'If necessary, yes,' says Moira Millikin. 'Extraordinary,' says Dr Zachery. 'I think this is meant for me,' says Flora. 'Look, Roger, have you ever known me think that anything was innocuous? It's against my nature. But I know Mangel. He knows the dangers as well as you do. He happens to be a serious scientist. He's never over-stated his conclusions, and I don't agree that any results should ever be falsified. He'd like them to come out your way as much as I would, but when they come out they come out.'
'Why do you think all the radical press is attacking him? They know what they're doing,' says Moira Millikin. 'I'm sure of that,' says Dr Zachery, 'but they're not doing what we should be doing, protecting disinterested research.'
'There was a pregnant woman on the bus today,' says Dr Macintosh, 'funny how once your wife's pregnant you see them everywhere.'
'We're all responsible for our conclusions,' says Roger Fundy, 'because all mental organizations are ideological in significance. Which means that it is we who organize the results, not science.'
'I got up to offer her my seat,' says Dr Macintosh, 'and then I suddenly realized that in this radical climate there's no way to address her. Finally I said: 'Excuse me, person, would you like to sit down?'.'
'But even that's patronage,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'why shouldn't she stand up like anyone else?'
'Which item on the agenda does Mangel come under?' asks Flora Beniform. 'I'd burn mine,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'you could say I have, symbolically. But I jiggle and hurt whenever I run upstairs.'
'Item 17,' says Moira Millikin, 'visiting speakers. That's when the fun should start.'
A very loud crash comes from the direction of the selfservice line. The sociologists' heads all turn; in the line, someone, a bandaged person, has dropped an entire tray and its contents. 'Oh, God,' says Flora, 'it's Henry.' Henry Beamish stands transfixed in the line, with yoghurt all over his trousers; a skilful student blocks with his feet a rolling roll. 'My God,' says Howard, 'he's come.' Flora rises wearily from her chair: 'I'll go and collect him some more food,' she says. 'Of course Henry would elect to carry a tray when he had only one available hand.'
'What's happened to Henry?' asks Moira Millikin. 'Didn't you know?' asks Dr Macintosh, 'he gashed his arm on a window last night. At Howard's.'
'Oh, did he?' says Moira Millikin. 'Jesus, it's terrible,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'I lost my IUD someplace, and ten whole weeks of term still to go.'
'God, I can't bear to look,' says Moira Millikin, for Henry, apparently acting under Flora's orders, has made his way to the end of the self-service line, where there is a turnstile, to keep count of consumers, and he is now attempting to push through it, moving steadfastly in the wrong direction. 'He shouldn't be here,' says Macintosh, 'what's he coming in for a meeting like this for?'
'No doubt he's sensed that great issues are at stake,' says Dr Zachery drily. 'Isn't that nice of Flora?' says Henry, coming up to the end of the table, where he stands, his arm in a white sling, beaming at his colleagues, with his usual pointless congeniality and air of detachment. 'Everyone's so kind.'
'Ah, Henry,' says Howard, rising, so that his chair catches Henry's foot. 'I could have managed, of course,' says Henry, 'I was balancing well, but someone turned and caught my tray with a flute-case.'
'How are you?' asks Howard. 'I'm pretty well, Howard,' says Henry, 'it was just a cut, you know. I'm terribly sorry about that window. And the fuss, too. I hope you got my message?'
'You look very pale,' says Howard, 'you shouldn't have come in.'
'Oh, I couldn't miss a departmental meeting,' says Henry, 'not a departmental meeting. There are some things on this agenda which are of serious concern to me.'
'It's excessive devotion, Henry,' says Flora, coming up with a tray, 'and I can't believe your presence will make much difference on an occasion like this. I'll put your tray here.'
'Oh, Flora,' says Henry, ' Myra and I both want to say thank you very much indeed. You were marvellous last night. She was marvellous.' Henry bends over Flora a little; he says, in a loud quiet voice, ' Myra had drunk rather a lot, and wasn't at her best. So she really appreciates the way you stepped in and saw to things.'
'She should,' says Flora. 'Yes,' says Henry, and leans over Dr Macintosh, 'and she wanted me to thank you for bringing her home. How's the wife?'
'Not delivered yet,' says Macintosh. 'They think now it's a false labour. It could go on for weeks.'
