Then, as if in slow motion, Christa’s expression changed and hardened. She scrambled to her feet.
Out of the corner of her eye, Julia saw Professor Pacciani take hold of Christa’s elbow somewhat roughly, trying to pull her back into her seat. But Christa wrenched her arm free.
“I have a question.”
Julia bit her lip unconsciously, her heart leaping into her throat.
As if it had been choreographed, every member of the audience turned to look at Christa. Several conferencegoers whispered to their neighbors, their eyes alive with anticipation. Christa’s conflict with the Emersons was well known now by almost every attendee. Indeed, the room began to buzz with a kind of nervous energy as everyone wondered what she was going to say.
“There are so many holes in your paper, I don’t know where to begin. But let’s start with your research, such as it is.” Christa’s tone was contemptuous. “The majority of papers on this passage accept the fact that Francis came for Guido. A few recent papers deny that Francis appeared. But no one”—she paused for emphasis—“no one thinks that Francis appeared but not for Guido’s soul. Either Guido is lying or he isn’t. It can’t be half and half, like cream.”
She smirked as a few members of the audience laughed.
Julia swallowed hard, her eyes darting around the room, reading everyone’s reaction before returning to Christa’s.
“Furthermore, you don’t even mention the beginning of canto twenty-seven, when Guido explains to Dante that he’s telling the truth because he thinks that Dante will spend the rest of eternity in Hell and therefore won’t be able to tell anyone what really happened. That passage demonstrates that Guido is telling the truth about Francis’s appearance.
“Finally, if you’d bothered to read Professor Hutton’s seminal work on the organization of the Inferno, you’d know that he thought the demon’s speech was reliable because his words were historically accurate. So Hutton thought that Francis appeared for Guido’s soul, too.”
With a proud smile, Christa sat down, waiting for Julia’s response. She was so proud of herself, so self-satisfied, she missed the look that Professor Picton gave to Professor Pacciani. The look indicated very clearly that Katherine was holding Pacciani responsible for the flamboyant behavior of his guest, and that she was not pleased with that behavior. In response, Professor Pacciani whispered in Christa’s ear, gesticulating wildly.
Julia simply stood there, blinking rapidly, while every single person in the room waited for her answer.
Gabriel moved forward in his chair, as if he were going to stand. He thought better of it, however, when Professor Picton narrowed her eyes at him. The expression on his face was thunderous as he glared in Christa’s direction.
Paul muttered an expletive and folded his arms across his chest.
Professor Picton simply nodded at Julia, her face a picture of confidence.
Julia raised a shaky hand to push her hair behind her ear, the diamonds in her engagement ring catching the light.
“Um, let’s begin with your point that some interpreters believe that Francis came for Guido’s soul and that this can be shown by his opening lines to Dante.”
Julia read the lines in Italian, her pronunciation sure and musical,
“‘S’i’ credesse che mia risposta fosse
a persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
questa fiamma staria stanza più scosse;
ma però che già mai di questo fondo
non torno vivo alcun, s’i’ odo il vero,
sanza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.’”
Julia began to stand a little taller.
“In this passage, Guido says he’s willing to tell the truth since he believes that Dante is one of the damned and thus wouldn’t be able to repeat the story. But Guido’s tale is self-serving. He blames everyone—the pope, the demon, and by implication, St. Francis—for his fate. There’s nothing in his account that he should be embarrassed about. If anything, the story he tells is one he would want to have repeated. He simply doesn’t want to tip his hand by saying so, which is why he gives the speech I just quoted.
“You’re also forgetting this line:
“‘Ora chi se’, ti priego che ne conte;
non esser duro più ch’altri sia stato,
se ‘l nome tuo nel mondo tegna fronte.’”
Growing in confidence, Julia resisted the urge to smile, choosing rather to meet Christa’s gaze gravely.
“Dante tells Guido that he intends to repeat his tale in the world. It’s only after Dante says this that Guido recounts his life story. Also, we know that Dante doesn’t resemble the other shades physically. So it’s likely that Guido recognized that Dante wasn’t dead.”
Christa began speaking, but Julia lifted a patient hand, indicating that she wasn’t finished.
“There’s textual evidence for my interpretation. There’s a parallel passage in the fifth canto of Purgatorio, in which Guido’s son talks about how an angel came for his soul at his death. Perhaps it’s the responsibility of angels and not saints to ferry souls to Paradise. Thus, Francis appears at Guido’s death for quite a different purpose.
“As for your last point, about Professor Hutton’s work. If you’re referring to Fire and Ice: Desire and Sin in Dante’s Inferno, then your characterization of his position is incorrect. Although I don’t have a copy of the book with me, there’s a footnote in chapter ten in which he states that he believed that Francis appeared, because he thinks the words of the demon were directed at someone other than Guido, himself. But Professor Hutton says he has doubts as to whether Francis appeared for Guido’s soul or for some other reason. That’s all he says on the matter.”
Christa stood up as if to argue, but before a word could exit her mouth, an aged professor dressed entirely in tweed turned around to face her. He looked at her contemptuously through his tortoiseshell glasses.
