'It's a very serious issue,' says Roger Fundy, excavating into a jacketed baked potato filled with false cream, 'it's the ultimate test of whether sociology is a relevant subject.'
'Ah, what's that?' asks Dr Zachery, the micro-sociologist, a small man who works on small problems, approaching the table in his wool hat, carrying his tray, 'I've been looking for such a test for a very long time.'
'You're a reactionary, you wouldn't know an issue if you saw one,' says Fundy, 'I'm talking about the visit of Mangel.'
'The visit of Mangel?' says Zachery, sitting down and taking off his hat. 'There's no visit of Mangel.'
'A departmental memo just came round to say that Mangel's coming here to speak,' says Moira Millikin, at the further end of the table, peering down into her baby's carrycot, which lies in the aisle where the students pass back and forth. 'You know, I already had four food contacts today already,' says Melissa Todoroff, a strong-minded American lady who is at Watermouth on a year's leave from Hunter College, here to study English women, 'can anyone do me a quick calory count on this hunk of steak-and-kidney pie?'
'Mangel the geneticist?' asks Howard Kirk, sitting in the precise middle of the table, and looking about with innocent curiosity. 'Mangel the racist,' says Fundy. 'He studies the genetics of race,' says Flora Beniform, at the end of the table, 'I don't think that makes him a racist.'
'I thought we'd driven biological explanation right out of sociology,' says Moira Millikin, 'I thought we were through with all that shit.'
'Hey, any of you kids into I Cling yet?' asks Melissa Todoroff. 'You've also driven sin and evil right out of sociology,' says Flora Beniform, 'which doesn't prove there's no sin.'
'I'm all for making the subject as economical as possible,' says Dr Macintosh, 'it does mean less work.'
'A serious and well-known scholar,' says Zachery, 'very distinguished work.'
'It's obscene,' says Moira Millikin. 'Jesus Christ was a Capricorn,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'what's your sign, honey?'
'I'm a little bewildered, I think,' says Zachery, 'we believe in differentiation by class, and promote those for the tension they create. Yet not the racial ones. Now, how is that?'
'Class is cultural, race is genetic,' says Moira Millikin. 'I don't believe in astral influence,' says Dr Macintosh, 'in any case it gives an advantage to people whose mothers have good memories.'
'Of course, Flora,' says Howard, 'you know Mangel. You worked with him at the Tavvy at one time, didn't you?'
'Yes, I did, Howard,' says Flora, 'I worked in social anthropology with him. He's a fat, ugly man, he smells of borscht, he's serious and liberal, he believes we have a biology, which most of us here actually do, like it or not, and he's certainly not a racist.'
'It's all been exposed by the radical press,' says Moira Millikin, 'all that tradition. Jensen, Eysenck, Mangel. It's all been shown to be racist.'
'Don't you believe in anything, honey?' asks Melissa Todoroff. 'We can't have him, we've got to stop him,' says Roger Fundy.
The sociologists are sitting at a large plastic table, taking lunch, under the domed plexiglass and Plexiglas of Kaakinen's university cafeteria. Students talk, girls yelp, babies squall. The great fancy room towers above them, a thing here of stark places, there of wild Scandinavian frenzies. Such is the detail of design that the very food they eat seems converted into artefact: Jackson Pollock hash, Mondrian fried eggs, Graham Sutherland chicken leg are followed by David Hockney ice cream and Norman Rockwell apple pie. The sociologists eat off their trays; as they eat, they examine, with formal solemnity, the agendas for their coming meeting, turning over the stencilled pages, lifting a bean or a sausage, passing from main agenda to supplementary agenda to document A and document L and document Y, moving from egg to yoghurt. At the time when he conceived the refectory facilities at Watermouth, Kaakinen was taken by a great, democratic dream; deeply mindful of the social symbolism of eating, he was determined at a stroke to remove those distinctions between senior and junior common-room which privatize the essential communion of food, and so have the formal effect of separating, in some root way, the student from his teacher. Instead, therefore, Kaakinen invented prandial community; he made rooms, and corners of rooms, where, under one roof, in democratic babble, every sort of social mixture might occur. Thus, as the fancy takes you, you might sit over there, among rubber plants, with a view through thick leaves straight out over the artificial lake, and eat in some grandeur, at some expense; or you might sit over here, in a place of purity and simple functionalism, where, with specially designed plastic forks that look like spoons, and knives that look like forks, you may, having waited in the cafeteria line, practise contemporary eating of contemporary, plastic-wrapped food at a most modest cost. This of course, has the informal effect of separating the student from his teacher; it is the faculty who sit among the rubber plants, eating oeufs en plat and pommes frites d la chef; the students sit at the plastic tables, with their plastic implements, eating their egg and chips.
