An awesome structure, Tillinghast Library inspired in Phil a mixture of admiration and apprehension. He tried to imagine the one million volumes of which the college catalogue boasted. How could you fit that many books in a single building? Phil wondered which ones he’d be required to read and what he’d be expected to know. Would his classes be too arduous? Would he be able to keep up? What would it be like, this school he’d worked so hard to get into? Now that he was finally here, what exactly it was he had wanted out of college seemed obscure, an enigma the key to which perhaps lay behind the walls of the magnificent edifice that dominated the roofline across the quad.
He took his 35mm camera out of its case, focused carefully on the library, and pressed the shutter release.
Chapter 4
First Impressions
It certainly was an impressive view. From the window of her room in LaSalle Hall, on the top floor of the building, Caitlin could see the expanse of the West Quad compound, with its quaint Victorian buildings and majestic old oaks, maples, and elms. Straight ahead, prominent above the treetops and roofs, were three of the campus landmarks she had passed on the way to her dorm. In the foreground was the Stink, where Romeo and Juliet would open tonight; in the background, the ornate steeple of the Holyfield bell tower. Between them, at the center of campus, rose the aloof grandeur of Tillinghast Library.
Caitlin could just make out the upper part of the new wing, which lay snuggled against the back of the main building. It was surrounded by scaffolding that she assumed would be dismantled before the dedication ceremony at the end of the Elizabethan Festival. She remembered what she had read in the Herald about the distinguished collection of rare books the new wing would house and wondered if she’d be able to see any of them. Perhaps Bill Berkowitz could use his authority as editor of the Herald to arrange access to the collection for her. But that was putting the cart before the horse, she thought. First she would have to persuade him to let her write the story.
Caitlin turned from the window and looked around the room. The moment she’d entered, she could tell she was in good company. Both her roommates had preceded her and had wasted no time transforming their cold quarters into a cozy home. Already fuzzy throw rugs dotted the floor of the living room, which was furnished with a small floral-print sofa, a coffee table, and an armchair. A print of Monet’s water lilies and a colorful Native-American tapestry adorned the walls above a thriving pair of indoor plants. A Bach Brandenburg Concerto softly exerted its elegant magic from a stereo-CD unit that had been set up between the two large windows in the far wall.
Juliet Jacques had greeted Caitlin in the hall, then ushered her in to meet their other suitemate, Lucy Kwon. The two helped Caitlin get settled, and as she unpacked her bags they talked. Being inquisitive by nature, Caitlin soon found herself playing the familiar role of impartial journalist, plying her new roommates with questions and eliciting information about their backgrounds.
The loquacious Juliet was only too eager to talk. She came from a small town outside St. Paul, Minnesota, she said. Her father, who was French Canadian, repaired trucks and farm equipment. Her mother, who worked at a day-care center, was Native American, a Blackfoot Sioux from South Dakota. (She had made the tapestry in the living room, Caitlin found out.) Juliet said she’d like to go into a career where she could help other people. She thought she might major in psychology or sociology and maybe become a teacher or a social worker.
In her T-shirt, leggings, and running shoes, Juliet looked lean and strong and full of vitality. She must be an athlete, Caitlin thought. “Do you play any sports?” she asked.
“You bet,” said Juliet. “I lettered in cross-country running and basketball. I’m also into cross-country skiing and tennis, and I’m an avid ice hockey fan.”
“Ice hockey?”
“In Minnesota we practically grow up on skates. When I was a kid I used to play hockey with my brother. He’s now on the varsity at the University of Minnesota.”
“Isn’t it a violent sport?” Caitlin asked, deciding to move the conversation away from facts for the moment and into opinion.
“A lot of people think so, and sometimes the pro teams get out of control,” Juliet said. “But in high school and college it’s not such a big macho free-for-all. It’s just incredibly fast and exciting to watch. And really, when you think about it, it’s nowhere near as aggressive as football.”
