by Aaron Thier
Don’t Even Think About It! Buy Your Ticket Today!
Take a stroll down to any of our soft beaches, look out at the maddening beauty of the blue water, feel the sun on your sunburn, and just soak it in. There’s no reason to be haunted by visions of the slave ships in which we suffered and died (10 to 15 percent of us!) on the voyage into bondage. In fact, hardly anyone knows anything about the history of the New World, and most people don’t even care!
St. Renard is a quick flight from the North American mainland, or you can “stow away” on a container ship and enjoy a longer trip at sea. Why wait? For more information, give us a call today. We don’t have a phone in the office yet, but our mobile numbers are on the website!
Spring Semester
From: “Maggie Bell”
To: [email protected]
Date: January 5, 2010, at 3:05 PM
Subject: RE: Hi
Dear Bill,
Thank you so much for the kind words and the book of poetry. I’ve always wanted to read Professor Carlyle’s work. I’m surprised by how, um, lucid it is, given what I know about him . . .
I’m feeling a little better, yes. I feel good about my decision to go away. I think it’s the right thing. I had a really tough semester. I wish I could say why. It wasn’t like I had a bad breakup or Becca turned out to be a racist or whatever. It wasn’t so simple. I just kind of felt more and more alone. Partly I got frustrated because I felt like my old friends weren’t really growing up, and partly it was just that I started to think about what it really meant to be a black person in America. Kabaka had a lot to do with it too. But it’s good, it’s a necessary process. I don’t know. I hope that going to St. Renard will clarify things a little.
Right now I’m home with my brother and my parents. I think I told you that Chris is gay? He keeps telling me that he’s going to come out to Mom and Dad. Right now he and Dad are sitting at the kitchen table and Dad’s going on about how the recession was caused by “illegal Mexicans” buying houses, but he doesn’t know anything, it’s just a weird hectoring monologue like always, and Chris is sitting there listening to it and hoping there’s going to be a moment to tell Dad this really big thing, and my heart just breaks for him.
Dad is one of those guys who hangs a big American flag out in front of the house and soaks the yard in pesticides so it looks like artificial turf. His way of communicating is that he repeats himself over and over and doesn’t listen to a word anyone says. He doesn’t even look at people when he talks to them. Also, I’ve been home for how long now? A few weeks? And he hasn’t once asked me anything about my life at college. When I told him I was going abroad, he wanted to know how much it would cost. He didn’t ask what the program was or why I wanted to go or anything. I wish he’d at least tell me to be careful so I knew he gave a damn.
I don’t really know who Dad is, you know? And I don’t know if he knows who he is. I remember how once, when he was in his lawn-mowing clothes in the front yard, a policeman stopped and demanded to know what he was doing. The policeman thought he was a homeless guy loitering in a rich man’s yard! Pretty much the exact same thing happened to me when the laundry room was closed in our dorm last year and I had to go across to Farmar Hall. I forgot my key and nobody would let me in. But the thing is that I picked the incident apart and worried about it for weeks, and I can’t imagine Dad doing that. He never talked about the lawn-mowing thing. We were pretty young but he didn’t turn it into a lesson or anything. He never said a word. He’s like a superhero of denial. Denial Man.
My poor mom just slips in and out of the kitchen without a word, tidying things up, smiling at everyone. She’s almost transparent from years of self-effacement. Her life is kind of terrible and she’s trying so hard! She’s been a good mom to me and that makes me feel awful too, because the truth is that I don’t like visiting. Every visit is harder than the last. I want to tell her to stick up for herself, have an affair, yell at someone once in a while. I know she’s a smart thoughtful person deep down, but she won’t acknowledge that anything is wrong. She asks me about school and I tell her I’ve been having a hard time and she just goes blank. She makes very general statements, like “Being young can be hard.” We hardly communicate anymore. She won’t listen to bad news. And when I told her about St. Renard, she was so worried that she could barely stand to talk about it. But I guess I prefer worry to indifference.
Thank God for Chris! But he’s so worked up about his own things now that I don’t like to bother him with my own problems, which I can hardly put into words anyway.
I’m beginning to rant. I apologize. When I think about it, I feel like I spent hours ranting at you this fall. But maybe that’s because I actually felt like you were listening. Which is not a familiar experience for me.
Anyway, I’m glad to hear you might be on the island yourself in the next few months. Definitely send me an email. I don’t know what my schedule will be like, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time.
Thanks again for being such a good friend to me this fall.
Best,
Maggie
Minutes / January 2010 Faculty Meeting (Emergency Session)
The faculty secretary, invigorated after a short nap, was among the first to arrive. Although fundamentally disinterested—a keeper of records—he had been perversely curious about today’s meeting. It would be the first at which William Beckford—professor and acting chancellor of the English Department; chair of the Committee on Curriculum and Core Programming (CCCP); executive director, or so the secretary had just been told, of Tripoli’s Proxy College of the West Indies at St. Renard; and now acting president of Tripoli College—would preside.
