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by Sameer Pandya

  Before I went to my office, I checked to see if Cliff was in. The department knew I was coming, but I wanted to say a quick hello to him first. We’d spoken on the phone only that one time.

  “He’s on his way,” Mary said, standing up from behind her desk. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I said. “It’s all fine. I just have a flair for the dramatic.”

  She rummaged through her messy desk full of papers and found a single key. “We’ve had an office open up. Since you’ve been sharing all these years, we were thinking that maybe you should have it.”

  I had assumed my sympathy gift would be a little succulent on my desk, or maybe an orchid if Mary was feeling generous. To me, the real prize was that I’d had a bit of a break, and I still had my job.

  But now, here was my chance to get the office I’d always wanted. I could bring in some books, buy a rug, maybe splurge on an overpriced Eames chair. I already had the perfect lamp to light it all up. It would be the office of my dreams.

  “That’s very nice of you,” I said. “But I don’t want to abandon Dan. What would he do without me? Or, more precisely, what would I do without him?”

  Mary smiled, as if she’d known I would say that. “I’ll let Cliff know you’re here.”

  I left and walked down the hall. I found Dan at his desk. When he saw me, he sprung up, surprised, even though I’d told him I was coming in. He stepped toward me, unsure of what to do with his tall body.

  “What the fuck, Raj?” he said in a tone of mock exasperation. “We’re too young to be having heart attacks.” He gave me a tentative hug.

  “It’s all right,” I said, pulling him in closer. “You can’t crush it.”

  “Is it OK?” He placed his paw on my chest.

  “It’s fine. I’m supposed to take it easy. Maybe we can start taking afternoon walks.” I wasn’t sure how I would feel being back in my office. But it was comforting to be back, my desk just as it was when I left. “Thanks so much for teaching my classes. Are they paying you for it?”

  “They are,” Dan said. “You should have heart attacks more often. Everyone around here has been so friendly to me, it’s like I’m the one who had it. I think they’re all feeling a little guilty. I’d take advantage of it if I were you.”

  “I think I will. Let me know if you have any ideas. How are things? Back home yet?”

  “In fact, that’s where you’ve had the greatest impact. Julie has never been kinder to me because now she thinks I’m going to have a heart attack too. And yes, your classes are fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Though I think I’m boring them. Are you sure you want to be back in there?”

  “I’m not. But I think I have to.”

  “Returning to the site of the original trauma?”

  I raised my middle finger. I had missed him.

  There was a faint knock on the door. We both looked over.

  “Welcome back,” Cliff said, subdued.

  In the time I’d been gone, he seemed to have aged a little, the gray in his beard leaning toward white. I wanted to give him a hug, but it seemed like too intimate a gesture. Perhaps feeling this as well, he remained just outside the door.

  “I’m so glad you’re OK,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “What have you been up to besides rest?”

  “Nothing. I’m bored senseless.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. But you’re still welcome to change your mind.”

  “Let’s see how today goes.” The closer I got to the start of class, the more nervous I felt. And I felt self-conscious about being the subject of the conversation. “I should probably do some prep for class.”

  “Yes, yes,” Cliff said. He turned to leave, but stopped. “Young Spielberg is on an indefinite leave of absence from school. And the Mini is back in safe hands.”

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  “Back home, I suppose.”

  I thought about the last time I had seen Robert, his face layered with hurt, confusion, and anger as he drove past me at the TC. Though I never wanted to see him again, I worried about him.

  Cliff left, and Dan and I went over the material he had covered in my absence.

  “Between these three and your own classes, you must have been exhausted at the end of the week,” I said.

  “Actually, it wasn’t that bad. I’m so sick of managing my own time.”

  I found the lecture I wanted to give and started going through my notes.

  “You nervous?” Dan asked.

  “A little.”

  “What’re you going to say?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I said. “I tried writing something down, but it felt too forced. What if I freeze?”

  “You won’t,” Dan said. “I’ve seen you lecture. You’re good.”

  After I read over my notes, I walked down the hall to Mary’s office.

  “Do you have contact information for all the students?”

  “What’s the name?” she asked.

  “Robert Edwards.”

  It sounded like the name of a Puritan preacher.

  Mary typed the name in and turned the computer screen toward me. There was one number, which I put into my phone.

  “Are you going to call him?”

  “I don’t know.” All I had wanted was for him to keep his distance, but still I felt compelled to reach out.

  I went downstairs. Usually I made myself instant coffee from the department kitchen, but this time I went to the campus café and got a cappuccino. I didn’t put any sugar in it; I didn’t want to dilute the boost I got from the strong flavor.

  I walked past the bulletin board that had been plastered first with Emily Baker’s face and then with the Haji man. No trace of either. But there was a flyer for a talk called “Discourses of Race and Animalness.” Below the description for the talk, this gem: “A vegan reception will follow.” It wouldn’t have surprised me if the flyer was performance art. But despite my instinct to mock the reception, I appreciated the lively conversation the talk might lead to. The speaker and the organizers and the university were interested in ideas and new ways of thinking, and that was the electricity that would keep this place—and others like it—lit for a long time. I had spent most of my adult life on a college campus; it was where I felt the most comfortable. And so in my own way, I would do what I could to fight the Jack Mansfields who wanted to shut those conversations down.

