“I am not political,” Robinson said. “But I disagree with almost anything Amir espouses.”
“Have you been critical of him?”
“Yes.”
“Would your denial of tenure benefit him?”
Robinson looked thoughtfully at the old fat black woman shuffling among the now nearly empty tables.
“Someone once remarked,” he said, “I don’t recall who, that the reason academic conflicts are so vicious is that the stakes are so small. There is no genuine benefit to Amir if I am denied • tenure. But it would please him.”
“And it would reduce by one the number of people who could confront him without the risk of being called a racist.”
“Given the number of black faculty members, that would be a significant reduction,” Robinson said.
“How about Lillian?”
“What about her?”
“She and Amir are the two members of the tenure committee who told the cops they had direct knowledge of your relationship with Prentice Lamont.”
“Lillian?”
I nodded.
“I haven’t done anything to Lillian.”
“And since we agree that the allegation is untrue, why would she make it?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I could hypothesize.”
“Do,” I said.
Robinson took in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Most straight black men know someone like Lillian,” he said. “She has very little connection to what people outside of English departments sometimes refer to as the real world. She doesn’t do things because they would be fun, or they would be profitable, or they would be wise. She does things because they conform to some inner ideal she has structured out of her reading.”
“I’ve met Lillian,” I said.
“Okay,” Robinson said, and smiled, “a pop quiz: why would you guess she is in this long-term relationship with Bass Maitland?”
“Because he reminds her of Lionel Trilling,” I said.
“Or Walter Pater,” Robinson said. “You’ve got the idea. Now, for extra credit, why was she sleeping with me?”
“White woman’s burden,” I said.
“Yes.” Robinson’s face was suddenly animated. “And why did she stop?”
“You weren’t black enough.”
“Wow,” Robinson said. “You’re good.”
“I’ve met several Lillians,” I said. “If she transferred her passions to Amir she could be supporting the aspirations of her black brothers and sisters and still stay faithful to Bass.”
“Yes, and I’m sure that’s what happened because that was what she thought she was doing. But she’ll be unfaithful to Bass again.”
“Because what she really liked was the sex?” I said.
“As long as she could disguise it under a mound of high-mindedness.”
“My guess is that Bass is not Lionel Trilling.”
“No,” Robinson said. “He’s just your standard academic opportunist blessed with a good voice and nice carriage.”
“We might have saved a lot of time and aggravation,” I said, “if you’d told me all this at the beginning.”
“Or if you’d asked,” Robinson said.
I nodded. “Both had the same reasons, I guess. Can you prove you had a relationship with her?”
“Obviously I can’t prove I, ah, penetrated her. I’ve got some pictures of us together.”
“I’d like the best one of you both,” I said. “You meet anyplace where there’d be a witness?”
“Witness?”
“Did you check into a motel, have drinks together in Club Cafe? Spend the night at a friend’s house on the Cape?”
“We spent several nights together at a little place in Rockport that is hospitable to black people.”
“What’s the name?”
“Sea Mist Inn,” Robinson said.
“When’s the last time?”
“We went up there last Labor Day weekend. Last time we went out.”
