Chapter Seven

The Tail was again in his office, writing another book, many years before.  This book was to be the first volume in his bibliography, an oft-cited work that a reviewer for the New York Times would praise effusively.  “…the author doesn’t just make the material accessible,” wrote the review, “…but also relevant.  His erudition and command of the subject make the problems of long-gone ages our own, and brings the past into a very modern context.”

        This was after he was made full professor, and also not long after the birth of his second daughter.  His duties at that time included teaching, advising within his department, and other administrative functions that were difficult to keep track of.  He was realizing long-held dreams, and it was his firm belief that the personal and professional jealousies that had thwarted him at earlier stages of his career would begin to fade into the background.  His star would begin to rise.  He was sure of it.

        His book was still in outline form, but he thought that if he could only write for an hour or two every day he would finish it by the end of the year.  It was to be a biography of Thomas Aquinas.  He had already seen several papers published on the Late Middle Ages and various theological topics, so Aquinas seemed both a safe object of study and a subject likely to find an audience.

        It was his intent to not only outline the origins of Aquinas’ distinctive theology, but also to explain his ideas on the nature of evil, his position on predestination, and his thoughts on several well-known heresies of the period.  The Tail’s plan was to flash backwards and forwards through Aquinas’s life, perhaps beginning with the great man writing the Summa Theologia in seclusion somewhere, and ending with the finished book.  He would then detail how the publication of this major work had both vindicated Aquinas and shamed his more ardent critics.

        As he typed, he stole glances at a new, silver-framed photo on his desk.  It was a picture of his infant daughter, just a few months old at the time.  Her older sister was holding the new baby, and the two of them were smiling in the presence of trees.  This baby had been born the previous February, and his wife had named her Christina.  Christina had very dark hair, much darker than either his own or his wife’s.

        He loved the new baby to distraction.  When at home, he would hold the child for hours.  He would hold her so long that his wife would grow jealous, and snatch Christina away.  When he was alone, as he was while typing his book, he liked to imagine her sleeping peacefully, her head full of gentle dreams.  His affection for this newer child was not an emotion he had experienced before, and his desire to be near her seeped into other pursuits, and often distracted him from other ambitions.

        On the previous day he had given a lecture on the Cathars, and afterwards his class had entered into a lively debate as to what might approximate the medieval concept of heresy in the modern age.  His class was in one of the larger classrooms, in the same building as that which housed his office.  The Tail and fifteen of his students were gathered in a modern-looking room that was too large for their purposes, with tasteful white office furniture and all the latest audio-visual equipment.  It was at that time that one of his students, a very original young man by the name of Kevin, made a case for certain fundamentalist beliefs prevalent in American society, and also offered examples of how these beliefs are transformed into policy by elected officials.  Kevin then made an argument – quite convincing to his professor – that in the modern age issues such as stem cell research and abortion might indeed embody a kind of heresy, given a loose interpretation of certain terms.

        The entire class was spellbound by Kevin’s oratory, including his professor.  Kevin met all of their questions with an admirable flexibility and open-mindedness, and by the end of the hour he had won many over to his point of view.  It was rare to encounter such a mind as Kevin’s, one with such versatility, and one with such a wide-ranging command of facts.  The professor had glimpsed himself in his student, and in that moment he felt a kinship with the young man that he had not known before.

        Kevin was also a very handsome young man, and the Tail was pleased to hold a private conversation with his student the following morning, just a few hours before starting in on his day’s writing.  They met in the Tail’s office, just after the Tail’s only class for that day ended.  As Kevin walked through his office door, the Tail could not help but appreciate his fine figure, dressed in the most tasteful clothes.  Kevin was wearing dark slacks that looked tailored to his exact proportions, and a beige sweater that showed his muscular arms and chest to full advantage.  Kevin’s long black hair – always immaculate – was parted to the side and combed behind his ears, giving his face an earnest appearance.  As it turned out, Kevin was also a history major, and hoped to follow in his professor’s footsteps.

        The two of them talked for nearly two hours, on subjects ranging from Late Antiquity to movie adaptations of medieval events.  Kevin sat very close to him as they talked, and at several moments the older man felt the pressure of Kevin’s fingers on his thigh.  The Tail tried to convince himself that Kevin’s touch was harmless, but as the conversation progressed he grew steadily more aroused by the younger man’s attentions.

       This went on for several minutes, with the Tail sitting there, holding forth on the history of Western civilization, and hoping that the flush across his cheeks wasn’t noticeable.  He was at the same time praying that the erection straining against his corduroy pants wasn’t obvious.  It was a game they played, the two of them.  And as they spoke, Kevin brushed his hair from his eyes with a careless gesture, sometimes leaning back reflectively, sometimes leaning forward to press his hand against the Tail’s nervous leg.

        “I like your book idea,” said Kevin.  “Aquinas is an interesting figure – perhaps the most interesting figure – from that era in Church history.  He was poised just on the brink of everything modern, just when the first inklings of humanism began to appear in Europe.  I will agree that he was too much the man of faith for the Renaissance, but in a way he perfected medieval theology, that is if medieval theology could ever be considered perfect.”

        “Yes,” said the Tail, adjusting his slacks and casting a glance downward.  “But I need more material on his attitude toward heresy.  I’m trying to draw more of a link between him and the Cathars, and I don’t really have enough to work with.  Aquinas had his head further up in the clouds, and drawing his particular brand of theology into that debate is proving difficult.”

