Neville returned with Mike in tow. Mike was all smiles and apologies. “Gosh, Dody, sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Had this science lab I had to finish and write up before I left and I ran into trouble with the chemistry analysis so I got my friend Erica to help me with it and it took a bit longer than planned. But I’m here now.” He reached for the cutting tool Dody held. Dody retracted the blade and handed it to him.
“Yeah, thank God!” exclaimed Dody. “Now I can go.” And he was already headed for the door, handing Mike his gloves as he went.
Neville looked at Mike. “You done this before?”
“I’ve helped my dad, Neville. But it was a different kind of carpet. Shorter warp. Thicker. Hard to cut through. You almost had to cut through the fibers as well as the backing.”
“Well, the way we do this is I cut and you pull. It’s a combination cut and tear process. Once you get enough to get a good hold on, you just pull and tear it off in a strip. It’s pretty cheap stuff and old, so it gives pretty easy at a point. Once you’ve done one, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Kinda musty, isn’t it? How come you don’t have on a mask? I think I’ll get one from the truck. Want me to get one for you?”
“Sure, if you like.”
Neville absently began cutting at another strip but his thoughts were taking precedent…contemplation over speed of movement. It was, he thought, a funny thing how Dody wouldn’t talk about Thaw. It seemed that he could never get him to say even one word about him. He speculated on what Thaw might have done that was so bad that not only wouldn’t Dody talk to him, but he wouldn’t even talk about him. He guessed that he’d tried a good fifty times in the last couple of years to get Dody to talk about Thaw. Yet, as much as he didn’t want to talk about him, he guessed that Dody didn’t mind hearing about him. Hard man, Dody, Neville thought. Hard man. He wondered whether they ever bumped into each other…and what happened then? He wondered if Thaw had ever tried to talk to Dody since Dody stopped talking to him? His own father. His own flesh and blood. But then nobody could talk to Dody if Dody didn’t want to be talked to, which he guessed must be the case. Hard man, Dody.
Mike wondered what was up with Dody. And Neville did seem unduly quiet, so Mike thought he’d try the waters. “Dody sure took off fast.” Mike waited a moment, but as Neville just kept cutting, Mike went on. “Usually he asks me about school and stuff. Musta been the missus was expectin’ him for something.”
The sound of the cutting and ripping continued.
“Yeh,” said Neville. “Probably had a pot roast that couldn’t wait to be et.”
5. To NCSU
Like the pointed tips of frozen flower petals, Bain’s gray stone buildings rose on either side of him. The trip down had been a breeze. Thaw had been so preoccupied that it seemed just an eye-blink ago that he had pulled onto 3N. He had pondered questions such as why it was that people like his Dad would get mad and then not talk to you again for a long time…maybe never…(What was it now? Almost ten years?)…while others, like Natalie and Lem, did get mad once in a while but never stopped talking to you, so that after a while it would become difficult to recall there had ever had a difference.
Thaw had been to Bain enough times with Natalie that finding 382 University Avenue again was a snap. The Gallerie had a very trim appearance and boasted two large display windows overhung by a large awning. Evergreen bushes flanked the doorway and tiny Italian lights blinked beyond the glass. In each window stood a large painting behind which stretched the long art gallery. Several display walls interrupted the gallery’s length and the back wall which shone with sample framing corners done in bright colors and shining silvers and golds.
It was nine in the morning, earlier than a good time to stop by to see Rory, so Thaw swung past the storefront and headed his van for the NCSU campus. What the hell. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. He’d heard that in the arts one didn’t need a degree to teach in the University…just talent. And certainly NCSU in Bain was not known as a major art school…although he was sure they had art classes…so maybe they’d be willing to give him a try. From what he could recall of the two courses he had taken at Ariana Community College all those years back, all the prof did was talk a bit about some artist or another at times and then walk around the class saying “Hmmm” and “Hah” and “I like that.” Thaw thought such behavior lay within his abilities. At any rate, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Even just a night class would bring him into Bain, and who knows, maybe he’d bump into Natalie. So he’d just stop by NCSU now. Try to get his bearings there. Locate the art department. Maybe even wander around it to get the feel of the place and see if he could get an appointment for tomorrow. Why not? And he’d drag along his portfolio of photographs of his work. Just in case. He reached over and put his hand on the album where it lay on the passenger seat and began to whistle as he drove.
