with that student? The girl was confused. But why should that affect me? Did I care a hoot if she was confused going around with her rug bag and the mobile? I might be affected by someone busking in the street, not by a youth playing with her mobile! Yes, I think this is what they do. Their mobiles are their busking bowls, their texts their begging statement; begging for affection, begging for words of comfort. Just look what they type in! They have developed a simple, fast language for begging!

  I entered the lab. Two were pipetting away. ‘Where are the rest of the gang?’ I smiled.

  ‘The other lab. Ana is not in, she’s ill.’

  ‘Oh, what’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Food poisoning, her boyfriend phoned to say she won’t be coming in.’

  I had a chat with the two, checked their results. They knew their stuff. That made me feel good but I remembered Ana and her problem. Why did her boyfriend phone? If he didn’t want her to study, then why should he bother phoning? Was she really interested in doing the research? If so, then why should anything, anything, stop her. Was the boyfriend an excuse? ‘Oh, life is not that black and white David,’ I started telling myself.

  ‘You say that but there is a point in what I’m saying’ I responded.

  ‘Yes, but you can’t generalise. As a lazy scientist, you crave for a generic solution to all problems. Yeah! You are a sucker for the Theory of Everything!’

  ‘Why do you make everything so difficult? You make an issue out of everything,’ Carol would have told me. ‘Just relax. Who cares if students cook their brains with their mobiles? Is there a brain to begin with?’ She would have laughed. ‘And as for your PhD student, she might or might not continue. That’s her problem.

  She always thinks like that, basic. Perhaps she is right. I don’t think that way though. Kate, strangely enough, would have agreed with her. But for a different reason: ‘You love it David, you love it when they come to your office with their problems and you give them advice. It boosts your ego no end. You claim to have the robustness of Nietzsche but in reality you are soft like a jelly and they know it. This is the morality in you: morality of being good, being helpful, going out of your way to help! You love to feel that you are wanted. Your ego is submerged in it. And you even convince yourself that it is your job, your duty to be helpful. Sometimes I get so angry with myself because I think you are a hypocrite! But look at yourself. You are really a priest in nature! The only thing is that you teach science and your cell is your office!’

  Suddenly I felt alone. I needed the coffee and the chat with Kate at our usual café. Who was I to criticise the youth for their mobile phone habit then? Perhaps they sought some consolation for their unease, perhaps they sought some moments of stupor. But what about me sitting in my office? What would I do when I left my office? Anything exciting? Anything creative?

  23

  The bistro was still closed. I was relieved to see the flat was warm. I sat on the sofa. There was a calm moment. No traffic noise, no noise from the fridge. I had no plans; I didn’t feel like reading, listening to music, having a drink, going out. So I sat there doing nothing. I didn’t even go to sleep. How long could I continue like that? Maybe 30-40 years? Of course there is the possibility of following Kate’s example. Is there a problem with me not craving for things and situations as other people do? I like reading what the philosophers write. It is good to be able to discuss them with someone. But then what? I am not meant to write my views on life. Look at me right now, not knowing what to do, sitting here thinking about my dilemmas and doubts. And for what? For whom? For those “mobile” addicts? For women in search of security travelling the world to settle down and produce a couple of kids somewhere in suburbia? As for men, they easily demean themselves for a higher post, for a bit more in their pockets.

  Now, listening to this Kate would have come down on me like a ton of bricks! ‘Ha! Why do you think about the usefulness of your work and its effect on people? You are too full of yourself to be good. You think about your influence on people, so much so that you forget to enjoy things. You want to have the right influence? If Galileo had thought that way, his work wouldn’t have been acknowledged.’

  Then I thought, is it not attractive to go somewhere, spend your days reading, writing, doing nothing special? Somewhere tucked away, somewhere I could have a cup of tea with the locals and live with my thoughts. But then that’s exactly what I do here! I live with my thoughts, I talk to locals too. I invited Anita and her daughter to my flat. They are my locals aren’t they? Oh! What had happened to the bistro?

  It was Saturday. It had snowed the night before; unexpectedly and heavily. I went out to buy milk and bread and noticed the bistro. It was open now and a customer was coming out. Nobody else was inside. I decided to have breakfast there. Anita had a dark dress on, with a large black flower in her hair.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Good morning David.’

