The Paper Chase

by John Osborn

  Anderson smiled.

  “I’ll start,” he said. “I have not yet reached the stage where my outline is reducible to a single word. Yet at fifty pages, if I may pat myself on the back, it is clean and concise. ”

  “All right,” Ford said. “Kevin?”

  “It’s coming,” Kevin muttered, turning red.

  “Could you tell us how far?”

  “Well, I guess I can only say that it will be ready in four weeks, before exams. I haven’t had much time lately. I’ve been trying to catch up in other courses,” Kevin said. “I’m really going to work on it.”

  “That’s all right, Kevin,” Ford said.

  “Wait a minute,” Bell said, “I don’t think Kevin has an outline. I think the pimp is holding out on us.”

  “One more word,” Ford said slowly. His hand shook: the pencil he was holding vibrated, tapping against the table. “If you ever say pimp in front of me again….”

  “Pimp,” Bell said.

  “Kill you,” Ford growled.

  “You know all you need to know about my outline,” Bell shouted. “It’s eight hundred pages long and it’s fantastic. Figure on this, Ford: Hart is the only one I’m going to let see it.”

  Hart looked up, astonished.

  “He’s the only one who isn’t a pimp,” Bell went on. “I was going to let you see it, Ford, but I’ve changed my mind. And as far as the robot goes,” Bell looked over at Anderson, “I was never going to let him see it.”

  “Get out,” Ford said, standing. “Get the fuck out.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” Bell said, “you pimp ….”

  It looked as if Ford would sweep the table up and throw it at Bell.

  “Get out,” Hart exploded at Bell. “Because so help me God, I’m going to castrate you before Ford kills you and hang your ….”

  Hart stood up across from Ford, his eyes burning.

  Bell began to back toward the door.

  “Come on, Hart,” Bell said, whimpering. “You don’t mean it. YOU AND ME HART, YOU AND ME….”

  “OUT, OUT,” Hart screamed. Bell hit the door with his back, turned and fled. They sat quietly for a while, avoiding each other’s eyes.

  “It’s quite amusing,” Anderson said, breaking the silence. “I wonder if our dropout rate is paralleled in other groups. Two out of six, you know.”

  “What’s going to happen?” Kevin said slowly. “We don’t have any outlines in property or civil procedure now. By the end of the year, in a month, when exams come, maybe we won’t have any. I need the outlines. I need them. I need help.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, Kevin,” Ford said, his voice tired and irritated. “Take a rest. Go somewhere and rest your mind. We’ll meet again next week and figure something out.”

  “I can’t wait,” Kevin yelled. “I’ve got to plan. It’s all right for you-you talk in class.”

  “Kevin,” Ford snapped, “we’re all in the same boat. Shut up.”

  “Well,” Anderson said, “I’ll see you gentlemen next week. Kevin, come with me and we’ll get something to eat.” He led Kevin out.

  Ford pushed back his chair. It slid across the waxed linoleum, skating four feet to the window.

  “Shit,” Ford said. “Screw O’Connor, Bell and Kevin.”

  He walked to the chair and looked out the window. The lawn was green and new in the sun. A girl pedaled her bike along the path in front of Langdell, her long blond hair floating out behind her as she accelerated. She must be going over to the college. Law students, standing on the steps of Langdell, watched her go by. Ford rubbed his palms over his eyes.

  Then he bent down mechanically, sizing up the wooden law school chair. He put his hands down on its sides and slid it slowly back and forth over the slick floor as if he were dancing with it. With one big swing, he sent it spinning around, screeching across the room. It hit the wall near the door and fell over on its side, breaking two legs. Ford looked up at Hart and smiled.

  “Want to eat?” Ford said.

  “Sure,” Hart said.

  “And will you do something for me? I can’t do it myself. Go over and take Kevin some notes. Try to get him going on his outline. Try to help the poor bastard.”

  “Sure,” Hart said. “I’ll try.”

  42

  KEVIN LAY IN BED, staring at the ceiling. There was no light in the room. Asheley drew the shade when she undressed and didn’t like it up until she had her clothes on in the morning.