Nick-Sue had a large campus with many tall buildings. However, as it was best known for its language arts, sciences and medical studies, it boasted but a small art department. Nonetheless, along the gray cobbled walkway, there were large black stone abstract carvings, several fountains and a story-high cascade of water flowing over a flat, almost vertical wall slanted slightly and majestically away, and at one point a steep and narrow step-like path had been carved of the same black stone as the large abstract forms. All of which for Thaw suggested a clean, open aspect as well as the importance of art to the school’s culture. Without the art forms the place might have seemed somewhat desolate as there were no trees or bushes within the heart of the campus. Thaw walked along enjoying the pleasant spring day, stopping only briefly to read a large glass covered map to get his bearings and to locate the student center and art department.
Thaw’s first stop was at the student center. Soft instrumental music and the aroma of fresh baked goods reached him as he crossed the threshold to the very modern but surprisingly comfortable student cafeteria. Café tables and chairs as well as leather-covered couches and chairs with coffee tables before them offered a variety of seating options. Thaw followed the sparse line of people selecting breakfast items and drinks in consultation with serious-looking young people behind the cafeteria-style counter lined with lit glass cases behind which lay the hot foods. He took down a small brown plastic tray and a number two breakfast (ham and eggs) and a large coffee, black. He handed the cashier a ten dollar bill, accepted his change without counting it and moved to one of the café-style tables near the windows. He faced the bulk of the room so he could see the room’s full expanse.
Thaw liked what he saw: young people moving along purposefully, carting books and backpacks, talking, nodding, eating, smiling, debating, swearing, joking, drinking, greeting. It seemed the bulk of them dressed in whatever they had first touched when they woke up that morning…old jeans, T-shirts with sayings on them: “Get Real.” “Keep on…” “Anybody seen Nick-Sue?” “Where’s it all end?” “NCSU”…Occasionally a student would rise quickly to get a needed utensil, straw or napkin, interrupting him or herself mid-sentence only to complete the sentence on his or her return. This kind of interruption left its audience hanging but for some reason or other was apparently a cool thing to do. Some of the young adults wolfed down their food, others looked like they would be there for the duration. A few were reading. One was sitting alone, reviewing notes and writing. A smattering of more mature professor types sat among them, but so few that Thaw suspected there was also a teachers’ lounge somewhere in the vicinity. He was reassured to find that his shirt, tie, and casual jacket and slacks, while not particularly formal, made the grade for an acceptable professional image.
Thaw finished his breakfast, rose, dumped the leftovers, stacked the tray with the others at the steel-framed window to the kitchen and left the area. His album hung from his shoulder in the black backpack. He wended his way and rather easily found the art department office. A young woman sat behind the first office-area desk. She wore a pair of large hoop earrings and on the outer edg
e of her right ear an additional embellishment of several sparkling studs. Draped about her neck and spilling down her right shoulder was a long light green gauze-like scarf. Atop her head her hair was piled in what might have been, but probably was not, an unplanned honey-colored heap which permitted soft strands to fall here and there down her neck and the right side of her face. She greeted Thaw with a smile, holding her head slightly tipped to the right, probably in support of the coy look that came from behind the strand of hair that fell across her line of vision.
“Good morning. May I help you?”
“I was wondering if I might speak to the department chair?”
She raised herself to her full height, seemingly lengthening her neck as she did so, and adopted a rather formal tone. “Dr. Owens is not in right now. Would you like to make an appointment?”
“I was in town for the weekend to set up an exhibition in one the galleries here and I brought along an album of some of my work to share with him. I wanted to ask him about the possibility of a part-time position teaching painting or sculpture.”
