And The Rest...

AND THE REST…

I had already checked out and had my bags loaded into the cab when the desk clerk came running out of the hotel lobby. “Dr. Hinckley! A courier just delivered this for you,” she said and handed me a manila envelope. I thanked her, got into the cab and read the dock number from the charter boat brochure my travel agent had included with my itinerary.
I hadn’t been expecting the news quite this soon, but this message was expected. Confirmation that on my return I would be named the T.M. Howell Professor of Applied Bio-physical Chemistry – a final validation of the past 15 years spent toiling in the groves of academe. I wasn’t keen on leaving the day after my interview by the selection panel, but the Provost had assured me that I had it “in the bag” and my selection was a foregone conclusion. My travel arrangements had been made months in advance; changing the dates for my trip would be prohibitively expensive.
So off I went on my first vacation since I was a child – first two days on the beach in Hawaii, then a short boat ride to the tiny isolated resort island of Mi’illwaw Kea for some botanizing (perhaps even an encounter with the rare Mantis Khani). A week of rare tropical plants, birds and insects!
I had caught my jacket pocket on the door handle as I entered the cab, ripping it and spilling the contents over the back seat. By the time I had gathered my things and rearranged them in other pockets we had reached the dock. So was unable to find an opportunity to open the Provost’s envelope until all my things had been loaded on the boat. Once my dunnage had been stowed and I had been given a tour of the vessel and met my fellow passengers I was finally able to sit near the stern and read the letter – almost half an hour later. I was barely conscious of the harbor slipping away so pre-occupied was I with my long-anticipated professional triumph.
At first I thought there must have been a mistake – a one paragraph letter from the university “Thank you for your interest, but unfortunately…” How could they possibly have turned me down? My credentials are impeccable – no one has my background, my publications, my accolades. They didn’t even interview anyone else. It was just to be a formality! How on earth… Then I noticed the handwritten note from the Provost.

Roy,

I am so terribly sorry this has happened. I’ve tried to telephone and hope I will reach you before this is delivered. Just after you left we had a call from one of the U.’s most important donors. He was livid that you were even being considered for the chair that he had funded and would never give the U another cent if you weren’t dismissed immediately. I think we were able to dissuade him from the latter, but the Chair is quite out of the question at this point. Apparently a paper you wrote caused the Federal government to amend a regulation which cost his company a great deal of money. In any case, I am so very sorry about this. We will do all we can to salvage the situation and find a suitable spot for you when you return. If we haven’t spoken, please call when you receive this.

