Dancing with Death

by Ruth Wade

  As they went towards the dining-room, Mike asked:

  “Are things done very formally? I have never had a meal here before.”

  “Just like an ordinary restaurant,” said Daly, “except that the food is very good. At one time there was a high table, and port, and much better food for the staff than for the students, grace in Latin and I don’t know what. But all that has changed. Now the professors feel most thankful to the students for letting them eat in the same room with them at all. I like it better this way, I must say. The other thing used to frighten the visitors.”

  Though he dared not let Professor Daly see it, Mike was very much impressed with his first sight of the college dining-room. The panelled walls and high windows invested it with an exciting strangeness. The polished parquet floor reflected light from four splendid Waterford glass chandeliers. There were round tables with white linen cloths, and table-napkins as big as winding-sheets. Professor Milligan was seated at his table, unfolding his napkin, as they came in.

  “English educational Gothic, this part of the building,” said Daly, “but it impresses people, for some reason. The chandeliers are magnificent.”

  Above the heavy oak door an inscription was carved, not very expertly. Daly grasped Mike’s sleeve and pointed to it with pride.

  “This was carved by a student called Murphy, in the year of the great famine,” he said. “I mean the great College famine, of course, in 1830, when the food was so bad that the fat students trembled for their skins and the thin ones died like flies. It’s an ancient Irish proverb, composed by Murphy himself, I believe: ‘Ni léanta go lionta.’ That is, as I need hardly interpret to a Galway man, learning cannot thrive on an empty stomach. It has been left there ever since as a warning to the powers that order the food.”

  They sat at a table at one end of the long room.

  “You are a school inspector, I think, with that suit,” said Daly, leaning back to observe Mike impartially. “Galway graduate — Master’s degree, of course. Subjects, Irish, history. Some taste for mathematics, but one has to make a choice. Western district — Mayo would be best. You have come to Dublin to hand in your reports. You could post them, of course, but you enjoy the little trip, and you like meeting your friends in the department.”

  “What is my salary, please?” Mike asked meekly.

  “It doesn’t arise. Gentlemen never discuss such things. It must be lower than a professor’s, of course. Better not to think of it at all, if you can.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  It was half-past seven and the room was rapidly filling up. Daly had placed Mike well, so that he had an uninterrupted view down the length of the room. There were no women present.

  “We keep them in a corral at the other end of the building,” Daly explained in answer to Mike’s question. “They don’t have dinner, of course. That would be far too good for them. They just have luncheon, and in the evening they fend for themselves as best they can. Tea, I believe, in cafés in the town.”

  “Do they live in the College?”

  “Good Lord, no! What an idea! They were only let in on sufferance about fifty years ago, and we are watching them ever since for signs of insubordination.” Mike noticed that the tables by the walls were occupied by the staff, while the students took the middle of the room. He asked if there was any reason for this.

  “Purely instinctive,” said Daly. “Very few professors would feel easy if the students were behind them. It’s an elementary precaution. After all, as they would tell you, if Agamemnon had locked the bathroom door, he would be alive to-day.”

  Mike was silenced for some minutes by this statement. They had artichoke soup, thick with cream, served at great speed by a long, lean waiter, who ran down the room with a line of plates on his arm, distributing them one by one with a strange little bow every time. Mike was fascinated.

  “Forty years, man and boy, I suppose?” he said.

  “Only thirty,” said Daly. “They age young. I don’t know what we do to them.”

  They had cutlets, curled up and clothed in batter. In a low voice, Daly began to tell him who the different people were, with little details about each which made it easy for Mike to append characters to them.

  “We have coffee in another room,” said the old man, as soon as the cheese had come. “You’ll meet them then. The President always comes over.”

  And now at last he told Mike why he had asked him to dinner. Deliberately, Mike had not hurried him, for Daly always had a way of building up his background before coming to the main business. Mike knew that time was not being wasted, and that it was more profitable to concentrate on the information that he was being offered than to speculate impatiently about the reason why he had been summoned at all.

