“Well, here it is.” He unlocked the door with a flourish, feeling brilliantly inarticulate. He needed a smoother move than any of the ones he had, that was his last thought as Leslie crossed the threshold. He followed her, wondering what to do, and was assaulted as soon as he closed the door.
“Really kiss me this time,” she whispered, her eyes dancing with anticipation.
Leslie still kissed with sweet ferocious heat, that would never change—it was the frequency of kisses that had changed over the years. Nor, in fact, would his surprise at her hidden passion ever change. He should have learned that truth that day when they were entwined on the couch. He unfastened her sweater to find her wearing the most sexy black satin bra he’d ever seen in his life.
He was struck speechless. The lingerie was so incongruous with her outward appearance, so mischievous, sexy and playful. He looked at her and shook his head. She blushed but laughed.
“I like lingerie,” she admitted. “A lot. That’s why I work at JC Penney, so I can buy what I want.”
“I thought you needed money for school.”
“No, I could earn that during the summer. This is for me.” She said this last with such defiance that Matt had a sudden insight into what it cost to live her father’s dreams, to always fulfill his expectations. He saw that she would fight for her lingerie, and maybe for more of her own choices in time.
He shook his head and smiled. “I’m surprised.”
“You’ll never catch me in a white cotton sport bra.”
“Will I catch you in this?”
Her smile turned wicked. She lifted his hand to her breast, then feigned surprise. “Caught!” she said and, triumphant, he kissed her laughter away.
It was a telling recollection. Leslie fooled the world with her demure exterior, sometimes even fooled him into forgetting how deeply she cared. Matt Coxwell stopped cold in a quiet street in Algiers and wondered whether he had been fooled again.
He certainly hadn’t been checking on his wife’s lingerie collection lately.
Was it possible that she wouldn’t have condemned his choice if he’d confided in her?
No, he reasoned, starting the trek back to Sharan’s house. No, he was giving credit where it wasn’t due, he was sure of it, though a voice in the back of his thoughts nagged him about the possibility. Leslie had said herself that she had wanted him to take a job with his father, which any idiot could see would be a bad choice for Matt, just so that she could pursue her own ambition, whatever it was. Leslie saw what Leslie wanted and nothing else. Matt should know that well enough by now.
Funny how he couldn’t stop thinking about that black satin bra, or even his own surprise at its discovery.
* * *
It was no consolation that Naomi was right.
Dinkelmann was behind his desk—a vast expanse of actual oak in contrast to the chipboard with wood-grain-paper-veneer special in Leslie’s office—hands braced on its surface, the wall behind him chock-a-block with books. No, they were tomes. The window in his office looked over the tranquil quadrangle and the snow there cast a bright white light into the room.
They exchanged greetings, then Leslie claimed one of the straight chairs positioned for guest. It was a cheap chair with a plastic seat and wobbled disconcertingly. She thought of Naomi and wondered whether the choice was deliberate. Meanwhile, Dr. Dinkelmann spun slowly in his five-legged, leather-upholstered, ergonomically-designed chair and regarded her solemnly.
He did that for a long time, but Leslie resisted the urge to fidget like a toddler caught with one hand in the cookie jar. She sat, perfectly straight, didn’t wobble the chair, and stared back.
He abruptly leaned forward and templed his fingers together, the image of paternal concern. Seeing as Leslie had at least a decade of experience on him, it irritated her. “Leslie, Leslie, Leslie. I’ve heard the most troubling stories about your lecture yesterday.”
“Really?”
“Really. I can only conclude that I was right to encourage you to take a leave of absence and that your enthusiasm for teaching has led you to overestimate your capabilities.”
Leslie was pretty sure that she wasn’t the one overestimating her capabilities. “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Dinkelmann, but I don’t happen to share your concerns.”
“Even after yesterday’s lecture?”
“Even after yesterday’s lecture. I’ve been thinking about the encouragement of excellence and am convinced that the way to do so is to demand more of students, not less.”
“That’s clearly contrary to our discussion earlier this week.”
“But consistent with my experience, all the same. Even my own daughter will take advantage of any opportunity to do less, though encouragement will invariably prompt her to do more.”
“You would base your management of a university class with your experience in raising your daughter?”
“And with teaching other university classes.” Leslie smiled. “I think it’s a better plan than basing my teaching patterns on marketing decisions.”
Dinkelmann’s eyes widened. “I must confess that I’m surprised to find you possessed of such a defiant attitude, Dr. Coxwell. You’ve always worked well with me in the past.”
Leslie took a deep breath, knowing that she was leaping into the abyss without a parachute. “There are principles worth fighting for, Dr. Dinkelmann. I do not believe that excellence is encouraged with lassitude and I do not believe that any academic purpose is served by lowering expectations and standards.”
“This is in direct defiance…”
Leslie had had enough, which made her more bold than she had ever been before. “Give me this term. Give me this term and the kids who are already registered in my classes and I guarantee you that they’ll have better marks than they would have had otherwise.”
