35. Contradiction in Terms - Lords of Serendipity

Suddenly Devi had power. She had so much power. She wanted a new dress and shoes. She wanted her hair done in Colombo, in one of those salons where the daughters of managing partners and executive chairmen went on their wedding days. And not by a woman but by a man, one who had studied the most advanced techniques in Italy. She wanted a new leatherette portfolio for her documents and a new leather case for her phone. And she wanted to be taken for her interview in a hired car that had air-conditioning and store-bottled water and a phone charger.

And all of this was granted.

Was this what it was like to be drunk? To be rich and drunk? She felt like she was starring in a movie about her own life. But she’d learned from her experiences with Johannes and Ochpys. Whenever she wasn’t tutoring—and she was still tutoring because she’d really need money if she would be attending school in America—Devi was online, reminding herself about all the excellence of Arcadia Tech. It was highly ranked for having the most student-friendly grade-change policy, nationwide, outside the Ivy League. Devi spent more time learning about the professor who was conducting the interview. He was a professor of statistics. It made perfect sense to her that he would be her interviewer, as she had mentioned wanting to take the same class Johannes had died for. Searching around, she learned that he was a widower, which meant, she thought, he would be more sympathetic to her situation of having lost her fiancé if the conversation went in that direction. He had a daughter who was already at university, an Ochpys-looking fancy uni called Haven, where she had a roommate who was also Sri Lankan. Everything, Devi thought, was lining up perfectly for her. She saw that the professor’s daughter and a friend had performed in a play and got into trouble for making jokes about the Jews and Muslims. Best to stay away from that whole topic, and instead ask questions about the professor’s exciting new work in Sri Lanka with data and astrology. No, astronomy. Devi knew she might use the wrong word if she was nervous, so she prepared a joke to cover, about how her horoscope had predicted she would mix up words at auspicious moments.

Brilliant.

Devi didn’t ask who was paying for her new clothes and hair and all. It had to be Menaka Aunty, and she didn’t care. If she was admitted to Arcadia Tech, Devi would agree to an engagement but insist she had to finish her degree before any talk of the actual marriage and bringing everyone over. What could they say? No? That was impossible! Girlish dreams aside, Devi now had an actual chance to go to the best actual place in the history of the world: an American university. And Menaka Aunty would agree to whatever was asked because she knew how much more powerful Devi would be, how powerful anyone related to Devi from back home would be, once she was in America and degreed.

In the meantime, Devi was sure she wouldn’t just become an American university person. She would eventually meet and fall in proper love with a real American university student, too, and when Menaka Aunty and her grandsons saw the size of his blond shoulders and learned the number of guns his ranch-mansion father kept around the house, Devi would be free from them, forever. They would probably take Devi’s parents’ house to get all the money back, or burn it down. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened in the village, or the last. But never mind. Devi had four years to figure out how to take care of her family once she was studying at Arcadia.

But she wasn’t, yet. She had to have this interview first.

The appointed day arrived. A suited driver of a just-washed black Toyota waited with a water bottle to open the door for her, and the entire village gathered to watch and film her like she was a Hollywood star as she approached the vehicle. Everyone, that is, except Thathi, who was passed out in the kitchen in his funeral suit.

But there was a problem.

This whole time, Menaka Aunty had presumed she would be accompanying Devi to the campus, to meet with the professor from Arcadia Tech.

And this whole time, Devi had presumed Ammi would go with her.

Neither would change her mind.

Ammi, please, said Devi.

How can I escort Taylor Swift to her high tea with Princeton Valiant? I barely recognize you in this costume, said Ammi.

Not a costume, Ammi. I need to look like I belong at an American university if they’re going to let me in.

But during all that work you did for the Ochpys schools, you weren’t behaving like, like . . .

Like what, Ammi?

Devi’s mother leaned in so no one else could hear.

Like you’re already a member of that brass vulture’s family, she said, jerking her head to Menaka Aunty, who was waiting by the car in gold sunglasses, the servant holding a Holiday Inn Melbourne umbrella over her hard, coiffed hair.

