All Black Ch. 04

Afterwards they take a guided tour of the museum led by an art history professor, lasting nearly two hours, greatly adding to Angie's understanding of the Middle Ages. It covers the fall of Rome, arguing that in many ways Rome never actually fell, then the Holy Roman Empire, the Crusades, chivalry, Gothic architecture and Scholasticism, the Black Death, the Hundred Years' War, and concludes by arguing that the Renaissance despite all the hype was really just a continuation of trends already present in the late Middle Ages.

Even more importantly, Shiva holds her hand the entire time, frequently looking and smiling at her. He comments on a few of the exhibits, asks her opinion about some of them.

"I didn't know the Middle Ages were so interesting," she admits at one point.

"The last great flowering of civilization," he replies, apparently sincerely, surprising her yet again: that is not how people usually talk about the Middle Ages.

During the intermission in the tour (between Scholasticism and the Black Death), Angie's "Introduction to Theology" professor and his wife approach her and Shiva.

"Hello, Mr. Black," her professor begins, "I'm James Clifford, a professor in the theology department, and this is my wife Audrey. Angie is in my class."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Shiva says, but he immediately turns to Angie. "Angie or Angela?"

"My friends call me 'Angie,'" she admits, trying to save face with Shiva without embarrassing her professor, "but I prefer 'Angela.'"

"Oh," Professor Clifford almost flinches, "I apologize, Angela. I thought...."

"It's okay," she waves away his awkwardness. No doubt she'd told him "Angie."

"Is Angela a good student?" Shiva asks her professor.

"Exemplary of course. I'm greatly looking forward to reading her final paper."

"You shouldn't be," Angie confesses. "I'm having such a hard time with it. I don't know how I'll get it finished by the due date."

"Ah, well, don't worry too much about that. It'll be okay if you turn it in a little late. And feel free to drop by my office if you need some help."

Angie can hardly believe her ears. Professor Clifford is known to be one of the strictest and harshest professors. Students are assigned to Introduction to Theology classes, required for all freshmen, by lottery, and the students in Clifford's classes consider themselves to have lost the lottery.

"What's it on?" Shiva asks her.

"Original sin."

"That's one I'm afraid I don't understand at all," Audrey laughs.

"Me neither," Shiva tells her professor. "I have heard that it was the original sexually transmitted disease. Is that right?"

"Don't get him started," Audrey warns. "But I'm dying to find out how you two know each other."

Angie has been anticipating this moment, bracing herself to face it. Audrey is looking at her with transparently fake innocence, through which Angie easily sees both jealousy at the fact that she is with such a handsome and wealthy man and brazen disapproval of their interracial relationship.

She thinks of Elizabeth facing down Lady Catherine de Bourgh, proving her worthiness as a wife to Darcy — the kind of thought an English major would have a time like this.

Aware that Shiva will be watching her carefully, she aims to respond without a trace of defensiveness.

"I interviewed him for The Catholic Republican," she blinks innocently.

"Ah, yes," her professor says. "I read that article. Very interesting. I didn't notice that you'd written it."

"My roommate Ana actually wrote it," Angie clarifies. "I only did the interview."

The truth is that Shiva's PR department wrote much of it, but Angie knows better than to say something like that lest it embarrass Shiva.

"It sounds like she does all the work and you have all the fun," Audrey drawls. "No wonder you can't finish your papers on time."

"To be fair," Shiva chuckles, "since I met her, I haven't finished much of my work on time either."

Professor Clifford and his wife laugh along as if Shiva's comment were the funniest joke they've heard in ages.

"So you haven't been together long?" Audrey asks Angie.

"This is our first date," Angie answers.

"Well, you're a darling couple," Audrey sings, her voice full of sugar laced with barely detectable poison. "I do hope things work out for you."

As Professor Clifford and Audrey walk away, Shiva whispers to Angie.

"Lovely couple. You think they're swingers?"

Hearing the sarcasm in his voice, Angie shrugs with no idea what he means.

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

Following the tour, Shiva — and by extension, Angie — is invited to a smaller, more exclusive reception at the college president's house, a Queen Anne mansion that most people consider the jewel in the crown of St. George's architecture. Its lurid green paint and arbitrary turrets and grotesque ornamentation remind Angie of a haunted house, a nightmare that somehow escaped medieval Europe to settle in upstate New York. She can't look at it without thinking of "The Fall of the House of Usher."

