Part 9 (1/2)
Samira frowned. ”Don't be ridiculous. They're meant to be spoken, and besides-”
”Poetry is a lonely pleasure, a solitary art. You don't want other people distracting you, you don't want others reading poetry in ways you wouldn't. The way to make poetry ridiculous and effete is to read it in public. T.S. Eliot, for example, should never have recorded his poems for the world.”
Samira laughed. ”Or given us Cats Cats.”
”Authors should be read and not heard. If you doubt that, go and hear Margaret Atwood.”
”Nonsense. How about Dylan Thomas's readings? Or Charles d.i.c.kens? Or Mark Twain?”
”There have been exceptions.” Norval paused, eyeing Samira intently, as if he had just noticed an undervalued piece in an antique shop. ”You sound like you're a student of literature.”
”I believe that's almost a personal question. The first since the elevator, if I'm not mistaken.”
”Do you want a job?”
”Doing what?”
”Teaching.”
Samira laughed. ”I've only got a general BA. A shaky one, at that.”
”We'll cook up some degrees for you, along with some publications and references.”
”No, I don't think I could possibly-”
”What school did you go to?”
”Cornell.”
”Perfect. What was your field?”
”I didn't have one.”
”What fiction do you like? What century?”
”Well, right now I'm sort of into the Female Gothic ...”
”Really? Like Anne Radcliffe? You like that sort of thing? Terrifying adventures in lonely castles?”
Samira sighed. ”There's more to Anne Radcliffe than just-”
”Terrified girl flees, pursued by ghosts and lecherous monks. Caught, she then escapes, is caught again and escapes, is caught again and escapes.”
Samira smiled, despite herself. ”There's more to Anne Radcliffe than just-”
”That's settled, then. You'll give a couple of courses on the Gothic novel.”
”But how can you just-”
”Because I've been having intercourse with the director since the day she hired me. Three years ago. Which is the only reason I've not yet been sacked. Well, maybe not the only reason. If my tenure were revoked, there'd be a revolt from the student union.”
Samira rolled her raven eyes. ”And why is that?”
”I give all my students an A, and no a.s.signments.”
”And s.e.xual edification, I presume?”
”If requested.”
”But what's all this got to do with-”
”Blorenge begins his sabbatical next semester. I'll tell the director I've got a kick-a.s.s replacement. And since Blorenge will be spending his sabbatical in a detox centre, or perhaps in s.e.x-offender therapy, it could end up being permanent.”
Samira stopped to think about all this. ”s.e.x-offender therapy?”
”The women's swim team caught him hiding in a locker, looking through the vents, in onanistic ferment. So you want the job or not?”
Samira shook her head. ”No. I'm not qualified to teach literature. And besides, I've moved on.”
”To what?”
”Art therapy.”
”You've got got to be kidding.” to be kidding.”
”No, I'm not.”
Norval again fished out his pocket watch. ”Maasalaama.”
”Can I ask you one more question before you leave?”
”If it's the last.”
”What's that staircase for?” Samira pointed. ”That one, that goes nowhere.”
Norval hesitated, took a final drag from his cigarette. ”Unmotivated steps.”
”I'm sorry?” Wasn't that the name of his novel?
”In architecture they're known as unmotivated steps. They do nothing, they have no destination. They're a reminder.”
”A reminder of what?” She looked at Norval and knew he wouldn't answer: his mind was a kingdom to him, a kingdom never invaded. ”I mean, it's none of my business, you don't have to tell me ...”
Norval was already turning the doorhandle. ”Glad you feel that way.”
”Wait, Norval, don't go. You're not serious about ... you know, what you said before, about ending your days in water and ... all that? I mean, anytime soon?”