12/5/2014

Towards the Cheese - Urbin Flack

Towards the Cheese a short story taken from Urbin Flack's new collection TALES FROM
THE VALCRO ROOM VOLUME 3. Available in News From Nowhere for £2. There are more stories at urbinflack.wordpress.com

I write this down not because I need to make a point and not because I feel the behavioural approach to life needs one more jot of justification. I merely obeying a compulsion that has served me well so far (and which I perhaps execute with some skill). Quite possibly I will pass these notes to my secretary and she will type it up in a way that makes it acceptable to a scientific publication which is expensive if not widely read. The reward system for this is embedded in her life to the extent she need not think but simply do what she is good at. If only the rest of the world ran as smoothly as my psychology department.

Anyway. Undergraduates. Not my favourite species. Clingy, smelly and idealistic. But what irks me the most? It’s the astonishing arrogance of these creatures; crawling out of their provincial swamps into the marbled halls of academia, the same unformed puss stained faces year after year, proud as brass of the slightest iota of knowledge which has managed to adhere to them as they trample through their short slots of life. And that they have the temerity to be surprised and impressed when I teach them something new, as if their blank fumbling minds were not something we could take for granted. And there’s the sickening way many of them cling to older, smarter men, sometimes in the warped belief that their wide eyed wonder makes them attractive!

No, I am not a sentimental lecturer as I am not a sentimental dog owner. It just so happens that my dog is not sentimental about students either, but that’s getting ahead of ourselves.

The object of my latest case study is Jessica Brine – not her real name. Correction: Hayley Shuttleworth – not her real name. My notes from the end of first year: ‘not structurally an idiot, but her enthusiasm may be out of sync with her ability to process and use new information. ARGUMENTATIVE. Firm guidance and a punishing reading schedule should bear fruit. Strong jaw line, good nostrils, slim wirey body. Not my physical type. Does she want to sleep with me? Possibly, but in a complex Freudian way which she will repress to the last moment. If it happens I will make more notes.’

Our first skirmish was, I believe, after a session on the subjective nature of ethics. I sensed there was a bee in her bonnet and found an excuse to delay her at the end. When she finally unloaded it was done with a collapsing stack of words which I paraphrase;

‘Obviously, like, we’re all affected by what’s normal and what people think and what the laws are and obviously the Germans weren’t all evil. I mean, things were worse in the past but that’s what university’s for right, so we can learn and do things better? That’s what ethics is all about yeah? It’s about learning from the past and trying to make things better.’

I stared at her face for a while before I realised it wasn’t a rhetorical question. She seemed to be genuinely distressed and today it was my job to pull her back and tell her everything was fine.

‘Hmm.’ I said, and scratched my beard lazily. ‘We can certainly try. That would be noble. But you seem to be presupposing an accumulative, progressive version of history. If you study the past you’ll find it quite repetitive, indeed the most salient lesson we can learn from history is that we never seem to learn.’

Her mouth was half open. She knew she wanted to say something but had no idea what. It came a little late. I was halfway down the corridor and she came at me from behind, speed walking and talking loudly.

‘I suppose I should expect you to say that. Older people are more cynical but it doesn’t mean they’re right. I mean, maybe the worlds already changing around you and you can’t keep up, Mr Gilchrist.’

I stopped outside the gents; a good place to get rid of people.

‘My own life has been a process of systematic accumulation of knowledge and wisdom. It will end with me forgetting everything and drinking my dinner through a straw. Successful communication of what I’ve learnt to other people is not guaranteed either. Try answering the question I set, Hayley. It will be good practise.’

That was the first year. Behaviourism would take up two full terms of the second and would see us spending a lot more time together. Some of it was fun. I encouraged a certain amount of debate but would always return to the text. The expression of an opinion is the end result of a long and ardous road I tell them. It’s like a pension. You earn it through years of paying national insurance. Hayley was going to chip in her tuppence worth, that was for sure. I sensed her putting her sights on me as I established the basic behavioural continuity between lab rats and human beings, not even excepting the use of language.

‘We learn to talk through mimicking. Sentences which follow the rules elicit reward, primarily the reward of a social unit. Later we learn the rules and take considerable pride in inventing sentences of our own. Even when we make up stupid words our parents beam and kiss us and give us treats. We learn that a smile is contagious and join the ranks of the mindless smilers, never quite sure what came first – the joy or the muscle contraction, yet forever hoping that joy will come back to us like a boomerang. Sometimes it does and sometimes the idea is merely reinforced through romantic fictions.’

