by Forest, Will
“The fog has lifted,” said Angela.
“The sun has steamed right through it,” said Christopher.
“Let’s go for a swim,” said Angela.
“You’re crazy. It’s an unseasonably warm day for December, but the water will still be cold.”
“All the better to appreciate the sun when we dry off!”
She pulled him into the waves, splashing along the sloping sandbank into the ocean, and they plunged into the deeper water, barely-hairly backsides surfacing like dolphin flanks. The water was indeed frigid, so they took only a quick bath before stumbling and panting back onto the radiant relief of the beach. They lay down facing the sun, pleading its warmth ply open their pores compacted by the cold submersion. As they stopped shivering, they began to drowse, and drowsing, they dared to dream.
3
JANUARY
SPRING SEMESTER
January
Reclaim the Image
With one hand on the knob and the other on the deadbolt, he pushed the door shut from inside, pulling back a bit so he could noiselessly slide the bolt across just as the door sealed its frame. Now he was locked in his office. Reaching behind him, he opened the closet.
This is it.
He undid his tie and pulled it through his collar. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his belt as he used each foot to pull off the other foot’s shoe. He stepped toward the window to pull down the blind, although he realized no one could see him on the third floor back side of the building. But as he pictured himself walking down the hall naked he started buttoning his shirt back up again. It’s okay—I’ll take my clothes off in class. It’ll be less of a shock.
He pulled his belt tight to notch it again. No, NO! That would be MUCH worse.
The belt slid loose. He hung up his shirt, his tie and then his pants in the closet, folded his socks on top of his shoes, locked his wallet in the desk drawer, and then opened the drawer again to leave his folded underwear locked up with the wallet. He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, pulling in his gut as much as he could each time he exhaled. He picked up his books and photocopies and put his ear to the door. Hearing nothing, he twisted the knob.
“Shit,” he muttered. The deadbolt.
He waited a few moments as he checked his watch. It was 10:06, just late enough. He undid the bolt, bit his tongue and opened the door. Roberta, wrapped in a striking shawl Tabitha had made her for Christmas, was the only person in the reception area. Christopher exhaled through his nose and stepped out. Roberta looked up as he walked by, her eyes and mouth suddenly mimicking the roundness of her face. Instinctively she clapped her hand to her lips and then, staring at the professor’s wrist, blurted out from behind her fingers, “But, your watch...!”
Christopher had braced himself for her physical reaction, but not for what she had just said. He blushed and kept walking, out the door and down the splendidly vacant hall, and with each step he came closer to understanding the incongruity of his wearing a watch. Stopping before the classroom door at the end of the thirty-yard-long hall, he nervously stooped down to put his books and papers on the floor, freeing both hands. Standing up again, he undid his watch and then placed it over his right thigh and dropped it.
“Shit,” he whispered, bending over to pick up the watch. No pockets.
Squatting on the floor, as completely nervous as he was naked, he put his watch back on and picked up his class materials. I’ve got to be calm. He stood up, took another deep breath, and opened the door.
“OH MY GOD!” shouted a young woman in the front row, and suddenly Christopher felt the magnetic pull of two dozen eyes staring at his pelvic region. Flustered, he started to walk back out the door, but at that moment he heard the elevator, directly in front of his classroom, begin to open. He slammed the classroom door from the inside, pressing the entire front of his body against it. From outside the classroom, only his head was visible through the door’s small square window. Tabitha Lasseter-Peebles stepped out of the elevator and glanced at him suspiciously. Christopher was smiling, his nose and lips pressed against the glass. She shrugged and proceeded down the hall.
He took another deep breath. Turning only his head around, he smiled sheepishly at the dumbstruck students, then sucked in his paunch and peeled the rest of his body from the door.
A few awkward moments passed as Christopher put his things on the table in front of the class, searching the students’ faces and recognizing Alex, Renee, and an astounded Daphne. Then, from the back of the room and with impeccable timing, Terrence called out, “Hey, what’s with the watch?”
Some students giggled with relief. There’s no turning back now.
Christopher stood behind the table with his stack of books strategically blocking view of his genitals. “Welcome to Humanities 200, Seminar on Aesthetics of the Body. I’m Dr. Christopher Ross, and this” —here he had practiced pausing dramatically— “is what my body looks like. If you feel uncomfortable with my lack of clothing, I have two suggested options: undress, as much as you’re willing, or leave.”
Christopher looked down, resting his hands on the table and locking his elbows, shocked that he had actually just said what he had actually just said. Five students stood up, not quite angry but definitely uncomfortable, and filed out of the room. The last one out left the door wide open. The rest of the students made eye contact, attempting to peer speedily but deeply into each other’s souls. Somebody started to fidget with a button. A shoe hit the floor. Terrence stood up and began to pull his shirt over his head. Somebody shut the door. Alex stood up and unfastened his belt. A young woman reached down to unbuckle her sandals, and then Renee took off her blouse. Christopher wanted to lift his face but forced himself to keep staring down at his books. Soon there was no more unbuckling, unzipping, or unsnapping to be heard.
