The Faculty Club Part 37

"I think, Jeremy," he said, "that you deserve to know the truth."

39.

"It must have hurt," Bernini said, "when you didn't make the cut. I'm sorry about that. Your friends had the physical presence of presidents. Prime ministers. Very valuable. You . . . You do not. Not quite."

I thought of the mirrored ballroom. How they watched us.

"And their minds, Jeremy. Supple. Capable of abstraction. John less than the others, but that was mostly laziness. Riding on his looks. He had the capacity to hold one of us. He would have survived the transfer." Bernini shook a finger at me. "You would have gone insane."

I felt a mix of rage and shame.

"But we're past that, now," Bernini said. "There is a way out of this, for both of us. But you must open your mind. Can you do that? Can you indulge your old law professor one last hypothetical? I mean to say, before you put that crowbar through my heart?"

There was a flash of the old Bernini--the hint of a smile.

"I'm done with your games."

Bernini shook his head.

"This time, I promise you, it's no game."

He rose slowly. His eyes twinkled. Suddenly, he was the professor again.

"Suppose, Jeremy, that we weren't down here in this unfortunate place." His eyes danced around the cathedral. "Suppose instead you are the night watchman about a thousand yards that way, in the largest library in the world." He gave that wry grin. "Imagine it. Four thousand years of knowledge. Original Shakespeare folios. Handwritten notes on nuclear theory by Rittenberg and Kingsley. Priceless. Just last year, Professor D'Martino found a lost book on rainforest herbs and deduced a new treatment for Parkinson's. Somewhere in there is a cure for cancer. A framework for peace.

"You might guess security is tight for such a building. There's a fire system, of course, but who would spray water on a priceless collection? So, instead, they spray a chemical that will douse flames without harming paper. Ingenious, really."

He raised a long finger.

"You might also know that there is a n.o.ble tradition in the College of completing four tasks before graduation. Forgive me here, I'm only the messenger. First, of course, is affixing a pat of b.u.t.ter to the ceiling of the freshman dining hall. It's said that a young Richard Lymann constructed a catapult for the task. Second is running nude through the freshman yard. Third, regrettably, is urinating on the statue of our beloved founder. And fourth, of course, is to have . . ." (here he blushed a little, although he never lost the glimmer in his eyes) "er . . . relations . . . in the stacks of the library.

"Now, say that one evening, a couple has slipped past you and remained in the stacks after closing, determined to cross number four off their list. Yet a fire has broken out and is spreading quickly through the building. You have only to push a b.u.t.ton to release the chemical spray and end the destruction. The problem, however, is that the chemicals are quite toxic and will surely kill the amorous couple."

He cleared his throat and folded his hands over his knee.

"What do you do, Jeremy? And this time, I'm afraid, none of the above is not an option."

He thought I couldn't commit? He was wrong.

"I would not push the b.u.t.ton," I said.

Bernini raised his eyebrows, as if to say: What did I expect? He looked at me and shook his head.

"You already pushed the b.u.t.ton, Jeremy."

"What are you talking about?"

But I knew. In my mind, I couldn't block the image of the crowbar sending out sparks. The screams from the crowd.

"I would not push the b.u.t.ton," I repeated. "They're just books."

"I see. And what if they weren't . . . just books? Tell me, Jeremy, how long would it take you to read all those books? One lifetime? Two? Ten?" His voice grew louder. "And not just to read them, but to understand them? To practice what you've learned? To test your cures? To perfect your peace talks?"

Suddenly, he was filled with an anger I didn't know he was capable of.

"You have no idea what's at stake," he snapped at me. "You think this is about cheating death? I long for death. I wish I had the luxury. I've seen every manner of human cruelty. Witch burnings. Lynchings. Pogroms. Gulags. Child armies. Genocides. My eyes are tired."

Bernini spat on the ground.

"The universe is biased toward evil. Simple thermodynamics. It is always easier to destroy than to build. The Romans built a republic. How fragile! They slipped, and the world plunged into one thousand years of darkness. One thousand years! Can you imagine that? A thousand years of oppression--kings and religious tyrants and castes and slavery. One thousand years of pestilence, poverty, superst.i.tion . . .

"Ah! But then came the Renaissance. Enlightenment! Freedom and equality escaped from the shadows and swept the world. But some of us didn't forget . . . We didn't forget how fragile it all is . . .

"You think good can survive without cost? The people who ended slavery are in this room. The people who defeated n.a.z.ism and Communism. In this room. Drawing on our wisdom. Our fortune. Our carefully cultivated power. Imagine this mind in that body." He pointed at John. "We have spent centuries perfecting the means to fight evil. For the first time in history, good has an advantage."

Bernini let his magnetic eyes travel around the room, then they came to rest on me.

"But it's happening again, Jeremy, isn't it? You can feel it, can't you? The armies of cruelty are ma.s.sing. Reason is giving way to superst.i.tion, thoughtfulness to ideology, humanism to tribalism, honor to greed. Citizens become fools and savages. Crowds become mobs. Ripe for the Leviathan! Read your Hobbes! Read your Aristotle!

"No, our work is more important now than ever. Appearance is the new G.o.d. Could Lincoln become president today with his strange face? Could Roosevelt in his wheelchair? Today, the perfect mind needs the perfect body. That doesn't occur by chance."

"But we're getting better," I shouted at him. "Every generation, there's less hate, less prejudice. More democracy, more freedom. Look at the world!--we have more law, more const.i.tutions."

Bernini's eyes suddenly narrowed.

His voice turned cold.

"You dare lecture me on law? I've dedicated my life to law. What can the law do against barbarians? Against suicide bombers and nuclear terrorists? Can you reason with madness? A const.i.tution is not a suicide pact. We must fight evil."

