The Murder in the Museum of Man (34 page)

I should point out that Ms. Jackie, as she introduced herself, was set on a base on a chair in such a way that she appeared, for all the world, just like another person at the meeting. After she had finished her little talk, Mr. Quinn activated a switch on her base that put her in what he called an “active/passive mode.” She appeared most attentive the way she blinked her eyes from time to time, furrowed her pretty brow, raised a finger to her mouth in a thoughtful gesture, and even glanced around with a winsome, attractive smile. I fully expected one of the attendant activists to tell Mr. Quinn to put away his distracting homuncula, but they, like everyone else, seemed quite taken with her.

There were, of course, the usual hostile questions. Professor Brattle asked Mr. Quinn in a bristling voice why his company
had decided to use female models for demonstration purposes. Mr. Quinn replied in an unoffended tone that they had found that when they used male models for presentations at universities and other nonprofit organizations, someone, usually a woman, invariably protested that female models weren’t being used instead. Ms. Schanke, polishing off donuts with her usual panache, asked how much each model was going to cost. Professor Pilty took that question, saying that while final costs had yet to be determined on the “package” they were negotiating with Humanation Syntectics, he estimated that each model, with a five-year maintenance contract, would cost around thirty thousand dollars. Well, that created some reaction, and Ms. Schanke opined that there were many other causes on which the university’s money could be better spent. Forgetting myself for a moment, I interjected that the funds in question belonged to the MOM, not to Wainscott. Everyone seemed surprised that I had spoken up, and my reminder produced some murmured demurrals, but I think the point went home, and I felt the better for having made it. Mr. Onoyoko, serious for a change, made it known through Ms. Kushiro that all of the microchips and precision servomotors were designed and produced in Japan. Izzy Landes provided a needed note of levity when he remarked that it would be worth the money to have such a model of himself to send to faculty meetings.

At that point a strange quiet descended on the room and its large circular table. It was, I think, the presence of the robot lady that fascinated us all into silence. Even Professor Athol, who speaks when he has nothing to say, remained silent, taken, like everyone else, with the beguiling Ms. Jackie. Professor Murdleston began to mutter something about seeing her “lower parts” when he was interrupted by Professor Mooney, one of the lesser lights in the Biology Department. He asked what was being done in the diorama to depict the sex life of the Neanderthals. I
should explain that Professor Mooney, who came of age in the sixties, is a thin, beamish man with a wispy beard and a ponytail to match who walks around in a celebratory haze and used to be considered ever so daring for the graphic lectures he gives on mammalian reproduction. He is one of those people who still wants to free us all from our oppressive Puritan past.

Professor Pilty said in reply that some consideration had been given to a tableau in which a Neanderthal woman would be shown giving birth. Professor Mooney snickered openly at that and said, in that knowing way, that he was talking about sex, real sex. Thad Pilty was clearly unprepared for this. He cleared his throat and mentioned something about the number of children who were expected to visit the diorama. Ray Mooney, of course, was waiting to pounce with all the usual arguments about how we protect our children from the facts of life while foisting on them the most graphic images of violence and murder. Professor Pilty was about to respond when Professor Athol weighed in with his expertise, saying that the depiction of the sex act could be ethically sanctioned provided it was done tastefully in the context of a “long-term committed relationship.” Professor Landes pondered aloud if Professor Athol might provide the committee with a description of tasteful sex.

I know the good man was simply trying, with his needling wit, to puncture the ballooning absurdity of the whole thing, but his jab, in fact, only moved the discussion from “whether” to “how.” (No one, including myself, I have to confess, stood up to denounce the idea for fear of being labeled a prude.) Professor Athol said the couple might be situated “in one of the darker recesses of the planned cave,” where they would be engaged in “a standard sexual act.” “You mean the
a priori
position?” Professor Landes asked. Professor Athol did not know what
a priori
meant, and it had to be explained to him in terms of the contrasting notion of
a posteriori
.