But in these matters the sociologists, in so many things the exception, are the exception. The sociology students eat in the expensive section, in order to express indignation; the sociology faculty eat in the cheap one, in order to maintain the egalitarian spirit, and save a penny or two at the same time. And today, because it is the day of the departmental meeting, there are many of them, along the long table which is somehow, historically, their table; they consume, simultaneously, the food and the agenda; they examine both with critical expressions. For, over time, the food has grown less, in quantity and quality, as economic rot sets in; meanwhile the agenda has grown longer, as bureaucratic growth occurs. They eat with dislike; they read with rue. There are two kinds of rue. There are some of them who inspect the documents as a diary of necessary or even unnecessary boredom, a poor way to spend an afternoon, a routine plod through matters of budgets and parties, SSRC research grants and examinations; there are some with higher criticism to offer, who read the agenda with an energetic scepticism, as one would read a contract from a hire-purchase company, looking in the fine print for errors, enormities, evasions, the entire sphere of the unsaid.
'I think some of us are missing the entire point,' says Roger Fundy to the table. 'The point is that genetics isn't an innocuous science. It's a highly charged area,, with deep social implications, and you have to protect your conclusions from having racialist overtones.'
'Oh, yes?' asks Dr Zachery. 'Even if that means falsifying the results?'
'If necessary, yes,' says Moira Millikin. 'Extraordinary,' says Dr Zachery. 'I think this is meant for me,' says Flora. 'Look, Roger, have you ever known me think that anything was innocuous? It's against my nature. But I know Mangel. He knows the dangers as well as you do. He happens to be a serious scientist. He's never over-stated his conclusions, and I don't agree that any results should ever be falsified. He'd like them to come out your way as much as I would, but when they come out they come out.'
'Why do you think all the radical press is attacking him? They know what they're doing,' says Moira Millikin. 'I'm sure of that,' says Dr Zachery, 'but they're not doing what we should be doing, protecting disinterested research.'
'There was a pregnant woman on the bus today,' says Dr Macintosh, 'funny how once your wife's pregnant you see them everywhere.'
'We're all responsible for our conclusions,' says Roger Fundy, 'because all mental organizations are ideological in significance. Which means that it is we who organize the results, not science.'
'I got up to offer her my seat,' says Dr Macintosh, 'and then I suddenly realized that in this radical climate there's no way to address her. Finally I said: "Excuse me, person, would you like to sit down?".'
'But even that's patronage,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'why shouldn't she stand up like anyone else?'
'Which item on the agenda does Mangel come under?' asks Flora Beniform. 'I'd burn mine,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'you could say I have, symbolically. But I jiggle and hurt whenever I run upstairs.'
'Item 17,' says Moira Millikin, 'visiting speakers. That's when the fun should start.'
A very loud crash comes from the direction of the selfservice line. The sociologists' heads all turn; in the line, someone, a bandaged person, has dropped an entire tray and its contents. 'Oh, God,' says Flora, 'it's Henry.' Henry Beamish stands transfixed in the line, with yoghurt all over his trousers; a skilful student blocks with his feet a rolling roll. 'My God,' says Howard, 'he's come.' Flora rises wearily from her chair: 'I'll go and collect him some more food,' she says. 'Of course Henry would elect to carry a tray when he had only one available hand.'
'What's happened to Henry?' asks Moira Millikin. 'Didn't you know?' asks Dr Macintosh, 'he gashed his arm on a window last night. At Howard's.'
'Oh, did he?' says Moira Millikin. 'Jesus, it's terrible,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'I lost my IUD someplace, and ten whole weeks of term still to go.'
