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Adam sat down, and Mr. Quat said, “How do you know about the 1960s? Most students—you might as well be talking about the 1760s.”
“I took Mr. Wallerstein’s course,” said Adam. “Social Crosscuts in Twentieth-Century America.”
“Crosscuts,” said Mr. Quat with a chortle, as if the word was a source of rich good humor. “That’s what he calls it? I haven’t heard that word since…I can’t remember. Goes back to Talcott Parsons…Everybody underestimates Parsons. Being that tedious to read is a problem.” Mr. Quat looked away, out a window, smiling, as if recalling some fu
Adam didn’t venture a comment. Who the fuck was Talcott Parsons? In any case, Mr. Quat seemed to be in a good mood and kindly disposed…Adam knew his beloved 1960s!
“The sixties…” said Mr. Quat with an inexplicable chortle. “Seems like an incredible anomaly now, going on half a century or so later.” He looked out the window toward the Great Yard. Another chortle without any indication of what was fu
He kept staring at Adam while the question floated in the air.
“Yes, sir,” said Adam, not knowing what else to do with it.
“It’s because you know what all the progressive forces are doing now? They’re all busy fighting smoke. Everybody seems to think if the smoke is gone, there’s no more fire.”
Now this comment hung in the air. Adam had no idea what Mr. Quat was talking about. So he said, “Yes, sir.”
“And you wa
Mr. Quat’s lips stopped moving, and he stared at Adam…waiting…Adam was baffled. What fire? So he croaked out, “Yes, sir.”
“What it actually means is prison-bound citizens…prison-bound citizens…PC…think about it…We’re being pi
Mr. Quat let that one loose in the air like a blimp. Reflexively, Adam said, “Yes, sir,” even though Mr. Quat had not asked him a question. Mr. Quat now stared at Adam intently and cocked his head in a way people do when they are just about to excavate your soul. “Now…you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this.”
To put it mildly. All that Adam could make out of it so far was that a wind was rising, and in some vague way it was blowing in his favor. Mr. Quat would have never gone on that way about “progressive” this and “progressive” that if he didn’t think he was talking to a sympathizer. But Adam didn’t dare utter anything more adventurous than his all-purpose standby, “Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” said Mr. Quat, “I’m going to tell you. In the grand sweep of things”—he made a grand sweep with his hand and forearm—“Stand Up Straight for Gay Day is about as soft-core as protests get. You know what I mean? I’ve been involved in protests.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nevertheless, you were right there in the front line holding a placard. That shows courage in two ways. One is the very fact that you were willing to stand up for an unpopular cause. And…Camille tells me—Camille…” The very thought made Mr. Quat break into a huge grin and close his eyes and lower his head and shake it. He looked at Adam again, still gri
Mr. Quat pulled himself together. “Anyway, Camille tells me you’re not gay, but you were one of the students willing to stand right there in front of the platform holding a placard reading I forget what, something something ‘Queer.’ That shows me what we used to call intestinal fortitude. ‘Guts,’ I believe, is the term that has survived.” He who knew the score gave Adam a smile of approval.
“Yes, sir,” said Adam, who had lost all track of what the question, if any, might be. His heart pounded pounded pounded pounded.
Mr. Quat cocked his head in that certain way again. “Now, I take it, you can…uh…shed some light on the Johanssen case. You were his tutor, you said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay…So what can you tell me about it? Where did that paper come from?”
“Yes, sir,” said Adam. “But may I give you some background?”
Mr. Quat granted him another pasha sweep of the arm, as if to say, “Go right ahead.”
“Camille and I,” said Adam, “and Randy Grossman, the student who spoke right before you?—we’re all members of a group…well, actually a cénacle is what we call it—like the cénacle in Balzac’s Lost Illusions?” He lowered his eyes and smiled in an embarrassed fashion, to show that he was aware of the immodesty of the comparison. Now was the time to enter his evidence for the defense. He had worked on it until four o’clock this morning, and he could say it by heart. He told of how hard he and the other Mille