Still keeping his gaze down, Christopher said, “Thanks to all of you for your solidarity.” Then he looked up, astonished to see fifteen undressed students staring at him with anxious faces. Most had draped their shirts or blouses over the chairs to sit on and then piled the rest of their clothes on the empty chairs or under their desks. A few had left their bras on, maybe underwear too.
Trying to act as naturally as possible, Christopher continued, “Great. Now, please put your desks in a circle,” and then turned to find some chalk. Facing the board, he heard their desks scraping noisily on the floor, and then a woman’s voice: “No.” All other noise stopped. He turned around and saw the students looking at him, awaiting his reaction with their desks in mid-turn. Among the faces staring him down was Daphne’s, smiling gracefully with her arms folded over her breasts, her desk unmoved.
“Fine.” Christopher grinned as pleasantly as he could, remembering a student’s comments from a previous semester about feeling intimidated when sitting in a circle. “When you come to class on Wednesday, please undress—inside the room—and arrange your desks before I arrive.” He paused. “Now, let’s begin. Here is the syllabus...” he said as he picked up the photocopies and walked over to the first row of desks. As he stopped to count out the stapled packets, he became very aware of his penis hanging at eye level right in front of the young woman who had screamed when he first entered the classroom. He blushed slightly, stopped counting, and handed her the entire stack before returning to his position behind the books on the table.
“What is aesthetics?” he asked hurriedly to move things along. Chalk in hand, he began to punctuate briskly the smooth sound of shuffling papers behind him. So briskly, in fact, as he spelled out “AESTHETICS” on the board, that he felt his unbound buttocks bouncing. But he didn’t care. He was celebrating the moment. He began lecturing about the definition of beauty and how it relates to artistic renderings of the human body. He paced, he gestured, he called on students, and the students took notes and raised their hands, just like always, but he and they were conducting class in the buff. He had lost five students, but fifteen had stayed with him in spirit and in bod
y.
“Aesthetics arises from emotion,” Christopher announced, “from our capacity to filter the stimuli around us and make sense of them. Aesthetics is therefore more subjective and corporeal than reason, which tends toward the objective and the cerebral. But aesthetics works in tandem with reason to inform our decisions.” He drew an image of a two-seater bicycle, with stick figures labeled “aesthetics” and “reason” pushing the pedals.
Then he wrote in large capital letters “RECLAIM THE IMAGE” on the board. “If aesthetics is sensation-based, it is thus body-based. Why not expose our largest bodily organ, the skin, to more fully receive and process stimuli? The surface area exposed by baring our buttocks, thighs, and chests is enormous, plus all the protruding surface area of the female breasts and male genitals. These are particularly sensitive spots, and some argue that our bodies function better when minute changes in temperature can be registered by the skin in these areas. Others argue that exposing these body parts, mostly erogenous zones, overstimulates them. A third-way view would suggest that it all depends on what you’re used to, and on temperature.
“Exposure of all our skin is obviously impractical, on a continual basis, in many of the world’s climates. But when possible, why not? Is it a fear of contagion? Impurity? That somehow our urine or feces or other substances will contaminate, or that we will be contaminated by others? The answer here is hygiene, hygiene, hygiene, and frequently washed towels for sitting.
“Is it a fear of sexuality? Many of you have no doubt discovered that social drinking is not the same thing as getting drunk, even though there are those who do not draw a distinction. Likewise, although many people cannot or will not see the difference, social nudity is not the same thing as sex. Our media, in this country and too many others, expose us relentlessly to acts of bodily violence, but the exposition of a buttock or a breast, to say nothing of a vulva or a penis, in a non-sexual context has been taboo until very recently. Even now, such an image is most often blurred on screen. We must work, unabashedly, to RECLAIM THE IMAGE of the nude body.
“In this course we will study ideas about the representation of the human body in different eras and cultures. Perhaps the most familiar to us will be those pertaining to traditional Western art. For example, how are Adam and Eve usually represented?”
“They’ve usually got those fig leaves in front of their private parts,” said Renee.
“Yes! Doesn’t it always seem like Adam and Eve invented Velcro?” Dr. Ross asked. Or something to keep the leaves there magically?” The students laughed. “Or, have you ever noticed that in a lot of paintings and sculptures, the wind seems to have just the right angle and force to blow little strips of cloth or veils that cover nymph breasts and cherub penises?
“The emotions triggered by the display of the human sexual organs, as well as other organs deemed sexually enticing, have sparked censorship and concealment throughout history. The norms for censorship—including, by the way, the decisions about which body parts are sexually arousing—are set by those in power, like the church, by using its authority to define sin, and the government, by enacting laws. Our goal will be to expose and explore this interplay between morality and legality as we discuss pertinent examples of body representation in a multicultural, chronological survey.
“For next time, prepare the material on East Africa. And, let me remind you to please get dressed before you leave the classroom. Context is everything.”
The New Gymnasium
Barely had Christopher crossed the threshold of his office door and placed his books on his desk, when there behind him was Tabitha. The look on her face stunned him. He thought he could read—just in her eyes—sadness, betrayal, resentment, anger, and disappointment, although something about her drawn cheeks and pursed mouth threw him off, because they seemed to connote satisfaction, or even pride.