"How? By killing people, taking their bodies? By putting yourself above the law? You're fighting slavery with slavery. Murder with murder."

"Don't we send armies to fight the enemies of humanity? How many die then? Thousands? Millions? We only take three a year. That's our oath. Three a year to stop the wars before they start.

"I am offering you the chance to join us. You and Sarah both. You can have everything. A perfect body. Infinite time. You can build on what you have and over time you will know what we know. You will be one of us. You will save millions of lives with what you'll learn to do."

"Look at her," I said, my eyes on Sarah. "Look at her. You were ready to kill her. Is that what you are now?"

He waved me away.

"That was necessary."

I thought of the books I used to read. The ideas I used to believe in.

" 'Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom,'" I recited. " 'It is the argument of tyrants. It is the creed of slaves.' " I begged Bernini with my eyes. "There is always another way."

"See what I have seen," Bernini growled, "and then tell me there's another way."

"You were supposed to teach us. Help us fight. We're ready."

A wave of laughter pa.s.sed through the faceless crowd below me.

But Bernini didn't laugh. His voice splintered.

"Teach you? I have seen the soul of your generation. Your television. Your video games. You are frivolous, violent, undisciplined. There is no inner life. Only selfishness, greed, amus.e.m.e.nt. No sacrifice. No duty. No honor. No virtue."

"Then show us." I thought of Jefferson. " 'Enlighten the people generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body and mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day.'"

Bernini let out something like a small cry.

His face began to tremble.

"You will not lecture me on enlightenment." His hands were shaking. He pointed a finger at me. "My father believed in enlightenment. My true father, the father of my born body. He used to speak to me of enlightenment, read me philosophy at night. He was a gentle man. Pious. All these centuries later, I remember." His eyes welled with tears. They spilled over and streamed down his face. "Then came the Grand Inquisition of the Church. They had to make sure his faith was real. So they burned him to death. In front of my mother and me. They burned him to death."

He was shaking.

"Professor," I said.

"Enough."

"Professor," I said softly. "What if you become the thing you're fighting?"

"ENOUGH!" he cried.

He put his hands over his face.

"Enough."

He stayed like that for a moment, bent over, racked.

I waited until he raised his head and faced me with clear eyes.

As always, he knew it before I even said it.

I could see my grandfather in him then. The dignity. The kindness. The two men weren't so different.

"It's over," I said gently. "Whatever you choose, I'm going to destroy the machine now. Let your last act be good. Let her go."

Bernini stared at me. I watched his face.

He was reading me.

Measuring me.

Then he turned to the executioner and nodded.

"Release her."

The room broke into a roar of protest, fury.

"No," the priest said.

The executioner looked from Bernini to the priest with his dull eyes, trying to find a clear order to follow.

Bernini stepped forward and grabbed at the executioner's arm. The priest came forward too and the three of them wrestled for the knife until Bernini was forced onto his back and the priest guided it into Bernini's chest. He gasped.

I pushed the crowbar into the largest gear of the machine and held it there with all my might as the wheel bucked and ground against the metal. Screams erupted all around me as the machine rattled and the people convulsed. The executioner tried to pull the knife out from Bernini, but he held it there with his last strength just as I held the crowbar firm against the tremendous force of the locking gears. Tormented bodies lurched toward me, crippled but clawing at me, trying to pull me off the machine, trying to tear the crowbar out of my hands. My eyes swept over the room and I saw Bernini fading, still clutching the knife into himself and away from Sarah, the crowd twisting and screaming from behind that infinite sea of masks. The leather belts of the machine strained inward, pulling the arms toward the center like a spider recoiling in on itself in fear or pain. The wires that wrapped the arms like nerves ripped apart, sending sparks through the air and lighting the whole machine in a white glow. With all my strength I twisted the crowbar in and out of the gears until the whole thing was coming down, fire running up and out toward the farthest arms. All around us, bodies began to collapse--the youngest first, the ones who had been possessed for the shortest length of time. The older ones held on, screaming in unfathomable pain. I dropped the crowbar and tried to cover my ears. Then I gave up trying to block it out and ran to Sarah, who had slid down the pole to the ground, still bound, squeezing her eyes closed. I untied her and she wrapped her arms around me. I saw a brown hand reaching out from one of the many robes on the ground. I pulled the mask off and it was Nigel, perfectly still. Sarah felt the artery in his neck. "He's still alive," she said. He stirred. The youngest ones were waking up. They were dazed, unaware of their surroundings. I wondered, what would they remember? How would the university cover this one up? Gas leak? Small explosion in a rich person's secret club? Strip them down and concoct a story of s.e.x and bad drugs and amnesia and best not to discuss these things and embarra.s.s one's self and one's alma mater? And of course we hope this won't affect your giving relationship with the university. I thought of the wall of unbroken portraits. The school had an endowment larger than the wealth of most nations. The past could always be fixed.

I told Sarah I didn't want to be anywhere near here when they woke up.

She agreed.

We moved toward the door, trying not to trample the people under us.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my ankle.

It was Bernini. His face was pale. He looked at me desperately.

I had to lean in to hear him.

He said, "What have I done?"

Did he mean taking all those lives?

Or setting them free?

Before I could ask, his eyes went blank.

40.

"Let's go over the plan one more time."

Sarah smiled at me. It was a bright day. We walked through the park, hand in hand. It was cold out, but the sky was blue and the sun reflected off the snow. Couples and families were strolling around us.

I tried to brush a piece of hair from her face, but my hand was shaking. I was still trying to recover from the shock of it all, even though now, two weeks later, it felt about as real as someone else's dream. Somehow the final surprise had been the worst of all: when we got home from that underground cathedral, Miles was gone. Vanished. No note. No clues. We didn't know if he'd run away in shame or if they'd taken him.