“So you have your album with you in your backpack?”
“Yes. I thought that would be the quickest way for him to see what I can do.”
“I paint myself. Well, I’m just learning of course.” Her delicately long fingered hand had risen to her lips with a kind of demureness denied by the green color of her fingernails. “There’s no art major here. My major is psychology. But I take painting as an elective.” The hand disappeared into her lap. Her voice took on a more confidential tone. “I’m trying to master color mixing in oils at this point. I’m having an awful time with it. Everything turns out too garish or just brown. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it. But it’s my first course. What kind of paintings do you do?”
“Mostly acrylics. I used to paint primarily in oils but gave it up to avoid the volatile organic chemicals.”
“Oh. The VOCs. I’m going to shift to acrylics myself. It’s just I hate to waste all my oils. Also, I’m taking a course in oil painting. I don’t think we have one strictly for acrylics or I’d take that next semester. By then I’ll need more paints anyway, I’m sure. Any chance you’d be willing to let me take a peek at you pictures?”
“Sure. Why not.”
“Wow. Yeah!”
Thaw set his backpack on the chair to his left and in front of the desk, unzipped it and pulled out the album Lem had put together for him. He handed it to the young woman. She placed it on the desk before her, and as he stood like an expectant student, she perused the book.
“Wow. You did these? Great! Look at this! Look at these colors!” Keeping her shoulders hunched over the book, she raised her face to look at them. “So you did these?”
“Yes.”
She returned to her perusing. “Milfy will love ’em!”
“Who’s Milfy?”
She did not look up. “Milfy? Oh, he’s the chair. Dr. Milfred Owens. Milfy for short. Great guy. You’re gonna like him.”
A rather bass voice from the doorway interrupted them. “You talking about me behind my back again, Katy?”
Katy shot to attention. “Oh. Dr. Owens. This is…I’m sorry…this is…”
“Theodore Wamp.”
“Mr. Wamp is interested in a teaching position. Wait’ll you see his work! It’s great. Really great!”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Wamp. You can’t beat undergraduate enthusiasm, can you?” Dr. Owens smiled and glanced toward Katy. “But to enjoy it at its fullest you have to be ready to risk being ridiculed behind your back and being assigned all kinds of uninvited nicknames.”
Katy toyed with the length of hair that fell over her right eye, blinking both her eyes in a rather flirtatious manner. “Dr. Owens. I never ridicule you! Ever!”
Dr. Owens toyed with his tie, glancing back and forth between Katy and Thaw as he did so. “You notice, Mr. Wamp, that now I am present I have suddenly changed from Milfy to Dr. Owens. The problem is I have responsibilities other than policing creative young undergraduates, so I have to leave the office at times. What else has the young lady said about me? Anything I can hear tell?”
“Oh, Dr. Owens, nothing, really. Just that you’d really like my work. That’s all.”
“That’s all!” Dr. Owens feigned shock. “Now she’s speaking for me, too.”
“Oh, I don’t think she intended that…”
“What do you have there, Katy? Do you plan to keep it or are you going to share it with me?” Looking toward Thaw he reached for the album. “May I?”
“Oh, certainly. Certainly.” Thaw helped the album from the desk into Dr. Owens waiting hands. “Please do!”
“Katy, any calls?”
“Just Dr. Alloway. He said he’d call back. Your mail is on your desk. I opened everything that looked impersonal and sorted it.”
“Thanks, Katy. Please come in, Mr. Wamp.”
Once in the office Dr. Owens seated himself behind his desk. He gestured toward a chair for Thaw to sit in, placed the album on the desk, and opened it, studying each of the pictures for a few seconds, thumbing both forward and backward as if he were making comparisons among them. Finally, having reviewed all of them, he left the book open to the last picture when he was done.
“So, Mr. Wamp…You prefer I call you Mr. Wamp? Or Theodore?”
“Theodore is fine. But most people call me Thaw.”