Dinkelmann leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Leslie, Leslie. This is foolish.”
“I’ll do it. We’ll tally up their G.P.A.’s in history classes thus far and if more than half of them improve upon that, then you have to cede that my strategy has some merit.”
“And if they don’t?”
Leslie took a deep breath. “I’ll quit, because if I can’t succeed at this, then I don’t know anything about teaching at all.”
“Leslie, this is quixotic…”
“I refuse to teach to the lowest common denominator or give grades beyond what has been earned.”
“You’re living in the past, Leslie.”
She smiled. “I’m a medievalist and a social historian to boot. The past is the point for me.”
Dinkelmann stared at the top of his desk for a long moment, his pen tapping as regularly as a metronome all the while. “You should know,” he finally said with care, “that Anthony Dias will be joining us next week. He’s poised for great things, Leslie, and has already begun to make his mark among medievalists for some daring revisionist thinking.”
He raised his gaze. “The fact remains that I respect both you and your work, so I’m giving you an option. You can recant everything you’ve just said right here and right now, and I’ll forget we ever had this discussion. I’ll attribute it to stress.” He wagged a finger at her. “But if you walk out that door without recanting, I’ll hold you to the letter of what you’ve just said. I don’t need to have two medievalists in my department, and I won’t endorse any challenge of a mandate directly from the board of governors by anyone on my staff. Even with tenure, your appointment here can be made very uncomfortable. Are we understood?”
“We are.” Leslie got to her feet, hoping he couldn’t see how her knees were trembling. She held out her hand. “So, do we have a deal on this term?”
Dinkelmann studied her for so long that Leslie thought he’d decline. Then he stood abruptly and took her hand. He shook it once hard, giving her such a steady look that she was half-convinced that he wanted her to succeed.
Then she was flying down the hall, late for her third-year lecture. She
decided impulsively against the prepared format, swung into the room, dropped her books and seized the lectern.
She had nothing left to lose.
“I want to talk to you today about my own studies,” she said, watching as the students exchanged glances. “I want you to understand the point of all of this, to see what a social historian does once he or she has survived the political history courses and the rigors of grad school. I want you to understand the point of studying the past.”
Leslie took a deep breath, terrified because she had nothing prepared but exhilarated all the same. “I want to talk to you about charivari. Have any of you ever heard this term before?”
They shook their heads and several leaned forward.
“Charivari was one of a number of performances or rituals that enforced socially-acceptable behavior in medieval society. These kinds of rituals became increasingly common through the middle ages, reaching their peak of popularity in the fourteenth century. It’s possible that someone someday will link them more conclusively to the emergence of theater, but today we’ll just talk about what charivari was and how it worked.”
The kids were listening, Leslie saw with pleasure.
“Charivari was also called rough music, or katzenmusik in Germany, cencerrada in Spain, scampanate in Italy. You’ll find it listed as chalivali, calvali, canavari or coribari as well. It had many names because it was a phenomenon that occurred all over Europe.
“So, what was it? Charivari was a noisy demonstration which was held at night, and it was a means of policing social transgressions—as opposed to legal ones, which would be policed by the sheriff and court. When a social transgression was perceived to have been made, people of the village came to the door of the offender in the middle of the night, or even to his window. They wore disguises, they often dressed as animals or wild men, and they played pots and pans as if they were instruments. They sang rude songs and made coarse jokes. They would rouse the transgressors from bed and humiliate them publicly, maybe by making them ride a donkey backward, maybe by burning them in effigy, maybe by leaving them naked in some public place.”
Leslie paused to face the class. “It must have been terrifying, even though people were not physically hurt. Further, the following morning, those who had enacted the “punishment” would act as if nothing had happened, which must also have contributed to the anxiety of those who were chosen as victims.”
The students were riveted.
“So, what prompted these attacks? Well, we have pretty limited records of charivari, as the churchmen responsible for most of our medieval records didn’t approve of these kinds of spontaneous, perhaps pagan, rituals. But it’s clear that one of the main triggers for charivari was a transgression of marital expectations. A man who beat his wife might be humiliated in this way, because the law might not be against him or inclined to take action against him. Similarly, a marriage in which the wife was perceived to be in control would often be the target of charivari. Any guesses as to why?”
Four students raised their hands and Leslie picked one. “Because having the woman rule was perceived to be unnatural?”
“That’s right. It would be seen as a violation of God’s law, and thus an action that could endanger the souls of everyone in the village. They perceived the question of their salvation to be not only determined by their individual behavior, but by the behavior of the community as a whole. This belief empowered them to chide their fellows.”
“Similarly, those who were believed to engage in unorthodox sexual practices might be the victims of charivari. Women who beat their husbands were a favorite target, and that seems to have been much more prevalent than we might have expected.”
