Swedenborg - Chapter 8

8.

 

    Art Selig was sitting at his customary table in the faculty lounge when Frank and Dick walked by on the sidewalk outside.

   Art scowled.

   Not that scowling was unusual for him.

   Indeed, that scowl had earned him the choice window table in the first place.

   Once, some two years before, a hapless untenured English instructor had sat at the table. Art, who was considered faculty because of his work as a researcher at the INS, came in, spotted the interloper, sat at a table facing him, and scowled.

    The instructor soon became aware of the sour glare focused on him. He smiled amiably, but Art's glare did not relax. Art's eyes seemed only to grow deeper, blacker. The instructor found himself looking up frequently, at Art, then at other people in the room in hopes of finding a sympathetic face. But too many of the faces were closed to him: the academic ethic of keeping to one's own field of interest.

    Finally, the instructor left the seat without finishing his meal.

    Other faculty members - even the most senior - simply acknowledged from that point on that every day between 12:15 and 1, the table was Art's. None wanted to contend with the researcher's scowl.

    Now, Frank and Jack were the objects of that scowl.

    Jack had earned it long before this morning's interview of Art's boss, Dr. Soehner. Jack had a habit of digging too deeply when it came to the INS, all too often reporting failures or questionable activities - including Art's now defunct pet project on the effects of sexual stimulation on psychic ability.

    And Jack was gay. That in itself was enough to make Art hate him. Jack's openness about his sexual orientation hit too close to home - though Art would never have admitted it, especially to himself.

    But today's scowl was directed more at Frank.

    For though Art tried to project a cosmopolitan air, he was actually a graduate of Kashong High School, where he and Frank had been classmates.

    Art's father was a mechanic who worked for a time for Frank's father. But then Frank's father had fired the senior Selig for coming in drunk and nearly destroying a table saw he was repairing.

    Art and Frank at the time were friends. In Art's mind, at least, best friends. But after the firing, although Frank never said a word about it, Art could never forget it. The two drifted apart.

   The final blow came their senior year. Art had been president of the chess club for two years. Indeed, he had a perfect record in intramural and interscholastic matches. He spent hours each day studying the game and practicing.

   But Frank joined the club on a lark after a skiing injury knocked him off the basketball team. Unlike Art, Frank never practiced or studied that game, yet he defeated Art the first time they played. And the second. And the third. Even though they traded wins throughout the rest year, Art could never forgive Frank for his nonchalant approach to the game.

    Art startled his fellow diners in the faculty lounge when he suddenly put away his lunch and left at 12:30.

    He hurried out to the walkway and spotted Frank and Jack as they headed toward the student life center. For a moment, he thought of following them, but decided that he did not want to talk to Frank should they happen to meet. Instead, he cut across the campus to the INS building.

    The building _ a four-story box made of dark glass and steel _ was an aberration on the campus. Most of the buildings were ivy-covered stone edifices that have long since passed the century mark.

     Erected in the 1960s, the INS building was originally meant to house the university's science departments. But the designers had been so concerned with the modernistic look of the building that they forgot to allow for adequate supplies of water and power, and had not installed ventilation systems in rooms intended as labs. Most of the science department faculty voted to remain in cramped buildings where they could at least open windows.

     Eventually, a few departments did move into the building, including

the psychology department. Some of the psychology students nicknamed the building "Id Hall." Even though its official name was the James Douglas Memorial Hall  - after a former basketball coach who was murdered on night in a bar - most students now knew it by the nickname.

    The top floors of the building remained vacant until INS began renting space ten years before. Gradually, INS had taken over the building.

   Art's own office was on the tenth floor, next to Doctor Soehner’s office.

   As he walked into his office, his phone buzzed. He picked it up.

   "I need to see you."

   Art knew Soehner's voice well. He also knew Soehner had a way of knowing when he was in his office.

    He walked next door, knocked, and entered the room.

    "You handled Plantir well," Art remarked. Then he saw the look on Soehner's face.

    Soehner handed him a sheet of paper.

    "You probably heard the call from Ms. Ruth Doyle. Here's her address."

    Art didn't have to ask how he knew who the woman was, or what he wanted him to do. He glanced at the note, put it in his pocket and said crisply, "Right away."

    He left the office, went back to his own and unlocked the storage closet. He pulled out a file, looked it over, studying the picture, then closed it and filed it away again.

   Ten minute later, he was driving down the street toward the address on the note - which he had already burned.

   He sniffed his fingers and smiled. He liked the smell of smoke.

Pax et bonum