The acting president was attended by Francis Amundsen, toady and professor of English, who was tasked with operating the gavel. Professor Amundsen did so now, feebly striking the old wooden table in a plea for silence.
Acting President Beckford rose and addressed the faculty, although it must be said that only about 40 percent of the faculty was in attendance. He was, as always, an arresting sight. His extreme old age, his electric blue eyes, his startling teeth, and the hypnotic character of his speech gave the impression of a vivid computer graphic rather than a human man.
His introductory monologue took in many important topics, including the weather, which was inclement; our partnership with Big Anna® Brands, which was proving advantageous; the Tripoli Telegraph, which he had “modernized” and which would publish only approved content this semester; and Tripoli’s Proxy College of the West Indies at St. Renard, which had undergone a change that he would describe, if there was time, later in the meeting.
Dining hall menus had been completely overhauled during the winter break. We would have to say good-bye to the old standards like “Drippy Wrap w/Fish” and Tripoli’s famous pudding bars. The new dietary program, a product of the acting president’s own imagination and research, was based on the principle of calorie restriction, which was proven to lengthen life and improve concentration. Now we would be able to enjoy dishes like “Shaved Manioc with Fresh Potato Greens.” These fully rationalized meals were also much cheaper to produce, which would enable the college to cut redundant dining-services staff by almost 80 percent. Total savings would be at least eight million annually, and Tripoli would go from being an educational institution that consumed, notoriously, more pudding per capita than any other in the United States, to being “considerably more mobile” than rival institutions.
Ginnie Hampton, professor and chair of philosophy, asked whether this would affect our partnership with Big Anna®, no doubt assuming that Big Anna® brand food products were incompatible with such a diet.
The acting president had been anticipating this question, and he was happy to answer it. Big Anna® brand food products, particularly Chocolate Puff Pieces® and Banana Bran Muffins®, were actually an ideal component of his proposed “One Thousand Calorie” diet. They provided a large amount of insoluble fiber and es
sential heavy metals, but they were, more importantly, unique among similar food products in that they were especially rich in inert substrate. They would not tip the scales or compromise the mobility and awareness of our students, as substrate-poor food products and muffins were proven to do.
And what—asked Hanson Brokovitch, professor of religion—about the supplement tablets that students were being asked to take with each meal?
The acting president had been anticipating this question as well, and he was thrilled to answer it. In fact, why not refer that one to the experts? He indicated Tompkins Gerard, professor of biology and director of the pharmacology concentration, who rose unsteadily and made the following statement:
“Malpraxalin® is a comprehensive dietary and mood additive designed to sharpen concentration and increase productive thought volume when taken in coordination with a calorie-restricted diet. It’s one hundred percent natural—made from the sap and fruit of the Carawak Apple Tree of St. Renard. Students are not technically compelled to take it, but we encourage them to give it a try.”
The acting president thanked Professor Gerard, who was struggling to lower himself into his chair, and went on to explain that the supplement had been developed by trusted Big Anna® subsidiary Genutrex® and approved for use in humans by independent nutritional and science consultants. Conveniently, the FDA exercised almost no regulatory control over nutritional supplements of this kind. A statement on their website ran as follows: “Manufacturers do not need to register their products with FDA nor get FDA approval before producing or selling dietary supplements.” Essentially, the acting president explained, market forces determined the safety of a given supplement. It was almost too good to be true.
At the risk of jeopardizing his reputation for objectivity and impartiality, the faculty secretary will note that he himself had been having great success with this new supplement. The ceiling in his bathroom had collapsed three days before, but after a few doses of Malpraxalin®, everything was different. It hadn’t even seemed necessary to repair the damage. In fact, he had taken some just before the meeting, and he took another tablet now.
The acting president had one more item, which involved the location of his offices. He would be retaining his office in Ulster Hall, in which he would continue to function as a professor. When attending to his presidential duties, however, he could be found in a suite of offices on the top floor of Tripoli’s Venezia Museum. He had been inspired by Richard Carlyle, professor of English, who had lived in the museum for a few weeks several years before.
The acting president now gave Professor Carlyle a little wave, but the professor was visibly outraged by the foregoing remark. Although he acknowledged that it had been “very restful” to live in the museum, he demanded that the acting president stop behaving as if the two of them were friends. “I am nothing like you,” he said. He then placed his can of Bud Light and Clamato on top of the recycling bin, fastidiously buttoned his coat, and left the room. The acting president watched him go with an indulgent smile. “Thus,” he said, “the poet laureate of a new and brighter Tripoli.”
There was no time to dwell on this peculiar exchange. The acting president now introduced himself, William Beckford, professor and acting chancellor of the English Department and chair of the CCCP, in which capacity he had some remarks to make.
But Professor Beckford’s remarks must go unrecorded—at this point, the secretary slipped into unconsciousness. When he came to himself, Professor Beckford was already wrapping up. “Thus,” the professor concluded, “we demonstrate to our benefactors, alumni, and current students that we are committed to remaining an institution that does not condone slavery in word or deed, or even by proxy.”
