Between Cups of Coffee Page 4

  The chair in the kitchen felt uncomfortable. I didn’t have the energy to take a shower. I went to my jacket, took the envelope from the pocket and went back to the kitchen, heated up some milk and sat on the sofa in the sitting room. I kept the envelope in my hand for some seconds. Then I tore it from the side. I took the letter out slowly and started reading it. It was written on a simple white paper. I could see she had taken time writing it slowly:

  ‘Dear David,

  You are reading this letter so I am gone. Strange. All my life I was thinking what is the use... so what if I am here going to the bookshelves everyday, picking books, reading some and going home reading some more. I used to watch the students as they came into the library chatting away loudly, carrying with them their secret love affairs, laughing carelessly hiding their cheating and bitchiness towards each other. I always asked myself what is the use... I didn’t have the resolve to continue to search for the answer. Now that I am writing this letter to you, I have such a desire to remain; to see you again; to just have a conversation. And of course this is not to be. So my diminishing hope is that you never read this letter. Perhaps I keep it deep in my box to refer to it by chance every now and then. Perhaps I will tear it into pieces so that I myself cannot decipher the words that I have written. But it all happened so sudden... and the time is short now. No need to contact you...no need to be in touch. There is this curtain between my space and the next. I hear noises deep at night and I forget them in the morning. It is good that I don’t get a proper sleep, that’s when dreams come in... something I do not have time for any longer. I doze off and see us walking by the river, stopping at the booksellers’ and raising those philosophical questions...I still have no answer for them, by the way! I know it’s silly to assume an answer but the point is that I am so ashamed of myself. I have always led a puny life; a meagre life. Only those times when we were together, those times give me hope that perhaps I could make a difference. But there you are. You are reading this so I am gone. I have left my meagre life.

  It remains for me to thank you. I wanted to start my letter with thanking you for those moments of excitement; the moments you enabled me to show my excitement despite my aloofness. I think we’ve had good times together; short times, but good times. People call it quality time. I hate that phrase. I think our life is getting too much defined by buzz words. What I want to say is that I hope you have the same feeling; that I have been useful in my life and have been able to give joy as much as I have received. There is no more to say but of course the eternal question: you want to ask me, now that I am in this situation, is there something more to look for? To be quite frank, and perhaps bitter (what is new you might say!), I don’t care and if there is, I think it is something of a mess just like the one everyone lives in everyday. The scope and opportunities might be more, but all the same, the same mess.

  I think it is always better to stop unexpectedly, so: Bye.

  Kate.’

  I stayed with the letter in my hand for some time. I didn’t want to break the moment but then I took my eyes away from the letter and started looking at the objects in the room. Through the open door I could see the bed, the bed cover half hanging onto the floor, the red open suitcases at the bottom of the bed, the small table by the bed, the lamp, next to it the book I have been trying to finish over the last six months. I had bought this book with Kate as well, the beige carpet, the picture, the peach coloured walls. I thought how good it felt that there was no wallpaper, a symbol of misery! And I looked at the ceiling, a lamp, no lampshade. I should buy one!

  7

  I was ill for four days. I stayed put apart from short walks to the corner shop to buy basic food. I saw Carol on and off everyday but she came over every night to stay. She was sorry that I was ‘under the weather.’ I did manage to do some work at home on the fourth day and decided to go to work the next day however I felt. As it happened I was feeling much better. The weather had changed to milder with a hazy sunshine. When I left to work, Carol was asleep. I left a note for her, ‘if you are in tonight we shall properly celebrate!’ I couldn’t imagine why I wrote that note but I felt a degree of satisfaction by writing it, I suppose it was because I was feeling better.

  Coming out of the flat I was happy to have the faint sun against my face. In the corner I saw Anita in the bistro. A single man was sitting at the corner table having a coffee and reading newspaper. She was cleaning another table. She had her long blonde hair wrapped back and I could only see her from behind. She had a grey-blue dress on with a narrow waist.