  He inched his hand over and felt her back. It was wet, heated, and he knew she was in deep sleep. He tried to focus on the ceiling to stop his mind from churning. He could get up, go out to the living room and smoke. He twisted, pulling the covers over him.

  “Asheley,” he said, not really calling her, not daring to wake her. “Asheley,” he said louder, forcing away any thought that he was actually waking her, making himself believe he was a machine, just moving with no control. She rolled away, dug her head into the pillow.

  He crept into the living room and sat down beside the window, looking out into the dark from the dark. He rested the barrel of his gun on the sill and roamed the sight over the street, sighting on lovers walking in the night.

  A white flash hit him. His body became cold, and poured sweat. I’m going crazy, he thought. Maybe I am crazy. I’m sitting at my window, aiming a gun at people: that’s what crazy people do.

  It made him roll over, double up with laughter. Jesus, he said to himself, I’m crazy. They’ve screwed up the whole thing, let in some goddamned crazy son of a bitch. Then the laughter turned to tears and he held onto the chair, his head down in it, supporting himself by wrapping his arms around the chair legs. He lay there moaning for a long time. Then his tears dried and his mind began to sweep in long calm rhythms. He got up and turned on a light near the sofa. His outline was on the coffee table and he picked up his pencil and started going over it.

  43

  HART TURNED THE CORNER and was in the yard in back of Langdell. He glanced absent-mindedly up at the huge stone building and saw the light on in Kingsfield’s office. It was five, just beginning to grow dark. He walked further into the yard until, sufficiently far from Langdell, he could see the entire building, spreading out around him like a giant wall. He gazed at the dark stone.

  Anderson was standing under a tree near him, looking too. It was curious to see Anderson there, and Hart walked over. Anderson had a pad in his hands, as if he were taking notes in class.

  “What’s up?” Hart said pleasantly. “Just walking?”

  “No,” Anderson said. He looked nervously at Hart and tucked his pad under his arm.

  “The building really gets to you, doesn’t it?” Hart said. “It’s almost like an animal. You know, a big animal.”

  “I’m not watching the building,” Anderson said. “It doesn’t affect me one way or the other.”

  Hart looked in the direction Anderson was facing. “Hey, you’re looking into Kingsfield’s office,” Hart said, his mouth rounding in a smile. “You really can see in from back here, can’t you.” It made him feel close to Anderson.

  “I’m not watching him,” Anderson said stiffly. “I’m studying him.”

  “Studying him?” Hart said.

  “I want to learn how best to maximize my time, so I use him as a model. It’s all related to grade point.”

  “Grade point?” Hart said.

  “That’s right. I’m seeing how he organizes his time. It’s an experiment. I’ve thought of asking him about it, but you know, he’s awfully busy. Anyway, he might forget something if I asked. He might get something wrong.”

  “Right,” Hart said.

  “You know,” Anderson said, almost pleadingly, “you can’t just go into his office and ask him things like that.”

  “I know,” Hart said.

  He stepped away from Anderson, onto the path, and turned to walk away.

  “Just grade point,” Hart said as a good-bye.

  “That’s right,
” Anderson said. “Just grade point.”

  “Well,” Hart said, “good luck.”

  “Thanks,” he heard Anderson say.

  44

  KEVIN WALKED SLOWLY. He was early, expected at four and it was only quarter of. Kevin had a clean notebook under his arm. He had bought it to hold Moss’s prescription for the exam. About fifty yards ahead he saw the house and stopped, taking his time.

  Then he saw the girl, the girl from the mixer. She was still far away but walking in his direction. As he watched, she seemed to pick up her pace, and he thought for one horrifying second that she was rushing to catch him. He froze.

  In the next instant she had stopped on the sidewalk. She straightened her skirt, walked up the porch steps, and pressed the bell that said Hammer, Moss, and Foswhisher.

  The last thing Kevin saw before he fled for home was the beer belly, smiling as he took her inside.

  45

  FORD LEFT LUNCH early, leaving Hart sitting alone in Harkness dining room, finishing his Jello. Hart turned his chair around, put his feet up on the windowsill. Behind him, people talked, dropped spoons, spilled milk. The cash register went ping, ping, welcoming people.

