Chapter 12 – Storming Hanover
After the meeting with the local powers of Siemens, Lars walked me to the car. I had the Mercedes, with Russell driving. Loaning me Russell was the sort of generous gesture I learned to expect from Sheila. I was also glad she sent Christine, who makes a great human comforter. It was good that I did not yet know about Lars' transfer. I would have worried all the way to the garage in Manchester.
God must have been paying attention, because the clerk at the garage was the same clerk that would not let me pick up the beater car two years before. He did not recognize me, again. To add comedy, I no longer looked like my ID photo. He had a small point, which made living proof that having a point does not make you sharp. Christine shook with laughter, but I think I was the only one who noticed. Before the clerk could really embarrass himself, again, the owner came out to see who the Mercedes had dropped off. I winked at him, as he shouldered the clerk aside. Even his eyes widened when I pointed to several half healed piercing holes.
I once counted the piercings. Including ears, my face had 27 separate holes. By then I was down to nine, seven in the ears. Check all my photos. My hair may cover the earrings, but there will always be discrete studs in the left eyebrow and right nostril. I liked the one in the eyebrow. Reasons for keeping one in my nose are more obscure. For that matter, I could not explain why my left ear kept two, but the right ear kept five.
That was the sort of thing I was pondering when the exit to Hanover came up. In a heartbeat, my thoughts jumped to all the feminists, lesbians and activists that might think I went mercenary and sold to the highest bidder. In truth, I did sell out. I sold out to the idea that I was not a freak. The philosophical content of that statement would take some chewing.
I had a more immediate issue. I needed to let everyone know I was back without favoring anyone. Once again, Sheila came to my service. She broke the news of her engagement by walking into the HR office and letting them announce it. At Richards Enterprises, HR is grapevine central. Suitably modified, I could use the same approach.
Deans are politicians; it was probably written in the job requirements. My Dean's office could substitute for HR. With this battle plan, I walked up to the Dean's secretary. "Hello Anne. I see Karol is in. I'll only need a minute."
As I walked toward the open door, Anne Wilson sputtered, "You can't just walk in. Wait...Who are y... Oh my Sainted Aunt. Dr. Krelinov, Dr. Richards to see you."
Dr. Karol Krelinov, Dean of Anthropology, was not one of my fans. He looked up from his work, did a double take, then rose to extend a hand. "Good afternoon, Dr. Richards. You are looking well. What can I do for you?" I liked that. Even for a politician, it was smooth.
I said, "Nothing at the moment. This is a courtesy call. I just returned to campus and wanted to let you know I was back."
Dr. Krelinov nodded, "Thank you. The courtesy is appreciated. You have been the source of much talk. It will be useful to let a few people know you are about. Anne can assist you with that. Shall we meet Monday at four?" This foreshadowed improved relations within my own department, which was not a bad place to start.
I thanked Dr. Krelinov and turned Anne loose on the rumor mill. The whole event took less than five minutes. I spent more time walking to and back than anything else. The impact was hard to gauge, but substantial, so I have used the protocol ever since. Powers That Be always like being first to know, so the courtesy is never wasted. Sometimes, as in this case, it is useful to let them tell everyone else.
Returning to my car, I reflected how much different it was to drive Shadow. My never named econobox could stand an upgrade, maybe a ten year old Lexus or Infiniti. I would get more comfort and have this car to donate to some organization. Pulling up to my apartment complex, I anticipated more of the same. This would be a more difficult transition, but I could start with a house cleaning. Better yet, a house cleansing. I was an anthropologist. Ritual is central to my course of study.
Gift economy concepts were trendy. I would have to address the potential issues in my thesis. Though I respected Malinowski's work, on gift economies in the South Pacific island people, I preferred Mauss' position in their debate. Some of the ideas could be taken to radical extremes. For example, the International Feminists for a Gift Economy. They had some good ideas, but it was mostly another group that wanted to run the world. Their problem was the denial of the efficacy of naked force.
I liked Mauss and those that followed him. My situation was an opportunity for an experiment testing his theories. Even mercantile societies like the USA had sphere's of gifting. Blood and organ donations are often cited, but community service also fit the description. Scout leaders and softball coaches gave up large amounts of their free time and often their money. I was embarking on a new life path. I could do worse than to begin with some generosity.
To that end, I went to my office and created an invitation.
Chrysalis
Siobhan Richards invites
you to a celebration of
change and regenesis
7:00 PM
22 July
Marbury Hall
Tea will be served
I printed twenty copies. The small number was to force me to be selective. Two went to Drs. Krelinov and Steele, my dean and thesis adviser. Two more went to my graduate assistants. A fifth was for the editor of the department newsletter. That covered the academic side.