'Oh, they'll induce,' says Moira Millikin. 'It's an awful pest for you,' says Henry, 'if we can do anything…'
'The best thing you can do, Henry,'-says Flora, 'is sit down and eat.' Henry draws out a chair, next to Howard's; he seats himself unevenly on it. 'Whoops,' he says. 'Oh, they're just some psychiatric friends of mine who live in Washington,' says Melissa Todoroff. 'He was her analyst until they got married, but now she's being analysed by her ex-husband.' Henry leans over to Howard and says, 'I see there's a note to say that Mangel's coming to lecture. That's good, isn't it? Marvellous man.'
'Except that he's a fascist,' says Roger Fundy. 'A who?' asks Henry. 'Oh, it's some great big apartment block called Watergate,' says Melissa. 'I don't know where it is, somewhere around, it's in the book.'
'Look, Howard,' says Henry, 'I wonder whether we could have a little talk, after the meeting. Let me buy you a drink.'
'Of course, Henry,' says Howard. 'Something to discuss,' says Henry, 'didn't see much of you last night.'
'Yes, fine,' says Howard. 'I'll pick you up after,' says Henry. 'Who else could have asked him?' asks Roger Fundy. 'It has to be Marvin.'
'Unfortunately I remember I've no car,' says Henry. 'We'll go in mine,' says Howard. 'I'll have to leave around six thirty,' says Henry, ' Myra 's cooking steak. I think there's a bus.'
'I'll drive you home,' says Howard. 'How did you get in?'
'You see, I can't drive with this sling on,' says Henry, 'and Myra has a headache. Get in? I hitchhiked in a lorry.'
'Sure he'll be elected,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'these are hard times for America, they call for special talents.'
'I'm sorry I couldn't stop to the end last night,' says Henry. 'What time did you finish?'
'Yeah, we need a special kind of little twisted guy, with no talents or values, who doesn't trust anyone and nobody trusts. He'll get in.'
'About four,' says Howard. 'I don't know how you manage it,' says Henry, admiringly. 'It's the politics of Parkinson's Law,' says Melissa Todoroff, 'shit spreads to cover the area of the stable floor.'
'It would tire me out,' says Henry, 'you can't keep up the pace when you get to my age.'
'Your age is exactly my age,' says Howard. Henry, digging with a plastic fork in one hand into something gelatinous on his plate, looks at Howard: 'I suppose it is,' he says. 'How's your caucus, Roger?' asks Melissa Todoroff. 'I think we've fixed him on item 17,' says Roger. 'Come on, it's nearly two o'clock.' The sociologists push back their chairs, and begin to rise, except for Henry. 'Bring it with you, Henry,' says Howard. 'Oh, I couldn't,' says Henry, getting unevenly up. They walk, a small procession, out of the cafeteria, and across the Piazza, as students watch them: Moira leads with her carrycot, and Henry brings up the rear, with his sling. With that air of special seriousness a meeting confers, they enter the lift in the Social Science Building, and rise up in it to the very top of the construction. At the top, in penthouse style, and with distractingly good views over and beyond the campus to the fields and the sea, is the place of the afternoon's encounter, the Durkheim Room.
It is a long, thin chamber preserved only for conference purposes; as a result a certain dignity, a spacious seriousness, has been attempted. On two sides there are long glass windows, giving onto the distractingly good views; to prevent these being distracting, white slatted Venetian blinds have been hung, and these are dropped now, and will clatter ceaselessly throughout the afternoon's deliberations. The other two walls are pure and white and undecorated, conscious aids to contemplation, save that in one spot a large abstract painting, conceived by a nakedly frantic sensibility, opens a large, obsessive hole into inner chaos. The architect and his design consultant, a man of many awards, have exercised themselves considerably in conceiving and predicating the meetings that would come to be held here. For the long central space of the room, they have chosen an elaborate, table-like construct which has a bright orange top and many thin, brushed-chrome legs; they have surrounded this with a splendid vista of forty white vinyl high-backed chairs. Three more chairs with somewhat higher backs and the university's crest embossed into the vinyl designate the head of the table. On the floor is a serious, undistracting brown carpet; on the ceiling, an elaborate acoustical muffle. Minnehaha Ho, Professor Marvin's secretary, has been diligent during the morning; she has put before every place a large, leatheredged blotter, a notepad, and copies of the department's prospectus and the university's calendar and regulations, their covers all backed out in the official design colours of the university, which are indigo and puce. In the original masterplan, Danish grey-glass ashtrays