“Thaw, hmm. I like it…So, Thaw. Do you mind if I call you Thaw?”
“Oh, no Dr. Owens. Thaw is fine.”
“So, Thaw. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to teach. I’d like to teach oil painting or sculpture.”
“Sculpture is out. We don’t have courses in sculpture. Can you make jewelry?”
“Well, it’s not my strength but I can and have worked with silver a bit. But I don’t think I have the knowledge and experience needed to teach it. But I think I do for oil painting. And of course acrylics.”
“So the photographs in this book are of your work…paintings you painted.”
Thawed nodded his head in agreement.
“How long have you been painting?”
“Since I was a teenager. Drove my dad crazy to think his son might become an artist. But it was not until after I was out of the service that I began to really explore and develop my skills. I prefer oils but because I paint in my own home in a rather small area, for the last few years I have switched to acrylics. And I do stone sculpture. It’s pretty much all I’ve done for about ten years now.
“So you support yourself with your art?”
“More or less. When times get rough I do carpentry work and caricatures at flea markets and fairs.”
“And now you want to teach.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of degrees do you hold?”
“Well, that’s it. I don’t have a degree. But I can paint. And I can sculpt. And I can understand other people’s styles. And I know color. And balance. And I’ve read and studied about many of the world’s greatest artists. And I think I have my own style and that one day my work will become well known.”
“That’s a pretty big mouthful you just said there. But I’ll tell you…I’m inclined to agree with you. And in the university in the art world we sometimes blink at the absence of a degree…if the artist’s work is good enough. And as far as being able to teach, we are often willing to leave that to chance…if the artist is well known enough. And we don’t really have a full blown fine arts department. Our students take art as electives and for the fun of it. So it is possible that we could hire you…in a pinch that is. But how often do those situations arise? Not very often. Not often at all. But your work has style. You clearly have a fine command of the media…color, balance, form…even content. Whether or not I could ever offer you a position…even a part-time adjunct one, however, is quite doubtful. Usually our positions are filled by Easter for fall and August for January and we maintain a file of those who want to be kept in mind in case we hav
e an emergency opening, which we almost never use. So the best I can tell you is to get me a copy of your resume, attach to it a few photos of your work, go home, don’t wait for my call, get about your life, and put on as many shows as you can. If necessary, find an agent if you don’t already have one and try for some shows in Aesopolis. You’ve talent. More talent than I have seen in long time. But a teaching position here? Not likely. Most of our staff is tenured. The department is not growing in leaps and bounds.” Dr. Owens stood, handed Thaw back his album and offered Thaw his hand. “But send me your resume. And keep up the fine work!”
Anything but crestfallen, Thaw smiled and took the proffered hand. “Thank you, Dr. Owens. Thank you so much!”
Dr. Owens watched Thaw as he left his office.
“Bye, Katy. And thank you.”
“Good luck to you, Mr. Wamp. I’m sure you’re a great teacher! And I love your work! I’ll watch for your courses. Maybe you could help me learn how to mix colors!”
Thaw’s feet hardly touched the ground as he left the office.
Well, if he was ever going to do it, he might as well do it now. He wished he had a cell but cells in the mountains were always so touch and go. Thaw crossed the open spaces between the buildings, returning to the student center, entered and headed for the bank of telephones he had seen before beside the bookstore. He dialed Natalie at work. No need to look up her number. It had long ago been burned into his heart.
“Hello. Bain Planning Board. Natalie Birnbaum here.”
Thaw managed to respond with a hello.
“Hello, Thaw. How are you?”
“Doing well. And you?” He’d managed to sound more confident.
Thaw could not see Natalie as she put a well-manicured fingernail to her teeth and took a second or two to respond. “Pretty well, thank you.”
“Look, Nat. I’m here in Bain. Down for an art show I’m working on having in one of the galleries here.”
“Yes. Which one?”
“La Petite Gallerie. Over on University Avenue. Do you know it?” Thaw knew he hadn’t hooked her interest yet.
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