I said something like that and the class kept a respectful silence.

‘Hayley. You disagree. You believe in the power of the individual to transcend culture and biology, correct?’
‘Well…’ Another student (probably not a friend) egged her on with an elbow. Perhaps I was being cruel, but not needlessly cruel. Every action satisfies a need.

‘Actually, I think it’s bollocks, sir. But that’s just my opinion. You’ve read more books than me…’

‘Reading books doesn’t change what I am. Shall I tell you what I am?’ I had them all in my palm. I was living up to my reputation. ‘I am a monkey in a suit. A nervous bag of reflex, insecurity and horniness. Don’t you ever look up to me. Just believe that I’ll tell you the truth.’

‘Yeah.’ Mumbled the girl. ‘I know what I am too. I gotta be somewhere, sorry.’ It was almost unprecedented, a student walking out like that. On reflection it was pretty much the only option she had for asserting her self determination. Needless to say, I brooded on this fiery display and became a little excited when I saw her next. I was sitting down with a phd student and she was marching towards me with a roll of paper swinging in her hand like a club. There were drying tears on her face and her breathing was dreadful, like a blocked, coughing engine.

‘Hayley, is there…’

‘You fucking know what!’ She stopped on the edge of my personal space and towered over it with fierce eyes and garish, blue dyed hair.

‘Is that the outline for your dissertation that you’re about to hit me with?’ The tube was squashing in her strong grip. She managed to relax a little, then threw it onto the coffee table. It rolled off and came to rest beneath a large and heavy photocopier. My phd student made a useless gesture of helpfulness and I stayed him with a hand on his arm.

‘Well, it looks like we’ve got some talking to do. Am I right in thinking it can’t wait?’

Tight lips said yes. I gave the lad a chance to leave but he asked to stick around and watch from a safe distance. Hayley was fine with that. The whole staff room could hear her anyway.

I tried to cut her off before she got her momentum.

‘The dissertation isn’t supposed to be about you. It’s supposed to be about science. You’ve already put too much of yourself in it. That should be clear to anyone.’

‘Well…’ She was wrestling with her own mouth, trying to keep down the volume and the speed. ‘I can’t help putting myself into it if it’s me that’s writing it. I suppose I could just churn out something generic, maybe settle for a two-one, maybe settle for not really using my fucking brain…’

‘If you like. A two-one is fine for teaching in schools…’

‘But then that would be a massive cop out and I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.’

‘I’m not against you Hayley. I just don’t want to see you… embarrassing yourself. You’ve got to believe me, I’ve known a lot of young people. When you hit an obstacle you can’t help thinking you’re the first. It’s human nature, to retreat into an illusory sense of being special when things get tough. There’s only two directions you can go after all. Outwards or inwards. Towards the cheese and away from the scarey noise. Please won’t you sit down?’

She looked at the seat. It was a comfortable seat. Her backside craved it’s spongy bulk but her ego denied it.
‘I want you to read my outline again. It’s just a point of view. You don’t have to agree with it.’

‘But it has to be scientific, not emotional. You can write me a scientific treatment of emotion but you can’t do it the other way. I can see you’ve got some issues. That’s a bad word. You are engaged in a struggle to find out who you are. I respect that and I respect you’re courage. It must have been very hard to tell people about you’re… transneutered sexuality?’

‘Yeah. Some people don’t think it even exists. I don’t like getting laughed at but it only makes me stronger.’

‘Hmm, you may need the laugher. We get validated in different ways. The patterns are generally set in childhood. If they don’t give us acceptance we find our succour in other ways. It’s not necessarily dysfunctional. I can see you’re a strong woman.’

It was a weak compliment but I hoped she’d relax enough to sit down. Scenes involving tears and young females might be good for the ego but not for a professional reputation. I’d better fill in the gaps.

Hayley had shown some talent for the clarinet as a kid and had also been encouraged to persue her interest in dress making. She’d stuck to her own scientific path instead and got the grudging support of her parents. They had been quietly tolerant when she told them she was gay, but a bad ending in an early relationship had left her feeling alone and on a limb. The parents were horrified when she chose to become androgynous and her friends were driven away by her relentless pursuit of individuality. The girl became a lone and unsupported edifice of self importance; a volcano of useless rage which precludes both the possibility of a meaningful education and self knowledge. I paraphrase from her draft introduction. It was evident that she would use her life story to prove wrong both me and many great scientists of the twentieth century.

