William Kienzle - Deadline for a Critic

“I couldn’t resist.”

She crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray, smiled at him with a new, warm welcome, and slid down until she was reclining on the seat.

He flicked up her skirt, placed his hand firmly on her inner thigh and got back to the serious business of heavy breathing.

7

Robert Koesler would never forget the final few months of his junior year in college. Too many traumatic events took place to forget any of them.

This, the third collegiate year, marked the first time seminarians were allowed to have private rooms. Previously, those who boarded at the seminary had slept in huge dormitories where there was a minimum of privacy and a maximum of adolescent horseplay.

Individual rooms were awarded students for the junior and senior years of college. The rooms—very small and spartan—were located in a section of the building called St. Thomas Hall. No conversation or fraternizing was permitted in the Hall, only study and sleep. Leading one wag to suggest that if any student were to die in St. Thomas Hall, when at long last the body was discovered, they would just put handles on the room and bury him in it.

Beginning shortly after Christmas, at the start of the second semester, the faculty announced an open competition for members of the Philosophy Department—third and fourth college. It was a voluntary arts and letters contest with many categories to choose from. Entries and entrants were to be prepared by the final week in May. The competition would be judged the first week in June.

Characteristically, Koesler chose the category of declamation in which to compete. All he had to do was memorize a lengthy speech from Shakespeare, and recite it while acting it out.

Carroll Mitchell was very serious about the competition. He volunteered to write an original play. It would not be performed, but judged as a written work.

When he learned what Mitchell had planned, Groendal of course decided to join in the combat. He too would write a play.

They were now nearing the time of judgment, a unique event in the annals of the seminary. It was an exciting time. Very shortly, winners from the various categories would be announced. The school year was coming to a close. Summer vacation would begin in a matter of weeks.

To cap the climax there was Mitchell’s saucy plan to smuggle a girl into his room. To be sure, few knew of this daring project. From the start, Mitchell knew he couldn’t complete this caper without some minimal conspiracy. But it would have to be confined to as few trusted friends as possible. Among those let in on the secret were Koesler and Groendal.

Least apprehensive of all involved in this adventure—which had been lightheartedly code-named “Cherchez la Femme”—was Mitchell himself. To him it was no more than a game, a game for which he had carefully prepared and was destined to win. To the others, it was one gigantic and needless risk. If they were caught, they had no idea what sort of punishment would be meted out. Aiding and abetting fornication, as far as they could discover, was an as-yet uncodified offense against seminary order. But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the administration would be creative in finding a penalty.

Of course there was no uncertainty as to what lay before Mitchell should he be caught. He would be out on his ear before that day was done. So the principal peril was Mitchell’s. But there was enough ancillary hazard to go around for everyone.

The only reason Koesler agreed to collaborate was out of loyalty to Mitchell. It would not by any means be the first time Koesler had been in violation of a seminary rule, only the most serious. Why Groendal was aboard was anyone’s guess. Even he was not quite sure. Ridley, a very complex person, was little understood by anyone, including himself.

Now it had come down to the final meeting for “Cherchez la Femme.” This was a summit assembly of only the principals. Mitchell, Koesler, and Groendal. Each clad in cassock and Roman collar, a privilege granted from third college on, the three walked briskly in endless wide circles around the seminary grounds, firming up the plot.

“Does it have to be this Sunday?” Koesler asked.

“What’s the matter with this Sunday?” Mitchell countered.

“I don’t know. It’s so soon.”

“What do you mean ‘soon’? We’ve been talking about it for almost three weeks. This is the final Visiting Sunday of the year. The place will be lousy with guests. That’s what I’m counting on.”

“He’s right, Bob,” Groendal said. “There’s always plenty of confusion on Visiting Sunday. Parents, grandparents, sometimes brothers, sisters, cousins, friends . . . all ages. The perfect time to smuggle somebody in, particularly a girl. It’s just about the only time there are girls in the building.”

“But there aren’t any girls in St. Thomas Hall,” Koesler insisted.

“There aren’t any visitors permitted in St Thomas Hall. So what’s the good of the crowd as a camouflage?”

Mitchell sighed. “We’ve been over this before, Bob. The idea is to get her into the building without raising any suspicions. When we get to St. Thomas Hall, that’s where you guys come in.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Bob,” Mitchell said, “if you want out, say so. Nobody’s making you do this. I just asked you because first, you can keep a secret. And second, I thought you’d be willing to help me.”

“I’m not begging off,” Koesler said. “It’s just that since I agreed to get involved, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Too much, in fact. It’s getting in the way of just about everything—studies, exams. The more I think about it, the more I ask myself. Why? So, why?”

“I told you: I promised her.”

“But it’s so silly. You, maybe we, are toying with expulsion. And for what?”

“I promised. But, if you want out . . .”

“I can’t handle it alone,” Groendal protested.

“We can always get somebody else.” Even as he said it, Mitchell was not at all sure he could come up with a replacement for Koesler, particularly on such short notice.

“No, no; I’ll do it. You promised her. I promised you. I just think we should have been more prudent before any of us did all this promising.”

“Relax, will you. Both of you! Nothing’s going to go wrong. It’s all very simple. What is it? An afternoon. One afternoon out of your whole life?”

Neither Groendal nor Koesler cared to comment on that. For a few moments, they were silent as they broke off their circling pattern and headed for the building.

Perhaps, thought Koesler, Mitchell was right. It was just an afternoon. And Mitch had planned things carefully, as he always did. Nothing could go wrong. It was futile and foolish to worry.

As they entered the building and headed for their rooms in St. Thomas Hall, Mitch began to recapitulate. “Now, Beth will get here right at two o’clock, one hour after visiting time begins. There will be a big crowd here by then. It’s always that way. The main bunch gets here right off the bat. By two, more will be coming. But nobody will be leaving yet. Bob meets her at the front door. You got that, Bob?”

“Yeah, okay. But . . . what if she’s not the only one wearing a green dress?”

“You forget: She’s looking for you, too. How many girls in green dresses will be looking for you?”

“Okay.”

“All right,” Mitchell continued. “Then what?”

“Then I escort her down the first-floor corridor. We go all the way around the first floor and end up at St. Thomas Hall. Then I check things with Rid.”

“And what do you do, Rid?”

“I’ve already checked out the first floor and made sure there’s nobody around. When Bob gets there with Beth, I go through the Hall and make doubly sure there’s nobody around. Then I stay at the far end, while Bob lets her in the Hall.”