  My office was cold. I listened to the messages left for me. There were two calls from Michael and several external calls. I had a couple of hundred e-mails and had lectures to give all afternoon. I made myself coffee and sat at the computer. I started to answer an urgent e-mail on a research project. The phone rang. It was Michael.

  ‘Are you feeling better?’

  ‘Yes, you had left me two messages to contact you. I’ve just arrived.’

  ‘Yes. We have a bit of a problem here.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Heh, by not making them!’

  ‘What do you mean? What has happened?’

  ‘I did ask you to give that chap the timetable…’

  ‘Not the timetable again!’

  ‘Oh yes. You should respect people more, David.’

  ‘Wait a minute now. Who has been disrespectful? I pay people so much respect I lose any patience I have left!’

  ‘The chap has written to the provost. The provost called me as an urgent matter telling me he did not want any discontent. He asked me what the matter with my department was! “Can’t you answer a simple question from a student?” he said. So I started to explain. Do you know what he said? He said, so what? Is it too difficult to give the timetable to a dyslexic student? Then he asked me if I knew the student was dyslexic. Of course I didn’t and this didn’t help either.’

  ‘Wait a minute. I think this has gone too far. We have all the mechanisms in place for the students. We are bending backwards to help them. How much spoon feeding can one do? These kids need to be prepared to face society!’

  ‘Yeah yeah yeah! We all know that but you really must have got it by now that we are providing a service and the customer is always right.’

  ‘Sorry Michael but I am not working in a shoe shop. This is a place to exercise and promote intellect and for it a minimum requirement is demanded from those you call customers!’

  ‘Well you say that. In any case I do not have much time. The boy is coming to see you! Give him the wretched timetable! You are his personal tutor.’ He put the phone down. I thought I was red in the face. My coffee was cold now. I took my jacket and left my office heading to the coffee shop across the road.

  It was unusually quiet. The young Chinese boy by the counter said ‘cappuccino, very hot?’ I smiled and said yes and sat at the small and uncomfortable table. It was particularly bad when it was crowded and people wanted to pass by you. The boy brought the coffee in a large cup. I remembered Kate. It was here I saw her last. She looked pale. We drank cappuccino and shared a Danish pastry. She said she was going to be away for a month to see her family up north, she said she needed it...she hadn’t seen them for a long time and she was obliged to see them. This was the first time she talked about her family. I just ignored it as mundane talk. She looked at me with curiosity as if she wanted to know something. I had a lecture and had to leave the coffee unfinished. ‘See you soon then, the whole month, isn’t it too long?’

  ‘Not really, I haven’t seen them for a long time and if I wait for them to come down, it would never happen.’

  ‘Try to have a rest while there...home-made food can do miracles!’ I smiled, rushing.

  ‘I shall. It will be a very long rest.’

  She smiled. Her hair was hanging on her shoulders. She leaned her head forward and having the cup in her both hands she started looking at it. I thought she was warming up her fingers.

/>   The boy said, ‘a Danish perhaps?’ I said ‘no, not today.’ I looked out. The sky was grey again. The cappuccino had gone cold. The froth was still on it. I came out; I had to go back to the office; had to finish the chores. As I got to my office, I saw that Richard was waiting by the door. I ignored him, went in, closed my door and started to deal with the paperwork. There was a knock at my door. ‘Yes.’ I said.

  Richard came in.

  ‘Yes?’

  He talked as if we hadn’t had a discussion before: ‘Can I get the timetable now please?’

  ‘So you were unable to get it from the sources I told you last time.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And other students have.’

  ‘I don’t know about others.’

  I took the phone and phoned the admin.

  ‘Hello Bob, listen I have a student of mine who cannot access the information on his exam timetable. Could you help him?’

  ‘But everything has been announced.’

  ‘Yes I know, I know, but apparently for some reason beyond me, he cannot get it. Would you please help?’

  ‘One of those then.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘OK send him to Gail at the desk. She will help him.’

  ‘Great. Thanks Bob. I really appreciate it. I know it is an unnecessary bother.’