It's much nicer inside, though, with pretty antique-style wooden furniture, an abundance of amply-cushioned sofas and chairs, Chinese vases, chandeliers, ornate silk wallpaper, grisaille windows, and yet plenty of space for people to mingle.

The party segregates itself by gender, with the majority of the women making themselves comfortable in a drawing room dominated (all too appropriately) by the color pink. After a moment of hesitation (we all know which way she wanted to go) Angie follows the ladies, thinking that might be more appropriate.

The president's wife, who insists that Angie call her Geneva rather than Mrs. Fox, serves everyone tea in fantastically fragile little cups and, after a mandatory comment or two about how nice the museum is, the conversation quickly turns gossipy: someone Angie's never heard of deserved to get some kind of promotion or award or something but didn't because someone else she's never heard of interfered, so someone else got it, which was awkward for so-and-so and even for so-and-so, and it shouldn't have been any of his business, but perhaps he owed someone a favor — referred to with raised eyebrows and hushed tones, innuendo disguised as discretion. Then, with a glance at the nuns, whose sensitivities must be respected, the subject changes to something else and then something else.

Angie cannot help wishing she had joined the men.

Then Geneva turns to her.

"Tell us about yourself, dear. I believe you're a student here; is that correct?"

"Yes," Angie begins, but Audrey (Professor Clifford's delightful wife) picks up for her:

"She interviewed Mister Black for the college newspaper and he took an immediate shine to her."

"No wonder," Geneva responds with the air of coming to Angie's defense. "Even a man like Mister Black would have to find her lovely blue eyes enchanting."

"Thank you." Angie smiles and takes a drink of tea to avoid having to figure out what else to say.

The room, however, waits for her to put her cup back on the saucer.

"Tell us all about him," one of the women she doesn't know says. "I'm dying to know all about him."

"What would you like to know?" Angie asks. "I don't actually know him very well. Maybe you should tell me about him!"

"I would like to know why he is interested in St. George the Fundamentalist Catholic College's medieval museum. I understand he donated the Marenzio Codex."

"Pardon me?" Audrey blinks.

"A sixteenth-century book of Spanish music and poetry," one of the nuns informs her, "though much of the music and poetry is believed to be earlier, possibly even dating back as far as the thirteenth century."

"It sounds like a very big deal," Audrey replies, implicitly asking a question.

"It's noted for its inclusion of Jewish and Moorish melodies and even lyrics incorporated by Spanish Christian society and even the Church. A rather interesting possibility given that this period was the height of the inquisition."

"Oh, well," Audrey lilts, alerting the room to the coming of a bon mot, "I can see why he'd have an interest in — how did you put it? — incorporating Muslim elements into Christian society?"

"It is a very big deal," Geneva intervenes, once again defending Angie. "And it was a very generous donation. I know Adrian was very grateful. He told me it's by far the most valuable part of the collection, and that scholars will come from all over the world to study it."

"Good for the college," Audrey concedes before turning back to Angie. "So, darling, what do you suppose the future holds for you and the generous Mister Black?"

"I don't know," Angie shrugs. "It's only our first date."

"Well, darling, it's the way of the world. Beautiful girls and rich men."

"If you would prefer his company," Geneva assures her, "feel free to join the gentlemen."

Angie hesitates, not knowing what is appropriate, but the nun who knew about the codex gives her the ultimate deliverance.

"I'll join you," she says. "I'd like one of their cigars."

— — — — — — / — — — — — — — — —

In the hallway on the way to the president's study, the nun introduces herself.

"Call me Sister Emery," she said. "I teach chemical engineering here, and I love smoking with President Fox and the boys. They all think it's a hoot. But I believe you'll find both the company and the conversation more stimulating there."

"Thank you so much," Angie almost gushes.

Sister Emery hushes her.

"Audrey means well, of course. She was trying to warn you. But as a bride of Christ, I understand that even the most virtuous girl can fall in love with a sufficiently admirable man. And who knows? Maybe you'll even convert him...."