  “So you see why you must meet all the people who are connected with Bradley,” said Daly.

  “And Bradley himself, of course,” said Mike,

  “In a way, Bradley is the least odd of them all. But that only makes it harder to understand him.”

  As Daly had foreseen, before they left the dining-room a procession of his former colleagues marched upon him. They had waited until they had finished dinner, and Professor Kelly, in his fear that Daly would escape, had left his table in such a hurry that he was holding a half-eaten cheese biscuit in his hand. As soon as they found that he was going to take coffee with them, they relaxed a little, and the whole party moved out of the dining-room. The door of the adjoining room stood open. Presently Mike was standing before a blazing fire, holding his coffee cup and being introduced to one after another of Daly’s friends. They looked him over sharply and were extremely affable.

  “They like you for being so tall and thin and ascetic-looking,” said Daly in his ear. “Such a contrast with their own waistlines.”

  “They are all much too fat,” said Professor Fox emphatically.

  He was a tall, heavy-faced man of about fifty. Daly had said that he was a zoologist. Mike remembered this because of his appropriate name.

  “Have you a good diet just now?” Daly asked mischievously, in the tone that one might use to ask if he had a good cook.

  “Excellent,” said Fox. “You just eat nothing at all.”

  “How extraordinary,” murmured Daly. “You remind me of the story of the Ballyvourneyman’s donkey.”

  “What was that?” asked Fox suspiciously.

  “Just when he had taught it to live without food,” said Daly, “didn’t it go and die on him.”

  “Very funny,” said Fox coldly. “I was speaking figuratively, of course.” Daly, who hated imprecision above all things, raised his eyebrows at this. “What I mean is that I eat the minimum at meals, and have a little snack between them, so that I won’t get too hungry. I planned to lose two stone in six weeks, but I’m afraid it’s not working as well as I thought it would.”

  “That’s because you eat sweets all the time,” said a young man who was standing by. “Why don’t you just eat everything and see what happens? I believe in being happy.”

  “Obviously,” said Fox nastily, with a meaning eye on the young man’s waistcoat.

  He seemed not to mind in the least, and smiled at Fox’s back as the older man stumped away.

  “This is Professor Hamilton,” said Daly to Mike. “He’s just back from America. How does it feel to be a professor, Hamilton?”

  “No more getting up at half-past six,” chanted Hamilton. “Running up a ladder with a hod full of bricks. No more tobacco — nothing but cigars. For I am the driver on the new tramcars!”

  Daly beamed at him delightedly.

  “I do like a man who can count his blessings,” he said.

  Hamilton winked at Mike. He was very short, with a round head which would soon be bald. He had the comfortable, calculating eye of a baby. His coffee was heaped with cream.

  Professor Delaney came across, holding his saucer at a slant so that Mike waited in agony for the cup to slide to the floor. Strolling after him, smirking, came
a thin elderly man with an unpleasant face. He took no notice of Mike, beyond a distant nod, and addressed himself to Daly.

  “Have you heard about Delaney’s latest idea?” he drawled. “Do tell them, Delaney.”

  “I meant to, Burren,” said Delaney eagerly. “That’s what I came over for.” He turned his back to them, lifted his coat-tails and said: “Feel!”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Daly, looking disconcerted for the first time in Mike’s experience.

  “No need,” said Delaney briskly. “Go on, feel!”

  Daly put out an unwilling hand and felt, while Burren took a sip of his coffee with an expression of derision which Mike found almost insupportable. Daly withdrew his hand after one poke and said uneasily:

  “What is it, Delaney?”

  “Dunlopillo,” said Delaney triumphantly. “I have a sort of pocket built into the lining of my trousers, and the little cushion just slips in. It took my tailor a long time to understand what I wanted, but he does now. I’ll give you his name, if you want to get it done — it only costs five shillings for the pocket. The cushion is more, of course, but you can use the same cushion for all your trousers.” He pirouetted. “And you would hardly notice it. The comfort is unbelievable. I wish I had thought of it years ago. You really must try it, Daly.”