“Can we move on? You’ve asked your question and the speaker answered it. Adequately, I might add.”
Christa was taken aback, but she quickly regrouped, protesting that she should have an opportunity to ask a supplementary question.
Once again, the audience reacted with whispered words, but Julia noticed that the expressions on their faces had changed. Now they were looking at Julia with a kind of muted appreciation.
“Can we move on? I’d like the opportunity to ask a question.” The aged professor turned away from Christa and directed his gaze to the moderator, who stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“Ah, if there’s time we’ll come back to you, miss. But I believe Professor Wodehouse has the floor.”
The aged man in tweed muttered a thank-you and stood up. He removed his glasses and waved them in Julia’s direction.
“Donald Wodehouse of Magdalen.” He introduced himself.
Julia’s face paled, for Professor Wodehouse was a Dante specialist whose standing rivaled that of Katherine Picton’s.
“I’m familiar with the footnote you’re referring to in Old Hut’s book. You’ve summarized it correctly. A different view is taken by Emerson in his volume.” At this, Wodehouse gestured in Gabriel’s direction. “But I see you haven’t been swayed by him, despite the fact that you two share a last name.”
Laughter erupted from the crowd, and Gabriel winked at Julia proudly.
“As you point out, it’s perplexing to see why Francis would appear at the death of a false Franciscan, but we need to posit Francis’s appearance in order to make sense of the demon’s speech. So we’re left with half-and-half as the woman behind me mentioned. I don’t find that problematic. Half-truth, half-falsity seems to pervade all of Guido’s words. The ambiguity and rhetorical sophistry is what one would expect in a person guilty of fraudulent counsel. So I tend to agree with much of what you’ve said, and although I can’t speak for him, I surmise that Old Hut would
too, if he were here.”
Julia exhaled slowly in relief, her fingers loosening their iron grip on the lectern. Her mind was bracing for his next words, but she felt vindicated by the professor’s remarks.
Professor Wodehouse glanced at his handwritten notes before continuing.
“You’ve provided an interpretation that’s certainly as good a theory as any, and better than those accounts that would attribute ignorance or injustice to Francis. But let’s be clear. It’s speculation.”
“Yes, it is.” Julia’s voice was low but determined. “I’d welcome suggestions of alternative interpretations.”
Professor Wodehouse shrugged. “Who knows why Francis did anything? Perhaps he was supposed to meet another soul in Assisi and was merely waylaid by an opportunistic fraud.”
At this, the audience laughed.
“I do, however, have a question.” He replaced his glasses on his face and looked down at his notes. “I’d like you to say more about the agreement that existed between Boniface and Guido. You rather glossed over that part in your paper, and I think the matter merits more attention.”
And with that, he sat down.
Julia nodded, frantically trying to gather her thoughts.
“My thesis was on the interpretation of Francis’s appearance, not Guido’s sin. Nevertheless, I’m happy to expand on that part of the paper.”
Julia began a short but fluid summary of Guido’s encounter with Pope Boniface VIII and its aftermath, which seemed to satisfy the professor. However, she mentally made note of the fact that he’d thought her paper lacking in that respect. She’d attend to his worry in her revision of the paper for potential publication.
A few more questions were asked and answered, and then the moderator thanked Julia. A round of applause that bordered on the enthusiastic filled the room, and Julia noticed several older professors nodding at her.
When the moderator invited everyone to pause for tea and coffee, Julia watched in surprise as Professor Pacciani took Christa by the hand and led her away.
Julia walked over to Gabriel, eagerly searching his face.
He smiled and linked their pinky fingers surreptitiously.
“That’s my smart girl,” he whispered.
Chapter Sixteen
Julia made the rounds during the coffee break, speaking to Professor Wodehouse and others about her paper. It was almost universally acknowledged that her research was very good and that she’d handled the questions admirably. In fact, more than one conferencegoer remarked that they were surprised she was only a graduate student and not a junior professor.
While his wife enjoyed her academic triumph, Gabriel strolled outside, sipping his coffee in the Oxford sunshine.
He was grateful for the fine weather and lack of rain. He was also grateful that Julia’s presentation had gone so well. Yes, she’d appeared nervous, and as always, there was room for improvement. But given her status as a doctoral freshman, many of the attendees had been duly impressed. He silently offered a prayer of thanks.
Midprayer, Paul Norris approached him, his hands jammed into his pockets.
They made patient, polite small talk at first. Then Gabriel noticed that Paul was regarding him with something akin to agitation.
“Is there a problem?” Gabriel’s voice was deceptively soft. Soft like Scotch.
“No.” Paul removed his hands from his pockets. He was about to reenter the college when he stopped.
“Fuck it,” he muttered.
He squared his shoulders, facing his former dissertation director.
“Professor Picton would like you to be an external reader on my dissertation.”
Gabriel regarded Paul coolly. “Yes, she mentioned that.”
Paul waited for the Professor to continue, but he didn’t.
