I remembered Barbara’s etiquette advice and offered my hand for shaking. Professor Jacobson, at least, wasn’t surprised, but then, he was German. He merely said, “Shall we go down the hall to the conference room?”
He led the way, and behind him, Joe and I exchanged puzzled and rather worried glances. My palms were sweating now; thank goodness the handshake was over!
The conference room contained a large table and many chairs, and very little else. Joe and I sat together on one side, the two professors on the other. I wasn’t sure what an “Associate Dean” was, but it sounded important. It all seemed rather like a tribunal, and I knew the sweat must be standing out on my upper lip. I felt guilty, and I didn’t even know what I could have done!
When Professor Jacobson took a pipe from his rather untidy jacket pocket, though, and began to fill it, I felt a tiny bit better. Would one smoke a pipe while dismissing a student?
Wait. Was itJoethey wanted to dismiss for my faults? My hands turned even clammier at the thought, and I had trouble with my breathing. This would truly be a calamity. Oh, please, let it not be that!
What Professor Jacobson said, though, was, “How do you find Stanford, Mrs. Stark? It’s a rather fine campus, I think. Very spacious.”
“Yes,” I said. “I enjoy the buildings made of sandstone, as my home city is also—or it was. I come from Dresden, yousee. Of course, the style here is Romanesque rather than Rococo, stately and heavy rather than frivolous and light, but the sandstone is familiar.” I was chattering again, but then, hehadasked.
“Dresden was a little like Vienna, when I knew it,” the Professor said. “A more lighthearted city than most, full of art and music. Although still German, so not precisely like Vienna. Did the bombings destroy as much as we’re told?”
“Yes,” I said. He was a Jew and could have little love for his homeland; was this some sort of test? “Yes, the bombings were very bad. I left the city very soon afterward, though, so I can’t say what was left once the fires were extinguished.”
“Your home?” he asked.
I swallowed. “My home, my family and friends—they were all destroyed, yes. Except for one friend, my family’s doctor, and his children, with whom I escaped, as I think Joe has told you. Because of the Gestapo, you know, and the Red Army, and … and other things.”
He’d finished filling his pipe, and now came the ritual of lighting it. Once it was drawing, he shook out the match and said, “Your husband spoke of your escape, yes, and of your companions. You were well educated, I think. You take a great many notes in class, and you achieved the highest grade in the class on the final exam. Higher even than your husband’s last quarter.”
I was flushing now as well as sweating. Did he think Joe had given me the answers? “Thank you,” I said desperately. “I greatly appreciate the chance to learn from you.” Professor Webster had said nothing. Why was he here?
“But you never ask questions,” Professor Jacobson said, “even when one can clearly see the urgency in you to do so, and your relief when another student asks instead.”
“I’m very sorry if I’ve disturbed you,” I said. “Joe has told me that I mustn’t disrupt the class in any way, as I haven’t paidthe fees. But the subject is very interesting, you know, and I would wish to learn more about it.”
“Oh?” he said. “Andhaveyou learned more about it?”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I’ve borrowed Mr. Darwin’s book from the library. He was a very great man, I think. My father always said that one must cultivate a quiet place in one’s mind that would allow the weighing-up of ideas, so one would not merely accept blindly the teachings of others. Surely Darwin had this quality in great … great …”
“In great measure?”
“Yes. That’s what I meant. Like Galileo, you know. But I apologize for being too … too …”
“Conspicuous,” Joe said quietly. Not as a reprimand; as a vocabulary word.
“Too conspicuous,” I said. The Americans had a saying for this.In the hot seat.I was most definitely in that seat now. Witness the sweating.
“My dear Mrs. Stark,” Professor Jacobson said, “We wish toinviteyou to learn. Conspicuous or not.”
“Oh,” I said weakly. “Thank you.” The relief was flooding me to such an extent, my legs shook, and I was sure my face was scarlet. But perhaps this was something that happened if one audited well? Joe had never audited a class, so he might not know. “Is this what you wished to talk to me about?” I needed to be at the bookstore by noon, but didn’t dare look at my watch; it would be very rude.
Wait. Was this favoritism? I remembered the bottom-pinching, but Joe was here beside me, and the other professor, too. Professor Jacobson wasn’t even looking at me, but puffing at his pipe in a contemplative way as it filled the room with its sweet, smoky aroma. Now, he shuffled through some papers in a file, not seeming in the least overcome by my youth and beauty.
“Not entirely.” This was Professor Webster. “We wanted to ask if you’ve thought about college yourself.”
“I?” I blinked. “No. I’m—well, not a refugee, exactly, but not the … the young girl I was when such a thing would have been possible.”
“Mrs. Stark,” Professor Jacobson said, his voice gentle, “you have a fine mind and have clearly been well educated. Surely this is what your parents wished for you?”
The backs of my arms were tingling with nerves now.How could I talk about my parents? Doing so always brought emotion, and one didn’t express emotion to professors. “Yes, of course, but—the war. The Nazis. The bombing. I’m here in America now, and very happy, truly. Happy to work to help Joe attend college—he’s doing a course that will gain him both his Bachelor of Arts degree and his degree in Law, you know, for he is very intelligent. This course normally lasts five years, though he hopes to do it in four, and he’s only finishing his second. Even with the GI Bill—” I stopped, for he didn’t need to hear our personal concerns. “And it’s such a freedom to be able to read any book one likes! I had a friend in Germany, a sort of tutor. He’d been a most renowned professor of literature before Hitler, and he … I believe the phrase is, ‘took me in hand.’ I’ve learned many things already, and I’ll go on to learn many more. As long as there are books to read, one can always be educated.”
“Mrs. Stark.” It was that gentle voice again. “Who were your parents?”
“I— I—” I hardly knew how to go on. Was this a trap? Had they been asked to question me by the government, perhaps, because they suspected my documents weren’t genuine? Was this why they’d asked Joe to be here, too? Could I still be sent back?
