Today’s
Snippet from Cosmogonic Marbles
kindly read
and share
Professor Hancock’s room had been
worked on by the cleaning staff (Madam Marie) but it was more of a tidy
mess than clean. The room was stacked
with books and folders, every wall was a shelf and every inch of floor space
(bar a thin footpath woven through) was filled with exotic objects and ancient
tomes.
James had been in his old Master’s room many times, but
somehow now, without Hancock, it seemed alien and uninviting. He dreaded having to throw out any of the old
man’s stuff; it was as if his life was represented here in the form of
collectables and scribbles, which, considered James, it really was.
Behind three rusting claymore
swords James found a VCR and a small portable television attached by a
cable. A series of inter-connecting
plugs and sockets hooked these machines into Botolf’s primordial electrical system. James pressed the ‘on’ buttons of both
machines and sat down on a pile of theses submissions marked 1967 to 1977.
He sighed loudly. Why couldn’t life be easy? He’d been happy
as a researcher, giving the occasional guest lecture, reviewing books by historians
no one had ever heard of for academic magazines no one would ever read. It had all been so undemanding. But then ‘love’ had changed all that. Liz wanted him to be ‘all he could be’. It
was her idea to come back to Botolf, and it was her who suggested it would be a
stepping stone to Oxford or Cambridge, to his own department. James didn’t want his own department, he
didn’t even want his own office; but he found it hard to say no to Liz. She
seemed so sure, so confident, that he would be a success. James guessed it was the American-spirit of
success in her, a kind of self-assurance that came from being brought up in a
country with lots and lots of nuclear bombs.
James
sighed again. ‘That’s becoming a habit’, he thought, ‘I must try to stop doing
it’. He pushed the unlabelled video into
the slot and waited for a few moments as the TV spurted into life.
“Hello James,” said the dead Professor Hancock on the
screen. He was clearly sitting in his
room; in fact, James noticed immediately that Professor Hancock was sitting on
this very same pile of theses from 1967 to 1977. James squirmed anxiously.
“This is spooky isn’t it,” said Hancock, “except of course
if you’ve come across this by accident, in which case get out on my room and
finish your damn thesis.” The Professor
heartedly laughed. “Only joking James.
By now you’ve had your first lecture in the department of Medieval Thought,
Congratulations.”
“Sorry Professor,” said James, a naughty schoolboy flush
coming to his checks.
“I always knew you’d be the one
to take over my work James.” A melancholy seriousness took over the Professor’s
face.
“None of the other students I’ve taught over the last few
decades really had the qualities I was looking for in a successor.”
James felt a gust of pride rise up inside himself; he knew
he was a dedicated student and a favourite of the old man but ‘best student for
decades’ that was something else.
“Now James,” continued the Professor, “I suppose you have
many questions; that’s to be expected.
Why don’t you ask them now and I’ll see if I can open up the realities
of my work for you to really appreciate.
You see James you’ve only touched on what we do here at Botolf. Your
career has really only begun, my young apprentice.”
The Professor leaned back a little and sat there silent with
a half grin across his kind face.
“You want
me to ask a pre-recorded message … questions?” said James to himself.
“Yes,” said
the Professor.
“Right!”
James sat
there in stunned silence and then laughed loudly and pointed at the
screen. “You old dog you, one final joke
before you go. I bet you even anticipated this and have a witty retort.”
“Not
really,” said the Professor on the screen.
“I get it!”
said James, “Cold reading, you record a bunch of open-ended comments that could
fit almost anything I say, didn’t you once tell me that this was all
Nostradamus’ quatrains were, ‘a stoner’s version of cold reading’ you said.”
“Yes
indeed,” answer the Video Professor. “But,” he added quickly “this is not an
opportunity for me to show my acumen but for you James to ask those questions
you are longing to ask.”
“Oh okay,”
said James, “I’ll play along. We’ll see
if you anticipated this Professor; why are your history notes full of dragons
and wizards and the maddest drivel about fairies and elves I’ve ever seen?
Answer that then eh!”
“Not
everything I said is mad, James,” said the dead man.
“More cold
reading,” whispered James.
“I’m sorry
you’ll have to speak up, I didn’t quite catch that. The speaker on this old TV
isn’t the best I’m afraid.”
James
giggled nervously and reached forward to adjust the knob for the volume
control.
“I wonder Professor if you can
answer me a real question. What am I going to do?” James was asking himself
more than anything. He knew he loved Liz and he knew he loved his old college,
but right now he doubted if he could live with either.
“James,”
came the voice of his old mentor, “I’m sorry this heavy burden has been left to
you, I really am, but fate has a way of levelling these things up. I hope in
time you can forgive me my lapse in training you, and my semi-absence in your
indoctrination into our little group.”
“It’s
alright Professor, I’ll muddle through,” said James wearily.
“Muddling
thought may not be enough. Sometimes our job here at Botolf can be dangerous
and can involve great personal sacrifice.”
“How are
you doing this?” James asked the TV.
“Oh this
isn’t a VCR. I modified the box using, well, you’ll see for yourself soon. It’s
a soul containment device,” said the Professor casually. “I often sat in here on full terms, it really
is good for the old sleep you know, adds years to your life,” he added.
James was
now more than a little spooked, whatever the Professor had done to achieve this
effect it was working.
“I think
I’ll turn you off for a while Professor, I’m feeling a little light headed,”
said James, his hand shaking, reaching out for the off button.
“Before you
go James, just two things. I’ve left some equipment for you in my private
study. The key is hanging behind the drapes on the last bay window of my
bedroom,” said Hancock.
“Thank
you,” whispered James.
“You’re
welcome. And the other thing James; if
and when you need me, I’ll be here.”
Click.
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