duty to…’
They regarded each other in wary silence.
‘Bullshit,’ remarked Zen finally.
‘Don’t be too sure. You keep accusing me of acting irrationally. There’s no telling what irrational people may do.’
Zen shrugged.
‘I’ve been summoned to Bologna for work, that’s all. To be honest, it might not be a bad thing for us to spend a bit of time apart. I’ve been through a bad patch recently, one way and another, and I’m sure I’ve been difficult at times. I know you have. Maybe what we need is a cooling-off period to help get things in perspective.’
Gemma’s expression softened marginally, but her body remained poised for either fight or flight.
‘That time on the boat, Aurelio, when we moored off Gorgona,’ she said dreamily. ‘Do you remember? You told me then that we were prisoners of each other. Well, that’s what I’m starting to feel like. Your prisoner.’
Zen nodded.
‘Me too. But perhaps we can both get over it. I hope so.’
He picked up his suitcase. Gemma backed into the living room, keeping her distance from him.
‘Do you want me to drive you to the station?’
‘No, thank you. I can manage.’
She shook her head sadly.
‘No, Aurelio. That’s just what you can’t do.’
He shrugged this off.
‘Well then, I’m going to have to learn.’
8
‘Mattioli, would you remain here?’ the professor remarked casually as the rest of the class left the seminar room.
He caught the flash of anxiety in the young man’s eyes. He had intended that it should be there. It was part of the charm and style of Edgardo Ugo’s post-1968 faded leftist persona that he always addressed his graduate students in the familiar
tu
verbal form, and insisted that they do the same to him. This time, however, he had used the impersonal, distancing
lei
. That, and the use of Rodolfo’s surname, made the message quite clear.
‘Sit down, please.’
Ugo gathered up his belongings and then proceeded to take some considerable time arranging them in his evidently expensive, but of course artisanal rather than designer, briefcase before paying any further attention to the student.
‘You’re a bright lad, Mattioli, so I’m sure you’ll understand that after that last outburst I can no longer admit you to my seminars. There’s nothing personal about this. Indeed, I find it painful in many ways. But to do otherwise would be a dereliction of my duty to the other members of the class. They have understood and accepted the principles of the course, and are attending these classes, often at considerable personal or familial financial sacrifice, in the hopes of bettering themselves and making a serious contribution to this academic discipline. They are certainly not here to listen to cheap jokes and mocking asides from someone who, despite his evident intellectual capacities, is at heart nothing but a
farceur
.’
The boy stared back with his unblinking black eyes, as expressionless as the muzzles of a double-barrelled shotgun, but said nothing. Typically southern, thought Ugo. He knows that there’s been a war, that he lost, and that there’s nothing to talk about. Later he might come round with a knife and cut my throat, but he’s not going to humiliate himself further by pointless protests and weak entreaties.
‘Should you so wish, you may of course continue to attend my lectures,’ Ugo continued. ‘Under the rules and regulations of the University of Bologna, you are also entitled to sit your final exams and present a thesis, but to avoid wasting everyone’s time I feel obliged to tell you now that I very much doubt whether this would result in your receiving a degree. Besides, the only career possibilities open to a graduate in semiotics are in the academic field. I would naturally be contacted as a referee and I should find it impossible, as a matter of professional principle, to recommend you. I further doubt whether you would prove suited to such a career, in the unlikely event that
They regarded each other in wary silence.
‘Bullshit,’ remarked Zen finally.
‘Don’t be too sure. You keep accusing me of acting irrationally. There’s no telling what irrational people may do.’
Zen shrugged.
‘I’ve been summoned to Bologna for work, that’s all. To be honest, it might not be a bad thing for us to spend a bit of time apart. I’ve been through a bad patch recently, one way and another, and I’m sure I’ve been difficult at times. I know you have. Maybe what we need is a cooling-off period to help get things in perspective.’
Gemma’s expression softened marginally, but her body remained poised for either fight or flight.
‘That time on the boat, Aurelio, when we moored off Gorgona,’ she said dreamily. ‘Do you remember? You told me then that we were prisoners of each other. Well, that’s what I’m starting to feel like. Your prisoner.’
Zen nodded.
‘Me too. But perhaps we can both get over it. I hope so.’
He picked up his suitcase. Gemma backed into the living room, keeping her distance from him.
‘Do you want me to drive you to the station?’
‘No, thank you. I can manage.’
She shook her head sadly.
‘No, Aurelio. That’s just what you can’t do.’
He shrugged this off.
‘Well then, I’m going to have to learn.’
8
‘Mattioli, would you remain here?’ the professor remarked casually as the rest of the class left the seminar room.
He caught the flash of anxiety in the young man’s eyes. He had intended that it should be there. It was part of the charm and style of Edgardo Ugo’s post-1968 faded leftist persona that he always addressed his graduate students in the familiar
tu
verbal form, and insisted that they do the same to him. This time, however, he had used the impersonal, distancing
lei
. That, and the use of Rodolfo’s surname, made the message quite clear.
‘Sit down, please.’
Ugo gathered up his belongings and then proceeded to take some considerable time arranging them in his evidently expensive, but of course artisanal rather than designer, briefcase before paying any further attention to the student.
‘You’re a bright lad, Mattioli, so I’m sure you’ll understand that after that last outburst I can no longer admit you to my seminars. There’s nothing personal about this. Indeed, I find it painful in many ways. But to do otherwise would be a dereliction of my duty to the other members of the class. They have understood and accepted the principles of the course, and are attending these classes, often at considerable personal or familial financial sacrifice, in the hopes of bettering themselves and making a serious contribution to this academic discipline. They are certainly not here to listen to cheap jokes and mocking asides from someone who, despite his evident intellectual capacities, is at heart nothing but a
farceur
.’
The boy stared back with his unblinking black eyes, as expressionless as the muzzles of a double-barrelled shotgun, but said nothing. Typically southern, thought Ugo. He knows that there’s been a war, that he lost, and that there’s nothing to talk about. Later he might come round with a knife and cut my throat, but he’s not going to humiliate himself further by pointless protests and weak entreaties.
‘Should you so wish, you may of course continue to attend my lectures,’ Ugo continued. ‘Under the rules and regulations of the University of Bologna, you are also entitled to sit your final exams and present a thesis, but to avoid wasting everyone’s time I feel obliged to tell you now that I very much doubt whether this would result in your receiving a degree. Besides, the only career possibilities open to a graduate in semiotics are in the academic field. I would naturally be contacted as a referee and I should find it impossible, as a matter of professional principle, to recommend you. I further doubt whether you would prove suited to such a career, in the unlikely event that
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