My Troubles With Time (8 page)

Stifling a curse, I picked up the receiver and forced myself to be polite.

“Snodgrass?”

It was the voice of Joy, the secretary of the Physics department. Her name was most apt. To see her was a joy for any male. Describing her as voluptuous would have been to do her an injustice. She was frankly the sexiest, most appealing woman I had ever seen.

In my daydreams, I would sweep her off her feet. In reality, she treated me with a thinly disguised disdain. Her deep voice, normally so sweet that it would remind you of honey, was cold and harsh on those few occasions when she would deign to speak to me.

Except for me, she habitually flirted with every man she spoke to. This even included Kim Han Chu, whose grasp of English was so limited that he would ask me later to explain to him what had transpired during their conversation.

Early in my stay at Standish, I had hoped to wear down her defenses, bringing her candy on her birthday and Christmas. In vain. Her contempt for me had only become more explicit. Most recently, she has stopped referring to me as “professor” or “doctor” and now addressed me solely by my last name.

“Good morning,” I said, as pleasantly as I could.

“Dr. Bolton wants to see you in his office as quickly as possible!”

“Of course, what about?”

There was no answer. Joy had already hung up.

I quickly shaved, dressed, carefully put the article I had redone for Dr. Bolton into a large folder to protect it, and set out for the university.

The house I rented from the university was only a few minutes’ walk from the campus. Despite its convenient location, my house was the least desirable of any of those rented by the university to junior members of the faculty. In addition to its small size and the poor state of the paint job, rugs and furniture, it was in a neighborhood that had become increasingly seedy during the years I had resided there.

When the university housing office had assigned me the house upon my arrival at Standish, I had been shocked when I saw its dilapidated condition. My mild protests to the Director of Housing had been answered with the bland assertion that nothing better was then available. He assured me that I would receive priority treatment when a better house was vacated, probably no later than the start of the spring semester.

Foolishly, I accepted the assurances I was offered at face value. I patiently bided my time as the weeks and months went by. At the end of the spring semester, I confidently went to the university housing officer to learn which of the faculty houses I had been assigned for the next year. To my amazement, the director of housing explained that due to a lamentable clerical error, the house intended for me had somehow been assigned to a new instructor in the finance department.

I gullibly accepted the excuse and the apologies that accompanied them. The next year, the excuse was different but the result the same. The new director of housing explained that his predecessor had not informed him of the inadequate housing that had been assigned me and that all better houses had already allocated.

Each year I found the excuses less plausible than the last. Eventually it dawned on me that the staff of the housing office considered me as unimportant as did the rest of my colleagues and acquaintances. I stopped trying to obtain a better house, comforting myself with the fact that my house had a large garage which served as an excellent workshop for the construction of the time machine.

Passing through the gate donated by the class of 1926, I entered the campus. As I always did when I viewed the quadrangle, I was impressed by its beauty. The buildings were of Georgian architecture. Tall oak trees shaded the buildings and the walks which connected them.

It was difficult for me to walk as rapidly as I wished because of the groups of students heading for their 9 a.m. classes. Excusing myself, I finally was able to get ahead of a group of three coeds walking abreast and entered Guggenheim Hall, which housed the Physics department.

Sprinting up the stairs to the second floor office of the department, I entered. For a moment I didn’t see Joy. However, the scent of the lovely perfume she always wore indicated her presence.

“You’re late,” I heard her say coldly.

Turning, I saw her standing by the file cabinet on the same side of the wall as the door I had just entered. She looked even more voluptuous than usual. The tight dress she was wearing emphasized every delightful curve of her magnificent body. Her luxurious blond hair fell to her shoulders.

On anyone else, her hairdo would have seemed untidy. However, it made her look, as I had heard one graduate student tell another with an admiring expression on his face, as though she had just fallen out of bed.

She walked past me to her desk. It was even better to see her in motion. The fabric of her dress clung to her body, showing every beautiful curve. I wondered how she could walk so confidently in her high-heeled shoes. It seemed to defy the laws of physics.

Ignoring my admiring stare, Joy buzzed Dr. Bolton on the intercom.

“You can go in now,” she said, as coldly as before.

Dismissing me, she walked back to the file cabinet. I entered Dr. Bolton’s office. He was seated at his desk. The Department Chairman ignored me for a few moments before looking up from the paper he had been reading.

“Do you have my paper?” he said.

His tone was impersonal, as though he had been speaking to a robot.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” I said apologetically, handing him the paper.

He said nothing, but began carefully reading the paper. As he did so, I found myself wondering about his unusual appearance. Invariably, he wore a dark business suit, white shirt and conservative tie. Astonishingly, these had given way to a loud open-necked plaid sports shirt.

When he finished his perusal of the paper, he began questioning me in detail about the formulas. It was not easy, but eventually he grasped them. He carefully put the paper in his desk drawer and stood.

“I must be going,” he said. “I am meeting the Dean, Dr. Harris, and Fielding at the club. We tee off at 10.”

I could appreciate Dr. Bolton’s interest in playing golf with the Dean. The Physics department was asking for additional funds in the forthcoming year. Support from the Dean was essential if we were to be successful. Dr. Harris had prepared the proposed department budget. Alan Fielding, however, was a brash young man who was only in his fifth year with the department. Aside from his beautiful wife, who had been almost cordial to me at faculty receptions, I could think of no redeeming features Fielding possessed.

I envied Fielding’s inclusion in the golf foursome. If I could find some way of playing golf with Dr. Bolton, I thought, I might impress him that I was a valuable member of the department.

“I enjoy a good game of golf,” I said hopefully.

Dr. Bolton ignored my remark.

“What’s your handicap?” I tried again.

