A Meeting
James sits at his desk, waiting impatiently for the arrival of his senior lecturer, Professor Dixon. He has requested a meeting; there are some important issues he needs to discuss.
He looks around the room that, over the years, has become his primary personal space. Originally a classroom, he now uses it less for teaching and more as his own private working area – an arrangement never formally agreed upon – more begrudgingly tolerated. The room is packed to the brim. Every available space is taken by books, papers, and scientific contraptions of all shapes and sizes. Consequently, on the increasingly rare occasions James actually takes a class, he must find a vacant classroom elsewhere.
He checks his watch. Professor Dixon is twenty minutes late, and James is becoming impatient. He is far too busy to be sitting around waiting.
Looking down at his leather briefcase, he recalls the first time he carried it into the small university that is now the centre of his world. He was a nervous young boy entering a world dominated by adults, and the leather case – a gift from his father – had been his only source of comfort amongst the many unfamiliar sights and sounds he encountered. Those were awkward and confusing times.
James still finds personal interaction difficult. Even in infancy, he did not mix well with other children. While others played, James preferred to study. That was how it would always be – a life of solitude. He was twelve years old on that first day at university – a child prodigy beginning a completely new chapter in life. And he did it alone. Knowing how unreliable his parents were, James had organised his own premature entry into higher education.
At first, he was happily accepted. A novelty. The class mascot. But James was no fool; he knew it wouldn’t last – and he was right. When the other students recognised his superior intellect, and realised his work was consistently of a higher standard, prepared in less time and with greater ease, the familiar animosity set in. And as usual, James found himself sitting and working alone.
A sharp knock interrupts James’s thoughts. He walks over to the door, which, as always, is firmly bolted to keep uninvited visitors at bay. He opens the door to find Professor Dixon standing in the corridor.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” James comments.
Professor Dixon simply smiles and walks past James into the room.
A patient and understanding man, Professor Dixon has known James since he first entered the university as a young boy. At the time, he thought James was destined to achieve great things. But as the years progressed, he reluctantly found himself agreeing with popular opinion – at some point, James had lost the plot, and no earth-shattering scientific breakthrough was likely to happen anytime soon. Regardless, Professor Dixon still admires James for his determination. In appreciation of this, he ensures James has a place to work and a small budget to work with.
Professor Dixon smiles and reaches out his hand, which James shakes impatiently before taking a breath to begin his verbal assault.
“Professor Dixon,” he begins. “I need your help.”
“OK James, what can I do?” Professor Dixon replies, sitting casually on the edge of a desk.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, my grant is up for review shortly.”
“Yes,” Professor Dixon confirms.
“I need it to increase.” James raises his head to look straight at the professor.
“Mmm…” the professor says, nodding slowly but not meeting James’s stare.
“I need a bigger workspace too. Much bigger.”
Professor Dixon begins to slowly shake his head.
“James, I can’t lie to you. Last year, I almost had to beg the board to continue funding your work at its current budget. They don’t approve of you. You’re too secretive. You make no effort to integrate, and if you have any social skills at all, no one here has ever seen them.”
“I have no time for socialising,” James snaps, walking across to his desk. “And you know full well that most people here dislike me because I have no time for small talk and staff room politics.”
Professor Dixon stands and walks over to James, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.
“We don’t all share your passion, James. Many of us are happy just to teach – to pass on what we know to others. Not everyone is like you. We have lives outside this building, with families and friends, hobbies and pastimes. Relationships can be fun, James. You should try it sometime!” he teases.
James shakes his head, agitated. “I have no time,” he says. “I must remain focussed on my work.”
Professor Dixon laughs quietly under his breath. “You have no life, James. People worry about you. You need to interact a little instead of constantly avoiding contact.”
The smile fades from Professor Dixon’s face.
“James, how can you expect the board of governors to increase your funding when you’re not even prepared to indulge them in the nature of your work?”
“It’s not ready yet,” James says quietly.
“But what is it? You can’t expect everyone to wait indefinitely, in blind anticipation. Do you know there is a rumour in circulation that you are developing a new weapon of some description?”
James looks up sharply. “A weapon?” he snaps. “Who the hell has come up with that ridiculous suggestion? Of all the wonderful things that people could imagine I was doing, they assume it’s something as primitive as a weapon?”
“It’s what people do if you allow their imagination to run free, James,” Professor Dixon replies.
“My work is as far from weaponry as it is possible to get. What I am on the brink of delivering will eliminate the need for war, let alone weapons. It will enable us to avert those unnecessary events and bring some peace and harmony to the world.”
“To the world?” Professor Dixon scoffs. “Your world begins and ends in this room. I’ll bet you don’t even know what month it is?”
“March,” James states calmly and with disinterest.
“Congratulations!” laughs Professor Dixon. “Now tell me the British Prime Minister, the current state of affairs in the Middle East, who’s winning the Premier League, what day of the week it is?”
“Those things are of little interest to me. All I want to do is continue my work, unhindered. The more I see our global society slide into decline, the more inspired I am to work harder, faster and with greater urgency.
“Professor Dixon, you must persuade the board to increase my budget and give me a working space at least five times the size of what I currently have.”
“But why do you need so much money and space, James? Your secrecy simply won’t do. Unless you open up and divulge at least some information, I can’t even be sure they will allow you the use of this room next year. I’m sorry, James, but it’s time to talk.”
James sits down at his desk and hides his face in his hands. He is painfully aware of the increasing pressure the university seniors are applying to Professor Dixon. They are literally demanding to know what James has been working on for the last few years. He knows he has been secretive and obsessive, and that his work is interfering with his duty as a lecturer, but he still does not feel ready to divulge.
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