  Richard was looking into my library books. ‘Can I borrow this one.’

  ‘No! Can’t you get it from the library?’

  ‘All copies are out.’

  ‘I am sorry, I cannot help you. I need the book. For your timetable, go to Gail at the desk and ask her.’

  ‘So you cannot give me it?’

  ‘Go to Gail, the central office downstairs at the desk and ask her.’

  He reluctantly left the room.

  I looked out of the window. It was raining. I looked at the computer keyboard. It was dirty with rings of dark dust stuck around the keys. I started cleaning each key with a damp tissue. I felt as if I could do that all day, sleep on the keyboard, wake up, have a coffee and continue like that. I had to go to a conference abroad, only for three days. I didn’t have the energy to organise the tickets. Go to the Net, do the bookings, get a cheap flight, book the hotel that I have been to several times where I always end up having the room against the lift.

  I looked out again. It was raining harder. I took the phone and dialled this colleague at the other university; we had written a joint paper to present in the conference.

  ‘Hello Fiona, I was lucky to catch you.’

  ‘Luck is all mine David, all ready to go?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, have had a couple of set-backs...’

  ‘You’re not chickening out are you?’

  ‘I know it’s un-typical of me but I have to stay put this time. I really did look forward to a few days of respite.’

  ‘I’m sorry too...well...I suppose I need to do the presentation?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, the slides are all ready if you are happy to do it my way...anyway, I’ll e-mail them to you...do change them as you wish.’

  ‘Wouldn’t make much difference, the essentials are the same...Oh...I was looking forward...’

  ‘I would have come if I could change things...anyway we shall be in touch.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  I put the phone down. It was still raining when I left the office later.

  8

  A week later Elizabeth contacted me again. This time she was more businesslike: ‘There is a matter I assume we should deal with together, it concerns Kate.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Of course you can say no at the outset.’

  I thought ‘obviously!’ She was stating a fact but clearly she wanted me to say yes. I was happy for her to behave business like, the way she approached the topic, as it conveyed the message that she was closer to Kate than I was.

  ‘So what is it I wonder?’ I said.

  ‘Her belongings.’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They need to be dealt with. The flat’s owner wants to let it again and the flat needs to be vacated.’

  ‘And how could I be of help? What about her family?’

  ‘I’m not aware of any but her brother, she only had one brother up north and it is so difficult to find him. He is often off-shore. I managed to pin him down eventually but he told me he was happy for me to deal with it. He has already talked it over with the flat owner. He wants me to do whatever I like with her belongings.’

  ‘So things seem to be sorted already,’ I said.

  She paused. ‘As I said you are by no means obliged to do anything. It is just that I thought you might want to be part of this. After all you were close to her.’ She paused again. ‘Of course this will help me a lot, I feel a bit awkward going to her flat alone.’

  ‘I understand. I do not suppose there is much to do.’

  ‘No. It is not laborious. Just an evening or an afternoon should suffice. Would you be able to spare an afternoon? It will be better for me.’

  ‘Yes, fine.’

  ‘I am free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.’

  ‘So, what about next Thursday?’

  ‘That is very good, thanks David. Shall we leave after lunch?’

  ‘We can have a sandwich lunch together and go.’

  ‘Good idea, see you Thursday 12:30.’

  I tried to picture Kate’s flat. Of course I had been there several times but now it was difficult to put things together and picture them in my mind, the patterns on the curtains, the colour of the kitchen walls... But I remembered the thickness of the carpet and her bathroom slippers as they were tidied away by the bath next to the pink fluffy mat.

  I could picture her when she told me she was going away for a month... the way she talked softly. She did everything so smoothly, silently with no effort. I could have easily believed that she was back; phoning me: ‘I am back, fancy a cup together?’

  And I waited for her to come back and I left it at that for a month to pass...and for another... going out to dinner with Carol, having late nights. I thought about the unfinished book that I bought together with Kate and had a sudden urge to read it there and then. The book was sitting somewhere in my flat, perhaps under pieces of Carol’s garments.