She was sitting down by this point. It looked like she wanted to cry and I felt a sudden weight of compassion come over me.

‘I haven’t expressed it very well.’ I said gently, looking politely away from her strained face. ‘I’m free at half two but I have to go and let the dog out. Why don’t you walk with me? We’ll sort out your dissertation on the way, it’s my job I suppose.’

She answered with a look. A ‘I still don’t trust you but I find you quite persuasive’ look, which I have come to recognise in any face.

This is how she found out where I lived anyway. She was surprisingly decent when we parted, promising to take some of my points onboard without allowing any gratitude to cloud our relationship.

The next I saw her she was wearing a mask like the Scarecrow from Oz. I knew it was her because no one else I knew was insane enough to break into my house and tie me up with selotape while I slept. You’d think the noise of the tape would have woken me up but that doesn’t factor in the chloroform. To make things even worse it was a Sunday and I was not expected anywhere.

‘This won’t get you anywhere Hayley.’ I tried to say through a woolly mouth. ‘Killing me would be the most primitive sort of reflex. We’ve evolved other ways of fixing our problems.’

She said something back but the mask made it incomprehensible. She ripped it off and scanned me with swollen eyes.

‘I said I’m not going to kill you. That just shows how much you don’t understand me.’

‘So, you just want to scare me, show me what you’re capable off.’

‘Wrong again.’

‘Erm… is it a sexual thing? We can talk about that. I’ve always tried to accommodate…’

‘Just shut the fuck up! I’ve taken pictures of you alright. Pictures of your horrible arsehole and your horrible ball sack. And I’ve send them out from your facebook account to nearly all your students and I think your mum and dad and definitely the vice chancellor. I put a message with it. You’ve been living a lie for too long and have just come out as a massive pervert. Oh, and I covered all your radiators with cheese. That’s what that smell is.’

‘How very original.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I mean it. You are not a normal human being.’

The scarecrow wig was flopping to one side and her jacket was stained with hardened splashes of Red Gloucester. She looked low on sleep and high on coffee. Despite all this there was pride in her eyes. I felt it rather proved my point that only sick people can break the rules.

‘You say my arse and my ball sack?’

‘Just your arse actually. I couldn’t take any more. You might have heard that I don’t have genitals.’

This gave me some relief. Arseholes are generic while the wrinkles on a ball sack are like finger prints. I had a brave idea that I might survive this yet, though another thing worried me.

‘It’s gonna hurt when we take the sellotape off.’

‘Tell me how that goes. I hope there’s no hard feelings Mr Gillet. Think of this as my dissertation if you want.’
She said that as she walked away from me. The impertinence got me angry and anger clouded the pain as I ripped off selotape with my teeth. At the last minute she turned round, choosing the back door instead. I sensed this might be my last opportunity so I said what was on my mind as she paused in the doorway.

‘Well it’s still a bit lame, Hayley. You could paint the town paisley and be the first woman to crochet in a wind tunnel. It wouldn’t change the facts. In biological terms you’re a victimised, maladjusted runt, throwing out random combinations in the hope of getting love.’

‘Fuck biology.’ She said, in deadly earnest, just as sixteen drooling dog teeth appeared around her thigh. It was a very short scream, like she was already out of breath. What I remember most is the noise of ripping fabric and the stickier, slower noise of ripping skin. This dog was overdue his breakfast and excited by the smell of warm cheese as any red blooded creature. He may have even been concerned for my safety.

Needless to say that my house was a fucking mess by now.

Anyway, what I’ve done here Sandra, is killed two birds with one stone. You should be able to extract two different versions; one for the police and one for the Modern Journal for Psychology. The first should be cleaned up for any accidental signs of glee as this poor girls predicament. The second should omit the whole business with the dog. You’re good at this sort of thing. Don’t stay up too late. I am spending the weekend in the countryside. Yours – Derek.

Sergeant Baxter,

I’m afraid I didn’t have time to make the chances that doctor Gillett suggested. I thought it was more important you got this quickly. It might help you to know that his dog is an illegal bull cross breed and though it runs free in his garden, he does take it out with a muzzle every morning about seven thirty. Also those pictures of his bottom are nothing new. He showed me one on my very first day on the job and offered to buy me lunch. It somehow didn’t seem worth the fuss telling anyone. As well as being a pervert he is possibly some kind of borderline psychopath. Very sure of himself. I mean, I’m not an expert but you pick things up working in a psychology department.

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