A day in the life of an academic, I muse sarcastically as I lean on the lectern watching the students file in. Sure enough, the last one to enter is Karine. There will be no respite from her needling today.
It’s the Friday before the long weekend and term assignments are due today. I wonder if Karine will make the deadline, and to forestall any arguments I preface the lecture by reiterating the rule I made—either get the assignment to me in class, or hand-deliver it to my home.
“You know the rules,” I remind them. “If your term paper is not in today, I won’t accept it—or, poor you, you’re going to have to endure a long car ride to my Muskoka cottage.”
The class laughs and Matt Morton, a linebacker for the Varsity Blues calls out, “My paper’s ready, Prof—I even read the books for this one.”
I laugh along with the class, but notice Karine is not smiling—not a good sign. I decide to get right into The Cat on a Hot Tin Roof lecture and so I start in with Brick and Maggie’s confrontation in Act One.
I begin by stating how Maggie uses the excuse of poverty to justify why she always has ‘to suck up to people.’ She claims it’s turned her into a restless cat on a hot tin roof.
Karine’s hand immediately shoots up. The class groans—Matt Morton rolls his eyes, and I grimace inwardly.
“Yes, Ms. Williams?” I strain to say the words evenly, plastering a brittle smile on my face.
“I’ve noticed you’ve adopted a very biased attitude toward Maggie, Professor Enright—you’re seeing her through a male perspective.”
“Well, duh,” Matt Morton snickers, “He is a man, if you noticed.”
Karine’s eyes flash. “That is such a typical male response—taking sides against a woman.”
I decide it’s best to stifle this argument before it gets really heated.
“Let’s not get into a He Said—She Said, disagreement. I always believe that when there’s a difference in interpretation, you should let the text speak for itself. Do you agree, Ms. Williams?”
She glares at me. “Yes, I do.”
“Good! Then bring your copy of the text up here and stand beside me.”
She hesitates a moment, looking uncertain. Matt Morton snickers, anticipating some kind of comeuppance in the works, but to her credit, Karine doesn’t back down.
“I want you to read Maggie’s part, and I’ll read Brick’s—and we’ll let the text decide who's right.”
“I don’t do southern accents,” she hedges.
“Neither do I,” I counter.
She tosses her head defiantly allowing her long dark tresses to mesmerize me. But then, begins reading, falteringly at first, but gaining momentum and confidence as she goes.
Maggie’s part in Act One is demanding—she has to sound hysterical and out of breath as if she’s run up several flights of stairs yelling Fire! And she has to sustain that energy all the way to the end of the Act. A demanding role for Karine to play.
Serves her right, I chuckle inwardly.
As for me, my part is easy. I get to utter monosyllabic replies for most of the time, before things start getting heated between Brick and Maggie.
But as we get into the rhythm of the dialogue, a strange thing starts to happen. In the midst of acting out Maggie and Brick’s conflict, a storm blows up outside the windowed lecture hall.
The tall, narrow windows are illumined by waves of blue lightning.
As Maggie lashes out at Brick, thunder rumbles ominously in the background. And as Karine gets into the cadence of Maggie’s voice, her speech begins to take on a southern accent. When I reply in Brick’s indifferent tone, my speech has a southern drawl.
Suddenly, a real rage exists between us. I feel myself grasping for Brick’s crutch so I can brain Karine—er, Maggie—do anything to make her stop.
The atmosphere turns electric and the room grows darker by the minute. Finally, it becomes so dark we both get scared and stop.
The lecture hall goes ominously silent—reminiscent of the pause between lightning and thunder—and then there is an enormous loud crash, and Karine screams in fright and falls into my arms.
The minute I feel her in my arms a dark network of hidden memories lights up inside me.
