The Ghost Apple

by Aaron Thier

  I beg your forgiveness for my unseasonable meditativeness, Sir, and the rhapsodical nature of this letter, but to these descriptions I must subjoin a reflection of my own. I have, as you know, greatly enriched myself in the manufacture of pot-ash and sundry other commercial goods, & I am now grown apprehensive on this account, for as it seems to me it is the commerce of Europeans which has transformed Saint Reynard from the bless’d isle of my grandfather’s recollection to the Malarious Rock it is become, & I fear that because there is some cotton raised here, tho not a great deal, and mayhaps it is my own pot-ash that is used to whiten the cloth produced therefrom, in whatever far-flung manufactory this whitening is done, then it may be said quite truthfully that I myself am a participant in the very commerce that has brought the island low. Is it not strange and terrible to think so, Sir, and to reflect that I must therefore participate in a system which I have come to abhor, having seen by what depraved measures the Negro is made to labor? Since you ask, my Friend, it is this difficulty of knowing what we do in the world, and what resonances and reverberations our actions may have, even including those we deplore, that have altered my mind as to the disposition of my fortune. It would be unction indeed to my bruis’d conscience if I could be sure that such money as I have, whatever the uses to which those articles of my manufacture have been put, should itself serve the cause of right. You may wonder why I do not then set aside some portion for the cause of the Abolitionists. I am afraid that in doing so I might give my brothers pretext to have me pronounced a Madman, and to break my Will on that account.

  I am filled, Sir, after seeing for myself the yellowed coconuts, and the peculiar beauty of the tropic sea, and all that passes upon the island, with misgivings of another kind, for I can appreciate as never before that the world is wide, and my acquaintance with it almost entirely limited to this small corner of earth, New England, and I cannot dissemble my apprehension that there might have been a more diverting way of spending my time than in the manufacture of pot-ash.

  I am not certain I understand the comparison you draw between Atheism and Demonism. Please do enlighten me. Fortune, that ungracious duchess, harrows my habitual sufferings with new torments, for I suffer with a Tissick, & Glossitis, & to-day I have done some violence to my foot with a hoe, and I have nothing to do but lie abed and think of these things. I am, with great esteem and friendship,

  Your honor’s most Humble & most obliged servant,

  Israel Framingham Tripoli

  Minutes / September 2009 Faculty Meeting

  President Lillian Richmond called to order the first faculty meeting of the 2009–2010 academic year. As she did so, the faculty secretary, author of these minutes and himself a professor of geology, felt a titter of excitement and uncapped his pen.

  The president began by welcoming the faculty and expressing her enthusiasm about the upcoming semester, adding that Dean Brees, who could not attend the meeting because he was undercover on campus, felt the same way. The upshot was this: Times were tough, and we were facing significant financial challenges, but this was also an exciting moment at Tripoli College.

  If it had not been a restful summer, the president continued, at least it had been a very long summer. Some thanks were due to William Beckford, professor of English and acting chancellor of the English Department, who had directed the Summer at Tripoli program for the thirty-first consecutive year and who, as always, had kept that program running smoothly. Professor Beckford had also been playing a larger administrative role at Tripoli’s Proxy College of the West Indies at St. Renard, to which he would be traveling several times this semester.

  Francis Amundsen, professor of English, rose and began to applaud Professor Beckford for his service to the college. A large percentage of the faculty, probably something like 90 percent, quickly followed suit. All of those abstaining from this show of approval were English professors, reminding us of the deep divisions within that department. Professor Beckford himself smiled like a jack-o’-lantern and thanked the president for her kind words. His voice was powerful and authoritative. He seemed, as always, unnaturally vigorous for a person so manifestly advanced in years, and the secretary wondered if perhaps there was some truth to the rumor that he had served on the Italian general staff during World War I.