'God, I can't bear to look,' says Moira Millikin, for Henry, apparently acting under Flora's orders, has made his way to the end of the self-service line, where there is a turnstile, to keep count of consumers, and he is now attempting to push through it, moving steadfastly in the wrong direction. 'He shouldn't be here,' says Macintosh, 'what's he coming in for a meeting like this for?'
'No doubt he's sensed that great issues are at stake,' says Dr Zachery drily. 'Isn't that nice of Flora?' says Henry, coming up to the end of the table, where he stands, his arm in a white sling, beaming at his colleagues, with his usual pointless congeniality and air of detachment. 'Everyone's so kind.'
'Ah, Henry,' says Howard, rising, so that his chair catches Henry's foot. 'I could have managed, of course,' says Henry, 'I was balancing well, but someone turned and caught my tray with a flute-case.'
'How are you?' asks Howard. 'I'm pretty well, Howard,' says Henry, 'it was just a cut, you know. I'm terribly sorry about that window. And the fuss, too. I hope you got my message?'
'You look very pale,' says Howard, 'you shouldn't have come in.'
'Oh, I couldn't miss a departmental meeting,' says Henry, 'not a departmental meeting. There are some things on this agenda which are of serious concern to me.'
'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 high-backed 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, leatheredged 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 hardloop 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 disorder?' 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 1 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.
'Are all your meetings this boring?' asks Melissa Todoroff, who will later be discovered not to be entitled to be in the meeting at all, since she is only a visitor, and will be asked to leave, and will do so, shouting. 'Don't worry,' whispers Howard, 'this is just a preliminary skirmish. It will warm up later.' It warms up, in fact, shortly after 17.05, when it is beginning to go dark, and when Professor Marvin reaches item 17, which is concerned with Visiting Speakers. 'A non-controversial item, I think,' says Professor Marvin. 'A few proposed names here, I think we can accept them.' Roger Fundy raises his hand and says, 'Can I ask the chair under whose auspices the invitation to Professor Mangel was issued?' The chair looks bewildered: it says, 'Professor Mangel? As far as I know, Dr Fundy, no invitation has been issued to Professor Mangel.'
'Can I draw the chair's attention to the departmental memo, circulated this very morning, which states that Professor Mangel has been asked here to give a lecture?'
'I sent out no such departmental memo,' says the chair. 'I have here a copy of the departmental memo which the chair says it did not send out,' says Roger Fundy. 'Perhaps the chair would like to see it.' The chair would; it inspects the memo, and turns to Minnehaha Ho. 'It was on the dictaphone,' says Miss Ho, with wide oriental eyes, 'so I sent it out.'
'It was on the dictaphone so you sent it out?' murmurs Professor Marvin, 'I didn't put it on the dictaphone.'
'Can I ask the Chairperson,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'if that person is aware that this invitation will be seen by all non-Caucasians and women on this campus as a deliberate insult to their genetic origins?'
'This is trouble, man,' says one of the student representatives, 'he's a racist and a sexist.' Professor Marvin looks around in some mystification. 'Professor Mangel is to my knowledge neither a racist nor a sexist, but a very well-qualified geneticist,' he says. 'However, since we have not invited him here the question seems scarcely to arise on this agenda.'
'In view of the opinion of the chair that Mangel is neither a racist nor a sexist,' says Howard, 'would that mean that the Chair would be prepared to invite him to this campus, if his name were proposed?'
'It isn't proposed,' says Marvin. 'The point is that Professor Mangel's work is fascist, and we've no business to confirm that by inviting him here,' says Moira Millikin. 'I had always thought the distinguishing mark of fascism was its refusal to tolerate free enquiry, Dr Millikin,' says Marvin, 'but the question needs no discussion, since there's no proposal to invite this man. I doubt if we could ever agree on such an invitation. It would be an issue.'
'May I ask why?' asks Dr Zachery, the British Journal of Sociology forgotten. 'Why?' asks Fundy. 'Do you know what the consequences of inviting that man would be? One doesn't tolerate…'
'But that is just what one does,' says Dr Zachery. 'One tolerates. May I propose, and I think this is in order, since the agenda permits us to make suggestions for visiting speakers, that we issue a formal invitation from this department to Professor Mangel, to come and speak to this department?' There is much noise around the table; Howard sits silent, so silent that Flora Beniform leans over to him and murmurs, 'Don't I see a hand at work here?'