Baseball, Caitlin told Juliet, was her favorite spectator sport, and she had always despised football, which seemed like hand-to-hand combat between vicious packs of padded pugilists. It was a biased view, she admitted. But then, when it came to sports, not many people were indifferent.
In Lucy Kwon, Caitlin saw a marked contrast to the hardy, spontaneous Juliet. Lucy was petite, with earnest, captivating eyes and delicate hands—the hands of a musician, Caitlin thought. She was extremely articulate, but there was a tentative, almost fastidious quality to her speech, as though she were carefully crafting her words to convey a precise meaning.
Lucy explained that she was first-generation Korean-American, from Seattle, Washington. Her parents had come to America in the early ’70s. She had two older brothers—one a lawyer back in Seattle, one in medical school in California—and a younger sister in tenth grade.
Lucy enjoyed doing volunteer work and was proud to have initiated a recycling program at her high school. For recreation she liked to go backpacking and cycling, but more than anything, she confessed with a sheepish grin, she loved to curl up on the couch on a rainy day, eat chocolate-chip cookies, and watch reruns of old TV shows. Her favorite subjects were history, math, and—Caitlin and Juliet were impressed—Latin, but now, with so many diverse courses to choose from, Lucy was considering trying something different, perhaps majoring in philosophy, art history, or music.
“Do you play an instrument?” Caitlin asked.
“Yes, the piano,” Lucy said. “Mostly classical, and a little jazz. Do you play something?”
“The flute, but I’m not very good at it. My mom’s a music teacher, and she pushed me pretty hard, but I hate practicing.”
“Who doesn’t?” Lucy said, flashing a knowing smile.
That was an hour ago. Now, as Caitlin stood by the window, Juliet was poring over the Holyfield course catalogue while Lucy sat at her desk writing a letter on her computer. When Caitlin had remarked how nice it must be to have a computer, Lucy had told her and Juliet they were welcome to use it any time. This generous offer made Caitlin silently ecstatic. She had had access to her father’s computer and to the ones at school, but she had never had one of her own. Someday, she thought, when I’m a professional writer—
“It’s almost time for dinner,” Lucy said, looking at her watch. “Should we get ready to go?”
“I’d like to go to the opening of Romeo and Juliet afterward,” Caitlin said. “You guys want to come along?”
“I’ll see anything I’m starring in,” Juliet said with a histrionic toss of her hair. “No, seriously, I love that play. We read it in sophomore English.”
“I love it too,” Lucy said. “It’s so romantic and poignant.”
“Yeah, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow’ and all that,” Juliet said.
Caitlin grimaced, remembering her father’s florid farewell at the airport. Poor Dad. She’d have to call—no, write—and tell him about the production. He’d like that.
While Caitlin brushed her hair, Juliet went down the hall to the bathroom to wash up and Lucy changed into a skirt and blouse and put on a little makeup. Fifteen minutes later the three roommates were strolling together up Holyfield Street toward Steinbach Commons.
The door to Ericson 5-A opened in response to Phil’s knock.
“Hi, I’m Bill Berkowitz,” said a gangly, bespectacled guy with an unkempt mass of curly brown hair. He was wearing a Holyfield sweatshirt and jeans with holes in the knees. “Leo told me you’d be coming over. He went down to the basement to put some stuff in the storage room, but he�
��ll be right back. Why don’t you guys come on in and make yourselves comfortable.”
Phil and his roommates introduced themselves and Bill waved them inside. The freshmen looked at the two armchairs and couch and remained standing, unable to decide where to sit.
“Have a seat,” Bill said cordially, motioning toward the couch. The freshmen obeyed. Bill plopped down in an armchair and draped a long, skinny leg over the arm. He squinted at them through his thick glasses. “So, where do you all come from?”
Jimmy and Chris made small talk about their respective hometowns and high schools. Bill explained that he was from Chicago and Leo from St. Louis; they’d met as freshmen and had roomed together ever since.
While the others chatted, Phil looked around. Compared with their own living room, Bill’s and Leo’s was immaculate. There was no clutter, no sense of chaos. Things were tidy. Late-afternoon sunlight poured through the windows.
