The Season of the Stranger by Stephen Becker Page B

dean said. He grunted and stood up and they went to the study. Girard sat on the sofa and the dean took an easy chair near his desk. The dean sat down slowly and when he was seated he belched. Girard echoed him lightly.
    The dean settled himself carefully among the cushions of his chair and said, “I have a meeting at one-thirty. We had better start.” He cleared his throat. “Understand first,” he said, “that I am merely an agent in this affair.” He took a pipe from the top of the desk and leaned back to open a drawer. He withdrew a pouch and settled himself again. “It concerns you and Miss Hsieh,” he said. Girard waited. “Certain members of the faculty have seen you together.” He opened the pouch. “They are not sure that the relationship becomes a man in your position.”
    â€œWhat is my position?”
    â€œTo begin with, you are not Chinese. There is always that. Secondly, you are a teacher.”
    â€œBut she is not a student.”
    â€œGranted,” the dean said. “But she is a graduate, and has a connection with the university.”
    â€œJust what are the objections?”
    The dean struck a match. “I wish I knew.” He lit the pipe. Girard waited. “The difficulty is that we cannot accuse you of any breach of conduct. If you had been talked about before this we might say that it was a matter of reputation and publicity. I myself have no objection to your activities. Do you know Franz Langner in the City? A good friend of mine. Married to a Chinese girl.” The servant came in with a teapot and two cups and put the teapot on the desk. He put a cup on the table beside the dean and gave Girard the other to hold. He poured the tea and put the pot back on the desk and went out.
    â€œThe fact that Langner married a Chinese girl has no relevance,” Girard said. “No one has mentioned marriage.”
    â€œOf course,” the dean said. “No one has mentioned marriage. Here we are handicapped. Certain members of the faculty demand an explanation: what is the relationship? There has been no mention of marriage, but they are together often.”
    â€œAnd what would they say if marriage were mentioned?”
    The dean smiled. “They would be a little outraged.”
    â€œThen if marriage is in mind, the community disapproves. And if marriage is not in mind, the community disapproves.”
    The dean looked at him. “Listen to me,” he said. “I do not think that we are dealing here with fact and reason. I think that we are dealing with shadows. The shadows of millennia of isolation and fear, and the shadows of decades of war and exploitation.”
    â€œThe nice thing about a university,” Girard said, “is that we can always busy ourselves with shadows.”
    The dean shook his head. “Do not, for a few minutes at least, become hurt and angry. It will not help.”
    â€œI am sorry.”
    â€œIt is all right. But consider your position under these shadows. A foreigner: it can be forgiven but never forgotten. A teacher: responsible to your students and to yourself.” He hesitated. “Another thing. Politically you are more with the students than with the teachers.”
    â€œAh,” Girard said. “We are coming out of the shadows.”
    â€œYes. A ray of unwanted sunlight comes in, like the dawn to bedded lovers. We approach politics.”
    â€œWe have been approaching politics for a long time,” Girard said.
    â€œRemember,” the dean said, “the teachers are not afraid of the students. They do not see this as a war between castes. For them it is a fight to keep a position, the only position in which they can live at peace. I do not mean a job. I mean a position in history. Because of the need for this position they are in a state of perpetual compromise.”
    â€œCommon among intellectuals.”
    â€œYes. Most intellectuals are lonely, either