  ‘What has happened? You were shut for some days.’

  ‘Yes,’ she paused. ‘John had a sudden heart attack. It was fatal. It was terrible. He went s
o suddenly. He had no family. He died alone.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry; he wasn’t that old was he?’

  ‘No, he was only 61. Last month was his birthday. He was such a nice man.’

  ‘I think he liked you and your daughter,’ I said.

  ‘He was like a father. When I came over, he was the one who really helped me. And now too, even after his death.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He left his shop and his top flat for me.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. What a great thing to do.’

  ‘It is just like him. For me, he is still here with all the things he has done.’

  ‘Still it is amazing.’

  ‘Over the last few days I couldn’t deal with everything and keep the shop open too. I am sorry. I am sure he would have wanted the shop to remain open. But I just couldn’t cope with it. I have now moved to his flat above the shop. It makes life much easier. I have dealt with most of the necessary things now. They were really helpful in Hanna’s school. She will move school to one near here soon. It is odd not to see John though. We were together all day every day… Such a lovely man. She paused, ‘anyway, what can I bring you? Coffee and toast?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  I sat there and read the newspaper, with snow starting to come down again, this time fast and heavy. Soon it settled well on the pavement and the parked cars. I thought she would have mixed feelings, to suddenly have a home of her own, a business of her own, but losing someone she clearly cared for.

  Anita came with the coffee, toast and jam. Nobody was in the bistro.

  ‘Why don’t you sit for a moment?’

  She sat at the table. ‘What do you think I should do now?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, now that I have the business, should I keep it?’

  ‘Well of course. Why not?’

  ‘Yes… why not?’ she said and stood up.

  ‘Perhaps you could come over to my place again, we can talk.’

  She smiled. She looked tired. ‘Yes… why not?’

  24

  The train trip took nearly four hours. I expected to get there before lunchtime and now it was a bit after. I could still make it to Fiona’s office and have lunch before the meeting at 3 p.m. I had a useful couple of hours working on the train and felt upbeat about ideas to put into the proposal. As I looked out at the countryside I thought the winter was giving way to spring. At the station, there were no taxis. I had to wait another twenty minutes before I could find one.

  Fiona was in a rush and, atypically, not in a happy mood. ‘We don’t seem to be able to have a relaxed lunch, ever!’ She took her coat and bag from the hanger. ‘I had plans for us but now the self-service should do.’ We went through the pedestrian route through the campus. As we entered the self- service, there was a smell of boiled vegetables. The place was very busy. There were some thick pieces of pizza, fish with a creamy sauce and cold bits. I took a cold chicken salad and Fiona took the fish. We found a free table somewhere in the middle. She was still in a bad mood. ‘I was really looking forward to spending some time with you today, to get away from all the crap.’

  ‘We still have some time.’

  She looked at me as if I was stupid.

  ‘The others are already waiting,’ she said.

  ‘Well that’s their problem. The meeting is at 3 p.m. and we have half an hour left.’

  ‘Oh, great!’

  She was already finishing her fish.

  ‘There is coffee there, at the meeting,’ she said.

  ‘Fine!’

  We put the trays on the racks and went out.

  ‘I had forgotten what a nice campus you have here.’

  ‘Some cold comfort! I am not a student you know! I just use the parking, and pay for it too!’

  ‘I think we have good ideas to put together for this proposal. I liked your suggestions,’ I said.

  She smiled. ‘Really?’

  ‘I am sure you will be happy with the outcome too. You are just terribly unassuming,’ I said.

  ‘You always have a high opinion of me. It is good to talk with you, it boosts my morale!’

  She laughed again. She was feeling better.

  We entered the building. The meeting room was on the first floor. Already there were three other colleagues in the room. I knew one of them, with his small eyes. He was skinny and balding and wore glasses.

  ‘Hello David,’ he said.

  ‘Hello Malcolm.’

  Fiona introduced me to the other two.

  ‘Juan has phoned. He had some problems with his flight but he is on his way. We can start and he will join us later.’