They enter the room, which looks as you'd expect: lots of wood and leather and books on shelves so high they have ladders. A huge antique globe with the top opened to reveal bottles of liquor. More bottles of liquor scattered across the other surfaces of the room. A humming fan in a high window losing its fight with the cigar smoke.

"Ladies!" President Fox welcomes them cheerfully. "Good timing! We could use your assistance."

At first only Shiva stands to greet them, but when he stands, so does everyone else. He had been sitting in a chair, but he gestures to request the sofa, and the man who was sitting there excuses himself to make room for Shiva and Angie.

"She can assist you," Sister Emery replies, "but I need a cigar."

"That's just her way," President Fox assures Shiva. "We've gotten used to it."

"I've been to Cuba," Shiva says, sitting down and patting the sofa to let Angie join him. "I've seen smoking nuns."

"Finally!" Sister Emery exults, helping herself to the humidor next to the president's desk. "A man of culture and worldly experience! I propose giving him tenure immediately!"

"In all seriousness, Sister Emery," President Fox resumes, "our distinguished guest was just advancing a controversial and fascinating thesis on your field of expertise. I do not trust myself to do it justice, however."

"Oh yeah?" Sister Emery sits in one of the chairs and begins toasting her cigar.

"We had been discussing the Galileo question," one of the men Angie doesn't know — a comically huge crucifix hangs around his neck beneath an even more comically huge beard — informs Sister Emery, who nods to acknowledge him without taking her eyes off her cigar. "The usual business, you would have heard it all before, but Shiva surprised us by stating his belief that the Church's mission in the world today must be to — how did you put it? — recreate the wholeness we lost when we gave up the Great Chain of Being?"

"Close enough," Shiva agrees. "Have we got anything for her to drink?"

"We have all kinds of drinks for her," President Fox smiles at Angie. "What would you like?"

"Just water, actually," Angie says. "If it's not too much trouble."

"None at all," President Fox answers, getting up himself. "Carry on, I've heard this already," he tells the room on his way out.

"The wholeness?" Sister Emery asks.

"James had just waxed eloquent about the medieval worldview —"

"The scholastic worldview," interrupts her theology professor.

"Yes, right," the beard says. "You should tell Sister Emery about it."

"What I find particularly fascinating," Professor Clifford obliges, "is the idea of microcosm and macrocosm." He turns to Angie. "As I have explained in lecture, Angela, the idea was that the state and the human person reproduce the structure of the cosmos in miniature."

"I remember," Angie says. "The king and reason are in the place of God, and so on."

"Yes, precisely. What I haven't talked about is why most contemporary thinkers do not take this idea very seriously. I believe they are mistaken not to do so, by the way."

"Why don't they?" Angie asks.

"It all seemed to fall down," the beard answers, "in part because of your boys Galileo and Newton. Then the French Revolution and old Chuck Darwin came along and drove iron nails into the casket. Your professor would like to raise its ghost, but the corpse will lie there till judgment day."

"That is Father Papadopolous," Professor Clifford drily informs her. "Our resident heretic."

"No conversation at St. George's is complete unless at least one heretic is present," Father Papadopolous jokes, "at least in my experience."

"He's technically Greek Orthodox," Professor Clifford says, "but if my soul depended on it I couldn't tell him from a Marxist."

"Or even a Protestant," Sister Emery teases.

Father Papadopolous winks happily at Angie, letting her know not to take them too seriously.

"Have I missed Sister Emery's verdict?" President Fox asks as he steps back into the room with a glass of ice water for Angie.

"James hasn't even finished catching them up yet," Father Papadopolous tells him.

"I have been interrupted a few times," Professor Clifford drawls.

"Very good," President Fox says, settling back into his chair and picking up a pipe.

"I believe the point is that we now live with a fragmented worldview," Sister Emery tells Angie. "Chemists and political theorists no longer not look to theology for models. Every discipline just makes its own models and no one understands anyone else's fields and there is no inner harmony uniting it all."

"Yes," President Fox confirms, "that's the story we all know. Non-overlapping magisteria. But Shiva, you were saying...?"

"Well, we've come at it from a different angle this time, so I would say two things."

"Please do," President Fox encourages him, speaking through his teeth as he sucks his pipe.