“Uh, is that something you’d consider?”
Gabriel rocked back on his heels. “I’ll consider it. Your dissertation topic is good and I was satisfied with the work that you did for me. I passed you to Katherine for personal reasons, otherwise, I’d still be directing your dissertation.”
Paul looked away uncomfortably.
“Julia did well.” He changed the subject.
“Yes, she did.”
“She even handled Christa.”
Gabriel’s face wore a look of pride. “Julianne is a remarkable woman. She’s much stronger than she looks.”
“I know.” Paul’s eyes hardened into what could have been a glare.
“You seemed to have a lot to say to and about my wife.” Gabriel’s tone grew progressively cooler.
“What are you doing to put a stop to the rumors? I was out at UCLA in March and people were talking about how Julia boinked you in order to graduate and get into Harvard.”
A muscle jumped in Gabriel’s jaw.
“Those rumors are the fruits of Miss Peterson’s poisonous tree. She will be dealt with, I assure you.”
“Well, you need to step it up.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
Paul shifted his weight, but he would not be deterred.
“When I arrived yesterday, I overheard a couple of the old folks talking about Julia. They assumed she was a bimbo and that’s why she was on the program.”
“I think it’s safe to say she proved them wrong. Julianne’s paper was well presented and well received. There’s also the little matter that rather than simply boinking her”—at this, Gabriel waved his hand distastefully—“I married her.”
“She may be your wife, but you don’t deserve her.”
Gabriel took a menacing step closer.
“What did you say?”
Paul drew himself to his full height, which was an inch taller than his former professor.
“I said you don’t deserve her.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Gabriel threw his china coffee cup in frustration. It smashed on the pavement.
“Every night when I fall asleep with her in my arms, I thank God she’s mine. Every morning when I wake up, my first thought is that I’m grateful she married me. I will never be worthy of her. But I spend every day trying my damnedest. You were her friend when she needed one. But listen to me when I tell you, Paul, you do not want to push me.”
A long silence passed between them. Gabriel held on to his temper as the result of a Herculean effort.
Paul was the first to look away.
“When I first met her, she was so jumpy. I felt like I had to whisper just so I wouldn’t scare her. She isn’t like that anymore.”
“No, she isn’t.”
Paul hunched his shoulders. “She was telling me about her program at Harvard over lunch. She loves it.”
“I know that.” Gabriel’s expression grew even darker. “And I know you want her. I’m telling you, you can’t have her.”
Paul met his gaze. “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong?” The Professor challenged him, taking a step forward. They were now mere inches apart, the Professor’s posture angry and threatening.
“I don’t just want her. I love her. She’s the one.”
Gabriel stared at him incredulously. “She can’t be the one. She’s my wife!”
“I know.”
Paul looked over the Professor’s shoulder at Woodstock Road, shaking his head.
“I met a pretty, sweet, Catholic girl. The kind of woman I could introduce to my parents. The kind of woman I’ve been looking for my whole life. I treated her right, we became friends, and when an asshole came along and broke her heart, I was there. She cried on my fucking shoulder. She fell asleep on my fucking couch.”
Gabriel snapped his jaw shut furiously.
“The semester ended and she followed her dream to Harvard. I helped her move. I found her a part-time job and an apartment.
But when I finally told her how I felt, when I finally asked her to choose me, she couldn’t. Not because she didn’t care about me, or didn’t feel anything. But because she was in love with the asshole who broke her heart.”
Paul laughed without amusement.
“And this guy, he’s bad news. He fucks around. He treats her like dirt. He drinks too much. For all I know, he seduced her for kicks. He was involved with a professor who hits on her students and is into BDSM. So who knows what he does to my girl behind closed doors? When he leaves her, I’m ecstatic, thinking now she has a chance to be with someone who’ll be good to her. Someone who’ll be gentle with her and never, ever make her cry. Then, to my fucking astonishment, the asshole comes back. He fucking returns. And what does he do? He asks her to marry him. And she accepts!”
He kicked at the pavement in frustration.
“That’s my life, in a fucking nutshell. Find the perfect girl, lose the perfect girl to an asshole who broke her heart and will probably break it again and again. And then get a fucking invitation to their big-ass wedding in Italy.”
Gabriel ground his teeth together. “In the first place, she is not your girl and she never was. I don’t have to justify myself to you or to anyone else. But out of respect for my wife, who seems to care about you, I’ll admit I was an asshole. I’m not that man anymore. I never fucked around on her, not even once, and I’m sure as hell not going to break her heart again.”
“Good.” Paul shuffled his feet. “Then let her finish her program.”
“Let her?” Gabriel’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Let her?”
“She might decide to give up or take time off or something. Encourage her to continue.”
Gabriel’s eyes flashed. “If you have information you want to share, Mr. Norris, I suggest you spit it out.”
“Julia feels guilty about making her grad program such a high priority.”
Gabriel scowled as the import of Paul’s words became clear.
“She told you this?”
“She also said that she doesn’t have any friends.”
Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy Page 115