  When the applause had subsided, the president updated us on the financial situation. While exact figures were not available, recent estimates were that the endowment would be down at least 40 percent this year. This was a very substantial loss—indeed, almost an incomprehensible loss—and the secretary would have found it hard to believe had he not also seen his personal investments melt away to nothing.

  There was one bright spot. Tripoli was in the final stage of negotiations with Big Anna® Brands, which, although it was an independent for-profit corporation, was very supportive of higher education. If we could arrive at a satisfactory agreement with Big Anna®—an agreement that would not only reinforce and extend the arrangements and accommodations we had already made with that company, but would probably also lead to significant cooperative ventures on St. Renard, where the company had a substantial interest—it would represent a big step toward financial security.

  Speaking of St. Renard, the president was pleased to welcome Professor John Kabaka, who was a Renardenne himself. Since earning his doctorate from Cambridge, he had been teaching Atlantic and colonial history at the University of the West Indies, Jamaica, and we were lucky to have him with us as a visiting professor this year.

  As the faculty clapped and called out “Welcome!” or “Hi!” Professor Kabaka rose to his feet and asked for silence. Speaking quite loudly in his mellifluous Caribbean accent, he professed himself “extremely angry” about the proposed agreement with Big Anna®. He said that he had not heard anything about this—if he had, he would not have accepted our offer. He could only conclude that he had been lured to Tripoli under false pretenses. He would not disparage the intelligence of the faculty by detailing the many abuses and depredations of that vile corporation, but he did feel impelled to mention, since apparently no one had bothered to acquaint themselves with his work, that he had spent his whole life struggling directly or indirectly against Big Anna® and the neoliberal economic policies—“slavery by another name”—according to which that company justified its stranglehold on his island home.

  This was, at the very least, an excruciatingly embarrassing moment, but the president handled it with aplomb. Without missing a beat or giving any sign of displeasure, she explained that it was for all these reasons that Professor Kabaka had been invited to Tripoli. She had hoped he might function as the “conscience” of the institution at this moment of crisis. She herself was deeply conflicted over the Big Anna® question, as indeed who wouldn’t be? But the truth was inescapable: We could not afford to fill the soap dispensers in the bathrooms. Big Anna® had offered us a lifeline and we would have to take it.

  The president’s use of the word “conscience” seemed to convey an unpleasant impression, at least to the secretary, but Professor Kabaka said nothing.

  There followed various items of no doubt great local importance, but the secretary paid them little attention. There was, to the best of his recollection, some discussion of the Library Digitization Project and then of the rec center, which had been renovated thanks to the generosity of an anonymous donor. The president’s own office had been relocated to the fourth floor of the rec center.

  Meanwhile, Professor Kabaka continued to sit quietly in his little chair, his face impassive, his arms crossed. No one paid any attention to him. It was as if nothing had happened.

  The president now called upon Maura Riesling, professor of biology, who was heading up Tripoli’s new Sustainability Initiative, a program administered by the Office of Environmental Health and Safety. Could Professor Riesling give us an update?

  She could and did, but she limited her remarks to a single sentence, half grim prognostication and half expression of despair. She said, “Sus
tainability is not possible as long as there are humans on earth.”

  The president, now visibly frustrated, turned the meeting over to Antoine Benmarcus, professor of anthropology and dean of the faculty, who had a few items of his own. Dean Benmarcus wanted to remind us that we would be making no new hires this year. That, he said, is what “hiring freeze” meant. He then gazed meaningfully around the room, but there were no comments, not even from the economics department, which had lately been pursuing a policy of aggressive expansion.

  The dean had a great deal more to say, but it grieves the secretary to report that he allowed his attention to wander once again. There was a game of Ultimate Frisbee in progress out on the quad. It was only the beginning of September, after all, and there was still a distinct summertime vibe on campus.

