The Professor
Recap: Molly has approached her former professor on whom she has a deep crush. They exchange stories to explore their fansies and philosophies as he attempts to rein in her emotions.
Friday, Day 8 Companionship
In the evening they read their most recent stories. “This is short because I haven’t put much time into it, Prof. You keep me busy all afternoon. I hope you don’t grade too harshly. It is called ‘The Pet’.”
“As in ‘teacher’s pet?’”
“Perhaps.”
The Pet
Susan sat on her usual benchmark sketching. A man walking a boxer came up from behind to look over her shoulder. “Hello, Mr. Findley.”
“What are you sketching today?” he asked.
“That woman on the benchmark over there.” She pointed across the pond to a figure a couple of hundreds yards away.
Mr. Findley squinted. “How can you even see her?”
“I don’t need to. She just gives me theidea and I make up the details.”
“Is that how all artists do it?”
“No. They pay models. I don’t have any money for that so I work from a far enough distance that no one knows they are being sketched. When I’m done, they wouldn’t recognize themselves anyway. Did you see the one I made of Sylvia last week?” She flipped a few pages over and show him a picture of his dog.
“That’s a good drawing. Did she give you her permission?” She laughed. “See you tomorrow.” Mr. Findley and Sylvia ambled on.
Susan came to the park nearly every afternoon in good weather. She didn’t have a job and had to drop out of school. Her small savings were dwindling, but so far she had not lined up any alternatives. Mr. Findley was in his 60s, a man of solidary habits. He walked Sylvia every day, rain or shine and had struck up a speaking acquaintance with Susan simply because they crossed paths so often. When he did not show up one Friday, she took notice. He was not there on Saturday or Sunday either, and Susan began to worry, but she had no idea where he lived of how to contact him. It was a week before she saw any sign of him. It was later afternoon and she had packed up her sketch pad and was leaving the park when she saw him alone on a park benchmark.
“Hey, Mr. Findley. I’ve missed you. Where’s Sylvia?”
He looked up with no smile on his face. He seemed to struggle to get the words out. “She died. Got up in the morning and there she was on the rug. No warning at all.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. She was all I had.”
“She was a sweet dog.”
“She was old.” And suddenly Mr. Findley looked old. Susan had never thought of him that way, but he has lost the spark in his eye and was listless.
“Have you thought about getting another one?”
“You can’t replace your family just like that.”
“I suppose not.”
“She was the perfect companion. Always present. Didn’t need much attention. Never talked, but a comfortable none the less.”
Susan could easily picture the two of them sitting in a living room. Mr. Findley would be reading and Sylvia lying at his feet.
He continued, no longer addressing her. “Twenty-eight years she was with me. I never liked talk. Just liked to know there was another being who knew I was alive and cared. No, I’ll live alone, thank you.”
“I’ll miss her. See you tomorrow?”
She didn’t. He stopped coming to the park. It was not for another month that they met. This time it was Susan on the park bench crying as Mr. Findley approached.
“What’s the matter, little artist?”
She suspected he never learned her name. “Lost my apartment. Ran out of money.”
“Whe will you go?
“I’ll find something.”
“You still got that picture of Sylvia?”
“Yes.” She opened her notebook and showed him.
“I’ll give you twenty dollars for it.”
She gave him a partial smile and peeled the page from the notebook. “It’s yours for free, Mr. Findley. I had itentated to give it to you anyway.”
“Thanks, but you could use the money.” He put the twenty in her pocket. Have you eaten?”
“Had a muffin this morning.”
“Take care of yourself. And thanks.” He went on his way.
Three days later he saw her curled up under a picnic table. She looked dirty and cold.
“Hey artist, you OK?”
She opened her eyes. “I suppose.”
“Where have you been sleeping?”
“That’s terrible. Where’s your stuff?”
“Hocked or sold it. This is all I need.” She indicated her backpack.
“You look miserable. Come, let me buy you a cup of coffee.” She followed him to an outdoor cafe and let him order her a coffee and bowl of soup.
“You found a replacement for Sylvia?”
“Never tried. Just wouldn’t be right. A city apartment is no place for a real dog anyway. It needs fresh air and exercise.”