He had plenty of time to register all this because Tabitha stood speechlessly staring at him. Filling the doorway in her power outfit—tight beige blouse, navy blue jacket, matching pants and heels, coiffed hair and heavy eye shadow, one arm akimbo and the other resting on the doorframe—her posture profiled her rise through the ranks of academe at a time when her male colleagues did all they could to promote and encourage her, since she was one of the few women in the field. Her ideas had been lauded, perhaps more than was deserved, so she had learned to assume a take-charge attitude. Now, in her late forties, she had won the respect of her colleagues as an excellent department chair and strategic planner.
Christopher, nude, refused to be intimidated. He moved closer to her and simply said, “Tabitha.”
She smirked and seethed, “Psalm 13.”
Christopher recalled that particular psalm, about feeling persecuted but having faith in an eventual redemption. “Song of Solomon,” he replied gamely.
“Why have you …” Tabitha paused. “Will you put on some clothes? Please?”
Christopher looked her in the eye. “This is my office. I invite you to take off yours.”
Both professors froze for a moment on a verge between possibilities.
Then Tabitha sighed and removed her suit jacket, saying, “I think we can find a compromise.” She held out her jacket to Christopher, the way a mother holds out a coat for a child to stick his arms through the sleeves. Christopher obliged. The jacket, a couple sizes too small, and tighter still because it had shoulder pads, fit Christopher like a corset, but he didn’t care, because the tension had eased.
“Please, sit down,” he said.
Tabitha closed the door first. “Roberta has taken five complaint calls already. I’m so mad at…her for not telling me when she saw you go to class naked, and I’m so mad at you, Christopher, for completely overstepping…for violating the students’ rights, the student-professor relationship, and the general mission of a liberal arts education. What were you…oh, what have you done?”
Her tone of voice stung Christopher. He understood that the tears she tried to hold back were born of frustration but also of genuine concern for both of them.
“Please, Tabitha, I couldn’t have given you advance warning. I know you too well. I did what I did in the true spirit of philosophy, and though you deny it I know in my heart of hearts that you can understand what I mean. In no way have I violated any of the trusts, missions or relationships you mentioned. On the contrary, I have taken them to a new and deeper level of meaning. I didn’t want to tell you what I was going to do. But now that you know, you must come to the next class and see for yourself. I have never felt more exhilarated, and I can tell the students felt the same.”
“You said ‘next class’ so innocently. There’s not going to be a next class, Christopher. I’m sure the administration will not tolerate this.”
“You mean you’re going to fire me?”
“You don’t have tenure. Everybody knows that. And now you’ve dealt your already tarred tenure case a nasty blow, probably fatal. What I don’t know yet is if you will be forced to abandon all your courses until your contract runs out in May. I don’t know what exactly will happen.” Tabitha sniffled. “But it will happen, Christopher. You have set this course in motion. To your detriment and mine.”
Dr. Ross swallowed hard. “Please, Tabitha. Please. Stall this ‘course in motion’ until after the Wednesday class. You’ll see.”
Tabitha looked at the floor.
“I know you feel hurt, but frankly I do too. You know me. You know I have incredible respect for students and for teaching and learning. I have done nothing to injure anyone.”
“What about those five complaint calls? You should have heard Mrs. Hocker, the mother of one of the students. She called twice! Do you know Paul Hocker?”
“I don’t know who that is. He must have dropped the course.”
“Obviously.”
“A few students dropped, but the majority stayed. The ones who left were uncomfortable. I gave them the choice to leave and they did.”
“The choice to leave? Wh
at kind of choice is that? Viability, Christopher! Our very existence as a department, as a discipline at this university, is under the axe! We need to attract students, not drive them away!”
“That’s another reason to give me at least until Wednesday. You’ll see, Tabitha. How many students jumped ship today? Five? Wait ‘til word-of-mouth gets around campus. I’ll have at least five students wanting to add the course on Wednesday, and I promise you I won’t make even a single call or send a single email for that to happen. And if there are more than five students who want to add, you owe me a lunch. A nice lunch.”
Tabitha squinted off into the corner of the office. “Fine. I’ll do what I can to stall the administration. But you had better deliver.”
“Thanks, boss,” sighed Dr. Ross.
As she opened the door to leave, Dr. Lassetter-Peebles said, “Diogenes.”
Christopher understood. He slipped off her jacket and laid it over her arm. “Yes. Come to class on Wednesday, Tabitha. Come to the new gymnasium.”
Overly Dramatic Methodology
Christopher had one call to make, but it didn’t involve any students, so he decided it wouldn’t count against his promise to the chair of the philosophy department. He picked up the office phone and dialed an extension.
“Angie?”
“Chris! It worked!”
“Word travels fast around here.”
“Congratulations! I heard there are a dozen students who want to add your course now!”
“That’s kind of what I hoped. But I need your help.”
“You must be in trouble with the administration. I gotta hand it to you, you’ve really got guts.”
This made Christopher feel cocky. “It’s surprising you’d choose that word ‘guts,’ since you haven’t seen my guts, or anybody else’s I dare suppose, but you certainly have seen my b…”