'Ssshh,' says Howard, 'this is a serious issue.'
'You wish to put that as a motion?' asks Marvin, looking at Zachery. 'I do,' says Zachery, 'and I should like to speak to my motion. I observe, among some of my younger colleagues, perhaps less experienced in recent history than some of us, a real ignorance of the state of affairs we are discussing. Professor Mangel and myself have a background in common; we are both Jewish, and both grew up in Nazi Germany, and fled here from the rise of fascism. I think we know the meaning of this term. Fascism, and the associated genocide, arose because a climate developed in Germany in which it was held that all intellectual activity conform with an accepted, approved ideology. To make this happen, it was necessary to make a climate in which it became virtually impossible to think, or exist, outside the dominant ideological construct. Those who did were isolated, as now some of our colleagues seek to isolate Professor Mangel.' There are many murmurs round the table from the sociologists, all of whom are deeply conscious of having definitions of fascism they too could give, if asked. 'May I continue?' asks Zachery. 'Fascism is therefore an elegant sociological construct, a one-system world. Its opposite is contingency or pluralism or liberalism. That means a chaos of opinion and ideology; there are people who find that hard to endure. But in the interests of it, I think we must ask Professor Mangel to come here and lecture.'
'Then you'll get your chaos all right, if he does,' says Fundy. 'You know what the radical feeling is about this. You know what uproar and violent protest there always is when someone like Jensen or Eysenck is invited to lecture at a university. The same will happen with Mange!.' Justified violence and protest,' says Moira Millikin. 'I'm extremely disturbed, Mr Chairman,' says Dr Macintosh, 'to see so many of my colleagues stopping us from inviting someone we haven't even invited.' But now there is much shouting across the table, and Professor Marvin has to stand, and bang his wodge of files down hard onto the desk in front of him, before something like silence returns. 'Gentlemen!' he shouts. 'Persons!'
'Oh, Howard, Howard, is this you?' whispers Flora. 'Flora,' whispers back Howard. 'Stop taking the plane to bits once it's left the ground.'
'You're playing games,' whispers Flora. 'I've not spoken,' says Howard. Professor Marvin, now, has resumed his seat. He waits for full quietness, and then he says: 'Well, Dr Zachery has proposed a motion, which is now on the table, that we in this department of Social Studies issue an invitation to Professor Mangel to come and lecture here. Does that motion have a seconder?'
'Go on, Flora,' whispers Howard; Flora puts her hand up. 'Oh,' says Marvin, 'well, let me briefly note that this issue could become a bone of severe contention, and remind the department of the experience of other universities who have ventured in this unduly charged area, before I put the motion to the vote. Let us be cautious in our actions, cautious but just. Now may we vote. Those in favour?' The hands go up around the table; Benita Pream rises to count them. 'And those against?' Another group of hands, some waving violently, go up; Benita Pream, rises once more to count these. She writes the results down on a piece of paper, and slips this over the table top to Marvin, who looks at it. 'Well,' he says, 'this motion has been carried. By eleven votes to ten. I'm sure that's just, but I'm afraid we've committed ourselves to a real bone of contention.' There is uproar at the table. 'Castrate all sexists,' shouts Melissa Todoroff; and it is now that, on a point of order from Dr Petworth, a constitutional spirit dedicated to such precisions as points of order, it is discovered that Miss Todoroff is not, as a visitor, formally a member of this meeting at all, and therefore has been voting without entitlement, and so she is taken from the room, shouting, 'Sisters, rebel,' and, 'Off the pigs'. The table settles; Howard's hand goes up; 'Mr Chairman,' he says, 'may I point out that the vote just taken-and passed by only one vote-is now clearly invalid, since Miss Todoroff's should not have been cast.'
'I had seen that constitutional point, Dr Kirk,' says Marvin. 'I'm afraid it leaves us in a very difficult position. You see, that applies not only to the last vote, but to all the votes taken throughout the meeting. Unless we can see a way round it, we may have to start this entire meeting from the beginning again.'