  I took out my phone and dialed the number that Mary had given me.

  “Robert?” I said as the ringing stopped.

  “Who’s this?” he asked, his voice flat.

  “Raj Bhatt.”

  “Hey, Raj,” he said, his tone unchanged.

  I was less surprised by his comfort in calling me by my first name than by the sense that he wasn’t taken aback by my call.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “I’m OK. Back home. Taking a break from school.”

  Over the phone, the bite was gone from his voice. He sounded despondent.

  I didn’t know what to say next. Robert had made me miserable. He had tried to get me fired, pushed me to buy a gun, and contributed a lot to the stress that had brought on a heart attack that could have killed me. But over the past few weeks, I’d tried to work through the things he’d said to me. I had tried to understand his pain. I had some ideas, but they were nothing more than that. Part of me felt sad for him. This kid—and he really was only a kid—seemingly unloved and untethered, needed someone. And that someone wasn’t Alex and Holly. I thought about David and his friends and their Indian food. I wished they could have plucked Robert away from the hunger strikers.

  “I want to apologize to you for how I lost my temper, Robert. It wasn’t appropriate for me to yell at you the way I did.” Before he could reply I said, “And I also wanted to tell you again, because I know you didn’t believe me before, that I think you’re a bright student. Before everything got so crazy, that’s what I’d gleaned from our conversation. You
should concentrate on school. And the work. Take classes from as many different people as you can, and after all that, you can decide which arguments make the most sense to you.” I hoped his mind was still open. “But these ideas you’re getting from your friends Alex and Holly, from so-called news outlets like Mans­field—you need to stay away from them. That stuff is poison. It’s telling you that you and I are completely different kinds of people based on the color of our skin. We’re not.”

  “You know I’m not in your class anymore,” he said, a sharp edge back in his voice.

  “Yes, that’s true. You don’t have to listen to me, and ultimately you need to figure all of this out on your own. You’ll have to decide what kind of person you want to be. But I hope you keep in mind some of the things we’ve talked about.” I was about to end the call right there, not wanting to argue with him. “But let me be clear about one thing. Stay away from me and my family.”

  I waited for a few seconds, but he didn’t reply, so I said goodbye and hung up.

  Eva hadn’t wanted me to call him. But I’d needed to say this last thing to him. I texted her. “Just had a brief chat with Robert on the phone. All good. Heading into lecture.” Right before I sent it, I added a Haji emoji.

  In the past, I’d fantasized about what I’d say if I knew I was giving my last lecture. Would I talk about the things that were important to me? What advice would I give? Whom would I invite? I was certainly hoping this was not going to be my last, but my entrance into the lecture hall had an elegiac quality to it. I lingered for a moment, looking at the students seated there, with their laptops and phones, talking away. And then I made my way down the aisle, between rows of chairs. I instinctively tapped my fingers on my chest, a tic I had developed over the past few weeks.

  As the students saw me, I felt their murmurs tick up. Holy shit. It’s him. I got up to the podium and scanned the class. There were nearly two hundred students, and they were all looking up at me. I don’t think there was a single one who had expected to see me. I had their attention in a way I’d never had it before. I turned and waved to my TAs, who seemed just as shocked as the students did.

  There were so many of them I recognized, not by name but by their faces. I saw some of the group that had surrounded me outside the lecture hall during that first, awful protest. Several turned away, I suppose out of embarrassment or anger. I couldn’t tell which.

  I saw David. I gave him the slightest nod, and he nodded back. Then I went into my bag to get my notes and buy myself a bit of time. I took some deep inhales and visualized the students listening with rapt attention. I needed to get myself some of those prayer beads.

  When I looked up, I saw Alex and Holly sitting toward the back, where they usually sat. I hadn’t even considered whether they would still be in the class or not. I was still mad at them, and all the other students who’d helped start this whole mess. I gave them a warm smile. All I could do was make my case as clearly as possible. What else was there to do? My heart couldn’t take any more yelling.

  “Hi, all,” I said. “It’s nice to see you. I’m sorry I’ve been away. But I’ve missed you.” Mostly, I had missed the buzz I got from standing in front of all these people. “It seems that I’ve become a bit of an internet star. I’d be lying if I said I’ve never had an interest in stardom, but this was not the variety I had in mind.”

  Some of the students laughed nervously.

  “In case some of you have been living under a rock, you can Google me. But not now. Later. And if you want a laugh, see what they’re saying about me. It’s a little heartbreaking.” I was looking out toward the students, but not making eye contact with any of them. “A lot has happened since I was here last. I understand that some of you don’t agree with the kinds of things I’ve been teaching. And you’re well within your rights to disagree.” What I said next I said with some purpose: “But I’ve earned the right to be here. To say things that I have thought through carefully over many years. All sorts of people, from all over the country, have had the chance to weigh in on what should have been a conversation between us about the material I’ve been teaching. But I would like to keep that conversation going. Here. In this lecture hall. At the risk of sounding romantic about it all, there is no better place I know than the classroom for us to work through big ideas, and to discuss what we agree and disagree on. I hope you see that things got a little out of hand. But I’m here and I’m excited to get back to work. Do any of you have any questions?”