        “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Kevin said, “You are, after all, the most brilliant man I’ve ever met, and also the most dedicated to his profession.  You have a way of… making the most difficult philosophical arguments digestible, and your picture would also look quite dashing on a dust jacket.”

        The Tail flushed a deeper shade of red.  Then, for an instant, their conversation stalled as they looked one another in the eyes, not sure of how to proceed.  Kevin did his best to carry on, unperturbed, but it was clear that his professor was addled, excited, and unsure of how to go on.  As the seconds ticked by, the Tail saw Kevin’s natural friendliness shade over into worry, and from there into pity.

        “That’s very nice of you,” the professor finally said, “But… well… as you can see I’m very busy here today.  It’s been… nice talking to you?”

        “Sure,” Kevin said, and after a few words of apology he claimed business elsewhere, leaving the Tail to sort out all of his contradictory emotions.  He watched as the young man stood up, left, and quietly closed the office door with a parting smile.  He nodded vacantly as the doorknob turned and the door latch clicked into place.  His ears followed Kevin’s footsteps as the young man walked down the outer hallway, toward the antique doors at the end of that hallway, and onward into the whole wide world beyond his tiny office.

        For a long time he remained there, trying to organize his thoughts.  He tried to frame the matter in academic terms.  He drew up several examples from history.  He tried to bring in psychological arguments.  He tried not to think about his mother, and the names she used to call him when she was holding the scissors.  He tried not to think of the other little boys on a playground, long ago, calling him names.  There was another little boy inside of him, complaining that he was alone, and afraid, and that he had been misunderstood.

        He sat like this for a long while, thinking.

        Oh, he thought, where is a path that I might walk, between the fear of what has come before and the plans for what I have after?  He thought and thought and thought.  And while he thought, he tried to rein his passions in.

        It wasn’t easy.

        He briefly wondered if he should tell his wife about the encounter with Kevin.  No.  He thought about his newborn, and his wife with their daughters in their house.  He thought about his new baby, and a voice inside his head boomed, “No.”

        He had to remind himself that he loved his wife.  He had to remind himself that love wasn’t just about sex.  He had to remind himself to be calm.

        And then he realized that the door to his office had been open the whole time, and that bits of their conversation must have filtered into the hallway.  Had he said anything to incriminate himself?  Had he given something away?  People would think that he was gay.  People would think things.  People would talk.  Inviting Kevin into the office had been a mistake.  He hadn’t known himself then.  He hadn’t realized.

        He had his career to think about, after all.  He had his family.  He had risen to a point of security, and wasn’t allowed such indiscretions.  He would need to be careful.  Appearances were important.  Appearances were everything.

        He opened the door and poked his head out into the hall.  No one was there.

        And then, keeping the door open, he very self-consciously sat down at his desk once again, and turned on his computer.  It was time for him to get to work.  It was time to get some writing done.  It was time to put distractions aside, and to remember what was important.

        He fell into a world of words, stealing occasional glances at the framed photograph of his infant.  Hours passed.  Then the phone rang, and he picked it up.

        “Hello?” he said.

        “Hey it’s me,” his wife answered, “What time are you coming home?”

        “I don’t know,” he said.  “Probably late.  I have some things to correct, and then I need to review some of the work the graduate students are doing.  I’m almost done with my chapter for the day.  Maybe around 7 or 8.  How’s the baby?”

        “Just fine,” she said.  “Sleeping.  She looks just like her father when she sleeps.”

        “Really?” he asked, “I can’t see the resemblance, but I don’t look in the mirror much these days.  Are you getting enough rest?”

        “Yeah,” she said, “I’m fine.  I’m just bored.  Haven’t been to work for so long, and the house here just feels… weird.  Christina and Angela keep me busy enough, but sometimes I just feel lost.  You ever have that feeling?”

        “No,” he lied, “But I’m sorry you feel that way.  Is there anything I can do?”

        “No,” she said, “I’m sure the feeling will pass.”

        “I’m sure it will,” he said.  “Just try to get out of the house more.  Maybe you could take them for a drive?”

        “OK,” she said, “I’ll think about it.  I love you.”

        “And I love you,” he added truthfully.  “I love you more than anything.  You make me very happy.”

        “That’s good,” she said, “Very good.  I think to myself every day that I made the right decision, marrying you.  You are doing so well for us, dear.  You’ve given us everything I ever wanted.  I’m so glad I didn’t listen to my mother.  I’m so glad that I married you.”

        “Your mother?” he asked, “Your mother had a problem with me?”

        There was a pause, and then, “No dear, she had a problem with me.  She loved you to pieces.  It was me she had a problem with.”

        And he would have asked her to explain, but she had already hung up.

        As he looked down at his cluttered desk he wondered how he could, really could, love her so much, and yet find it nearly impossible to make love to her.  She was everything a man could want, and yet there he had been, desperate for the touch of another man, just moments before.  The whole thing seemed like a bad joke.  Wasn’t love supposed to make sex easier?  Or was it the reverse?

        The Cathars, as Aquinas could have told you, were accused of a belief in two gods: a pure, spiritual God, and the evil God of the physical world, the God described in the Old Testament.  He could not help but think that his love for his wife was like the love of the Cathars for that Pure God.  It was in many ways doomed to failure, because, physical beast that he was, he lacked the refinement to realize it.  His flesh would always pull him back into sin.  The Evil God, the physical god, would always have the last laugh.