The social side was more complex. Two would go to supportive faculty from other departments. Three would go to the heads of campus organizations that I had found helpful. One would go on the bulletin board at the house. That left nine for the students that helped me with the wedding. My eyes went misty when I wrote out their names. The first was to Elspeth.
I was glad Sheila had loaned me Christine, but Elspeth was much more practical. She, among other talents, was a gifted researcher. She was also tied into the entire network that is New England, of which Dartmouth's campus was a small part. I could give her the job of tracking stray people down. I left Christine sorting my things into piles—keep, donate/gift, burn. I went back to campus.
As before, I began with Dr. Krelinov. He was out, but Anne was a suitable surrogate. Dr. Steele was in. Back in New Jersey, Gerald told me to savor the first look on my adviser's face. With that in mind, I had my phone on video record when I knocked on Dr. Steele's door. His expression was everything I could hope for. I forwarded the clip to Sheila, asking for a couple of stills.
Once over his initial shock, Remmy invited me in and made small talk. After a few minutes I began to wonder if he was ignoring the envelopes in my hand or stalling for time. It was the latter. Dr. Harrigan walked up.
Glancing at me, he said to Dr. Steele, "Remmy, what's this about? She was sighted at the Dean's office an hour ago, but there is nothing since. I already promised to let you know as soon as I saw her."
Dr. Steele smiled, "A promise you have already broken. But, my manners. Dr. Harrigan, I would like you to meet Dr. Richards." I was recording again. James Harrigan nearly collapsed from shock.
People would stop using that expression if they ever saw it happen. Dr. Harrigan's blood drained out of his face. He stopped breathing. His eyes bulged in his head. He staggered to a vacant chair and dropped into it. Soon he was gasping for breath and fanning his face like he had run the 400 meters.
This all happened in under ten seconds. The silence was filled by the sound of heels coming up the hallway. Elspeth came around the corner, saying, "Dr. Steele have you seen her? Anne said she was..." I was recording this as well. There is another another expression—surprised by joy. I had just enough time to brace before Elspeth slammed into me.
I needed a hug, so I gave Elspeth one of my best. She reciprocated. For several seconds I held her close and stroked her hair. Presently I became aware that Drs. Steele and Harrigan were staring. I can be slow, but it dawned on me that they thought Elspeth and I hated each other. Truthfully, I did not expect this big a reaction from Elspeth. We had only been apart about five weeks.
Rather than explain, I extended to Dr. Steele his invitation. While he opened it, I dug in my bag for Elspeth's. Dr. Steele was succinct, "What's this?" For some reason my prepared remarks had fled.
Instead, I said, "It's a ceremony of sorts. Many things have changed." This produced three coughs of laughter. "Since I cannot return to the cocoon, I wish to pay suitable tribute to my time there. I gave an invitation to Dr. Krelinov, for the whole department, so you are also invited Dr. Harrigan. Elspeth, I have nine invitations. I think you know who those are for. Would you help me run them all down? It would be greatly appreciated."
It is sufficient to say that I dropped no more unexpected invitations. In fact, I made no calls. They called me. I never tried to be popular. For some reason I was anyway.
Christine stayed three days. It was comfortable, but I came to realize she was out of place. Rather than send her off, Jason Porter showed up to collect her. You should have seen the chaos on campus. In six weeks, Jason had gone from nobody to Justin Timberlake in terms of popularity. Fall semester was still weeks away, but he could not go anywhere without a string of girls following him.
It was sweet to watch their faces when he wanted to talk to me, but more satisfying to see his face when Christine caught his attention. They never married, but Justin fathered all of Christine's children. Other than a possible threesome with Sean and Sheila, Jason may have been the only male in Christine's love life. Half the young women and girls on the East Coast wanted into Jason's bed, but Christine had a standing invitation. Make of that what you wish.
For me, it was another learning moment. Much as she suited me, Christine belonged elsewhere. The House in New Jersey—I might as well start calling it the Residence—was her home. Sheila was there. Soon the baby would be there. Christine might as well have been born to be a nanny or a mother. Here she could be neither. Nor could I, but that was a less urgent issue.
Sending Christine off became a production. Jason had driven Sheila's Volvo. There were things in it for me, which he had neglected to mention. Nothing much—some Halston silk shirts, two pair of heels, a dozen pair stockings and an array of silk scarves. The scarves were probably Gran's, but the rest was from Elizabeth or someplace similar. I was thinking of how to phrase the thank you email, when something clinked. Knotted in one of the scarves were earrings, tied in pairs with ribbon. Sweet.
There was more. A suit bag lay on the floor behind the passenger seat. Inside was a school teacher costume—dark skirt, back buttoned blouse with a cheat zipper in the pleats, faux early 20th century shoes, also with zipper, wooden pointer stick, metal edged ruler, even a couple of grammar school texts. There was also a note.
Siobhan,
