The Spider and the Gerbil

“You can say what you like about those Australians but they certainly know how to make a big red and no mistake:”

Professor Jim Lucas and Professor Belinda Conti had been firm friends for the full twenty-five years of their tenure at the University. And on this early summer’s evening they were to be found, as is often the case, sharing a reasonably priced but very acceptable bottle of Australian Shiraz in the University bar at the end of a, not too exhausting, day. They would delight in railing against the students, railing against the Vice Chancellor, railing against the government of the day, railing against the traffic or, indeed, railing against all and everything. 

Belinda took a sip of her wine. “Too true. They have many faults but wine making is not one of them. I just wish that the wouldn't invade us though, Every time I go into the city for a meal the waiting staff are nearly always Australians. Why can’t they enjoy their own country where, I believe, they have endless sunshine and wonderful beaches?”

Jim frowned and said. “I don’t care for too much sunshine.”

“That’s why you’re so white. With your hairy spindly legs and long skinny arms. Not to mention those tufts sticking out of your ears and nose. You are just like a six foot three-inch spider.”

“And you’re not like some busy little gerbil rooting and sniffing around in your stuffy old books all the time?”

Ignoring his remarks Belinda continued. “You’ll never guess. One of my students actually fell asleep in my lecture this afternoon. Can you believe it? As if scrolling through their damn phones all the time is not enough, now they are falling asleep. Life would be so much easier without students.”

Jim said. I’m surprised that the entire class wasn’t asleep they way you drone on.”

Belinda smiled as she retorted. “I heard you fell asleep during one of your lectures again last week. Did you have a glass of red with your lunch again?”

And so it went on, this evening no different from many others. With Belinda drinking rather less wine than Jim, owing to their stark difference in size and build, until it was time to go home to their respective spouses for the evening. But tonight Jim said something that changed everything.

“I thought you should know that I have applied for the cross faculty Royston Grant?”

Belinda leaned forward and hissed. “You snake in the grass, you back stabbing viper. Why would you...”

Jim interrupted. “How could a viper ever stab you? Let alone in the back. You have applied for it too then, I gather, and you weren’t even going to tell me? Now that’s back stabbing a friend.”

Shaking now with undisguised rage Belinda said. “Why would anyone give you money to pursue your crackpot theories? The octopus is so unlike anything else that it must have come from outer space? Frozen eggs somehow hitched a ride on some asteroid from across the galaxy that hit the earth millions of years ago where they hatched and thrived? Everyone knows that’s piffle. What are you going to do to get proof? Fly off into space to find the planet that they came from? You’re mad. And you’re not even a marine biologist”

Jim picked up his wineglass, leaned back into his big comfortable leather chair and, after a long sip, said. “Everybody admires the octopus. I’m sure they’d love to know the truth. And what about you? People in glass houses etcetera. Who on earth is going to be interested in whether or not the Catholic Church or any kings and queens tying to alter the calendar, during the Dark Ages, for their own nefarious means? Not even if the succeeded in loosing a hundred years here or there but just that they may have tried. You know that you've read everything there is to read on the matter and have turned up nothing. Are you going to spend the money on a time machine to go back and find out?”

Thin lipped, Belinda said. “I don’t need to remind you that my family line traces back to Sicily. And in Sicily we know how to deal with rats.”

“You have remind me of that many times”. Jim raised is bushy eyebrows. “But now are you invoking The Cosa Nostra to frighten me off? I can assure you that vipers, and now rats do not frighten easily.”

Belinda stood up quickly, slugged her remaining wine back and almost shouted. “You should know by now to never stand in the way of an academic and their grant money. From now on you drink alone.” Then in the finest Mafia tradition she added. “You are dead to me.” And she stormed out. Unfortunately, the dramatic effect was somewhat lessoned owing to her having spilled a large amount of the red wine down the front of her pristine white blouse.

Jim showed no reaction. He finished the wine in silence, picked up his well worn tweed jacket, of course with leather elbow patches, and went home for dinner. He was an academic too.

The next morning, Wednesday, found Jim outside the Vice Chancellor’s office at 9am sharp. Helen, the Vice Chancellor’s personal assistant, let him in as she knew Professor Winthrop had no pressing matters this morning. 

“Good morning Jim. How are you? Take a seat I’ve got five minutes.”

Jim didn’t beat about the bush. “Margaret, Professor Conti has applied for the Royston Grant.”

“I know. She has as much right as you, or any other Faculty Head to apply. I don’t see why you would object.”

“Her research is meaningless. Who gives a damn about what may or may not have happened during the Dark Ages. My research, on the other hand, may solve the long and much debated origins of the octopus.”

