The History Man (24 page)

‘It's excessive devotion, Henry,' says Flora, coming up with a tray, ‘and I can't believe your presence will make much difference on an occasion like this. I'll put your tray here.' ‘Oh, Flora,' says Henry, ‘Myra and I both want to say thank you very much indeed. You were marvellous last night. She was marvellous.' Henry bends over Flora a little; he says, in a loud quiet voice, ‘Myra had drunk rather a lot, and wasn't at her best. So she really appreciates the way you stepped in and saw to things.' ‘She should,' says Flora. ‘Yes,' says Henry, and leans over Dr Macintosh, ‘and she wanted me to thank you for bringing her home. How's the wife?' ‘Not delivered yet,' says Macintosh. ‘They think now it's a false labour. It could go on for weeks.' ‘Oh, they'll induce,' says Moira Millikin. ‘It's an awful pest for you,' says Henry, ‘if we can do anything …' ‘The best thing you can do, Henry,' says Flora, ‘is sit down and eat.' Henry draws out a chair, next to Howard's; he seats himself unevenly on it. ‘Whoops,' he says. ‘Oh, they're just some psychiatric friends of mine who live in Washington,' says Melissa Todoroff. ‘He was her analyst until they got married, but now she's being analysed by her ex-husband.' Henry leans over to Howard and says, ‘I see there's a note to say that Mangel's coming to lecture. That's good, isn't it? Marvellous man.' ‘Except that he's a fascist,' says Roger Fundy. ‘A who?' asks Henry. ‘Oh, it's some great big apartment block called Watergate,' says Melissa. ‘I don't know where it is, somewhere around, it's in the book.' ‘Look, Howard,' says Henry, ‘I wonder whether we could have a little talk, after the meeting. Let me buy you a drink.' ‘Of course, Henry,' says Howard. ‘Something to discuss,' says Henry, ‘didn't see much of you last night.' ‘Yes, fine,' says Howard. ‘I'll pick you up after,' says Henry. ‘Who else could have asked him?' asks Roger Fundy. ‘It has to be Marvin.'

‘Unfortunately I remember I've no car,' says Henry. ‘We'll go in mine,' says Howard. ‘I'll have to leave around six thirty,' says Henry, ‘Myra's cooking steak. I think there's a bus.' ‘I'll drive you home,' says Howard. ‘How did you get in?' ‘You see, I can't drive with this sling on,' says Henry, ‘and Myra has a headache. Get in? I hitchhiked in a lorry.' ‘Sure he'll be elected,' says Melissa Todoroff, ‘these are hard times for America, they call for special talents.' ‘I'm sorry I couldn't stop to the end last night,' says Henry. ‘What time did you finish?' ‘Yeah, we need a special kind of little twisted guy, with no talents or values, who doesn't trust anyone and nobody trusts. He'll get in.' ‘About four,' says Howard. ‘I don't know how you manage it,' says Henry, admiringly. ‘It's the politics of Parkinson's Law,' says Melissa Todoroff, ‘shit spreads to cover the area of the stable floor.' ‘It would tire me out,' says Henry, ‘you can't keep up the pace when you get to my age.' ‘Your age is exactly my age,' says Howard. Henry, digging with a plastic fork in one hand into something gelatinous on his plate, looks at Howard: ‘I suppose it is,' he says. ‘How's your caucus, Roger?' asks Melissa Todoroff. ‘I think we've fixed him on item 17,' says Roger. ‘Come on, it's nearly two o'clock.' The sociologists push back their chairs, and begin to rise, except for Henry. ‘Bring it with you, Henry,' says Howard. ‘Oh, I couldn't,' says Henry, getting unevenly up. They walk, a small procession, out of the cafeteria, and across the Piazza, as students watch them: Moira leads with her carrycot, and Henry brings up the rear, with his sling. With that air of special seriousness a meeting confers, they enter the lift in the Social Science Building, and rise up in it to the very top of the construction. At the top, in penthouse style, and with distractingly good views over and beyond the campus to the fields and the sea, is the place of the afternoon's encounter, the Durkheim Room.