  When the dean had finished, the president had a word to say about the Vocational Writing Program (VWP). As of this fall, the VWP was fully integrated: It would administer all introductory composition and professional writing classes—formerly the purview of the English department. The president was aware that many of us had objected to the creation of an independent and autonomous writing program, and in principle she agreed with us, but the VWP—which was also privately endowed—was important for our reputation as a school that catered to the needs of low- as well as mid- and high-ability students. Given the state of our finances, it was more important than ever to appeal to a wide range of students.

  The president then introduced Bish Pinkman III, associate director of the VWP, who wanted to remind all faculty members teaching a VWP-sponsored course that the biweekly Curriculum and Pedagogy Symposia were mandatory. “These meetings,” said Mr. Pinkman III, “are indispensable in that they afford you with the resources, outcome assessments, and degree of technicality for the relevant VWP writing outcomes, and any absence on your part means that your students will not have access to the level of pedagogy we expect you to produce.”

  There was a prolonged silence as faculty members, stunned and saddened by this announcement, attempted to gauge its relevance to themselves. Then Jennifer Wilson, professor of biology, said that the VWP was “one in the eye for anyone who bothered about the liberal arts” and moved that Mr. Pinkman III be locked up. The president treated this motion as a joke, but when several professors rose to second it, she explained that the VWP was too important to the trustees—its importance was political and not intellectual—and we would have to table the question of what to do to Mr. Pinkman III.

  Wearing an expression of profound disgust, Professor Kabaka now rose and left the room. Because he was seated close to the door and because he moved swiftly and silently, his departure went entirely unremarked. The secretary noticed it only because he happened to be gazing longingly at the beautiful and corrupt Malinka West, professor of sociology, who was seated to Professor Kabaka’s left.

  But there was no time to consider what this may have meant: It was time to hear fall reports from standing committees.

  The president now called on Pierce Reynolds, professor of computer science and chair of the Committee on Committees (CC), who explained that he and his fellow committee members had been unable to proceed with their work because they had discovered that the CC was the only committee not subject to its (the CC’s) own review process. They had discussed evaluating themselves, but that solution was impracticable—it would, Professor Reynolds said, be like trying to lift one’s own person off the ground and hold oneself suspended in the air. Better that the college form another committee, the so-called Committee on the Committee on Committees (CCC), whose purpose would be to evaluate the CC.

  This motion was treated as a joke and met with good-natured laughter. Then, in a surprising turn, it was seconded by Professor Beckford, who volunteered to head the new committee.

  Richard Carlyle, professor of English, who had only just arrived and whose disordered clothing and wild eyes suggested a prolonged debauch, wondered who or what would have authority over the CCC. Surely we were establishing a dangerous precedent, one that would inevitably lead to the creation of additional committees—the Committee on the Committee on the Committee on Committees (CCCC), the Committee on the Committee on the Committee on the Committee on Committees (CCCCC), and so on—each one holding review power over the previous one. But Hanson Brokovitch, professor of religion, explained that there was no reason the CC could not evaluate the CCC. The only committee it could not evaluate was itself. Did Professor Reynolds agree? He did, and yet Professor Carlyle worried that this arrangement, too, was problematic. Surely it would create a situation in which conflict would escalate indefinitely, perhaps terminating in violence, since each committee would be able to challenge the essential legitimacy of the other. Professor Beckford took issue with this “doomsday scenario,” explaining that we would be sure to establish clear routes of appeal in the event that either committee should object to the suggestions of the other.

  A vote was taken and the motion passed by an easy margin, with only Professor Beckford’s enemies dissenting. Professor Carlyle, who was now busy pouring Gatorade powder into the mouth of a canned energy drink, was the only abstention.

  Meanwhile, the president had grown impatient, and she moved that we skip over any remaining committee business, which was, in any case, detailed in a sequence of reports that the faculty had received by e-mail. A second was found, there was no discussion, a vote was taken, and the motion passed.