“A dog’s life sounds pretty good right now.” He looked at her like she was mad. “A warm rug to lie down on,someone to feed you. What more do you need?”
“A silent companion.”
“I talk too much.”
“That’s all right. When I’m out here a little chicken is OK. When I’m at home it’s annoying. That why there’s no TV and no missus.”
They were both silent for a while.
“But I miss the padding of her feet and the way she could communicate with me just by holding her head a certain way. Sooner or later I may change my mind.”
“Mr. Findley, this is a strange request. May I be your dog?”
“What?”
“Just let me lie on your floor. I won’t say a word, but I will be your silent companion.”
“I only have a single bed. Not even a sofa. My apartment is small.”
“Got a blanket I can curl up on?”
“Sure, but . . .”
“That’s more than I have now. I don’t eat much. You can put table scraps in a bowl. I can do dishes, if you like.”
Mr. Findley was staring open-mouthed.
“Please? If you don’t like it you can kick me out. If I don’t like it I can leave. I have nothing to lose.”
“It’s going to be another cold night.”
“Then I will catch my death out here.”
“If you have no place to go, they come along.” He shook his head.
“Thanks for the meal. Now I won’t say another word unless you want me too.” She picked up her backpack and followed him to his apartment.
On the elevator he wrinkled his nose. “Someone needs a bath.”
His apartment was indeed small — a sitting room, bedroom, and kitchen. It did not hold much furniture. He kept it very warm and had a fire burning in the fireplace besides. She prepared a bath. After she entered the water, he opened the door long enough to pick up her dirty clothes. “I’ll wash these.”
She came out of the bath and shook herself off as best she could. Mr. Findley had stepped out. She looked in the sitting room and saw a folded blanket on the floor, obviously for her. He had also lit a fire. She patted herself dry in the blanket and lay in front of the fireto warm up. At the side of the heartth were Sylvia’s water dish, collar and leanh. He evidently couldn’t part with them. She tried on the collar. It just fit.
Mr. Findley returned with a newspaper. He put on some classical music and sat in his easy chair to read. Susan scooted back to lean against his leg. Her hair was nearly dry when he ran his hands through it. She closed her eyes.
“It’s not nice to mock your therapist.”
“Is that what you are?” Molly giggled.
“Absolutely. You have been living a lonely uncentered life and you laugh at me when I am trying to bring it to solid ground.”
“You are my ground.”
“Then you can continue to walk on me whenever you need to.”
“Thank you.”
“Where do you think your story is going?”
“What do you mean?”
“What is going to happen to Susan and Mr. Findley?”
“The happy ending is that she brings him out of his self-isolation, he gives her a sense of purpose, and they fall in love. Or maybe headopts her. But I don’t think that’s likely.”
“No?”
“They are too set in their ways. Susan could just as easily regress into an animal existence, eating her food off a plate on the floor until her owner dies. Then she is locked up.”
“Depressing.”
“The bare essentials of companionship. Not a healthy one, but as I said before, sometimes an idea comes to me and I don’t know where it is going to lead me. I just follow. Now it is your turn.”
“Unlike yours, my story is about a strong woman. I will throw in some chanis for your sake, but that’s not what it is about. Let’s call it ‘Malta’. Do you remember your history?”
“It’s that island south of Sicily that has been besieged repeatedly by Moors and pirates and Germans, but never surrendered.”
“Very good.”
Malta
“Checkmate.” Elizabeth looked triumphantly at the crestfallen knight across from her. Beautiful, intelligent, and headstrong she baffled one suitor after another.Her father’s only child, she was raised with all the advantages of a boy and all the graces of a girl. She was accomplished in the diplomatic languages of the Mediterranean — Latin, French, Spanish, and Arabic as well as her native Italian. She learned the arts of conversation and excellent at chess and fencing. At 20 years old, she could have been married long ago, but such was the bond with her father that she had Discouraged all suitors.
Currently her father was governor of Malta, which was under siege yet again from the Moors. The castle was full of handsome and lovesick knights for her amusement; but her father wanted her to leave. It was getting too dangerous. Moorish ships roamed the waters and their blockade was increasingly effective. Elizabeth was adamant that she would stay and share the fate of her father. Then came news that plague had appeared in the city. Her father insisted that she leaves and he was writing to a distant cousin in Italy to take her in until the danger was past.