  The room was silent. Perhaps more so than I ever remember it being.

  Finally, a young woman up front said, “We heard you had a heart attack. Is that true?”

  “I did,” I said.

  “Because of what happened?” she asked, concern in her voice.

  “Partly from that. But there were other things going on in my life.” I tapped my chest twice. “But it’s good now. Pumping blood, feeling stuff. Doing what a heart does.”

  I waited to see if there were any other questions. I looked right at Alex and Holly, inviting them, but neither said anything. I didn’t bother trying to read the expressions on their faces.

  Then I turned to my notes and began: “I want to talk a little today about structuralism and the Frenchman Claude Lévi-Strauss, who did not, contrary to popular belief, start a jeans company.”

  * * *

  “Hurry up. We need to get to school.”

  Neel had never uttered these words before, and maybe he’d never utter them again. But for the moment, he was excited. The school was having its annual art show, and he had been working on something for weeks and weeks, using all the bits of junk we’d been getting at Scrappy Art, taking it with him every morning, stuffed in his backpack. For the past week, he had stayed after class on three different days. All this from a kid who was never shy about telling us, in both words and gestures, how much he hated school.

  The art show was in the gym, and when we walked in, the place was already packed with students and their parents and grandparents.

  “Go ahead,” I said, nudging Arun and Neel. Lately they’d been sticking very close to me. “Check out what your friends have done.”

  They took off. Eva and I wandered. The first-grade class had painted self-portraits, which all looked essentially the same. There was a section with interpretations of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers. I wondered if the art teacher had told the students about the ear.

  “Do you have any idea what he’s done?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Eva said. “Every time I ask, he says ‘art.’ ”

  Through the crowd, we saw Leslie. I hadn’t seen her since that day at the TC. She was waiting for us to signal, to take a step toward her. I turned away.

  “Hello,” I heard behind me.

  Suzanne. I hadn’t seen her since the heart attack either.

  She was there with her husband Jack, a square-jawed, handsome man whom, despite my better judgment, I liked. Unlike his genre of guy, he actually asked questions whenever I saw him in the hot tub, and listened as I answered. Often he had follow-up questions. The rest just talked and talked about stuff they knew nothing about.

  Eva gave Suzanne a warm smile. I could sense that Suzanne wanted to say something, but she seemed nervous.

  “How are you feeling, Raj?” Jack asked.

  “Much better.”

  “You’ve got us all scared straight. I know it’s not what you would have wanted, but thanks for that. No more red meat for me.”

  “The burgers are killers,” I said, smiling at the idea that this was simply an issue of bad fats.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Suzanne said, her eyes moistening. “It was terrifying seeing you on the ground like that.”

  “It was terrifying being like that. If Mark hadn’t stormed out of the meeting, he could have made himself useful.”

  She cracked a smile.

  “The Browns accepted,” she said, offering up the information with a certain amount of satisfaction.

&n
bsp; “That’s good news,” I said, my tone perhaps more subdued than she’d been expecting.

  It was great news, the outcome I had wanted when they’d first walked into the clubhouse. But I wished I hadn’t sullied it. I wished it hadn’t been sullied. I liked the idea of Bill and me hitting tennis balls in the evening light after a long day of work. I liked the idea of us on that court. And yet, I couldn’t see myself returning to the TC. I hadn’t talked to Eva about it, but she probably sensed that that part of our lives was over. There was no going back.

  “We should probably go check on our little Van Goghs,” Eva said, gently moving us away. “We’ll see you soon.”

  “Of course,” Suzanne said.

  We saw Neel and Arun in a corner. When we walked up to them, I didn’t see at first what Neel had created. I was too focused on him and Arun standing next to each other. Neel had his arm around his younger brother’s shoulder, and they were both looking up at Neel’s work. Neel had about a foot on his brother, and they had the same broad shoulders, which they’d inherited from me, which I had inherited from my father. They would fight and they would make up and we would yell at them and fall asleep with them, and soon enough they would go off to college. And all throughout, they would remain perfect. I couldn’t get enough of them.

  Arun stepped forward and touched Neel’s art. I finally looked at it.

  On a pedestal was a large mass, roughly three feet by three feet, made from all sorts of junk—plastic spirals from the bindings of folders, pieces from trophies, buttons, parts of old telephones, swaths of cloth, and on and on. I didn’t recognize it at first, but then, through all the scraps, something appeared. Someone appeared. I don’t know how Neel did it, but it was uncanny how much the sculpture looked like the poster of Ganesh in his bedroom. Eva and I moved in closer. He had used beautiful, large silver buttons for Ganesh’s eyes and that huge salad bowl he’d bought for the big belly. He’d created Ganesh’s most prominent feature, his elephantine trunk, entirely out of empty Adderall prescription bottles, with his name and dosage on each of them. He had asked for the empty bottles to store pennies and buttons and little Lego pieces. I had assumed that they’d disappeared into the bowels of his bedroom.