else has he not guessed about her?
âI wonder, Mr Isaacs, whether I am the right person to speak to Melanie.â
âYou are, Professor, you are! As I say, Melanie has such respect for you.â
Respect? You are out of date, Mr Isaacs. Your daughter lost respect for me weeks ago, and with good reason . That is what he ought to say. âIâll see what I can do,â he says instead.
You will not get away with it, he tells himself afterwards. Nor will father Isaacs in faraway George forget this conversation, with its lies and evasions. Iâll see what I can do. Why not come clean? I am the worm in the apple , he should have said. How can I help you when I am the very source of your woe?
He telephones the flat and gets cousin Pauline. Melanie is not available, says Pauline in a chilly voice. âWhat do you mean, not available?â âI mean she doesnât want to speak to you.â âTell herâ, he says, âit is about her decision to withdraw. Tell her she is being very rash.â
Wednesdayâs class goes badly, Fridayâs even worse. Attendance is poor; the only students who come are the tame ones, the passive, the docile. There can be only one explanation. The story must be out.
He is in the department office when he hears a voice behind him: âWhere can I find Professor Lurie?â
âHere I am,â he says without thinking.
The man who has spoken is small, thin, stoop-shouldered. He wears a blue suit too large for him, he smells of cigarette smoke.
âProfessor Lurie? We spoke on the telephone. Isaacs.â
âYes. How do you do. Shall we go to my office?â
âThat wonât be necessary.â The man pauses, gathers himself, takes a deep breath. âProfessor,â he begins, laying heavy stress on the word, âyou may be very educated and all that, but what you have done is not right.â He pauses, shakes his head. âIt is not right.â
The two secretaries do not pretend to hide their curiosity. There are students in the office too; as the strangerâs voice rises they fall silent.
âWe put our children in the hands of you people because we think we can trust you. If we canât trust the university, who can we trust? We never thought we were sending our daughter into a nest of vipers. No, Professor Lurie, you may be high and mighty and have all kinds of degrees, but if I was you Iâd be very ashamed of myself, so help me God. If Iâve got hold of the wrong end of the stick, now is your chance to say, but I donât think so, I can see it from your face.â
Now is his chance indeed: let him who would speak, speak. But he stands tongue-tied, the blood thudding in his ears. A viper: how can he deny it?
âExcuse me,â he whispers, âI have business to attend to.â Like a thing of wood, he turns and leaves.
Into the crowded corridor Isaacs follows him. âProfessor! Professor Lurie!â he calls. âYou canât just run away like that! You have not heard the last of it, I tell you now!â
That is how it begins. Next morning, with surprising dispatch, a memorandum arrives from the office of the Vice-Rector (Student Affairs) notifying him that a complaint has been lodged against him under article 3.1 of the universityâs Code of Conduct. He is requested to contact the Vice-Rectorâs office at his earliest convenience.
The notification â which arrives in an envelope marked Confidential â is accompanied by a copy of the code. Article 3 deals with victimization or harassment on grounds of race, ethnic group, religion, gender, sexual preference, or physical disability. Article 3.1 addresses victimization or harassment of students by teachers.
A second document describes the constitution and competences of committees of inquiry. He reads it, his heart hammering unpleasantly. Halfway through, his concentration fails. He gets up, locks the door of his office,