Stoner

And for the next several weeks they lived much as they had before. With a strategy that they would not have been able to manage a year earlier, with a strength they would not have known they had, they practiced evasions and withdrawals, deploying their powers like skillful generals who must survive with meager forces. They became genuinely circumspect and cautious, and got a grim pleasure from their maneuverings. Stoner came to her apartment only after dark, when no one could see him enter; in the daytime, between classes, Katherine allowed herself to be seen at coffee shops with younger male instructors; and the hours they spent together were intensified by their common determination. They told themselves and each other that they were closer than they ever had been; and to their surprise, they realized that it was true, that the words they spoke to comfort themselves were more than consolatory. They made a closeness possible and a commitment inevitable.

It was a world of half-light in which they lived and to which they brought the better parts of themselves--so that, after a while, the outer world where people walked and spoke, where there was change and continual movement, seemed to them false and unreal. Their lives were sharply divided between the two worlds, and it seemed to them natural that they should live so divided.

During the late winter and early spring months they found together a quietness they had not had before. As the outer world closed upon them they became less aware of its presence; and their happiness was such that they had no need to speak of it to each other, or even to think of it. In Katherine 'ssmall, dim apartment, hidden like a cave beneath the massive old house, they seemed to themselves to move outside of time, in a timeless universe of their own discovery.

Then, one day in late April, Gordon Finch again called Stoner into his office; and Stoner went down with a numbness that came from a knowledge he would not admit.

What had happened was classically simple, something that Stoner should have foreseen yet had not.

"It's Lomax," Finch said. "Somehow the son-of-a-bitch has got hold of it and he's not about to let go."

Stoner nodded. "I should have thought of that. I should have expected it. Do you think it would do any good if I talked to him?"

Finch shook his head, walked across his office, and stood before the window. Early afternoon sunlight streamed upon his face, which gleamed with sweat. He said tiredly, "You don't understand, Bill. Lomax isn't playing it that way. Your name hasn't even come up. He's working through the Driscoll girl."

"He's what?" Stoner asked blankly.

"You almost have to admire him," Finch said. "Somehow he knew damn well I knew all about it. So he came in yesterday, off-hand, you know, and told me he was going to have to fire the Driscoll girl and warned me there might be a stink."

"No," Stoner said. His hands ached where they gripped the leather arms of the easy chair.

Finch continued, "According to Lomax, there have been complaints, from students mostly, and a few townspeople. It seems that men have been seen going in and out of her apartment at all hours--flagrant misbehavior--that sort of thing. Oh, he did it beautifully; he has no personal objection --he rather admires the girl, as a matter of fact--but he has the reputation of the department and the University to think of. We commiserated upon the necessities of bowing to the dictates of middle-class morality, agreed that the community of scholars ought to be a haven for the rebel against the Protestant ethic, and concluded that practically speaking we were helpless. He said he hoped he could let it ride until the end of the semester but doubted if he could. And all the time the son-of-a-bitch knew we understood each other perfectly."

A tightness in his throat made it impossible for Stoner to speak. He swallowed twice and tested his voice; it was steady and flat. "What he wants is perfectly clear, of course."

"I'm afraid it is," Finch said.

"I knew he hated me," Stoner said distantly. "But I never realized--I never dreamed he would--"

"Neither did I," Finch said. He walked back to his desk and sat down heavily. "And I can't do a thing, Bill. I'm helpless. If Lomax wants complainers, they'll appear; if he wants witnesses, they will appear. He has quite a following, you know. And if word ever gets to the president--" He shook his head.

"What do you imagine will happen if I refuse to resign? If we just refuse to be scared?"

"He'll crucify the girl," Finch said flatly. "And as if by accident you'll be dragged into it. It's very neat."

"Then," Stoner said, "it appears there is nothing to be done."

"Bill," Finch said, and then was silent. He rested his head on his closed fists. He said dully, "There is a chance. There is just one. I think I can hold him off if you--if the Driscoll girl will just--"

"No," Stoner said. "I don't think I can do it. Literally, I don't think I can do it."