  It was now time for the Athletic Association’s report. Glenn Forrest, assistant to the deputy director of the Athletic Association, rose and was greeted with enthusiastic applause and cheers of “Go Tyrants!” Mr. Forrest thanked everyone for coming, evidently under the impression that he himself had called the meeting, and said that we had an exciting year ahead of us. He expressed his conviction—a conviction he shared with John Bacon, director of the Athletic Association, who sent his greetings and regretted that a prior engagement had prevented him from being here today—that the football team was poised to have a breakout season.

  Attempting, as always, to curry favor with the wealthy and autonomous Athletic Association, the faculty reacted to this news with more applause and additional cheers of “Go Tyrants!” But Mr. Forrest was not finished. In fact, he had considerably more to say. He spoke and gestured for perhaps ten minutes, no doubt encouraged by the fervent and continuous cheering of the faculty, although the secretary cannot have been alone in tuning him out and gazing instead at the restful scene out on the quad, where the Ultimate Frisbee game was winding to a close but where there were still plenty of students lounging in the sweet grass or moving about in small, lazy groups.

  At last Mr. Forrest paused for a drink of water and apologized: He was losing his voice. Luckily, he had only one item left on his agenda. He would now read a statement suggested by remarks said to have been made by Coach Kingman.

  “Dear professors: Thanks for all your hard work!”

  Were there any questions? There were not. Mr. Forrest thanked everyone and said that the Athletic Association would be “in touch.” With that, he took his leave.

  When he was gone, the president expressed her hope that we had been appropriately enthusiastic in our applause and in our cheers of “Go Tyrants!” She could appreciate that the effort of shamming enthusiasm probably left us feeling the “world exhaustion of a prostitute,” but, as we knew, she had no direct authority over the disposition of Athletic Association funds. Those funds would continue to “trickle down” only as long as the Athletic Association felt that we admired what they did. At least we would no longer have to worry about the football players themselves: As of this fall, they were “academic exempt.”

  She then asked if there were any questions or announcements. In fact, she had one of her own. She had received a text message from Dean Brees, which she would read aloud:

  “Dining halls must improve offerings. Very important! Greetings all.”

  Francis Amundsen, professor of English, observed that this was
a very articulate text message, and he wondered why young people could not follow the dean’s example. Professor Brokovitch suggested that maybe it was because they were undernourished.

  Once again: Were there any more announcements?

  There were not, and on this note the meeting moved into executive session, which is beyond the scope of these minutes. The dispassionate secretary slid his chair back and rose, his wrist aching and his stomach rumbling. There were a few pleasantries to be dispensed with—a good-night here, a see-you-tomorrow there—and then he slipped into the hall and descended the ringing marble steps, wondering where Dean Brees was that evening.

  Special Bulletin

  Tripoli College Office of Environmental Health and Safety

  Environmental Sustainability Initiative

  Invasive Species Alert: African Walking Ape (Homo sapiens)

  From its original home in central East Africa, this tropical creature has spread to every continent except Antarctica and has caused habitat destruction and the displacement or eradication of native species on an unprecedented scale. It threatens organisms across all ecological niches and has done irreparable environmental harm, destroying soil fertility, draining wetlands, contaminating waterways and groundwater supplies, causing deforestation and desertification, and initiating an irreversible process of climate warming that threatens to shift seasonal patterns even further.

  The African Walking Ape is a large-bodied social mammal with a hypertrophic brain and extremely dexterous forepaws, or hands. Adults range from about one hundred to three hundred pounds, although larger and smaller individuals have been observed. Its skin may be anywhere from a sandy cream color to a dark brown, and it is hairless except for a large tuft on the top of the cranium and smaller tufts beneath the arms and between the legs of mature animals. It exhibits marked sexual dimorphism, with males of the species typically larger, more aggressive, and more heavily muscled. Females have proportionally wider hips, narrower shoulders, and two prominent mammary glands on the upper thorax. It is easily distinguished from other apes and monkeys by its distinctive upright posture and enormous cranial capacity.