Standing bookcases lined two of the walls, and as Phil looked more closely at them he noticed that their contents were arranged meticulously, both alphabetically and by subject—the manifestation of considerable academic endeavor and interest.
Phil had been in many private homes in which a wall in the family room or den was devoted to a set of encyclopedias, a dictionary, a thesaurus, a Bible, a photograph album, a few books on American history and pop psychology, and a profusion of trivial bestsellers. Often these libraries seemed either randomly or arbitrarily compiled. There was no telling why some books had been bought nor how long some of them had languished on the shelf. And there was no telling why certain people had books in their homes at all, except to embellish their walls.
There was nothing haphazard or indifferent about the selections in Bill and Leo’s library. Phil had the impression that each volume had been thoughtfully chosen, read, discussed, written about, and then carefully placed on the shelf, where it stood, not useless and forgotten, but vital and always ready to be of use.
“Those are mostly Leo’s,” Bill said, looking at Phil. “I’m a voracious reader, but he’s a real bibliophile.”
Phil was about to ask what a bibliophile was when the door opened and Leo entered.
“Hi, you guys,” he said. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long. Are we ready to go?”
In his plaid flannel shirt, loose-fitting jeans, and black high-top sneakers, Leo managed to appear both collegiate and casual. For a moment Phil worried that his colorful Hawaiian shirt would make him stick out at dinner, and he wondered why he’d decided to wear it—to make a statement of geographical identity and let everybody know he was a laid-back dude from California? Perhaps, he thought. But the last thing he wanted on the first day of college was to appear conspicuous or foolish. He zipped his varsity jacket halfway up as they left the dorm.
Chapter 5
Study What You Most Affect
Caitlin, Juliet, and Lucy sat at a round table in a corner of Steinbach Commons. The capacious hall, easily the size of a football field, rumbled with the din of several hundred excited students, freshmen and upperclassmen alike. The vaulted ceiling augmented their jovial laughter and garrulous conversation.
Caitlin looked at the food on her plate (if it could properly be called food) and one word came to mind: repugnant. For the past five minutes she had grappled with a piece of meat smothered in an insipid greenish brown sauce that apparently was gravy. It was an exercise in futility, she thought. No matter how she attacked it, the meat (if indeed it was meat) refused to submit to her knife. Perhaps some drastic measure was necessary—a hatchet or a chain saw might do the job.
Her battle with the meat brought back a vivid memory of the petrified pot roast her sweet but senile Irish grandmother used to serve years ago when Caitlin was little and she and her folks would visit on Sundays after church. She remembered how she’d tried so hard to be polite, chewing and chewing until her jaws ached. But she never swallowed, for fear of choking. Instead she would wait until no one was looking, then deposit the gristly glob in the napkin in her lap, quietly wrapping up and discarding the evidence when the meal was done. Unfortunately, she reflected, that particular stratagem was not an option for a young woman sharing dinner with her peers.
Caitlin sighed, set down her knife and fork, and took a long drink of soda. “Maybe we should go for pizza after the play.”
“That’s a great idea,” Lucy said. Caitlin noticed her roommate had barely touched her dinner and was now nibbling at her dessert—chocolate cake, a delectation Caitlin had eschewed. One had to give up certain other temptations to accommodate a passion for pizza, she reasoned.
“Boy, there sure are some weird classes in here,” Juliet said. She had brought the course catalogue along and was browsing through it while munching away at a mixture of raw vegetables she’d concocted at the salad bar. “Listen to this: ‘Multivariate Data Analysis with Latent Variables.’”
“What kind of jargon is that?” Lucy asked.
“It’s a psych course,” Juliet said. “I think I’ll skip that one.” She flipped a few pages. “How about ‘History of the Israelite Monarchy’?”
“I never knew there was an Israelite monarchy,” Caitlin said.
