Invisible man - Ralph Ellison [74]
"I've never tried, sir."
"And I suppose it's silly even to ask what you think of your Alma Mater?" he said.
"I think it's one of the best in the world," I said, hearing my voice surge with deep feeling.
"I know, I know," he said, with a swift displeasure that surprised me.
I became alert again as he mumbled something incomprehensible about "nostalgia for Harvard yard."
"But what if you were offered an opportunity to finish your work at some other college," he said, his eyes widening behind his glasses. His smile had returned.
"Another college?" I asked, my mind beginning to whirl.
"Why, yes, say some school in New England . . ."
I looked at him speechlessly. Did he mean Harvard? Was this good or bad. Where was it leading? "I don't know, sir," I said cautiously. "I've never thought about it. I've only a year more, and, well, I know everyone at my old school and they know me . . ."
I came to a confused halt, seeing him look at me with a sigh of resignation. What was on his mind? Perhaps I had been too frank about returning to the college, maybe he was against our having a higher education . . . But hell, he's only a secretary . . . Or is he?
"I understand," he said calmly. "It was presumptuous of me to even suggest another school. I guess one's college is really a kind of mother and father . . . a sacred matter."
"Yes, sir. That's it," I said in hurried agreement.
His eyes narrowed. "But now I must ask you an embarrassing question. Do you mind?"
"Why, no, sir," I said nervously.
"I don't like to ask this, but it's quite necessary . . ." He leaned forward with a pained frown. "Tell me, did you read the letter which you brought to Mr. Emerson? This," he said, taking the letter from the table.
"Why, no, sir! It wasn't addressed to me, so naturally I wouldn't think of opening it . . ."
"Of course not, I know you wouldn't," he said, fluttering his hand and sitting erect. "I'm sorry and you must dismiss it, like one of those annoying personal questions you find so often nowadays on supposedly impersonal forms."
I didn't believe him. "But was it opened, sir? Someone might have gone into my things . . ."
"Oh, no, nothing like that. Please forget the question . . . And tell me, please, what are your plans after graduation?"
"I'm not sure, sir. I'd like to be asked to remain at the college as a teacher, or as a member of the administrative staff. And . . . Well . . ."
"Yes? And what else?"
"Well -- er, I guess I'd really like to become Dr. Bledsoe's assistant . . ."
"Oh, I see," he said, sitting back and forming his mouth into a thin-lipped circle. "You're very ambitious."
"I guess I am, sir. But I'm willing to work hard."
"Ambition is a wonderful force," he said, "but sometimes it can be blinding . . . On the other hand, it can make you successful -- like my father . . ." A new edge came into his voice and he frowned and looked down at his hands, which were trembling. "The only trouble with ambition is that it sometimes blinds one to realities . . . Tell me, how many of these letters do you have?"
"I had about seven, sir," I replied, confused by his new turn. "They're -- "
"Seven!" He was suddenly angry.
"Yes, sir, that was all he gave me . . ."
"And how many of these gentlemen have you succeeded in seeing, may I ask?"
A sinking feeling came over me. "I haven't seen any of them personally, sir."
"And this is your last letter?"
"Yes, sir, it is, but I expect to hear from the others . . . They said --"
"Of course you will, and from all seven. They're all loyal Americans."
There was unmistakable irony in his voice now, and I didn't know what to say.
"Seven," he repeated mysteriously. "Oh, don't let me upset you," he said with an elegant gesture of self-disgust. "I had a difficult session with my analyst last evening and the slightest thing is apt to set me off. Like an alarm clock without control -- Say!" he said, slapping his palm against his thighs. "What on earth does that mean?" Suddenly he was in a state. One side of his face had begun to twitch and swell.