Disgrace (5 page)

          'No, you are not.'

          'I will anyway. Stupid, and ugly too. I don't know what you do about sex and I don't want to know, but this is not the way to go about it. You're what - fifty-two? Do you think a young girl finds any pleasure in going to bed with a man of that age? Do you think she finds it good to watch you in the middle of your...? Do you ever think about that?'

          He is silent.

          'Don't expect sympathy from me, David, and don't expect sympathy from anyone else either. No sympathy, no mercy, not in this day and age. Everyone's hand will be against you, and why not? Really, how could you?'

          The old tone has entered, the tone of the last years of their married life: passionate recrimination. Even Rosalind must be aware of that. Yet perhaps she has a point. Perhaps it is the right of the young to be protected from the sight of their elders in the throes of passion. That is what whores are for, after all: to put up with the ecstasies of the unlovely.

          'Anyway,' Rosalind goes on, 'you say you'll see Lucy.'

          'Yes, I thought I'd drive up after the inquiry and spend some time with her.'

          'The inquiry?'

          'There is a committee of inquiry sitting next week.'

          'That's very quick. And after you have seen Lucy?'

          'I don't know. I'm not sure I will be permitted to come back to the university. I'm not sure I will want to.'

          Rosalind shakes her head. 'An inglorious end to your career, don't you think? I won't ask if what you got from this girl was worth the price. What are you going to do with your time? What about your pension?'

          'I'll come to some arrangement with them. They can't cut me off without a penny.'

          'Can't they? Don't be so sure. How old is she - your inamorata?'

          'Twenty. Of age. Old enough to know her own mind.'

          'The story is, she took sleeping-pills. Is that true?'

          'I know nothing about sleeping-pills. It sounds like a fabrication to me. Who told you about sleeping-pills?'

          She ignores the question. 'Was she in love with you? Did you jilt her?'

          'No. Neither.'

          'Then why this complaint?'

          'Who knows? She didn't confide in me. There was a battle of some kind going on behind the scenes that I wasn't privy to. There was a jealous boyfriend. There were indignant parents. She must have crumpled in the end. I was taken completely by surprise.'

          'You should have known, David. You are too old to be meddling with other people's children. You should have expected the worst. Anyway, it's all very demeaning. Really.'

          'You haven't asked whether I love her. Aren't you supposed to ask that as well?'

          'Very well. Are you in love with this young woman who is dragging your name through the mud?'

          'She isn't responsible. Don't blame her.'

          'Don't blame her! Whose side are you on? Of course I blame her! I blame you and I blame her. The whole thing is disgraceful from beginning to end. Disgraceful and vulgar too. And I'm not sorry for saying so.'

          In the old days he would, at this point, have stormed out. But tonight he does not. They have grown thick skins, he and Rosalind, against each other.

          The next day Rosalind telephones. 'David, have you seen today's Argus?'

          'No.'

          'Well, steel yourself. There's a piece about you.'

          'What does it say?'

          'Read it for yourself '

          The report is on page three: 'Professor on sex charge', it is headed. He skims the first lines. '... is slated to appear before a disciplinary board on a charge of sexual harassment. CTU is keeping tight-lipped about the latest in a series of scandals including fraudulent scholarship payouts and alleged sex rings operating out of student residences. Lurie (53), author of a book on English nature-poet William Wordsworth, was not available for comment.'

          William Wordsworth (1770-1850), nature-poet. David Lurie (1945-?), commentator upon, and disgraced disciple of William Wordsworth. Blest be the infant babe. No outcast he. Blest be the babe.

SIX

THE HEARING is held in a committee room off Hakim's office. He is ushered in and seated at the foot of the table by Manas Mathabane himself, Professor of Religious Studies, who will chair the inquiry. To his left sit Hakim, his secretary, and a young woman, a student of some kind; to his right are the three members of Mathabane's committee.

          He does not feel nervous. On the contrary, he feels quite sure of himself. His heart beats evenly, he has slept well. Vanity, he thinks, the dangerous vanity of the gambler; vanity and self-righteousness. He is going into this in the wrong spirit. But he does not care.

          He nods to the committee members. Two of them he knows: Farodia Rassool and Desmond Swarts, Dean of Engineering. The third, according to the papers in front of him, teaches in the Business School.

          'The body here gathered, Professor Lurie,' says Mathabane, opening proceedings, 'has no powers. All it can do is to make recommendations. Furthermore, you have the right to challenge its makeup. So let me ask: is there any member of the committee whose participation you feel might be prejudicial to you?'

          'I have no challenge in a legal sense,' he replies. 'I have reservations of a philosophical kind, but I suppose they are out of bounds.'

          A general shifting and shuffling. 'I think we had better restrict ourself to the legal sense,' says Mathabane. 'You have no challenge to the makeup of the committee. Have you any objection to the presence of a student observer from the Coalition Against Discrimination?'

          'I have no fear of the committee. I have no fear of the observer.'

          'Very well. To the matter at hand. The first complainant is Ms Melanie Isaacs, a student in the drama programme, who has made a statement of which you all have copies. Do I need to summarize that statement? Professor Lurie?'