“Well, you learn something new every day. That’s what college is all about, right?” Juliet looked up, expecting a laugh, but Lucy and Caitlin just rolled their eyes. “Okay, okay,” she said, opening to another page. “Let’s see. Hey, Caitlin, this one looks perfect for you: ‘Bohemians, Bachelors, the New Woman, and the Novel.’”
“Everything I’m interested in, all wrapped up in one class,” Caitlin said. “Just add pizza to the list and you’ve got the complete college experience.” She looked at Juliet. “Mind if I take a look at that catalogue?”
“Go ahead,” Juliet said, handing it over.
“I saw one in here before that cracked me up,” Caitlin said. “Here it is: ‘The Biology of Evil.’ Can you believe that?”
“Sounds like an interdisciplinary course,” Lucy said.
“What, for biology majors and evil studies majors?” Caitlin said. They all laughed. “Here’s another prerequisite for evil studies: ‘Deviant Behavior and Social Control.’”
An unfamiliar voice broke into their conversation. “Only the first night at college and already we’re discussing deviant behavior?”
They looked up. Standing beside Caitlin, holding a tray of food, was a tall, attractive woman with short, dark, curly hair. A stylish pair of round-rimmed glasses rested on her prominent, regal nose. Gleaming silver and turquoise bracelets and earrings and a squash-blossom necklace enhanced her black blouse and flowing, multicolored skirt. The effect was striking and sophisticated without being ostentatious, Caitlin thought.
“You guys look a bit lonely over here in the corner,” the woman said. “I’m Carmen Torres. I teach in the English Department. Mind if I join you?”
“Please do,” Caitlin said. She proceeded to introduce her roommates, who seemed surprised that a faculty member would eat in a student dining hall, much less eat with students.
“A pleasure to meet you all,” Torres said. She set down her tray and slid into the empty seat next to Caitlin. “I presume you’re freshmen—or perhaps I should say freshwomen? Or do you prefer freshpersons?” She smiled broadly.
“We’re so fresh we don’t know what we are yet,” Caitlin said.
Torres chuckled. “Now, tell me, if you don’t mind,” she said, settling down to eat. “What was all that laughter about deviant behavior?”
“We were looking through the course catalogue,” Juliet said, “and we found a couple of classes with silly titles.”
“There was one on deviant behavior we thought might be a requirement for the evil studies major,” Lucy said.
Torres laughed. ‘“Evil studies.’ That’s funny. Maybe at the next faculty meeting I’ll suggest starting a program in it. But you know, you’re right. A lot of course titles in the catalogue sound implausible. In fact, one of my seminars, ‘The Politics of
Sexuality in Renaissance Literature,’ raised a few eyebrows the first time I taught it. I suppose because of the word sexuality some people assumed the content would be prurient. Apparently they overlooked the fact that social roles and human relationships are at the heart of great literature. Take Shakespeare, for example: Sexuality is an essential element in his work; it pervades the plays. The Taming of the Shrew, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Antony and Cleopatra, Hamlet, Othello, and of course Romeo and Juliet—almost anywhere you look there’s a profound inquiry into the nature of love, fidelity, passion, or the power struggle between the sexes.”
The professor paused and took a drink of water. Caitlin noticed her roommates were listening as intently as she was.
“You should go to the opening of Romeo and Juliet tonight,” Torres went on. “You’ll see what I mean. I hear it’s a good production, too. Bartholomew Martext, the professor who runs the theater, is directing. He’s quite eccentric. It should be a novel interpretation.”
“Funny you should bring it up, professor,” Caitlin said. “We’ve already agreed to go together after dinner.”
“That’s terrific, Caitlin. But please, call me Carmen. I don’t see any point in erecting artificial barriers between students and teachers. Besides,” she added with a warm smile, “I’ve been teaching a long time. I don’t need to be constantly reminded that I’ve earned a Ph.D.”
“How long have you been teaching at Holyfield?” Lucy asked.
Tooth and Nail: A Novel Approach to the SAT (A Harvest Test Preparation Book) Page 4