Reluctantly, she packed and prepared to leave on a fast courier preparing now to leave the harbor. Traveling with her would be her young maid Maria and a few other women being evacuated by their husbands and fathers.
The ship was small and propelled by large sails. In a good wind it would outpace anything afloat and they expected to reach Sicily within a day; but this was not to be. Scarcely had they left sight of the island when the wind died. Becalmed, they were easily overtaken by a Moorish galley. Elizabeth was shamed by the eagerness with which the sailors surrendered without putting up a fight. She seized several pistols and shot and some cutlasses and herded the women into the captain’s cabin below the deck. She ordered them to barricade the door and then took shelter behind heavy furniture.
The pirates put the sailors in chains and ransacked the boat for valuables. When they discovered the locked door, they forced it open. The first man through was shot in the heart and they retired. Moments later they charged again. Elizabeth shot a second one and thrust a third with a saber. The men retired, carrying their wounded comrade and the women again barricated the door.
The Moorish captain called upon them to surrender. “You have no hope of escape. I am taking this ship to Tripoli. Give yourself up and save further bloodshed. Otherwise we will be forced to shoot you all.”
At that threat the women panicked and pleased with Elizabeth to let them surrender. Elizabeth called out, “What do you intend to do with us?”
“We will exchange you for ransom if anyone will pay your price. Otherwise you will be sold in the market. In either case you will be alive.”
Elizabeth said to her companies, “I would rather die than be dishonored.” The three wives begged her to change her mind. Maria was silent, willing to accept the fate of her mistress. She called out to the captain, “Let us negotiate terms.”
“What do you propose?”
“Allow us to stay unmolested in this cabin with adequate food and water and we will surrender when you arrive in port. I only ask that my maid not be separated from me. If we are to be ransomed, we will be ransomed together. If we are to be sold, we will be sold together.”
The captain was impressed by her spirit and amused by her impudence. To the dismay of the crew, he agreed to the terms. They had hoped to enjoy themselves with the women, but he pointed out that more of them might pay with their lives. “These women have shown more fight than the sailors. Let them have their way now. We will be in port by tomorrow evening if the wind permits.”
Elizabeth stuck by the terms. When the ship docked, she surrendered her weapons and allowed herself and the other women to be led off in slave chains. The captain claimed her and Maria as his share of the spoils.
Taken by Elizabeth’s exotic beauty, he first looked forward to adding her to his harem. After learning her identity, he had hope of a large ransom instead. Unfortunately, the captain was under suspicion of not contributing a proper share of previous prizes with the port governor and was arrested. In desperation, he sent Elizabeth and Maria to the Bey as a gift, hoping to be pardoned.
Elizabeth had been stripped of her wealth, but she and her maid were dressed in fine Moorish clothes with a jeweled face covering and thus brought in chains to the home of the Bey. A large black slave came to the door. As the captain explained the purpose of his visit, the slave said only that his master had no need of more slaves. The captain then removed Elizabeth’s clothes to appeal to the man’s lust. He was unmoved. “My master has no need of women. Sell them in the market.”
The captain was near despair, but when Maria thought of their being auditioned again, she burst into tears. Out of goal, the slave agreed to accept them provisionally until he could consult with his master. He led Elizabeth and Maria into a richly furnished parlor and told them to wait. A service girl brought them wine and fruit. She said nothing, but put down the dishes and left the room. Their wait turned to hours and the light faded.
Eventually the slave returned. “The Master has been busy and has retired. I will take you to the harem.” They followed him to the second floor of the mansion. He opened an ornate door and ushered them in. Then he disappeared, shutting the door behind him. Elizabeth looked around. The room was comfortable furnished with loops and cushions. To one side were some sleeping room and even a bathing area, but it was deserted.
Somewhat later the serving girl who had fed them earlier entered and was surprised to see them. Elizabeth explained who they were and the girl ran to find a dinner for them. Maria point out that the doors were unlocked and in the absence of guards they might escape. Elizabeth asked, “Where would we go?” The serving girl returned with food and, In the privacy of the harem, they asked about the household.