Another student raised her hand. “But I thought women had minor roles in medieval society?”
Leslie spread her hands. “The sources would seem to indicate as much, so what do we do with all of these husband-beaters? There are many of them. What does the prevalence of these women mean? Is there something we don’t understand about gender roles and their restrictions in that society? Or do we have false assumptions about the agency—that is, the power of women to act or to make things happen in their own lives—of medieval women? Maybe gender roles in medieval society—or in some places and at some times—were more fluid or more complicated than we’ve seen in other sources.”
They thought about that, a couple of them looking genuinely perplexed, and Leslie felt a conviction that she’d awakened something potent. “Widows and widowers remarrying also were often the targets of charivari, especially if there was a large age disparity between the pair. Any ideas why?”
They were leaning forward now, anxious to speculate. Leslie indicated one student who was waving her hand. “Because it’s unnatural for a young person to marry an elderly one? They might not be able to have children.”
“There’s that.” Leslie pointed to another student.
“And other young people might not like one of their fellows being ‘taken’.”
“Exactly,” Leslie said. “Remember that Europe had a kind of population explosion from the twelfth century until the plague’s arrival in the mid-fourteenth century. There was greater competition for assets, including property, tillage, and marriage partners.”
“Could there have been people who thought that the younger person consented to the marriage just to get the older person’s money?”
“Absolutely. Charivari was primarily a rural phenomenon, something that happened in villages and not in cities. You may know yourself that there are few secrets in a small town.” They laughed then and Leslie was excited to have them so engaged in the material. “Any other ideas? Does anyone know how remarriages were enacted, or how the ceremonies were different from first marriages?”
“Weren’t they held privately?”
“Yes, exactly. Remarriages were often quiet affairs. The couple might pledge themselves at night, at home, in the company of only a few witnesses. Remember that marriage is the one sacrament that requires only the participants and God as a witness: it did not even require the presence of a priest until the state became concerned with ensuring the legitimacy of offspring. So, why would that bother people?”
“No party?” guessed one student, to laughter from his fellows.
“Exactly! There would be no food, drink, and entertainment provided at the expense of the couple and/or their families. In lean years—and there were a lot of them in the early fourteenth century, what with famine and crop failure—that might easily be resented.” Leslie leaned on the podium and decided to push them a bit. “So, you may not realize this, but I’ll tell you that a lot of medieval traditions endure in our society in one form or another. Any ideas what happened to charivari? Is it gone, or is it still lurking in the corners of our expectations and behavior?”
“Some religious groups shun people for perceived transgressions.”
“Like the Amish and the Shakers. Exactly. That’s a formal response, decided in committee by representatives of the group, almost like a court decision. Do we do that informally, though?”
They nodded, and more than a few of them smiled.
Another student put up his hand. “Isn’t that why people don’t tell anyone where they’re staying on their honeymoon, or the night after their wedding?”
“Yes, people will beat pots and pans, and sing loud songs outside wherever the couple has gone to consummate their marriage, if they find out where it is. The idea is that the honeymoon location is supposed to be a secret. Sounds a lot like charivari, doesn’t it?”
“People still say things about couples who get married who are really different in age,” suggested one student.
“Things like?” Leslie prompted.
“Like one’s marrying the other for money, or for sex, or for a trophy.”
“Exactly. We still hold similar ideas about which partners are suitable. What other kinds of marriages do you think were targeted for charivari? Guess.”
“People
of different religions getting married?”
“Yes. There’s not an enormous amount of that in medieval Europe, but even the idea of someone eligible marrying a foreigner, someone from outside the local region, could make the couple targets.”
“What about Carnival? You know, it happens in the winter in Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans?” asked one girl.
Leslie nodded. “That’s another kind of costumed revelry, one specifically linked to the beginning of Lent, and it used to happen everywhere in Europe in the middle ages. You all know, of course, that Lent in the Christian tradition is the period of spiritual preparation for the celebration of Easter, and in medieval Europe, Christianity was the religion of the majority. What do you do during Lent?”
“Fast!”
“Give something up!”
Leslie smiled, enjoying herself as she seldom did in lecture. “So, what do you think Carnival is?”
“One last party!”
“More than that. What’s the origin of the word? Where are my Latin students?” The students blinked and looked between each other. “What if I say ‘carne vale’?”
“‘Farewell, Meat’,” called a student from the back row to general laughter.
“That’s exactly it,” Leslie said. “One last chance to eat meat—as well as to drink alcohol—before the fasting of Lent began. And as you might imagine, things got a little wild.”
The students were murmuring to each other, interested as they never had been and Leslie had to raise her voice to continue. “I’m going to change the mid-term essay assignment, because I want to make it more interesting for you. I’d like you to identify some element of medieval social history—it can be weddings or funerals or charivari or Carnival or courtship or table manners: any aspect of social history—I’d like you to research what it is, how it worked, and explore any variations in its practice.
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