All of this is costume, I know, said Devi. What matters is what’s in my head and my heart, and both are ready. I’m ready, absolutely, but I don’t want to go alone, Ammi. I’m scared to be there myself, and worse to be with Menaka Aunty.

Child, the only piece of advice I gave you about uni, you didn’t take. You never applied to a Lanka school. You didn’t listen to me then. Why do you want my advice now?

I don’t want your advice, Ammi. I want you. I just want you. Please?

Car is waiting and I’m in a morning dress. They won’t even let me onto the campus looking like I am, unless I say I’m there to clean the toilets. Which, as you know, I already do enough of in Colombo. I can’t go with you, child. I won’t. Sorry.

If you won’t come with me, then I won’t go.

Then don’t go, she said. And walked back into the house.

Devi jumped at the sound of the car’s horn.

Get in the car, Devi! Arcadia is waiting for us! said Menaka Aunty.

Devi turned and walked back into her house, into Ammi’s bedroom. Standing in front of the mirror hanging over the dresser, she kicked her new shoes off into the corner and began pulling out the golden clasps in her perfectly done hair.

What are you doing?

I’m listening to you, Ammi. You just said, don’t go. So, finally, I’m listening to you.

Ammi came behind her and put her hand on Devi’s shoulder, which gave way as she turned, sobbing, and fell into her mother’s arms.

Twenty minutes later, mother and daughter emerged from the house, ready to take on the university world together. Menaka Aunty was complaining they were going to be late and that if Ammi was coming, she would have to sit in the front seat beside the driver and wait outside during the appointment. Ammi dismissed Menaka Aunty with a speed and sharpness that left the old woman with her mouth open and coughing in the kicked-up red dust of the departing car.

You know how much I’m risking right now? If any of my colleagues knew I was sitting in this authoritarian pleasure dome?

Jack nodded and thanked Essem again.

Helen had told him he needed to have someone else with him for the interview, ideally a female academic. Jack only knew one in the whole country, and Essem had agreed without much discussion, to his surprise. Still, he was less surprised than Helen had been at how quickly she’d convinced Jack to conduct the interview itself, which wasn’t an actual formal admissions interview—the prospective applicant hadn’t submitted any transcripts or test scores. Instead, Jack had been asked to assess how legitimate the prospective applicant was. If his assessment was that she wasn’t legitimate, the university would affirm his decision to encourage her to apply elsewhere. Jack agreed right away, even before Helen forwarded the letters Devi and Menaka Aunty had separately sent the university, along with a script he was supposed to follow. He wasn’t planning to, but he was happy to discourage students from going to Arcadia, international students in particular, and someone who had known Adi Bhopal, especially. For a moment, Jack had wondered why the university wanted him to do this, or even trusted that he would do a good job of it, but he could already predict the answer. The decision was already made. It was above Helen’s authority. And if Jack didn’t comply with the request, he would no doubt be in violation of one of the many, many provisions of his leave agreement.

Jack and Essem were waiting for Devi in Serendipity’s new faculty lounge, which took up part of the ground floor of the new administrative building beside the new data science center. It looked like the lobby of a very good Asian hotel. The walls were inlaid with dark stone that matched the floor. The side tables and coffee tables were made of teak and held vases of fresh flowers and bowls of fruit, rows of old leather-bound books, folded copies of China Daily, and glossy magazines showcasing international research projects and collaborations in Africa and South Asia. Leather couches and reading chairs gave way to a dining area that looked over a tiled courtyard of covered chaise longues. The courtyard was enclosed on three sides by freshly planted rows of talipot palms that an old man was watering. He’d removed the elaborate nozzle from the hose and was using his thumb to control the flow. The talipots’ bright green leaves dipped from the spray and shimmered in the sunlight, tilting lazily in the hot, fickle breeze. Above, you could see mountains, blue sky, the white dome of a temple.

The lounge itself was empty except for Jack and Essem and the liveried attendant dusting wine and liquor bottles in front of the mirror-walled bar.