  Mike chuckled aloud at the vision of Daly’s suave contours distorted with a cushion. Delaney turned eagerly to him.

  “Wonderful idea, isn’t it? You could hardly believe the difference it makes. I can sit down anywhere now, in the greatest comfort. It’s marvellous for a long sermon, or a public lecture, or for sitting on a wall when I’m making notes during a dig. I don’t know why it has never been thought of before.”

  “I can’t imagine,” Burren sneered. “Have you thought of taking out a patent?”

  “What a splendid idea, Burren!” Delaney’s cup wobbled while he seized Burren’s hand and shook it. “What a clever fellow you are to have thought of it! I must see about it first thing in the morning. Oh, dear! I hope my tailor has not got there first. He’s quite capable of it — a most unscrupulous man. I caught him showing it to another customer.”

  While Delaney chattered on, Mike became aware that silence had fallen upon the other groups of men standing about the room. It was a watchful, uneasy silence. All their eyes were turned towards the door. Delaney, suddenly unhappy, stopped and looked into the fire, as if he had no interest in the man who had appeared in the doorway. Glancing quickly at the faces around him, Mike felt the little needles of their hatred run through him.

  “Bradley,” said Daly’s voice in his ear.

  Chapter 3

  Daly s face wore an eager little smile quite inappropriate to the atmosphere of the room. It was clear that he had not known how universal or how strong was the hatred of Bradley. Mike found himself holding his breath like a man under water, so that it was quite painful when he released it.

  At first glance it was not obvious why Bradley should be so disliked. He looked solid and dependable, Mike thought, the sort of man who would take the burdens of departmental administration off the unwilling shoulders of the professors. But he looked as if he might take everything else off them, too. He gave his assembled colleagues one glance of amusement, and made straight for Daly.

  “I didn’t know we had a guest,” he said reproachfully. “I should have come in much sooner.”

  A spontaneous burst of chatter began. Delaney slipped away to a far comer and hid behind Professor Fox, who immediately turned around and offered him his bag of sweets. Out of the tail of his eye Mike saw him take one with an expression of gratitude. Now Daly was introducing him to Bradley, with a tissue of lies for his history. Bradley held his hand for longer than is usual and gazed at him with large, deep, insincere eyes. Daly watched them for a moment and then moved away through the room. Mike and Bradley were left as it were on an island by the fire. Bradley seemed quite unconcerned, but Mike wished that Daly had stayed a little longer, if only to increase their number to three.

  The President chatted pleasantly about the College and its history. Then he began to ask questions about Mike’s so-called work. Only that he knew Daly would not have put him into such a false position without very good reason, Mike would have been furiously angry. Any moment now it seemed, he must say something foolish and be exposed for a fraud. But after a moment he observed that Bradley was not really listening to his answers. He seemed only to recall his mind for long enough to ask another intelligent-sounding question in sequence with the last. Then his eyes were darting around the room again, dwelling for an instant on one face after another, as if he were looking for something which he was not certain of recognizing.

  “He is looking for his enemy,” thought Mike.

  “He is looking for a friend,” thought Daly, and smiled at Bradley’s unresponsive face from a far comer of the room.

  Professor Fox, to whom Daly was talking, had been about to offer him a sweet out of his little bag. Now he changed his mind, took one himself, held it under his nose for a moment before putting it into his mouth, and returned the bag to his pocket. Daly was rather relieved, for he was careful about not putting on weight. Fox went on with telling him about the sins of Bradley.

  “Fellow belongs to no church,” he was saying querulously. “That’s very awkward in Ireland. Never know where you are with him. Makes him too independent.”

  “But he’s a good administrator?” Daly said.

  “Too good. Little boys watching to see you’re in time for lectures. Your income stated in every detail to the Income Tax sharks. A damn’ nuisance, in fact.”