  The meeting was unusually efficient, I suppose partly because we felt that we were late. But in reality we started a bit earlier. Juan arrived quite late. He seemed to me an energetic middle-aged man. He had a good reputation in the field and was quite successful. He apologised with his Mediterranean accent; the plane had taken off late. They had been sitting in the plane for more than an hour before it finally took off. He went straight to the table by the wall, poured himself a coffee and sat next to me, joining the discussions as if he had been there from the start. We covered most aspects by 7:30. They suggested going for drinks and dinner. I was in a rush to go back. Juan was going to stay there for a couple of days to have other meetings. Fiona said she would take me to the station.

  ‘It is so decent of you! You are an angel!’

  ‘I can be anything for an old friend.’

  We were going to leave when Juan came towards me.

  ‘I wonder if I could ask you a favour.’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘We are organising a conference on science and society. I know you are very busy and the topic might be too general for you but in fact there is a lot of hard science in it. We are looking for a good speaker for the opening. Can I interest you in it?’

  ‘I would be happy to help, but when is it?’

  ‘It is mid-June. We deliberately chose June. It seems more feasible for most people. And of course there is the added attraction of the sea at that time of the year.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure.’ We talked a bit about the details and he said he would send me more information later. He thanked me and we had a warm hand-shake.

  When we sat in the car, Fiona looked tired and pale.

  I said, ‘it was a good meeting.’

  ‘Yes but a bit too long. If only Malcolm didn’t give long lectures on safety issues! Sometimes I think he is in the wrong profession!’

  ‘I agree with you but his knowledge is useful.’

  ‘Yes, but it is too much!’

  It wasn’t a long drive to the station. And when we got there, there was half an hour’s wait for the next train. Fiona stopped the car on a double yellow line.

  ‘Don’t let me keep you, you need to go back, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do,’ I said.

  She ignored what I said and turned off the engine.

  ‘I am thinking of quitting,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?...Don’t be silly… Why?’

  ‘I have had enough. It will be difficult but I see my life passing me by and I ask myself what am I doing with my life. Jane is growing up fast. Soon I will be left alone. I want to live too.’

  ‘But you are doing very well keeping up with the work and your daughter. You are doing well for yourself.’

  ‘What is good about it? I don’t have a moment of rest. Do you know? This is my moment of relaxation, in a car by the station talking with you, threatened by the train’s arrival! I have had enough.’

  ‘All of us think that way from time to time. I was thinking the same the other day!’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘I thought, out of all people, you would be the last to feel that way, or if you did, you would be the last to confess it. You’re getting soft old boy,’ she said.

  ‘So am I losing my appeal to the
young and the glamorous?’

  ‘You’ll never lose that. Not where I am concerned!!’

  ‘That’s reassuring.’

  ‘Not for me! I want to get rid of you,’ she laughed.

  ‘Now you contradict yourself.’

  ‘That’s what makes me attractive, of course, apart from my irresistible presence!’

  ‘Do you need to say these things now that I am leaving?’

  ‘This is just a train trip David. I am not dead yet.’

  ‘So when are you coming down.’

  ‘That’s something else. When I feel like it!’

  She was laughing. She wasn’t pale any more. I could see radiance in her eyes with wrinkles around them as she laughed. I looked at her thin lips with stale red lipstick. I thought that a minute later she would be going back home and would warm up a ready-made dinner to have with her daughter. She would go to bed with a book while her daughter stayed up watching television.

  The train was empty. A young couple were busy at the end seats. I sat by the window and flicked through the newspaper. The train was warm. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, there were other passengers on the train and we had arrived.

  25

  I had plenty of time to prepare for my talk in June but I was intrigued by the topic and I had been thinking about it since I had come back from the proposal meeting. I had, of course, my usual reservations: it was too woolly, too general; anyone could talk about Today, Science and Society. Lying on the sofa I had started the dialogue in my head already: ‘So what if anyone in the street can talk about this topic. Does that make it less attractive? Does it make it less topical? And, should a scientist feel that his point of view is superior to other people’s just because he knows something other people don’t know much about?’

  ‘Clearly, the scientist has expert knowledge and this puts him in a special place.’

  ‘But does this mean that his views are superior?’

  ‘Well, in a way, yes! Throughout history scientists have had a special place in society. They have improved the quality of life; they have created a civilised society!’

  ‘Sure, but does that mean that a non-scientist’s opinion is less important?’