          'Do I understand, Mr Chairman, that Ms Isaacs will not be appearing in person?'

          'Ms Isaacs appeared before the committee yesterday. Let me remind you again, this is not a trial but an inquiry. Our rules of procedure are not those of a law court. Is that a problem for you?'

          'No.'

          'A second and related charge', Mathabane continues, 'comes from the Registrar, through the Office of Student Records, and concerns the validity of Ms Isaacs's record. The charge is that Ms Isaacs did not attend all the classes or submit all the written work or sit all the examinations for which you have given her credit.'

          'That is the sum of it? Those are the charges?'

          'They are.'

          He takes a deep breath. 'I am sure the members of this committee have better things to do with their time than rehash a story over which there will be no dispute. I plead guilty to both charges. Pass sentence, and let us get on with our lives.'

          Hakim leans across to Mathabane. Murmured words pass between them.

          'Professor Lurie,' says Hakim, 'I must repeat, this is a committee of inquiry. Its role is to hear both sides of the case and make a recommendation. It has no power to take decisions. Again I ask, would it not be better if you were represented by someone familiar with our procedures?'

          'I don't need representation. I can represent myself perfectly well. Do I understand that, despite the plea I have entered, we must continue with the hearing?'

          'We want to give you an opportunity to state your position.'

          'I have stated my position. I am guilty.'

          'Guilty of what?'

          'Of all that I am charged with.'

          'You are taking us in circles, Professor Lurie.'

          'Of everything Ms Isaacs avers, and of keeping false records.'

          Now Farodia Rassool intervenes. 'You say you accept Ms Isaacs's statement, Professor Lurie, but have you actually read it?'

          I do not wish to read Ms Isaacs's statement. I accept it. I know of no reason why Ms Isaacs should lie.'

          'But would it not be prudent to actually read the statement before accepting it?'

          'No. There are more important things in life than being prudent.'

          Farodia Rassool sits back in her seat. 'This is all very quixotic, Professor Lurie, but can you afford it? It seems to me we may have a duty to protect you from yourself ' She gives Hakim a wintry smile.

          'You say you have not sought legal advice. Have you consulted anyone - a priest, for instance, or a counsellor? Would you be prepared to undergo counselling?'

          The question comes from the young woman from the Business School. He can feel himself bristling. 'No, I have not sought counselling nor do I intend to seek it. I am a grown man. I am not receptive to being counselled. I am beyond the reach of counselling.' He turns to Mathabane. 'I have made my plea. Is there any reason why this debate should go on?'

          There is a whispered consultation between Mathabane and Hakim.

          'It has been proposed', says Mathabane, 'that the committee recess to discuss Professor Lurie's plea.'

          A round of nods.

          'Professor Lurie, could I ask you to step outside for a few minutes, you and Ms van Wyk, while we deliberate?'

          He and the student observer retire to Hakim's office. No word passes between them; clearly the girl feels awkward. 'YOUR DAYS ARE OVER, CASANOVA.' What does she think of Casanova now that she meets him face to face?

          They are called back in. The atmosphere in the room is not good: sour, it seems to him.

          'So,' says Mathabane, 'to resume: Professor Lurie, you say you accept the truth of the charges brought against you?'

          'I accept whatever Ms Isaacs alleges.'

          'Dr Rassool, you have something you wish to say?'

          'Yes. I want to register an objection to these responses of Professor Lurie's, which I regard as fundamentally evasive. Professor Lurie says he accepts the charges. Yet when we try to pin him down on what it is that he actually accepts, all we get is subtle mockery. To me that suggests that he accepts the charges only in name. In a case with overtones like this one, the wider community is entitled - '

          He cannot let that go. 'There are no overtones in this case,' he snaps back.

          'The wider community is entitled to know', she continues, raising her voice with practised ease, riding over him, 'what it is specifically that Professor Lurie acknowledges and therefore what it is that he is being censured for.'

          Mathabane: 'If he is censured.'

          'If he is censured. We fail to perform our duty if we are not crystal clear in our minds, and if we do not make it crystal clear in our recommendations, what Professor Lurie is being censured for.'

          'In our own minds I believe we are crystal clear, Dr Rassool. The question is whether Professor Lurie is crystal clear in his mind.'

          'Exactly. You have expressed exactly what I wanted to say.'

          It would be wiser to shut up, but he does not. 'What goes on in my mind is my business, not yours, Farodia,' he says. 'Frankly, what you want from me is not a response but a confession. Well, I make no confession. I put forward a plea, as is my right. Guilty as charged. That is my plea. That is as far as I am prepared to go.'

          'Mr Chair, I must protest. The issue goes beyond mere technicalities. Professor Lurie pleads guilty, but I ask myself, does he accept his guilt or is he simply going through the motions in the hope that the case will be buried under paper and forgotten? If he is simply going through the motions, I urge that we impose the severest penalty.'

          'Let me remind you again, Dr Rassool,' says Mathabane, 'it is not up to us to impose penalties.'