Well, at this, just about everyone around the table wanted to get in their two-cents’ worth, with the exception of Mr. Onoyoko, whose smiles had given way to head-shaking laughter. Ms. Jackie seemed to be smiling ever more brightly, while Mason Twitchell’s likeness, perhaps because of the way the sunlight struck the oils, appeared to glower. Thad Pilty tried to diffuse the issue by explaining that little or nothing was known about the sexual habits of the Neanderthals. He noted that in the popular fictions of Jean Auel and Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, couples of the Late Paleolithic are depicted
copula more canun
. However, he went on to say that Desmond Morris and others had argued that, for physiological and psychological reasons, face-to-face copulation had probably evolved early among hominids. He cited Frans de Waal’s study,
Peacemaking among Primates
, in which
Pan paniscus
, the pigmy chimps, have been observed to mate face to face with considerable frequency.

Professor Mooney asked Mr. Quinn if there would be any difficulty arranging to have a couple of the models depicted having sexual intercourse. Mr. Quinn asked if the professor wanted “the genitals engaged.” When Professor Mooney expressed surprise that they had models with genitals, Mr. Quinn described what he called the Erotomax Series, a line of sexually active models. He said with some pride that his company was installing “a raft of them right now in an indoor theme park in Vegas for Panthouse Enterprises. I’ve seen some of the mock-ups. I mean, they’ve got everything, threesomes, clusters, the whole nine yards.” Professor Landes asked, facetiously I’m sure, if they had Aretino’s wheelbarrow as well. When Dr. Commer asked, “Whose wheelbarrow?” and Izzy explained it to him, even Constance Brattle smiled, and Mr. Onoyoko was all but banging his head on the table.

When the room settled down again, Mr. Quinn said that what he was trying to say was “that if you people want to have a couple
of these Neanderthals getting it on, I’m sure we could modify a pair of our Erotomax models, I mean with all the hair and the faces and the short legs.” Izzy said it was starting to sound like the Paleobscene, getting a nod from Professor Pilty, who asked how expensive it would be. Mr. Quinn said he would price it out for us but thought it might even cost less as the hydraulics of the Erotomax line are “kind of elementary, with the servomechanisms mostly in the jaws and hips.”

At that point Professor Brattle said that, before they went any further with this suggestion, “I think it is important from the standpoint of the committee’s concerns that the position of any female partner in any depiction of sexual congress be given careful consideration.” Mr. Quinn agreed saying that, when it came to sex, position was everything. Professor Brattle said that she meant that she was opposed to having the couple engaged “doggy style” as that necessarily put the man in the superior position. Mr. Quinn said they could have them lying on their sides. Professor Mooney objected, saying that that would be boring. Mr. Onoyoko was wiping his eyes. Professor Brattle ignored him, although her eyes were rolling like those of someone suddenly stranded in a high place. She said that, whatever was decided, she wanted to make sure that the female model not be shown in an inferior position. Ms. Marlene Parkers, who had remained silent until then, said that if this “scene” was really going to be necessary, why not have them alternate positions? Professor Mooney asked Mr. Quinn if that were “technically feasible.” Mr. Quinn said that we were going to need a technician to come and “switch them over,” but as the contract calls for someone to come in every six months for general maintenance it could be done then. Professor Landes slapped the table. “My God, six months in the same position. Now that does sound boring. I mean, won’t the parts … wear out?” Mr. Quinn, ever the professional, said they would eventually, but
that the “moving parts” on the Erotomax were made out of “really high-tech stuff.”

Ms. Schanke, who had been furiously eating donuts all this time, put up a powdered hand. “Let’s just hold on one minute,” she said. Then, after swallowing a mouthful: “I don’t see why consideration isn’t being given to showing two women having sex. Why do we always have to subscribe to phallocentric domination?” Mr. Quinn shrugged. “We can do that, too,” he said, turning to the chairperson. “And that solves the problem about who to put on top.” Meanwhile Mr. Onoyoko nearly gagged with laughter, as Professor Pilty declared with evident exasperation that there was no evidence of lesbianism among Neanderthals. Ms. Schanke countered that there was precious little evidence of anything among Neanderthals, so what difference did it make? Professor Landes countered, asking how, without heterosexual activity among our forebears, did we get here?