Then Professor Beckford sat down, only to stand up once again and assume the role of acting president. He then asked the faculty whether anyone had seen Bish Pinkman III recently. When there was no answer, he repeated his question in a louder voice. Several members of the faculty said, “No,” and one or two went so far as to say, “Of course not.” The acting president was pleased to hear it, and he said, “Correct.”
With this, he sat down and immediately became, once again, Professor Beckford, in which capacity he wished to ask himself—William Beckford, acting president of Tripoli College—some questions. His questions were these: Had he, the acting president, decided how Tripoli should respond to the rumors of coercive labor practices, harassment of workers, and unsanitary conditions at Big Anna® plantations and factories on St. Renard? If these rumors were substantiated, would the acting president consider ending our relationship with Big Anna®?
Professor Beckford twirled slowly through a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree rotation and underwent, while twirling, a miraculous and instantaneous change, once again becoming Acting President William Beckford. It was a good question, he said, and one that he was glad someone had the courage to ask. In fact, he had been on the point of addressing this issue when he—William Beckford, professor of English—had spoken. But perhaps it was best to refer this matter to William Beckford, executive director of Tripoli’s Proxy College of the West Indies at St. Renard?
The acting president sank to a crouch and then began to rise slowly, thus effecting the necessary transformation. When it was complete, he—William Beckford, executive director of the Proxy College—wished everyone a good evening.
There had been widespread allegations, he said, having to do with criminal labor practices on Big Anna® sugarcane and banana plantations. The riot on St. Renard last semester, though initiated by a few bad apples, had added fuel to the fire, and now the radical and unbalanced ex-professor Kabaka was stirring up more trouble. Obviously, the news from St. Renard was of particular concern not only because we had signed a partnership agreement with Big Anna®, but also because St. Renard was the location of our Proxy College. Indeed, the Field Studies Program in Tropical Agriculture—the largest program at the Proxy College, and now, he added parenthetically, the only program at the Proxy College—was now intimately associated with the Big Anna® operation. This semester, instead of simply “mapping the seafloor and pressing flowers,” as they had in the past, students would get some hands-on experience in the cane fields and banana plantations, where they would help to make Big Anna® agriculture even more sustainable by following LoCarbon™ farming protocols like Human Power™ plow technology.
He appeared to have finished, although he remained standing. A short and restless silence intervened. Then Fitzgerald Simon, professor of francophone language and literature, rose and said that he—that is to say, William Beckford—had not answered his own questions. How should we respond to the horror stories we had been hearing? Should we demand accountability? Should we reconsider our agreement with Big Anna®? Should we express sympathy and support, as some of our students had already done, for Commandant Kabaka and his Antillia Liberation Army?
Executive Director Beckford snapped his fingers and emitted a vocalization not unlike a pig call, as a result of which he transformed himself back into Acting President Beckford. Then he crossed his arms and said that he’d wondered when we’d be hearing from Professor Simon. He explained that anyone who had been following the story would know that Big Anna® had long been the victim of absurd rumors and conspiracy theories.
The secretary was transfixed by the acting president’s extraordinary teeth. They looked like porcelain, and this reminded him of his own upstairs bathroom. It was still, as noted, open to the winter winds.
Professor Simon asked for clarification. Could the acting president please just answer the questions?
Indeed he could. He would even give his answer in the form of a story:
He had spoken recently with two students—Johnny Singer and Bethany Page-Exley—who had gone to study on St. Renard last semester. Ms. Page-Exley had become romantically involved with a local man employed as a ditch digger for Big Anna®. Mr. Singer had become friends with some of the cane cutters. Both students had been drinking rum in a lo
cal restaurant when a “labor-related” disturbance had broken out . . .
And this, to be sure, was at least the beginning of a story, but the secretary can’t have been alone in feeling that the acting president’s narrative now began to shed significance as a snake sheds its skin. For instance, he pointed out that St. Renard had a small but significant Danish population. He then reminded us that the island nation had been, until Big Anna® saved the day, massively indebted to the International Monetary Fund (IMF). He said that he admired the Renardenne custom of not eating more than was necessary to sustain life, and sometimes not even that. He himself had eaten only three Chocolate Puff Pieces® that day, and there were some days when he consumed only a thimbleful of Big Anna® brand Coconut Wine™.
Here was a tip: Extend your life by chilling those parts of your body that were not in use. And who said humans couldn’t photosynthesize? All it required was an act of will. Bristlecone pines lived five thousand years.
Plenty of labor disputes on St. Renard had been settled peacefully.
Don’t grow new hair in the summertime. Why would you?
It was only in the celebration following the successful resolution of a labor dispute that some Big Anna® employees had been cut to ribbons.
Were there any questions?
There was a period of silence, perhaps almost ten seconds, while faculty members absorbed this information. Then Professor Hampton said that she still didn’t understand how Big Anna® brand food products could possibly be low in calories. Were they low in sugar? If so, why did Big Anna® maintain such large sugar plantations?