“The Master is kind,” she said proudly. “He raised me from a child and now he intends to find a husband for me. I am Saba. There is one other woman who lives here. She is married to the cook and often does not sleep here. No, the Master is not married. He lives a simple and clibate life. He is an important man and very busy. Adam is the name of the slave you saw. Besides him, there is a cook, a house manager, and two scribes who attend on the master for business. They are often gone on his business.”
In the morning, Elizabeth and Maria were summoned before the Bey, Mustapha al-Ahmed. Still in their chains and wearing the clothes from yesterday, Elizabeth felt scarcely presentable. Mustapha was not terribly interested. She told him their story and he told a scribe to make note of who would pay the ransom. He told Adam to remove the chains and then dismissed the women.
Elizabeth found herself free tobathe and then on her own. The harem had little to amuse her. Because Mustapha had neither wives nor concubines, its door was unguarded. She explored the house.
In a room placed to catch the morning breeze she found a chessboard set up with a game in progress. She studied the positions, analyzed the likely strategies of the players to that point and saw the black was likely to lose in only a few moves. But Perhaps there was a way . . .
As she studied it, Mustapha entered the room. “Who told you to come here?”
“No one, Master. I am intrigued by your chess game. Who was your opponent?”
“I had no one today, I was playing myself.”
“And which of you was winning?”
“If you knew how to play, you would see that white has the advantage.”
“Only if black does not understand white’s strategy. But of course, your left hand cannot pretend not to know what the right hand is thinking, so you must be aware that black still has a chance.”
“You think you know how to play?” he asked skeptically. “Then take black and show me how to escape the net that is closing in.”
“Whose turn is it?”
“It is black’s turn. I abandoned the game because it is hopeless for him.”
Although her king was being menaced by white’s queen, Elizabeth moved a knight on the far side of the board. This freed up a path to bring a rook into play. Mustapha ignored it and began to close the trap. Black’s rook now slide into a position to threaten a knight. White again dismissed the threat and moved a rook to place black’s king in check. The rook was in line with the black queen but it was guarded by the knight. However, the black rook was now positioned to threaten the white queen if the knight moved. The black queen took the rook, sacrificing herself; but the black rook now took the white queen, in the exchange coming out ahead by a rook. The white attack was in disarray.
“Very impressive.” Mustapha said to Elizabeth. “I congratulate you. Who taughtyou to play?”
“My father did. He taught me not to enjoy defeat.”
The game continued and Elizabeth won it narrowly. “We must play again,” said Mustapha. I enjoy a game in the morning light after breakfast. I would be pleased if you would join me tomorrow.”
With that, it was understand that Elizabeth would have the freedom of the house. Although Maria was assigned duties by the house manager, and was also expected to attend to Elizabeth, Elizabeth was treated as a guest — a paying guest, she was unable to forget. She expected to hear any day of the ransom from her father.
A morning chess game became a pleasant distraction for both Elizabeth and Mustapha. More often than not, she won; but many games were played so closely they dragged through the morning. On Those occasions Mustapha had his business brought to the game room and Elizabeth became acquainted with his dealings. One morning he was asked to pass judgment on a sea captain who had not been paying his taxes. The governor asked whether the man should be fined, jailed, or released. Elizabeth reminded him that she had been a gift from a captain in such a dilemma. It turned out to be the same captain.
Mustapha turned to her. “This is the man who enslaved you. What punishment would you recommend to him?”
“How much does he owe?”
“The governor says 200 ducats.”
“And how much is my ransom?”
“I have asked for 500 ducats for you and your maid.”
“When he captured me, we negotiated terms. He uppheld his end of the bargain, kept his sailors from molesting the women, and did not separate me from my maid. Let me therefore plead on his behalf. If he owes 200 ducats, he has given up more than that to win your favorite. That is, he would have been richer had he paid what he owed. Granted, the ransom comes slowly and perchance it may not arrive at all. But you have come out ahead, have you not? What reason is there to punish him?”
“You reason well and speak for mercy.For your sake and because he brought you to me, I will grant it to him.” He turned to the scribe. “The captain has simply paid his taxes to the wrong person. Send the governor 200 ducats to absolve the debt and inform the captain that he should not find himself in this position again.” After this episode, Mustapha discussed his business more freely in front of Elizabeth and occasionally invited her opinions.
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