“Jim, Belinda’s research, for historians, is just as valid as yours is for marine biologists. Or is it your people? Astronomers. Anyway, the review board is judging each application on its merits”

Jim thought for a while and then said. “Did you know she had an affair with one of her students?”

“Oh Jim, I expected better of you than that. Yes. It’s in her file. She was in her late twenties, had recently joined the University as an associate lecturer and the ‘mature student’ in question was a similar age. Plus, you have omitted to mention that they have been happily married for the last twenty-three years. You know Alan better than me. It’s in the hands of the review board so there’s nothing more to be said. You’ll know on Friday. Now if you don’t mind?”

Jim left and, during his first lecture at 10 o’clock he gave his students some reading while he sat back to plot his next move. He didn’t fall asleep.

At exactly ten fifteen Belinda stood in front of Helen demanding to see The Vice Chancellor.

With ten spare minutes, the busy Vice Chancellor agreed to see Professor Conti. She stormed in and sat down without being asked.

“You know he’s applied for my grant? Professor Lucas. What’s the matter with him.  I need that money for my research. You encouraged me to apply.”

“Belinda, I have encouraged any Faculty Head with a research project to apply. I never said that you would win it. As I said to Jim, it’s in the hands of the review board and they will announce the winner on Friday.”

“He’s been to see you? That snivelling snake. I bet he grovelled. You know he drinks to much and falls asleep during his afternoon lectures?”

“It happened twice, he’s been reprimanded and he has assured me it won’t happen again. And anyway, while it’s not ideal we have had no complaints from the students. They like him and think it’s endearing.”

“Margaret, I’m sorry to be like this but that’s my grant not his. I have to have it. Oh, and he fell asleep again last week.”

As Belinda stormed out in exactly the same way as she had entered Professor Winthrop called after her. Calm down Belinda. It’s out of your hands now. You’ll hear on Friday.”

Professor Windthrop and pressed nine on the keypad of her desktop phone. When Helen answered she said. “Helen, if Professor Lucas or Professor Conti ask to see me again this week I’m busy. Thanks”

The next morning, Thursday, Professor Conti had finished her first lecture by eleven o'clock and had just stepped outside of the door to The History Department to go to the staff cafeteria for morning coffee. She heard one of her students call from inside the building. “Professor Conti. Have you got a minute?”

Huffing, she was looking forward to her morning break; she stepped back inside the building just as a stone gargoyle (Or it may have been a cherub as was difficult to tell owing to the weathering and it suddenly being in pieces) toppled from the parapet of the ancient History building and crashed to the pavement right where Belinda had been standing just a split second earlier. It was agreed by all that the old building needed some urgent love and attention and a report was sent to the Vice Chancellor's office.

Similarly, that afternoon Jim, choosing not to drink alone, started the engine of his antique Citroen 2CV with its tiny whiny engine and its fold down windows that just kept working. Not that it was ever driven very far. Jim lived walking distance from the Campus. But, driving with the knees of his long legs up around his elbows in a rare car that sounded like a sewing machine, made Jim feel that he cut a suitably eccentric air of flamboyance driving to and from the university. 

This afternoon however, before reaching the car park exit to join the rush hour traffic, Jim had to brake to let another car reverse out of its space. As Jim pressed his brake peddle, he felt a slight give underneath the soul of his foot, then his foot slammed uselessly to the floor leaving him powerless to stop his Citroen from slowly drifting forward coming to rest in a shallow ditch between the edge of the car park and the University sports fields. When the roadside assist man turned up he said that the brake cable of the old car had finally worn through and he promptly towed it off to the garage leaving Jim with the ten-minute walk home to ponder.

Had the cable in deed worn through or was there something more sinister at play?

The next morning, at 11 o’clock, Jim, sitting at his desk, had just finished reading the email announcing the recipient of the Roytson Grant when his phone rang.

“Hello. Professor Lucas speaking.”

Hi Jim. It’s me. Did you see who got the grant?”

“Yes, I did Belinda. That upstart Stanely. He’s not even forty yet. What’s going on with that review board?”

“I know. Apparently he’s doing research into teleportation. I understand he’s already nearly got an atom to transport itself somewhere”

Jim said. “Well, if he succeeds you’d never get me in any kind of teleportation machine. I’ve seen that film with Geoff Goldblumb. ‘The Fly’.”

“Agreed. But you’d get mixed up with a spider. You’d make a great giant spider with your eight hairy spindly legs and long skinny arms.”

“You can talk. Half gerbil half woman skipping about and bumping in to walls.”

Belinda said. “Same time at the Uni’ bar after work? I think a decent Penfold’s Cab Sauv. might be nice. Those damned Australians do know how to make a big red.”

“Yes. See you there”