It is a long, thin chamber preserved only for conference purposes; as a result a certain dignity, a spacious seriousness, has been attempted. On two sides there are long glass windows, giving onto the distractingly good views; to prevent these being distracting, white slatted Venetian blinds have been hung, and these are dropped now, and will clatter ceaselessly throughout the afternoon's deliberations. The other two walls are pure and white and undecorated, conscious aids to contemplation, save that in one spot a large abstract painting, conceived by a nakedly frantic sensibility, opens a large, obsessive hole into inner chaos. The architect and his design consultant, a man of many awards, have exercised themselves considerably in conceiving and predicating the meetings that would come to be held here. For the long central space of the room, they have chosen an elaborate, table-like construct which has a bright orange top and many thin, brushed-chrome legs; they have surrounded this with a splendid vista of forty white vinyl highbacked chairs. Three more chairs with somewhat higher backs and the university's crest embossed into the vinyl designate the head of the table. On the floor is a serious, undistracting brown carpet; on the ceiling, an elaborate acoustical muffle. Minnehaha Ho, Professor Marvin's secretary, has been diligent during the morning; she has put before every place a large, leather-edged blotter, a notepad, and copies of the department's prospectus and the university's calendar and regulations, their covers all backed out in the official design colours of the university, which are indigo and puce. In the original masterplan, Danish grey-glass ashtrays had been provided for each place; but the room has seen a fair incidence of sit-ins, and the ashtrays have been stolen, and replaced by many one-ounce Player's Whiskey tobacco tins, retrieved from the wastepaper basket of Dr Zachery. Someone has sprayed the room with scented deodorant, and emptied these ashtrays. All stands in its committee dignity; the meeting, then, is ready to begin.

When the party from the cafeteria arrives, Professor Marvin, who is always early, is there already, in the central high chair, his back to one of the windows. A row of pens is in his top pocket; an annotated agenda lies between his two hairy hands on the blotter before him. To the left of his left hand is a stack of files, the record of all recent past meetings, bound in hard-loop bindings; to the right of his right hand is a small carafe of water. On his left sits Minnehaha Ho, who will take the minutes; on his right sits his administrative assistant, Benita Pream, who has before her many more files, and a small alarm clock. At the top of the long row of chairs where the faculty sit there is, on Marvin's left, Professor Debison, a man rarely seen, except in meetings such as this. His field is Overseas Studies, and overseas is where he most often is, as the fresh BOAC and SAS tags on his worn brown briefcase, laid on the table before him, indicate. Dr Zachery, by custom, takes the place opposite; he goes up the long room and sits down. It is his boast that on one such occasion he read the entirety of Talcott Parsons'
The Social System
, no mean feat; he has now prepared for the afternoon by placing here a backfile of bound volumes of the
British Journal of Sociology;
he is head-down at once, flicking over pages with practised hand and putting in slips to mark articles relevant to his micro-sociological scheme of things. Beside him, resting informally across a chair, there is already present one of the six student representatives, who always sit together as a caucus; he passes time usefully by inspecting photographs of female crotches in a magazine. The room fills up; the sociologists and social psychologists, sophisticates of meetings, readers of Goffman who all know intimately the difference between a group and an encounter, who are expert in the dynamics of interaction, come in and pick their places with care, examining existing relationships, angles of vision, even the cast of the light. Finally the elaborate social construct is ready. Marvin sits at the head of the table, in that curious state of suspended animation appropriate to the moment before the start of a meeting. Outside, pile-drivers thump, and dumper-trucks roar; inside is a severe, expectant curiosity.