  “Things couldn’t have gone on as they were under Blake,” Daly pointed out.

  “Bradley is a crook,” said Fox, bringing the word out carefully, pronouncing it to rhyme with shook, as if he had learned it from a ten-year-old nephew. “You have only to look at him.”

  They were joined by Milligan, who said:

  “Not talking about Bradley, are you? His name should be taboo. He brings out the worst in all of us.”

  “Perhaps it’s just as well,” said a gloomy voice behind him. “Better let it out than bottle it up. We’re a sad lot. We don’t deserve any better of the world — ”

  “Badger, how are you?” Daly was shaking hands delightedly with the newcomer. “Glum as ever, I see.”

  A shadowy smile wrinkled Badger’s face, his dark blue eyes flashed and sparkled for a second, and went cold again. He was in his early forties, of medium height with nondescript, mouse-coloured hair, rather thin, and a parchment complexion which gave him an unreal appearance, like a bad stained-glass window. His eyes were his most striking feature, for he could not altogether veil their remarkable intelligence. He had the turned-down mouth of a neurotic. The tone of his voice, which was meant to be Socratic and detached, had a distinctly querulous note. Daly entered into lively discussion with him. Fox began to offer Milligan a sweet, changed his mind and put the bag in his pocket without taking one himself either.

  “A happy family,” Bradley was saying. “A university should be like a happy family. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes,” said Mike doubtfully.

  In the happiest family that he knew, the various members rarely met except for meals. Suddenly he was seized with a desire to tell the truth.

  “I don’t think that a large group is ever like a happy family,” he said. “It’s a fine achievement to get them to look happy even for a little while every day.”

  Bradley glanced at him sharply and said:

  “I am rather tired to-night. One should never express platitudes. I’m always doing it. Yes, it has a civilizing influence, this meeting for coffee every evening. Will you come to dinner to-morrow evening at my house? I’m asking Daly.”

  “I’m not staying in the College, you know,” Mike pointed out gently.

  “I know,” said Bradley. “But if you wouldn’t mind coming again to-morrow — I have a number of people coming — I should like to k
now you better — ”

  “I’ll come, then,” said Mike. “It’s very kind of you.”

  But Bradley was not listening. His eyes were roaming around the room again, while he seemed to be trying to catch the drops of conversation that sprayed as far as where he was standing. Mike felt a sudden sharp pang of pity for him. Though he had never met him before, he could see that Bradley’s self-confidence must have been his stock-in-trade. Without it he was a hollow man indeed. Mike met frightened men every day in the course of his business. He longed to declare himself to Bradley and offer his help, but he knew that this would not do. Bradley was not a child. He probably despised himself for feeling frightened, and would react by spurning Mike’s offer and denouncing him as a mountebank. This was not to be risked at any cost.

  The group was breaking up now and Daly was weaving his way across the room towards them. Bradley had suddenly begun to talk feverishly to Mike about the importance of vocational schools, the poor man’s university, the countryman’s best preparation for the battle of life, the backbone of the country. It did not require much perspicacity to see that he was only talking so that he would not have to greet his colleagues in any way as they passed by. When he became aware that Professor Daly was at his elbow he dried up as abruptly as he had begun.

  Daly gave no sign that he had heard a word. Bradley made great play of disposing of his cigarette-end in the fire, while Mike and Daly waited. By the time he had dropped it twice in the hearth, and had at last managed to throw it into the fire, the room was empty of all but themselves. Then Bradley seemed to grow again to his normal size. He seized Daly and Mike by an elbow each, all unconscious that he was giving great offence to both by doing so, and steered them out of the room, talking very fast.

  “Mr. Kenny is having dinner with us to-morrow night, Daly,” he said. “You’ll both be a great help in entertaining Leahy for me. I’ve been putting off having Leahy because I needed some outsiders to talk to him. He’s not at all the academic type, ha-ha. At seven o’clock, if you please, and quite informal. Good night. So glad to have met you, Kenny.”