  He heard snatches of conversations:

  “No, I haven’t finished my outline ….”

  “… I hate property. ”

  “… I was going into the Peace Corps anyway….”

  “… that professor knows how to hate….”

  “… I love Professor….”

  His Jello melted in the sun. The dining room became oppressive. Hart walked out, avoiding people, staring at his feet.

  He curled under a tree in the yard, letting the sun warm him. He brought his arms under his head for a pillow, pulled his legs to his stomach and lay on his side, his eyes closed.

  On the path, students walking to Langdell joked together. Sometimes he could hear the sharp definitive sounds of strong steps. He imagined it was Kingsfield walking along the path and that Kingsfield was watching him, wondering how any student had the time and the nerve to sleep in the yard.

  He listened to lovers shuffling down the path-first the sound of one stepping tentatively forward, and then the sound of the other scurrying to catch up. A sound like the syncopated beat of a Slinky going downstairs.

  A dog came over and sniffed him and then licked his ears. The dog lay down on the grass and put his head on Hart’s leg. If he could not have Susan, he would have this dog. He tried mental telepathy. Said in his mind: Dog, don’t leave me. I will stay with you here in the grass in front of the law school and be your pillow for as long as you want me. You and me, dog.

  Then the sun wrapped itself in a cloud and it got colder and a little damp. The dog left for other trees and Hart felt lonely. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. His cheeks were wet. He looked at the moisture in his hands, lifted it to his nose and sniffed. Was it the grass, or had he been crying?

  When he reached the dorm, he found some students had set up beer cans at the end of the hall and were using them as pins in a bowling game. Hart stood patiently behind the bowlers, waiting for a break in the action. Finally the ball smashed into the beer cans and brought three boys out of their rooms, shouting at the bowlers. Hart stepped into his room.

  Gradually, the noise fell away and he locked into his books. He studied through dinners.

  At ten, Hart closed his casebook, picked up three of his notebooks and put on his parka. Outside, he fought the pull that tried to take him to Susan’s and wandered off toward Kevin’s apartment house.

  He found Asheley standing on the third floor, looking down over the banister, her stomach bulging out under her dress. Her blond hair glowed in the light coming from the open door but her face was cut with lines and her eyes were swollen. Only her voice still bubbled.

  “This is surprising,” she said. “Why this is wonderful. You’ve come to see Kevin. I know he’ll be glad.”

  Real lamps that stood up from the floor lit the living room. There was a real coffee table and real sofas with pillows that matched. It was the kind of room that he could imagine his parents having decorated.

  Hart said thank you when Asheley asked if he wanted coffee, and watched her retreat down the hall. Then he sat on the real sofa and waited. Kevin came in with the coffee. He fell backward into the armchair and stared out the window while Asheley arranged the cups.

  “This is pretty,” Hart said hopefully, pointing to a silver bowl holding cookies.

  “My parents gave it to us, for parties,” Asheley said, winking. “Now, I’m going to leave you to talk your law school talk. I’d only be in the way.”

  “I brought you some notes,” Hart said to Kevin when Asheley had gone. “Thanks,” Kevin said. “I haven’t really been getting what goes on in class.” The voice was a low whine. Hart leaned away from the sofa back.

  “Good luck studying,” Hart said hopefully. “Don’t worry, we’re all in the same boat.” He started to rise.

  “No,” Kevin said, “we’re not all in the same boat.” He looked at Hart for the first time. “You and Ford will make Law Review, and the robot too.”

  “That’s crazy,” Hart said.

  “I mean it, all of you talk in class.” Kevin’s words trailed off and then he started again, this time more high-pitched. “You and Ford, you’ve got it made.”

  “Get some sleep,” Hart said. “It’s not what you say in class, it’s what you write on the exam.”

  “I started the year wrong,” Kevin said. “I wish I could start over. I could do it better. I could do a lot better, if I could start over.”

  Hart’s stomach began to twinge. Kevin would pass. Everyone would.