Well, it degenerated from there, if you can believe it. Ms. Schanke was hurling epithets at Professor Pilty so special as to constitute another language. It was a shame Father O’Gould was not there to point out that the graphic depiction of the sexual act would ruin the whole diorama because in fact that’s all most people, including the children, would notice. I am not a prude, but I think there are limits, and I had decided to step out of character again to voice not merely my objections but a veto on any such tableau in the diorama. As I waited for a suitable break in what was becoming an increasing acrimonious debate, a sudden lull descended on the room, in which the only sound was the staccato voice of Ms. Kushiro and the convulsive mirth of Mr. Onoyoko. I cleared my throat and was just at the point of speaking when Mr. Onoyoko’s laughter took on an ominous gargling sound. I glanced over to see that his normally pale face had turned a most unwholesome green. A moment later he collapsed with a thud on the table and, to the horror of us all,
gurgled a bit and slid to the floor. Ms. Jackie continued to smile and gesture while the rest of us gathered around the fallen benefactor. Strangely enough, it was Dr. Commer, more alive than I have seen him in years, who rose to the occasion. Amid the usual cries of “give him air,” Dr. Commer knelt beside the stricken man, felt for his pulse, and announced, “He no longer needs air.”

I asked everyone to remain calm and not to leave the premises. I delegated Izzy to go to an adjoining office and put in a 911 call. When Professor Brattle glanced at me quizzically, I explained to her that I was now Director of the Museum of Man and under the circumstances in charge. I surreptiously took the half-filled paper cup of coffee Mr. Onoyoko had in front of him and, using a napkin, placed it on a high bookshelf. Repeating that everyone would have to remain until the police arrived, I left the Twitchell Room and its buzzing occupants and from an adjoining office put in a call to Lieutenant Tracy. I was patched through immediately, and he asked me to return to the meeting and keep everyone there until he arrived. I told him I had already done that and had secured Mr. Onoyoko’s coffee cup. He rang off saying he was on his way.

By the time a team of emergency medical technicians arrived, it was apparent that Mr. Onoyoko had entered the long night of history. Shortly thereafter, the lieutenant came in with a team of his own, and I helped arrange rooms for interviewing in some of the nearby offices. The lieutenant assured everyone that the questioning would be strictly routine, but that if anyone wanted a lawyer present it could be arranged. Even Ms. Schanke was subdued by what had happened, and no one put up any particular fuss, except Professor Athol, who appeared excited at the idea of being a suspect.

I spent some time with Lieutenant Tracy going over routine details — who sat where, who said what, and so on. I’m not sure
he fully comprehended what I was saying when I tried to convey to him the topic and tone of the meeting. It was gratifying to have him ask me if I thought Onoyoko’s death could be linked to the murders of the deans. I told him I had yet to give it much thought. At first glance the man’s demise didn’t fit any logical plot. Unless, of course, the Japanese businessman had become privy to a conspiracy conducted in his name and had moved to stop it. In that case the Genetics Lab and the communications from Worried might take on real significance. We agreed it was useless to speculate until we had the results of an autopsy. He said he would keep me informed.

The fact is, I am not myself in the least distressed by Mr. Onoyoko’s death. Indeed, it may be the key to solving a lot of our problems. That is to say, without his beneficence we will not be able to afford the Primate Pavilion or the Genetics Lab. They will simply have to go.

Ah well, there goes the phone. I’m going to ignore it. I am going to the Club for a bit of self-indulgence. Strange how, with my new position, there seems a bit more respect in the air when I make my entrance there. I can’t say I don’t enjoy it. And just imagine, in seventeen days, barely more than two weeks, Elsbeth will arrive.