He stopped and turned around. At a minimum, I expected an answer to my question. With luck, he would at least indicate awareness of my interest in the game and possibly invite me to play with him at a later date.

“Oh, Maynard,” he began, as I waited expectantly for his reply. “One thing more. The new software we ordered for the department computers has arrived. I’d like you to install it before the end of the week.”

Before I could think of an adequate answer, he was gone. Slowly, I left the office and walked home. I was utterly dejected. Dr. Bolton’s failure to thank me for providing him with the scholarly article he needed was not totally unexpected. But asking me to install the new computer software was something new. Probably next he would ask me to sweep the corridors in Peabody Hall.

To make matters worse, I was not sure of my ability to install the software. I would have to ask at the university computer department to learn the proper procedure. The foolishness of the exercise disgusted me. The computer department was responsible for installing software and provided the service routinely when requested.

By the time I reached home, my morale had improved. I would work nights if necessary to meet Dr. Bolton’s schedule for installing the software.

The software proved to be more difficult than I had expected. However, by working all Friday night, I was able to complete the project early on Saturday morning.

My eyes bleary from lack of sleep, I was just starting my final test of the system about 10 a.m. when Dr. Bolton entered. He saw me and a look of irritation crossed his face. Aren’t you through yet?” he asked peevishly.

Just finished, sir,” I answered, trying not to let the resentment show in my voice. The test of the software was completed satisfactorily, I stood up and looked at Dr. Bolton expectantly. Surely, he would not fail to thank me for my devotion to the department.

“You can go now,” he said, dismissing me. ”The Dean will be here in a few minutes and I want to show him that the software has been installed.”

I tried again. “Would you like me to stay and answer and questions he might have?”

“No!”

Dejectedly, I turned and started to leave the office.

“Oh, Maynard…”

I turned new hope in my heart. At last the thanks would be coming.

“I’d like you to come over to my house on Tuesday evening, after dinner. I bought some new tax software for my computer and I want you to install it for me.”

I waited for him to say something more. Instead, he turned his back to me, picked up from his desk the explanatory material that had accompanied the software and proceeded to read it. More depressed than usual, I walked home.

After several days of mopping around my house, I pulled myself together. Recalling the photograph I had obtained in Paris showing me with General Trochu was the catalyst. It would be foolish; I decided not to claim the fame that was rightly mine from inventing a time machine.

I immersed myself in drafting an article for the National Physics Society quarterly, describing my invention of the time machine and the trip I had made back to 1870 France. In case the reviewer failed to understand my mathematical formulas proving the feasibility of time travel, I would include the photograph showing me with General Trochu as proof. Trochu’s handwritten, signed note describing my visit would be added confirmation.

It was with great pride and expectation that I completed my article and inserted a copy of it and the all-important photograph into a large Manila envelope. The National Physics Society would certainly have to award me its annual prize for the greatest contribution to physics for my work, I reasoned. Even the Nobel Prize in Physics was not out of the question.

As I headed to the post office to mail the envelope, I clutched it tightly, fearing I might lose it. The clerk at the post office smiled condescendingly when I pressed her for assurances that the envelope not be lost in the mail. Her arguments did not fully convince me, but even in my emotional state I realized it would be silly to hire a special messenger.

Eventually, I accepted her recommendation to send it registered mail.

My receipt of the post office card indicating the envelope had safely reached its destination gave me a few days of relative comfort. Then I began counting off the days, anxiously waiting for the mail each day in the hope that I would find the letter from the National Physics Society congratulating me on my discovery. My fixation on the subject was so great that I even welcomed the diversion created when Dr. Bolton gave me a few penciled notes and asked me to prepare a paper for him to present to the annual meeting of the society.

From time to time, I considered making another trip in the time machine. I went so far as to repair the damage it had suffered during the trip to Paris and recharged the batteries until they were restored to full power. However, I was strangely disinclined to use the machine pending acknowledgment by the National Physics Society of my invention.

As the days passed without a response from the National Physics Society, I became preoccupied with a second concern. Each year, the Chairman of the Physics department formally announced at a department meeting in early April which members of the department had been awarded tenure. By the middle of the month, no department meeting had taken place and I yet to be informed that my long-expected tenure had been awarded. Since no other non-tenured member of the department was eligible, I was certain that the moment I had long waited for would shortly arrive.

Finally, the members of the department were notified that the expected April meeting had been scheduled. It was to take place on a Thursday, two days before the start of the National Physics Society meeting in Philadelphia. I was so sure that Dr. Bolton would announce I had been granted tenured status that I prepared in my mind a few gracious comments I could deliver if called upon to do so.

To show Dr. Bolton my gratitude for receiving tenure, I decided to make the paper he would deliver at the National Physics Society meeting the best that group had ever seen. I labored long and hard at it, drafting and redrafting the text, formulating and checking complex formulas supporting its conclusions.

The day of the all-important department meeting began poorly. I worked until 2 a.m., polishing the text. At 5 a.m., Princess awakened me by jumping repeatedly on my back. I stumbled to the kitchen to get her food, convinced I had forgotten to fill her food dish. To my surprise, her food dish was more than half full, nor was her sand box in need of cleaning. The miserable animal, I realized had awakened me just for the pure spite of it.

So irritated that any attempt to sleep was impossible, I decided to re-read the paper for Dr. Bolton and polish it further. As I read it I was pleased with my work, making only one or two additional changes.

About 8 a.m. I decided I had done as much as I could and carefully put the draft into a large Manila envelope. A cold shower, two cups of coffee and the expectation that in a few more hours I would be a tenured professor helped restore me to good humor.

The department meeting was scheduled for 11 a.m. I had arranged to deliver the paper I had prepared to Dr. Bolton at 10 a.m. A few minutes before that time, I set out for the campus.