Is this place really so awful? said Jack, sipping a sugar-rimmed glass of lime juice.

Next time, we’re going to meet in the actual faculty club. And if you want to win over Joseph, the manager, bring him a box of fresh flypaper ribbons. He always needs more.

I’d love to visit. Thank you for the invitation.

She shook her head.

I think I’d get in just as much trouble for showing up at the fac club with the new BOP.

I’m the new BOP?

She nodded.

Do I want to know what that stands for?

She shrugged. He noticed her eyeing his lime juice. She was sipping water from a scuffed blue Nalgene bottle.

Maybe you can tell me the next time we meet.

She laughed.

He liked the way she laughed. It was a cackle that made her sharp features gleam in a kind of delighful, feral way.

Well, if you won’t tell me what BOP means, can I at least order you a lime juice? That wouldn’t totally compromise your principles, would it?

Yes, thank you. To be polite.

Jack picked up his glass and called over the attendant and pointed at Essem. The attendant nodded vigorously.

Also, I think you’re exaggerating about how great and terrible this place is, and how just terrible your place is. Which, to be honest, is kind of what humanities people always do, everywhere, don’t they? You’re the eternal torture victims of the university, having chosen fields that leave you stuck with lifetime jobs making less money than people who chose other fields for their lifetime jobs.

She didn’t laugh. Her lime juice arrived. She took a long sip and nodded. It was very good. Then she laughed.

Is that what you really think about people like me?

Well, not you, specifically.

Right. Fine. Very good. I’ll bring you to the fac club as long as you promise to say that in front of my colleagues in English and history. Just tell me where to mail your bones afterward.

I’m a statistician. I don’t have to think anything.

Essem grinned and nodded.

What I meant is, I just describe what’s there, what’s observable for all to see. If others are willing to see what a statistician can describe. And at least you have a faculty club, or two. My home university doesn’t.

And which university is that?

Arcadia Tech.

A contradiction in terms, no?

In many ways, yes.

And yet young people from here still want to go there, it seems.

Well, this is a unique situation. This student has a strange and unfortunate connection to my university, and, beyond that, a very confused idea, frankly, about what a university education is even for. I don’t think she really knows what it’s all about.

What does she think it’s about?

Immigration opportunities for her extended family, among other things.

Sounds to me like she actually does have a very good idea of what a so-called advanced-country university education is for these days, if you’re an international student. But these misgivings aren’t stopping you from interviewing her?

Let me explain.

That’s okay, Jack. If I’m going to do you this favor of sitting here while you interview this poor girl, you’re going to listen to me tell you what I think about this whole business. Okay?

Okay. I think you’re probably mistaken but—

And I haven’t even spoken yet!

Sorry. Please, go ahead.

Yes. Right. Western schools are constantly taking our children away, on false promises and hefty fees, to prop themselves up, because their own people and governments are getting too wise to the whole con of the system. You’re all doing it. Brits, Australians, Kiwis, Canadians, and of course, at the top, even with all the Trump madness, still, it’s the Americans.

But we tend to think everyone else in the university racket is getting conned. Just not us, said Jack.

Us?

I have a daughter in college right now, too.

Where?

Haven.

So you’re not getting conned because you made it, your daughter made it.

I guess so.

No, really. Haven’s a famously beautiful campus, correct? The kind of place people dream of when they imagine what a New England college looks like. A place of happy walks and shades, a fit haunt of gods.

Sounds like you’re quoting something.

Paradise Lost. Milton, describing the Garden of Eden.

Yes. My late wife went there.

I see. I’m sorry.

She died many years ago, but thank you. So, you were saying? Your theory of what’s happening right now?

Not a theory. A fact. Which isn’t the exclusive property of your discipline, by the way. Look at us right now, about to interview some poor Sri Lankan girl whose family has probably sold everything and taken out loans so she can give all of that money to your university. You know what you should do, actually?

What?