"I would disagree with the claim that we no longer have a unifying narrative. We do, or most of us do, and that is the narrative of brute physical force. Whether we recognize it as such or not, all of the mainstream academic disciplines now assume a materialistic worldview and aspire to models basically like those of Newtonian physics."

"Milliards and milliards of particles playing their infinite game of billiards and billiards," Father Papadopolous intones.

"You would say that of fields like sociology as well?" Sister Emery asks, now sitting back and happily puffing her cigar.

"I believe so," Shiva says. "The language is all power, force, pressure, vectors, and so on."

"Interesting," Sister Emery nods. "I believe they resent that, however."

"No, no, the postmodern rebellion has been crushed," Father Papadopoulos laments. "We're back to the purest scientism now."

"I am not sure I agree," President Fox interrupts with a laugh, "but right now I want to return to your other point, Shiva."

"I believe I had only said that we need a better unifying narrative. We need something that gives people a compelling reason to labor without complaint, to submit to governance, to accept inequality, to fight and die and kill for their leaders. But it has to be simultaneously religious and scientific in order to be both emotionally and intellectually compelling. I doubt —" indicating Professor Clifford "— that we can resurrect the Great Chain of Being, or perhaps even any kind of theocracy, so we need to create something that can work in its place. The idea of force is, sadly, too liable to democratic interpretations."

"Democratic?" President Fox asks.

"Because the masses collectively possess more of it than the rulers," Father Papadopoulos observes, and Shiva nods. "Hierarchy is no longer inherent in the structure of the cosmos."

"Or of the state, or even of the human being," Shiva confirms. "God no longer reigns, the king no longer reigns, reason no longer reigns."

The room is quiet as they weigh the ideas, sip their liquors, taste their tobacco. Angie senses that they are in part looking for a tactful way to challenge Shiva.

"I do not usually contemplate the political significance of these doctrines, but in an intellectual and spiritual sense I agree that we are all at the mercy of this disorder until we find a way to seize control of it again," Professor Clifford sighs sadly. "The scholastic view is, as usual, the only possible one. We simply have to recover it."

"Sister Emery?" President Fox prompts.

"I would like to hear from our resident heretic," she says. "I need to drink more whiskey before I'll be able to speak clearly on the problems of science and religion, never mind politics."

"With your permission, Shiva," Father Papadopoulos begins with exaggerated formality, "I believe I read recently that you are of the Muslim persuasion. Is that so?"

Shiva nods.

"Very interesting," Father Papadopoulos reflects, his voice laden with as much innuendo as any gossiping woman's ever bore, "that the Latins and the Muslims are in agreement on this matter."

"The Latins are Catholics," Professor Clifford almost whispers to Angie, rolling his eyes.

"And Protestants and Marxists," Father Papadopoulos adds, with the air of someone twisting a thumbscrew, "and perhaps the Muslims are in pretty much the same boat, although I hasten to admit that I do not know much about that. It may, however, be an inevitable consequence of abandoning Trinitarian theology."

"Here we go again," Professor Clifford turns to Angie. "He thinks Catholics are not truly Trinitarian."

"Indeed," Father Papadopoulos nods.

"We will not be covering this idea in my course," Professor Clifford tells Angie as if he were assuring her of his protection.

"My office is in the philosophy department —" Father Papadopoulos begins.

"— where it belongs," Professor Clifford interrupts.

"— so you know where to go if you want to learn about the Holy Trinity."

"And you know where mine is when you want to learn the truth about the Holy Trinity," Professor Clifford concludes.

"Gentlemen," Sister Emery blows a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, "can it."

"Actually," Father Papadopoulos resumes, addressing Shiva, "I suspect you are carrying my esteemed colleague's implicitly unitarian ideas to their logical conclusion, and you are therefore," he smiles wryly, "mistaken on every single point."

Shiva laughs loudly, and following his example, the room does too.

"Not merely mistaken," Father Papadopoulos continues happily. "The ideas you have expressed are the precise opposite of the truth."

"I believe I'll need another dram," Shiva chuckles, helping himself to one of the bottles on the table. "Now that I'm classified with the Latins, imbibing among the infidels might not even violate my faith."

Father Papadopoulos waits for him to fill his glass and take a sip, and then resumes:

"The model of the cosmos that you have presented, where brute force serves as the unifying principle, does actually not differ in any significant way from James's Great Chain of Being."