Paddy and the Little Man

The short academic day was over. Paddy and the rest of the Department had drifted down to the riverside pub where many students and staff foregathered on summer evenings.

The other members of the Department were there, however, in an effort to display their proletarian credentials. They sat in a fairly tight circle, not exactly excluding Paddy, the only non-party-line voter, and notoriously so, among them, but not exactly welcoming him either. Certainly, unlike Paddy, they were not going to be seen drinking with students.

A smallish, nondescript man ambled up to them. He, and his attempts to join in their conversation, were ignored.

After a time he walked away to the “window”—the hatch where beer was collected for the garden. For those with eyes to see, a forlorn and lonely figure. After a moment Paddy rose and followed him.

“I’ll have a drink with you, mate,” he said.

They moved to an unoccupied table on the lawn. The little man gazed up at a Vee of cormorants flying into the sunset, and the Chinese kite-flyers on the wide esplanade about the blue river. Children rolled on the grass nearby.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!” He had an English accent.

“On your own, mate?” Paddy asked.

“Yes, I just arrived today.” After a minute he said, “The beer’s cold.” He pointed to the river: “Black swans! I’ve never seen them before!” He pointed to a small pod of dolphins breaking the surface, and then, looking around, “A lot of people here don’t seem to have jobs. Are they teachers or something?” He gestured towards the other faculty members, who were projecting an aura of distaste. “Do you know them?

“Yes.”

“What’s your line of work, then?”

Paddy was reluctant to tell him. He knew from experience that revealing his job was too plain an invitation to get ear-bashed by crank theorists and autodidacts.

“I’m a teacher,” he said guardedly.

The little man nodded. “Where do you teach?”

“At the university.”

“Oh yes, and what do you teach?”

“I’m a senior lecturer in Political Science—comparative government,” Paddy admitted, bracing himself to hear the little man’s opinions on the government of the day, culled from who-­knew-what smouldering rubbish-heap of misinformation.

“And that lot?” The little man gestured to the rest of the Department, sitting in their ring. “They’re not very friendly, are they?”

Paddy had long ago privately categorised them to himself as something unprintable, but felt that revealing his true feelings to the little man would not have much point. And he felt a vague need to defend his town, and even his university, to a new arrival.

“I think we’re all a bit on edge,” he explained.

“Oh, why is that?”

“We’re getting a new Head of Department. A professor from the London School of Economics. He’s apparently going to make some new appointments.”

“That’s important.”

Paddy, relieved the little man had said no more, and he was evidently not going to get an ear-bashing on his subject from an ignoramus, opened up a little more.

“Yes, among other things there’s a vacant Associate Professorship … No one’s met him yet. We’re meeting him tomorrow.”

“I know,” said the little man.