There are groans and shouts; Benita Pream, meanwhile, has been fumbling through papers; now she whispers a brief something into the ear of the chair. The chair says: 'Oh, good.' There is still much noise in the room, so Marvin taps the table. 'I feel quite sure,' he says, 'my colleagues will bear with me if I say that it is undesirable to re-run this entire meeting. It now appears that this is the only motion today which was passed on a margin of one vote. With the consent of the meeting, I will assume all other votes satisfactory. Do I have that?' The sociologists, weary from the fray, agree. 'Now our last vote,' says Marvin. 'As your chairman, I have to consider the position here very carefully. Do we happen to know the way Dr Todoroff voted?'
'It seemed to me rather obvious,' says Dr Zachery, 'from her comments on leaving.'
'That's injustice,' says Moira Millikin, 'a ballot should be secret. When one individual's vote can be singled out in this way, the system's wrong.'
'I think there may be another way to answer this,' says Marvin, looking at another note from Benita Pream. 'I think I've resolved it, I hope to the satisfaction of this meeting.' The meeting looks about itself; it does not have the air of a group easily satisfied. ' If Dr Todoroff had voted against the motion,' says Marvin, 'and we simply subtracted her vote, that would leave the voting as eleven to nine, with the motion carried. Do we agree?' The meeting agrees. 'If, on the other hand, she had voted for the motion, and her vote was subtracted, that would give us a tie, at ten ten. But in the event of such a tie, I as chairman would have had to use my casting vote. In the circumstances, and only because of the circumstances, as a pure matter of procedure and not of preference, I would have had to vote for the motion. Either way, therefore, the motion may be presumed to be carried.'
There is once again much uproar. 'Wishy-washy liberal equivocation,' shouts Moira Millikin, while her baby squawks by her chair. 'A crime against mankind,' says Roger Fundy. 'I can only tell you, Dr Fundy,' says Marvin, 'that I do not myself greatly relish the idea of Mangel visiting this campus. Not because what has been said about him seems to me true, but because we as a department do much better without these contentious situations. But this has been forced on me, and there was no other way procedurally for justice to be done.'
'A reactionary reason,' says Moira Millikin. 'Justice!' cried Roger Fundy. 'Democratic justice is clear injustice.'
'You always seem to find it convenient when it is in your favour,' says Marvin. This generates much more uproar, through which come many shouts for the vote to be retaken, and the level of the lake outside continues to rise, and the darkness increases beyond the big windows with their rattling blinds. The dumper-trucks have stopped; the pile-drivers have been put away; but, high in the dark, the lights of the Durkheim Room shine bright. The meeting goes on, and then, at 17.30, there is a loud ping of Benita Pream's alarm clock, and it is over. Or almost over, for even now they have to consider a proposal that, since there has been no tea interval, a notional time should be set for the actual consumption of the tea and the biscuits; it is this spot of notional time that is finally used to justify the fact that the meeting has gone on a few minutes longer in order to consider whether it should go on a few minutes longer. The sociologists rise and disperse; Professor Debison, who has not spoken at all, hurries off to his taxi, which will take him straight to Heathrow; in the corridor outside the Durkheim Room, caucuses huddle and discuss coming upheaval. 'You were very quiet,' says Flora Beniform to Howard, as they leave the room. 'Well,' says Howard, 'some of these bones of contention are very hard to resolve.'
'You've never had that trouble before,' says Flora. 'You want Mangel. You want a fight.'
'Who, me?' asks Howard, innocently, as they get into the lift. They stand there, waiting for the doors to close. 'I've got a babysitter,' says Howard. 'I see,' says Flora, and reaches in her bag, and gets out her diary, and deletes from the page marked with a thread a word that says: 'Provisionally'. 'Secret assignation?' asks Henry Beamish, getting into the lift, his arm sticking out stiffly before him, 'Well, Howard, that was very enjoyable. I'm glad I took the trouble to come. There were some issues there that greatly concerned me.'
'Were there, Henry?' asks Flora. 'What were those?'
'The question of the grant for research into senile delinquency,' says Henry. 'We can really move forward on that one now.'
'Did we discuss that?' asks Flora. 'Flora, you weren't attending,' says Henry, 'it was one of the most important items. I thought we'd have a battle over it, but it went straight through without discussion. I suppose people see its importance. A very uncontentious meeting, I thought.'
