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"Oh& so are we. It's quite a well-funded program. Quite well funded.
"I'm looking forward to working out the details with you, Dean Donald. The
senator wanted this to be a
very hands-on demonstration program. I hoped my smile wasn't too forced. "His
staff asked me who
besides the president should know, and I insisted that you should also be
notified. I managed not to gag
at that. It was true.
"I am most appreciative of your concern, Professor Cornett. Perhaps we could
meet later in the week.
"I'd be more than happy to meet. What about Friday morning?"
We agreed on eleven on Friday, and he offered three more congratulations
before saying good-bye. I
just sat there. I was certain that Dean Donald was intimating to the
president, without actually claiming it,
that the program had been the result of his wisdom in retaining me at a time
of financial shortfalls.
He could have that.
With a full-time contract position, I might actually be able to reclaim the
Altimus from Raymon's garage
and use it at times. Then I wouldn't always have to take the shuttle. I might
be able to enjoy a few more
small luxuries in life like speaking out once in a while. I might even have
time for some sort of a social
life if I could find anyone who still looked for beauty in the arts.
Chapter 53 Parsfal
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Monday came, and I'd done nothing about the professor. But I kept thinking
about her. Finally, on
Tuesday afternoon, after writing out the lines I'd agonized over all morning
on a plain white card, I took
personal time, and headed for her office. According to the university class
schedule, she was there. I
hoped she was.
I made a stop. The flowers were roses, and real, and very expensive. I didn't
care.
The university's gates accepted my NetPrime ID. I had to ask directions to the
Fine Arts building, but I
managed to find it.
When I got near her office, I could hear someone singing. Then the singing
stopped, and resumed, and
stopped again. I didn't know too much, but she was clearly giving a lesson. So
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I found a bench a ways
down the hall and sat down. My palms were damp.
Was I insane? No& life was too short, and the beauty of words alone, even the
words of the Irishman,
was not enough. Words needed song for full expression.
After about fifteen minutes, a student emerged. She walked slowly.
I waited a moment, and then hurried to the door, keeping the flowers behind my
back as I knocked.
"Yes?"
"Ah& this is Jude Parsfal. I& have something for you.
After what seemed an endless moment, the office door opened. She stood there,
her silver-gray eyes
somber, yet dancing. Then she twitched her head slightly, and flipped back a
few errant strands of that
mahogany hair deftly.
"These are for you. I handed her the bouquet of yellow roses. "They're real
hothouse roses. Not
formulated.
The professor's mouth opened. "Why& ?" She looked at me quizzically, perhaps
even appalled.
"Ah& I'm not& well&  I handed her the card that went with the roses. I watched
as she read the
words I'd written for her.
No wind whispers, disturbs your fingers,
perfect hands where perfection lingers.
Your unsung song spins in my mind
seeking words I still cannot find.
I watched after others did you wrong,
and never heard your favored song,
yet scarce can find the strength to bring
strong warm words for you to sing.
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So these flowers do I proffer
as but gesture, beginning offer.
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She looked up, a faint smile on her face, a smile that could have meant
anything.
"I know, I said hurriedly. "It's not good poetry, and you don't even know me,
except through a few
interviews. It's not like Yeats and his gong-tormented sea. But& I wanted it
to be about now and you,
and not the misty past. And& I didn't want to just let you sing for people who
didn't care, except that
you were a decoration. I paused. "We might have a chance to be more than
hired help. Newsie
researchers are hired help, too. I stopped. I was talking far too much. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]