Then the alarm clock of Benita Pream, the administrative assistant, pings; Professor Marvin coughs very loudly and waves his arms. He looks up and down the long table, and says: ‘Can we now come to order, gentlemen?' Immediately the silence breaks; many arms go up, all round the table; there is a jabber of voices. ‘May I point out, Mr Chairperson, that of the persons in this room you are addressing as “gentlemen”, seven are women?' says Melissa Todoroff. ‘May I suggest the formulation “Can we come to order, persons?” or perhaps “Can we come to order, colleagues?” ‘Doesn't the phrase itself suggest we're somehow normally in a state of
dis
order?' asks Roger Fundy. ‘Can I ask whether under Standing Orders of Senate we are bound to terminate this meeting in three and a half hours? And, if so, whether the Chairman thinks an agenda of thirty-four items can be seriously discussed under those limitations, especially since my colleagues will presumably want to take tea?' ‘On a point of information, Mr Chairman, may I point out that the tea interval is not included within the three and a half hour limitation, and also draw Dr Petworth's attention to the fact that we have concluded discussion of longer agendas in shorter times?' ‘Here?' asks someone. ‘May I ask if it is the wish of this meeting that we should have a window open?' The meeting has started; and it is always so. It has often been remarked, by Benita Pream, who services several such departmental meetings, that those in History are distinguished by their high rate of absenteeism, those in English by the amount of wine consumed afterwards, and those in Sociology by their contentiousness. The pile-drivers thump outside; the arguments within continue. The sociologists, having read Goffman, know there is a role of Chairman, and a role of Argumentative Person, and a role of Silent Person; they know how situations are made, and how they can be leaked, and how dysphoria can be induced; they put their knowledge to the test in such situations as this. Benita Pream's alarm has pinged at 14.00 hours, according to her own notes; it is 14.20 before the meeting has decided how long it is to continue, and whether it is quorate, and if it should have the window open, and 14.30 before Professor Marvin has managed to sign the minutes of the last meeting, so that they can begin on item I of the agenda of this one, which concerns the appointment of external examiners for finals: ‘An uncontentious item, I think,' says Professor Marvin.

It is 15.05 before the uncontentious item is resolved. Nobody likes the two names proposed by Professor Marvin. But their dissents are founded on such radically different premises that no two other names can be proposed from the meeting and agreed upon. A working party is suggested, to bring names to the next meeting; no one can agree on the membership of the working party. A select committee of the department is proposed, to suggest names for the members of the working party; no one can agree on the membership of the select committee. A recommendation that Senate be asked to nominate the members of the select committee who will nominate the members of the working party who will make proposals for nominations so that the departmental meeting can nominate the external examiners is defeated, on the grounds that this would be external interference from Senate in the affairs of the department: even though, as the chair points out, the department cannot in any case nominate external examiners, but only recommend names to Senate, who will nominate them. A motion that the names of the two external examiners originally recommended be put again is put, and accepted. The names are put again, and rejected. A motion that there be no external examiners is put, and rejected. Two ladies in blue overalls come in with cups of tea and a plate of biscuits, and place cups in front of all the people present. A proposal that, since the agenda is moving slowly, discussion continue during tea is put and accepted, with one abstainer, who takes his cup of tea outside and drinks it there. The fact that tea has come without an item settled appears to have some effect: a motion that Professor Marvin be allowed to make his own choice of external examiners, acting on behalf of the department, is put and accepted. Professor Marvin promptly indicates that he will recommend to Senate the two names originally mentioned, an hour before; and then he moves onto the next item.

‘A rather contentious item,' he says, introducing a proposal that the number of student representatives be increased from six to eight. The six students already there, most of them in sweatshirts, breathe hard, look fierce, lean their heads together; they separate to discover that there has been no discussion, and that the item, presumably in weariness, has been passed immediately. The tea-ladies come in to remove the cups. Trading on success, the student representatives propose that membership of the department meeting be further expanded, to include representatives from the tea-ladies. The motion is put and passed. Benita Pream, the administrative assistant, intervenes here, whispering first in Marvin's ear, then addressing the meeting; she states that under regulations the tea-ladies are not entitled to membership of department meetings. The meeting passes a recommendation urging Senate to change regulations in order to permit tea-ladies to serve on department meetings. The resolution and the preceding one are both ruled out of order from the chair, on the ground that neither refers to any item on the agenda of the meeting. A resolution that items not on the agenda of the meeting be allowed is proposed, but is ruled out of order on the grounds that it is not on the agenda of the meeting. A resolution that the chair be held out of order because it has allowed two motions to come to the vote which are not, according to standing orders, on the agenda of the meeting is refused from the chair, on the grounds that the chair cannot allow motions to come to the vote which are not, according to standing orders, on the agenda of the meeting. Outside it rains a great deal, and the level of the lake rises considerably.