'Were you attending?' asks Flora, 'I noticed a certain flurry round the matter of Mangel.'
'I found that terribly predictable,' says Henry. 'The trouble with sociologists is that they usually fail to take genetics seriously. They talk about the balance of nature and nurture, but when it comes down to it they're all on the side of nurture, because they can interfere with that. They can't realize how much we're genetically predetermined.'
'But it is, as the chair says, a bone of contention,' says Flora. 'It'll blow over,' says Henry. 'Will it, Howard?' asks Flora. 'I doubt it,' says Howard. 'There's a lot of passion on this.'
'Oh, God,' says Flora, 'I must admit I was really hoping for just one quiet term. Without an issue, without a sit-in. I know it sounds terribly reactionary. But even though permanent revolution may have its claims, I really think before I die I'd like the peace to write one decent book.'
'But we won't let you,' says Howard. 'No,' says Flora, 'so I see.'
The lift stops at the fifth floor, and they get out, back into Sociology. 'Funny how it came up,' says Henry, 'it was all a bit of an accident.'
'Henry,' says Flora, wearily, 'there are no accidents.' Henry turns and looks at her, puzzled. 'Of course there are,' he says. 'I don't think Howard agrees with you,' says Flora. 'I must go home and work. Take care of yourself, Henry.'
'Of course,' says Henry. The three of them separate, going along three of the four corridors that lead away from the lift, to collect up the briefcases and the books and the new essays and the new department memos, the accumulated intellectual deposit of the day, which will now need fresh attention. 'Grand girl, Flora,' says Henry, a few minutes later, when Howard comes to the door of his room, to remind him of their appointment. Henry's room, like all the rooms, is a matching version of Howard's own, with the Conran desk, the Roneo-Vickers filing cabinet, the gunmetal wastepaper basket, the red desk chair, all in approximately similar places in the rectangle. The difference is that Henry has domesticated the space, and filled it with potted plants, and a bust of Gladstone, and a modernistic silver-frame mirror, and a loose-weave Norwegian rug for the floor, and a machine called a Teasmaid, which links a teapot to a clock, and throws out an intense smell of tea-leaves. 'Are you ready, Henry?' asks Howard. 'I've got a somewhat busy evening. And I've got to take you home for your steak.'
'I think that's about it,' says Henry, 'I shan't get much work done tonight like this. I wonder, Howard, if you could give me a hand to get my raincoat on? The problem is to fit this arm of mine in somewhere.'
'Let's put it over your shoulders,' says Howard, 'and I'll button it up for you at the neck.' They stand in Henry's domestic room, Henry with his chin up, as Howard attends to his coat. Then they pick up their briefcases and walk down the empty corridor towards the lift.
The lift comes quickly, and they get inside. 'I do hope you're not angry with me,' says Henry, as they descend. 'Why should I be?' asks Howard. 'I mean, over the Mangel question,' says Henry, 'I had to vote for him, of course, on principle. It was quite clear to me, though I respect the other point of view. I suppose you voted against.'
'I abstained, actually,' says Howard. 'But I know what you must have thought,' said Henry. 'If only Henry had done the sensible thing, and stayed at home, and then the vote would have gone the other way.'
'Nonsense,' says Howard, 'if you'd stayed at home, we wouldn't have had an issue. Now there'll be trouble, and it will radicalize everyone, and we shall have a good term.'
'Well, I don't think we agree on that,' says Henry. The lift doors open, and they step out into the empty foyer. The Kaakinen waterfall has been turned off for the night; many of the lights are out; the floors are being cleaned by a cleaner with a cleaner. 'No,' says Henry, 'I'm like Flora. I cry for peace. My political days are good and over. I'm not sure I was ever really very far in. In any case, politics were fair, in the fifties.'
'That was why nothing got done,' says Howard, 'and there is no peace.' They go out, through the glass doors, into the darkening campus. 'Well, that's my point of view,' says Henry, 'though of course I do respect the other one.'
'Yes,' says Howard, as they stop and stand in the rain, 'well, where shall we go for our drink?'
'Ah,' says Henry, brightening, 'that's what I call a really serious issue. Where do you think?'