Pages 294-298
He still vaguely held it against CD that he had not told him his article was half baked. And what’s he hiding from in his office—still the Depression? sex? the frustrations of life? Is he the best possible man around or can we do better? But what most troubled Levin was the old question why CD had dropped the defense of Leo Duffy.
He telephoned Bucket at supper time. “Joe, maybe this is the wrong question right now, but do you have any serious reservations about Fabrikant?”
Bucket laughed self-consciously. “I have reservations about everyone, not excepting myself.”
“Do you think he’d make a better head than Gilley?”
“I would say so.”
“Does he stand a chance to be elected?”
“It seems to me he does.”
“Joe, why don’t you run?” Levin asked. “I bet people would support you.”
The phone was silent for a minute, then Bucket said, “That’s very kind but I don’t care for administrative responsibility.”
Levin said it was just a thought. He had been about to ask if Fabrikant had told him about the picture of Pauline and Duffy, but if Bucket knew, the instructor wanted him to mention it first.
The next morning he found a sealed note in his mailbox, his first written communique from Bucket: “Although I genuinely admire CD in several ways and will unquestionably vote for him, I’d be less than honest not to admit one reservation—his withdrawal of assistance to Leo in the Academic Freedom sub-committee of our AAP. Having said that, I hope you will excuse me from further comment.”
Levin hunted him up after the end of the hour.
“Excuse me, Joe—I hate to ask, but could you give me a little more information?”
Bucket refused. “All I will add is that secrecy in this matter is not merely willful on my part.”
He knows, thought Levin.
“Thanks,” he said. “I think I’ll talk to CD again.”
He had come to a reluctant decision and all day postponed doing something about it although he felt he must. In the late afternoon he knocked on Fabrikant’s office door but he wasn’t in. That evening, as the sun was setting, Levin drove to his farm and came upon the candidate on his horse in the meadow. The brown horse was a big-bodied animal on short legs, and Fabrikant resembled Napoleon with a cigar. Was he planning a new melon patch or a pitched battle? Austerlitz or Waterloo? Defense in front or rear?
Levin waded out to him through the knee-deep grass. The scholar, in a mellow mood, removed his cigar. “Nice of you to come by.” He gestured at the twilit sky.
“So peaceful,” Levin said, and paused, hat in hand.
Fabrikant waited, alert. The horse stirred in the grass.
“You recall,” Levin began, “I once asked you about Mr. Duffy, why you gave up defending him?”
Fabrikant, chewing his cigar, remarked, “I recall.”
Levin cleared his throat. “If you’ll pardon me, CD, why did you?”
“That’s a private matter.”
“Wasn’t it also a public one?”
After a silent minute the instructor said, “I’m not referring to the picture.”
Fabrikant frowned. “What picture do you have in mind?”
“The one Gerald took of his wife.”
The horse moved forward. Fabrikant checked her.
“Did he tell you about that?”
“No. Someone else did—not Bucket.”
The scholar grunted. The horse whinnied. “Whoa, Isobel.”
“Specifically,” Levin said, “what I’d like to know is, was it just the picture that made you change your mind about helping Duffy, or was it something else—or both?”
Fabrikant let out a puff of smoke. A statement followed: “When the photograph was called to my attention I realized there was more to the mess than I had guessed. An ethical problem presented itself which, until then, I had no knowledge of.”
“Did you tell the AAP committee about the picture?”
“I told them I no longer intended to defend Mr. Duffy.”
“That killed the entire defense?”
“More or less.”
“Wasn’t that too an ethical matter? That his rights had been violated and no one did anything about it?”
“It was my opinion that the introduction of that photograph cast a different light on his previous trouble.”
“All the picture showed—didn’t it?—was that they were naked coming out of the water?”
“I wouldn’t care to discuss that.”
“I’m trying to understand what—er—actually happened.”
“It was an indecent business.”
“The picture, or the sex angle?”
“Call it what you will.”
“Er—Did Duffy ever say anything—in explanation?”
“I don’t know. You can ask Gilley.”
“Did you tell Bucket?”
Fabrikant coughed. “He had sympathized with Duffy and asked me to explain my action. I afterwards promised myself I wouldn’t discuss it with anyone again, nor have I until this evening.”
“Excuse me for pursuing this,” Levin said nervously, “but it’s very important. Did Gilley say, when he showed you the picture, that his wife and Duffy were lovers?—that she had conf—admitted that to him?”
“He didn’t say anything. He stopped in my office and handed me the photograph. I took one look and handed it back. There was no further communication on the subject, except his remark later that his wife didn’t know about the picture and he would rather she didn’t.”
Fabrikant turned his horse and Levin had to step back. “I find this discussion unpleasant, Seymour.”
“Excuse me for asking,” Levin said, “but surely you must have assumed they had—they had been intimate, because there’s no moral issue in going for a swim naked.”
“What I assumed is my own business.”
“I’m on my way,” Levin said, “but I want to be clear about one thing. Before you saw the picture—correct me if I’m wrong—you were willing to stand up for Duffy, but then you changed your mind. The main issue, the one that influenced you to offer your help was that he had been fired publicly for being a trouble maker. He had not been given notice, which I understand is contrary to universally approved policy. There was no bill of particulars, or a hearing by any organization on campus, so far as I know. Anyway, what I’m specifically asking is whether the issue on which you decided the matter in your own mind—the reason you wouldn’t go on defending him—whether it was based on the merits of the case or just on your seeing the picture?”
“I don’t see how you can separate one thing from the other. The evidence was clear.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Of his character, of their relationship—do I have to be franker?”
“But did you ask for—er—any other proof? I mean, could I ask whether you gave Duffy the benefit of a reasonable doubt—for instance that he might just have happened to go swimming in the nude with a woman—let’s say on impulse—hers—and otherwise the relationship might have been perfectly innocent? It’s possible.” Levin ended with his voice off pitch.
Fabrikant testily answered, “I decided he was a pestiferous nuisance, not worth the fuss he had kicked up, and washed my hands of the whole annoying business.”
“Ah,” said Levin. He put on his hat.
Night had fallen. The fragrant warmth of late spring rose from the fields. A crescent moon and single green star glowed overhead as a garden of blue stars evolved in the sky.
Levin sighed. “I’m sorry, CD, but after thinking it over I’m not sure I can support your candidacy any more. I want you to know I like you personally but it’s the principle involved.”
Fabrikant’s big-pupiled eye, reflecting a star, throbbed and sparkled. His horse moved restlessly as he tried to steady her.
“Mr. Levin,” he said, cold, aloof, “as you grow older, and I hope wiser, you’ll learn there’s more to mature behavior than snap absolute judgments. Are you being principled in supporting Gilley?”
“Not him,” said Levin.
“Then who?”
His dry lips parted. “Myself.”
“That smacks of sickening pride.” Fabrikant rose in his stirrups and flung his cigar away. He galloped thunderously across the dark field.