Part 7 (2/2)
The professor lowered the book ”That's not what I asked.”
I sensed a bad review coming. If she liked the book she wouldn't have hesitated to say so.
”Pedantic,” she replied. ”Contrived. A public relations piece.”
”What?” I cried. That was the second time in as many days someone called my writing pedantic. I liked it even less the second time around. I rose to my book's defense. ”Miss Ling, I'll have you know-”
My book hit the table, cutting short my reb.u.t.tal. ”Miss Ling . . .” the professor said.
On cue she began gathering up papers and books from the table in preparation to leave.
The professor placed a hand on her arm. ”Miss Ling. I'm going to stay here and talk to Mr. Austin. Please start my cla.s.s for me.”
Miss Ling scowled. She directed her displeasure at me.
The professor gave her instructions. ”They're supposed to have read the chapter on General Revelation,” he said. ”Discuss the material with them. If it becomes apparent they are ill-equipped for the discussion, give them a pop quiz. There's a list of questions in the front of my book.”
Her gaze was dark and cold and unwavering. She didn't like me.
”Miss Ling . . . ?”
She gathered up her things and was gone.
The professor folded his arms. ”Two for two, Mr. Austin. Do you always have this effect on people?”
I was as perplexed as he was amused. ”Honestly, Professor, I'm a very likable guy.”
The professor motioned toward a chair. ”How about if you have a seat and explain to me what's so important it's keeping me from my cla.s.s.”
”Yes . . . well . . .” Now that I'd gained a hearing, I wasn't sure how to begin. I took the chair vacated by the brooding giant. ”All right . . . I'm going to mention a name and I want you to tell me if you recognize it.”
”Are you testing me, Mr. Austin?”
”Believe me, Professor, that's not my intention. If you'll indulge me.”
I took his silence as consent. I let a significant pause cleanse the air and I readied myself to judge his reaction. ”Semyaza.”
He didn't blink.
”Do you recognize the name?” I asked.
”I do.”
”Can you tell me in what context?”
Tilting back his head, he studied me a moment. ”No,” he said.
”No?”
”I prefer you to set the context, Mr. Austin.”
His reluctance indicated he was leery of my intentions. Fair enough. He didn't know me. ”What if I told you I might have met someone who is using the name Semyaza for reasons unknown. What would you say to that?”
”I'd say the phrasing of your question indicates you've been hanging around too many politicians.”
I grinned. ”All right. Let me rephrase.”
”Now you sound like a lawyer.” The man had a quick wit and wasn't afraid to use it. I like that in a professor.
I tried again. ”What would you say if I told you I met someone who called himself Semyaza?”
”I'd say someone was playing a practical joke on you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a cla.s.s to teach.”
”Professor, wait! Please . . . this is important. Have you heard the name Semyaza used in any other context than . . . than . . .”
”Than what, Mr. Austin?”
I swallowed hard. ”Than angels,” I said.
He leaned back. ”First, you tell me you've met someone named Semyaza. Then, you ask me if Semyaza can be anything other than an angel. Mr. Austin, are you telling me you've seen an angel?”
”No! An angel? Of course not! It's just that . . .” I sighed heavily. ”Frankly, Professor, I don't know what I saw, or if I really saw it.”
For a long time, the professor said nothing. ”What is it you want from me, Mr. Austin? You're an intelligent man. I find it hard to believe you came all this way to ask me something you could have looked up in an encyclopedia.”
I leaned forward, forearms on knees, and stared at my hands. Why was I so reluctant to tell him what I saw? What's the worst he could say to me? Taking a deep breath, I said, ”I had an experience I can't explain. An unusual encounter. Highly unusual. And during that encounter, I heard the name Semyaza.”
”You heard the name?”
”Yes.”
”Spoken aloud, or in your head?”
I had to stop and think. I closed my eyes and tried to hear the voice again. Not this time. I remembered it being unmistakably strong. Thunderous. I not only heard it, I felt it. It shook the room.
”It was audible,” I said with conviction.
”Tell me exactly what you heard.”
”Well . . . it didn't sound like a single voice, but more like a chorus of voices. It said, 'I am Semyaza. Tremble before me.' ”
The professor cupped his chin in his hand and thought. When he looked up, he reached for my book. ”Tell me, Mr. Austin,” he said. ”What exactly is your relations.h.i.+p to the president of the United States?”
The sudden change of topic caught me off guard.
”Um . . . I hold no official position in the White House, if that's what you're asking, though I have access to it. I have a desk at my disposal for the next six months while we publicize the book. I'm a freelance writer. But what does this have to do with-”
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