Danny Tobey - The Faculty Club

“Then show us.” I thought of Jefferson. “ ‘Enlighten the people generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body and mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day.’”

Bernini let out something like a small cry.

His face began to tremble.

“You will not lecture me on enlightenment.” His hands were shaking. He pointed a finger at me. “My father believed in enlightenment. My true father, the father of my born body. He used to speak to me of enlightenment, read me philosophy at night. He was a gentle man. Pious. All these centuries later, I remember.” His eyes welled with tears. They spilled over and streamed down his face. “Then came the Grand Inquisition of the Church. They had to make sure his faith was real. So they burned him to death. In front of my mother and me. They burned him to death.”

He was shaking.

“Professor,” I said.

“Enough.”

“Professor,” I said softly. “What if you become the thing you’re fighting?”

“ENOUGH!” he cried.

He put his hands over his face.

“Enough.”

He stayed like that for a moment, bent over, racked.

I waited until he raised his head and faced me with clear eyes.

As always, he knew it before I even said it.

I could see my grandfather in him then. The dignity. The kindness. The two men weren’t so different.

“It’s over,” I said gently. “Whatever you choose, I’m going to destroy the machine now. Let your last act be good. Let her go.”

Bernini stared at me. I watched his face.

He was reading me.

Measuring me.

Then he turned to the executioner and nodded.

“Release her.”

The room broke into a roar of protest, fury.

“No,” the priest said.

The executioner looked from Bernini to the priest with his dull eyes, trying to find a clear order to follow.

Bernini stepped forward and grabbed at the executioner’s arm. The priest came forward too and the three of them wrestled for the knife until Bernini was forced onto his back and the priest guided it into Bernini’s chest. He gasped.

I pushed the crowbar into the largest gear of the machine and held it there with all my might as the wheel bucked and ground against the metal. Screams erupted all around me as the machine rattled and the people convulsed. The executioner tried to pull the knife out from Bernini, but he held it there with his last strength just as I held the crowbar firm against the tremendous force of the locking gears. Tormented bodies lurched toward me, crippled but clawing at me, trying to pull me off the machine, trying to tear the crowbar out of my hands. My eyes swept over the room and I saw Bernini fading, still clutching the knife into himself and away from Sarah, the crowd twisting and screaming from behind that infinite sea of masks. The leather belts of the machine strained inward, pulling the arms toward the center like a spider recoiling in on itself in fear or pain. The wires that wrapped the arms like nerves ripped apart, sending sparks through the air and lighting the whole machine in a white glow. With all my strength I twisted the crowbar in and out of the gears until the whole thing was coming down, fire running up and out toward the farthest arms. All around us, bodies began to collapse-the youngest first, the ones who had been possessed for the shortest length of time. The older ones held on, screaming in unfathomable pain. I dropped the crowbar and tried to cover my ears. Then I gave up trying to block it out and ran to Sarah, who had slid down the pole to the ground, still bound, squeezing her eyes closed. I untied her and she wrapped her arms around me. I saw a brown hand reaching out from one of the many robes on the ground. I pulled the mask off and it was Nigel, perfectly still. Sarah felt the artery in his neck. “He’s still alive,” she said. He stirred. The youngest ones were waking up. They were dazed, unaware of their surroundings. I wondered, what would they remember? How would the university cover this one up? Gas leak? Small explosion in a rich person’s secret club? Strip them down and concoct a story of sex and bad drugs and amnesia and best not to discuss these things and embarrass one’s self and one’s alma mater? And of course we hope this won’t affect your giving relationship with the university. I thought of the wall of unbroken portraits. The school had an endowment larger than the wealth of most nations. The past could always be fixed.

I told Sarah I didn’t want to be anywhere near here when they woke up.

She agreed.

We moved toward the door, trying not to trample the people under us.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my ankle.

It was Bernini. His face was pale. He looked at me desperately.

I had to lean in to hear him.

He said, “What have I done?”

Did he mean taking all those lives?

Or setting them free?

Before I could ask, his eyes went blank.

“Let’s go over the plan one more time.”

Sarah smiled at me. It was a bright day. We walked through the park, hand in hand. It was cold out, but the sky was blue and the sun reflected off the snow. Couples and families were strolling around us.

I tried to brush a piece of hair from her face, but my hand was shaking. I was still trying to recover from the shock of it all, even though now, two weeks later, it felt about as real as someone else’s dream. Somehow the final surprise had been the worst of all: when we got home from that underground cathedral, Miles was gone. Vanished. No note. No clues. We didn’t know if he’d run away in shame or if they’d taken him.

He was my oldest friend, and I had no idea if he was alive or dead.

Sarah took my hand and kissed it.

“The plan,” she said again.

I nodded, steeling myself.

For me, the plan was to finish law school. I would take the Incompletes on my transcript, if the school would let me, and start over in the fall. It was something I could never recover from, not totally. There would be no law firm job. No big salary. No guarantees. For Sarah, the plan was to search for a program that would take her based on her real transcript, F’s and all. She wanted to try family medicine. Something about learning to care for people from the day they were born until the day they died called to her now. I guess it was the circle and the line, just like Isabella said. We were searching for balance. When our training was done, Sarah and I would go back to Lamar, together. I’d open a small practice, just like my grandfather had done sixty years ago.

It was a good plan, but it was filled with question marks. Our résumés weren’t what they used to be. We weren’t what we used to be. For the first time in our lives, nothing was sure anymore. I felt terrified.

I also felt happy.

“I got you something,” Sarah said.

She handed me the package she’d been carrying. It was wide and flat, cloaked in a black velvet wrapping. I set it down on a ledge and tried to untie the strings, but my hands were still too shaky. Sarah leaned in and used her surgeon’s fingers. She undid the knot and folded the velvet flaps open, revealing a flat, polished piece of wood, with ornate engraving.

It was an old-fashioned shingle that read:

JEREMY DAVIS, ATTORNEY AT LAW

I would like to thank Jodi Reamer and Emily Bestler for their unparalleled wisdom, insight, guidance, belief, and kindness. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better agent or editor. And thanks to Amanda Burnham for gracing the book with her amazing illustrations. For research on certain topics, I turned to Milo Rigaud’s 1969 work, which I won’t name here to preserve the surprises in this book. Professor Bernini’s mine car hypothetical is based on the famous trolley dilemma, which, according to the Oxford Handbook of Contemporary Philosophy, was conjured up by Philippa Foot and developed by Judith Jarvis Thomson. The library hypothetical was a favorite practice case of the Harvard Speech and Parliamentary Debate Society. Bernini’s course is an homage to two wonderful classes named Justice, Professor Michael Sandel’s at Harvard and Professor Bruce Ackerman’s at Yale Law (though any errors are my own). Thanks to Noam Weinstein, Anne Dodge, and Nicholas Stoller for reading the book and providing excellent comments. Laura Stern, Alec Shane, and many others contributed invaluably to the production of this book. Most of all, I would like to thank my parents, sister, and Jude, for everything.