          'Then we should recommend the severest penalty. That Professor Lurie be dismissed with immediate effect and forfeit all benefits and privileges.'

          'David?'

          The voice comes from Desmond Swarts, who has not spoken hitherto. 'David, are you sure you are handling the situation in the best way?' Swarts turns to the chair. 'Mr Chair, as I said while Professor Lurie was out of the room, I do believe that as members of a university community we ought not to proceed against a colleague in a coldly formalistic way. David, are you sure you don't want a postponement to give yourself time to reflect and perhaps consult?'

          'Why? What do I need to reflect on?'

          'On the gravity of your situation, which I am not sure you appreciate. To be blunt, you stand to lose your job. That's no joke in these days.'

          'Then what do you advise me to do? Remove what Dr Rassool calls the subtle mockery from my tone? Shed tears of contrition? What will be enough to save me?'

          'You may find this hard to believe, David, but we around this table are not your enemies. We have our weak moments, all of us, we are only human. Your case is not unique. We would like to find a way for you to continue with your career.'

          Easily Hakim joins in. 'We would like to help you, David, to find a way out of what must be a nightmare.'

          They are his friends. They want to save him from his weakness, to wake him from his nightmare. They do not want to see him begging in the streets. They want him back in the classroom.

          'In this chorus of goodwill,' he says, 'I hear no female voice.'

          There is silence.

          'Very well,' he says, 'let me confess. The story begins one evening, I forget the date, but not long past. I was walking through the old college gardens and so, it happened, was the young woman in question, Ms Isaacs. Our paths crossed. Words passed between us, and at that moment something happened which, not being a poet, I will not try to describe. Suffice it to say that Eros entered. After that I was not the same.'

          'You were not the same as what?' asks the businesswoman cautiously.

          'I was not myself. I was no longer a fifty-year-old divorcé at a loose end. I became a servant of Eros.'

          'Is this a defence you are offering us? Ungovernable impulse?'

          'It is not a defence. You want a confession, I give you a confession. As for the impulse, it was far from ungovernable. I have denied similar impulses many times in the past, I am ashamed to say.'

          'Don't you think', says Swarts, 'that by its nature academic life must call for certain sacrifices? That for the good of the whole we have to deny ourselves certain gratifications?'

          'You have in mind a ban on intimacy across the generations?'

          'No, not necessarily. But as teachers we occupy positions of power. Perhaps a ban on mixing power relations with sexual relations. Which, I sense, is what was going on in this case. Or extreme caution.'

          Farodia Rassool intervenes. 'We are again going round in circles, Mr Chair. Yes, he says, he is guilty; but when we try to get specificity, all of a sudden it is not abuse of a young woman he is confessing to, just an impulse he could not resist, with no mention of the pain he has caused, no mention of the long history of exploitation of which this is part. That is why I say it is futile to go on debating with Professor Lurie. We must take his plea at face value and recommend accordingly.'

          Abuse: he was waiting for the word. Spoken in a voice quivering with righteousness. What does she see, when she looks at him, that keeps her at such a pitch of anger? A shark among the helpless little fishies? Or does she have another vision: of a great thick-boned male bearing down on a girl-child, a huge hand stifling her cries? How absurd! Then he remembers: they were gathered here yesterday in this same room, and she was before them, Melanie, who barely comes to his shoulder. Unequal: how can he deny that?

          'I tend to agree with Dr Rassool,' says the businesswoman. 'Unless there is something that Professor Lurie wants to add, I think we should proceed to a decision.'

          'Before we do that, Mr Chair,' says Swarts, 'I would like to plead with Professor Lurie one last time. Is there any form of statement he would be prepared to subscribe to?'

          'Why? Why is it so important that I subscribe to a statement?'

          'Because it would help to cool down what has become a very heated situation. Ideally we would all have preferred to resolve this case out of the glare of the media. But that has not been possible. It has received a lot of attention, it has acquired overtones that are beyond our control. All eyes are on the university to see how we handle it. I get the impression, listening to you, David, that you believe you are being treated unfairly. That is quite mistaken. We on this committee see ourselves as trying to work out a compromise which will allow you to keep your job. That is why I ask whether there is not a form of public statement that you could live with and that would allow us to recommend something less than the most severe sanction, namely, dismissal with censure.'

          'You mean, will I humble myself and ask for clemency?'

          Swarts sighs. 'David, it doesn't help to sneer at our efforts. At least accept an adjournment, so that you can think your position over.'

          'What do you want the statement to contain?'

          'An admission that you were wrong.'

          'I have admitted that. Freely. I am guilty of the charges brought against me.'

          'Don't play games with us, David. There is a difference between pleading guilty to a charge and admitting you were wrong, and you know that.'

          'And that will satisfy you: an admission I was wrong?'

          'No,' says Farodia Rassool. 'That would be back to front. First Professor Lurie must make his statement. Then we can decide whether to accept it in mitigation. We don't negotiate first on what should be in his statement. The statement should come from him, in his own words. Then we can see if it comes from his heart.'

          'And you trust yourself to divine that, from the words I use - to divine whether it comes from my heart?'