  I was feeling uneasy. There were the voices of students talking in the corridor and I wished I were somewhere else. I took the phone and dialled Fiona. She wasn’t in her office. I left a message: ‘Hi, it’s David! I assume you are back from the conference by now, wondered how your speech went, I’m sure excellently. Give me a call if you get the time.’ I knew there was no need for the call and she would’ve phoned me at some point but I felt like talking to someone. At the end, it was worse, I couldn’t talk with her and I had left a banal message. Then there was a ring. It was one of those aggressive rings telling you that you have messages... it was a call from the registrar’s office saying it was urgent and important. There was a new form to be distributed next semester to all students. This would happen through different channels so that all students would receive it. The form will be sent to all staff later but this was a prior notice for us to be well aware in advance. The form would clearly and in an itemised fashion lay down the procedure to complain against lecturers and other staff within the university. I thought, why don’t we spread the leaflets by a chopper? Like those emergency air drops bringing food and medicine to the needy, to the storm-stricken, to the earthquake victims. Why don’t we provide them with specific complaint examples? A “Good Complaint Practice Guide, GCPG form”? It was as if we were inviting the students to complain even if they did not have any grievances. Were we directing students’ minds to the right things? Oh! After all, what is right and what is wrong? Now I knew I was talking about something that I liked, the discussion over a coffee bringing all those arguments from Descartes and Nietzsche and moving from Kierkegaard to the Bible and back; a science lecturer in discourse with a young librarian. Perhaps I’d better print the form as soon a
s I receive it and keep it handy for that useless Richard. I suppose his room is full of this sort of junk.

  I was still disturbed. The registrar’s message had not helped of course. I sat there looking at the wall opposite my desk. I had a set of pictures pinned onto the cork board, pictures of my students in the lab... smiling, group pictures of departmental parties, pictures of participants in a meeting all standing on the stairs in eight rows, a postcard that I bought from a museum showing the statue of a god. I wanted to talk to someone, about anything; I even thought it would be good if Richard came in! I was ready for a good argument! But there was no noise from the corridor any more. I thought that I must change the water filter, buy some filter paper for the percolator and clean the small coffee table in my office. I thought I would be much more efficient then. I could always buy a doughnut and bring in biscuits. I wouldn’t need to go to the coffee shop any more, there would be no use going there sitting alone anyway. I should start thinking seriously. Enough of dilly-dallies. And my research? ‘What about it?’ I could go faster perhaps getting more serious with my team. Do they think I am soft? Too easy on them? Do they like me for my science? For myself... being what I am? And should it matter? Where are they going in their life? Do they have any aims? A bit of research here and there! Now I was getting bitter. Why was I undermining them? And what about the degree students? ‘Don’t joke with me it is not the time!’ I told myself. “Get real”, Michael told me! And I always thought I was a realist. Now Michael was bringing me up to speed with the policies: ‘Bums on seats mate! The customer is never wrong. Do give him the timetable!’ I might as well open a coffee shop!

  The wind outside was sharp. I walked to the nearest pub. I usually avoided it but this time, it was a necessity. Inside it was warm and smoky. I bought a beer and sat in a corner. I was in the mood for discussion and I could easily spend an hour having a dialogue with myself. And my colleagues? I suddenly felt the heavy air. I wanted to have a discussion on so many topics, none of which I could start meaningfully with my colleagues. It wasn’t a case of them having no opinion, on the contrary. But they weren’t interested. Any interest was only geared towards proving their superiority, asserting themselves, Asserting! Yes! I remembered the case of teaching tasks; what was called ‘transferable skills’. Who were we kidding? We had to provide sessions for students to learn how to be assertive! How to be a leader! Did I believe in any of such activities? Clearly not! So why did I practise them? If I was so critical of the students and the lecturers then why did I stay in my job? I was one of those lucky ones not to be too dependent on the cash coming from their job! So what was it? Was it possible to love my job and yet dislike so many aspects of it?