You should give her a job here. Just make up a title. American university people are superb at that. And obviously the Chinese won’t mind. They won’t even notice. She’ll be a rounding error. And she’ll probably get to stay on, even after you leave in a few months.

Jack wanted to tell her about the email Quinn had sent that morning, asking if he was open to a conversation about extending his visit. Which made no sense—he’d only been here a few weeks, and while Martin seemed pleased with the analyses they’d sent back, it might be years before anything was found. Would he really do this for years?

Why don’t you convince her to apply to your university, instead?

Not my role here. And besides, if she went to high school in Sri Lanka, she already had the chance. We can ask if she was admitted here or other places, if you want. But really, I’m serious, you should offer her a job. You probably need an office assistant or something, don’t you? Whatever you pay will be more, I’m sure, than what her parents make. I hate to think of all that money they’re going to send so your university can buy the football coach his own private jet.

My university doesn’t have private jets. Or even a football team, anymore.

To pay for all the university’s lawsuits then.

Yes. Okay. You have a point.

And meanwhile—and again, you absolutely cannot deny this—the Chinese are taking over our own schools. And please don’t call it a collaboration. That’s like saying a fire-breathing dragon is collaborating with a matchstick.

Can I just say, I enjoy speaking with you?

No, Jack, you can’t just say that.

But I just did. And I think you enjoy speaking with me, Essem. And what I really think about the university might surprise you, if you’d let me tell you, that is. If we had more time to talk. I’m sure the student will be here any moment.

Are you actually asking me on a date, right now?

Jack sat back. He wasn’t, he didn’t think, until she asked if he was.

I don’t know. Well, would you say yes? And it’s not a date. I don’t think people go out on dates at our age. Or actually, inferring from my daughter’s experiences, I don’t think anyone dates anymore at any age. But I would happily take you to dinner, to thank you for doing this, and yes, to keep talking.

I don’t mind walks around campus in the evenings. But let’s see how the interview goes, first. And to skip your next question, I’m here not as a favor to you, but to make sure this poor girl isn’t tricked into saying yes to something she shouldn’t.

Oh, there’s no chance of that, said Jack.

Why?

Because I’m going to convince her to never go to Arcadia Tech.

Devi and Ammi entered the room. Both were shaking, whether from the air-conditioning or the fact that, standing up to greet them, smiling, beckoning, was an actual American university professor. Seated behind him was a smart-looking Sri Lankan woman. Was it his secretary? If so, why wasn’t she offering them cool drinks? Why was the professor doing it himself? Having never spoken to an American before, never mind a professor, Devi sensed how much more she had to learn.

Ammi looked around. She didn’t know where to sit. Essem spoke to her quietly, in Sinhala, telling her it was fine to sit beside Devi, who nodded in agreement and smiled at Essem.

Jack was surprised at how small Devi was. How tiny, really. And not just compared to Cham. Like her, she had dark brown eyes, but they were bright, not wary and darting. She also had very dark brown skin and the smallest frame, as if she were a child’s hanger holding a woman’s dress.

Fresh lime juices were delivered, along with a platter of chocolate biscuits. Essem asked the attendant for shawls, but Devi declined, so just for herself and Ammi. Everyone introduced themselves. Jack took out a sheet of paper and a pen. Devi took a deep breath.

Ammi sat forward and looked at Jack.

Excuse me, please, she said.

Yes?

I would like to ask you a question, before you ask my daughter any.

Ammi, this isn’t the way.

Keep quiet, child. You asked me to come to this place, didn’t you?

Please, go ahead, said Jack.

No matter what happens, can you promise you will make sure my daughter is okay?

Jack nodded.

Yes, I will make sure of that. In fact, this is why I’m meeting with your daughter today. Still feeling Ammi’s hard, skeptical stare, Jack turned to a shaking Devi. It would be cruel to bring up her late fiancé directly. But he didn’t need to, to do right by this poor young woman and her family.

So, Devi, tell me: knowing that international students kill themselves when they attend my university, why do you want to go to Arcadia Tech?