  “You shouldn’t be telling me this,” Hart said. “You’re psyching yourself out. Get some sleep. The study group has been bad.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kevin said. He seemed to be exerting some special kind of energy. The vessels on his neck stuck out from the skin. “We’ll work it out. The study group will think of something.”

  “That’s right,” Hart said.

  “If things go wrong,” Kevin asked slowly, “will you help me?”

  “Things won’t go wrong,” Hart said.

  “Maybe you’d talk to Kingsfield, if things go wrong. Maybe you can get him to give me another chance.” “Things won’t go wrong.”

  “You know him.” Kevin’s eyes were pleading circles. “You’re his favorite. Everyone knows that. He asked you to write a paper.”

  Hart stood up, his face red. “I don’t know Kingsfield. I don’t know him.”

  “I guess I’d say the same thing, if I were you,” Kevin said quietly. The room. Asheley. Kevin in the corner. It all built. Hart wanted to run. He wanted to be out in the street, running as fast as he could go. Then he softened, as he realized he wouldn’t be able to run.

  “Sure, Kevin,” Hart said. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll talk to Kingsfield. Don’t worry. He’s a good guy. He likes you. He thinks you’re doing a good job.”

  Asheley walked him to the landing. When they were alone and Hart had taken a step down the stairs, she touched his shoulder.

  “Don’t bring a present,” she said. “That’s not important.”

  He tried to understand what she meant, and then he remembered the party.

  “Sure,” he said, “I won’t bring a present.”

  “We’ll be looking for you,” she whispered, as he started down the stairs. “It’s going to help Kevin to see all his friends.”

  46

  AROUND THE MAIN DESK of the library several boys, abandoning all discretion, flirted openly with the girls who handed out books. It made Hart think of Susan, and torts became even more repulsive. He pushed the blue book aside and leaned back in his chair. He’d use Ford’s outline-he’d pass somehow-but he just couldn’t look at another case.

  Across the table, Ford was bent over his work. Why disturb him? Someone had to study torts. Hart left, walking fast, conscious that bored students were watching him, knowing
that the fact he was leaving was another piece of data in their decisions: I beat him. I studied longer. Well, I don’t have to worry about Hart. He can’t even stay in the library after eleven.

  Hart paused on the ground floor of Langdell. The hall was lonely without students pushing through the classroom doors. Almost ghostly. He walked to the door of the contracts classroom. Even late at night and alone, he could not approach this opening casually. It was just a mute piece of architecture, old and unguarded, but somehow it conveyed a special allegiance to Kingsfield. He knew no one was inside. Yet when he walked toward the door, he shivered. It didn’t seem fair: Why should it hurt him? What had he done? He walked into the contracts classroom.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness on the other side of the door, he made out the stars and the moon, shimmering in the tall thin windows that lined both sides of the hall. The stars seemed to be held in the glass, as if they were an integral part of the design, not distant points. Against the night, the windows were like stained glass—-dark blue sprinkled with tiny white candles.

  He saw the benches, falling in rows to the center, decreasing in half circles, leading down to the front. Finally, sprouting from the black pit below, he saw the lectern itself, the dark center of it all, Kingsfield’s special territory, rising above the stage.

  There was movement outside the hall, the sound of students leaving the library. Hart ducked below the window until the outer door slammed and he knew they were gone. Why was he worried? Someone looking in would see only black. He turned again toward the lectern. Behind it, on the far wall, the faces of the judges peered at him from their gilt frames. He could not see their dark robes. But the starlight shining off the white tones made the faces parched and three dimensional, like old relics in a shrine, glistening skulls. They looked reproachful, as if he was violating them by coming before the morning. What the hell was the matter with them? Why did they look up at him that way? He was related to the room too-it didn’t belong solely to the old judges and Kingsfield. After all, he was almost the living extension of the old judges. He carried in his mind the cases they had written. Where the hell would the judges be without him? Who would hang their pictures if there were no law students? It was hard being the living extension of tradition. Hart wondered if the judges had ever considered his difficulties when they wrote the cases that now were printed in his casebooks.