Fred

I sank back into the deck chair, utterly stunned. Everything I had worked for since I was an undergraduate. Every hour in the library. Every day in the laboratory. All the papers read and written. Almost twenty years of my life devoted to a single goal – All gone. All snatched away by some businessman. And what did “find a suitable spot for you” mean?
A wave of despair swept over me such as I’d never felt before. I cannot describe the sense of utter futility, frustration and hopelessness that crushed me, other than to say that I hope that I never experience it again. For a short while I understood on a visceral level as I never had before why suicide might be an attractive option.
I suppose my distress must have been obvious. Someone laid a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?” It was one of my fellow passengers.
“Oh. Yes. Or, rather not really. It’s Miss Summers, isn’t it?” I stammered. Flirtatious banter has never been a strength, much less at a time like this.
“That’s right,” she said and smiled. “I saw you read your letter and you just went white. Then you were sitting so still that I knew something had to be wrong. Is there anything I can do?”
“Oh no. I’ll be fine. Just a little, er, setback,” I tried to give her a confident smile, but I could tell from her reaction that it was feeble at best and closer to sickly. She smiled again. Or rather she SMILED. Her smile was unique in my experience. It was a thing of radiance, purity and joy. Things could not be all bad if that smile was in the world.
“Would you like to talk about it?” she asked and SMILED.
“Oh no, I couldn’t burden you…” and I really didn’t intend to, as I am really a very reticent person. But somehow I found myself unburdening myself to her – my personal and professional history, how I had utterly devoted myself to my research, how my hopes had crystallized into a single goal and how that goal had been denied me just minutes before.
“Dr. Hinckley, you mustn’t despair. This must be the first time you’ve ever faced disappointment. I’m sure it’s bad now, but it gets better,” she said, while patting my arm in a touchingly encouraging manner. “And just consider all the good you’ve done so far. And you’ll still get to do the work you love – sounds exciting to me. Maybe you won’t get the prestige or recognition you deserve. But that’s just what other people think. You’re really a very lucky man.” And she SMILED at me again.
She had really made me feel much better and I told her so. I was looking forward to spending the next few days getting to know this wonderful creature better. I stood and we walked to the rail to watch the early evening shadows form over the waves. “I’m terribly sorry to bore you like this. Very inconsiderate of me. Please tell me about yourself.” I asked.
“About me? There’s not much to tell,” she said and went on to describe her life on a Kansas corn farm. Her days were divided between caring for her parents, working in the local feed mill and endless farm chores. The nearest town, a thriving metropolis of 4,000 was 20 minutes away. Topeka was two hours away. She had won this trip in a contest by submitting the best coconut cream pie recipe to the Coco-Pure Coconut Company. “This is a once in lifetime thing for me. I can’t imagine I’ll ever get to take a trip like this again.”
I was struck by the self-imposed limitation on her world and was preparing to encourage her to raise her aspirations. I was interrupted by a strikingly beautiful sight – two Megaptera novaeangliae leapt from the sea. They faced each other and their trajectories met at the peak of their arc. They were no more than 50 meters from the boat. Truly an astounding exhibition of cetacean behavior. But I was even more touched by Miss Summers’ reaction. When I turned to her after the two humpbacks had submerged back to the depths I noticed that tears were running down her cheeks. I felt an extreme affection for the young lady at that moment. Perhaps it was the sea air – more likely the clash of strong emotions I’d experienced in such a short time. But I overcame my normal reserve and placed my hand on top of hers on the rail.
We had stood like that for only a short while when were interrupted by the ship’s First (and only) Mate. A tall, awkward young man named Willy; he seemed highly good-natured and likely. “I just wanted to warn you folks that we might see a little rough weather,” he said and pointed over the opposite site of the boat. We could see a dark line of clouds in the distance. “Captain says nothing to worry about. We’ll be going around the bad part of the storm. But we might get some rain and a few waves,” with that he gave us a sheepish grin and ambled back toward the bow.
We crossed to the other side to look at the storm. Even from several miles away it was obvious that it was quite severe, with impressive bouts of lightning and cresting waves. The boat was beginning to pitch more noticeably as the waves reached us and we moved along the length of the well defined storm. As I watched I noticed some distinctively shaped clouds along the leading edge of the storm front – pale green in a distinct chevron shape.
“Why those are Schwartz-Sherwood cirro-nimbus clouds,” I said. “And look at the ratio of cloud height to the length of the storm!” I made a few quick mental calculations. “That must be a Scotti-Wells osmotic anti-cyclone. I read a paper about it just last month!”
“What does that mean?” Miss Summers asked.
“We’re doing exactly the wrong thing. That storm is only about a quarter-mile wide. But the most violent winds and turbulence are directly in front of it. We could be blown miles out of way.”
“Goodness!” she said, “You have to tell the captain.”
“I will,” I said, and left her there at the rail. I wasn’t sure how I would convince him. He seemed an amiable enough fellow, but had no reason to accept advice from me. The Scotti-Wells was a newly observed phenomenon and it was unlikely he would have heard of it. I took a second to compose my thoughts. As I leaned over the starboard rail, the two Megaptera repeated their unlikely performance. As the closer of the two leapt into the sky, meeting his companion at their mutual apogee, his eye met mine. In hindsight I am sure I had only fallen victim to the anthropomorphic fallacy, but at the time I was certain that I had had a split-second’s shared understanding with the cetacean.
I do not know how long I stood there transfixed. It may have been as long as five minutes. I do not know, but I was awakened from my reverie by the increased violence of the sea – the ship had acquired a pronounced lateral roll. I scanned the waves for the whales one last time. It began to rain.
I may never fully understand exactly why I did what I did next. At the time I was convinced it was the right thing to do. While the ensuing events and the difficulties of the past few years have engendered some doubts, I have never regretted my decision.
I turned and walked carefully back to the stern and Miss Summers. “Did you tell him?” she asked. She was still smiling, but I was able to detect an overtone of concern in her voice. It was raining hard now and the wind was blowing the drops into painful little pellets.
“I did,” I lied, “but it may have been too late.” I took her hand and led her below decks.