Divisions, James Gerard [simple ebook reader .txt] 📗

up a stubborn streak and stymied their efforts.  Out of respect for Joyce and the pride she had for maintaining a beautiful home, Paul was reluctant to allow anyone in to take over the responsibility of maintaining a clean and orderly house.   At one point, he remembered doing a pretty good job at it, but in truth he knew he could never do as thorough of a job as Joyce.

 

Shortly after her passing, the motivation to continue waned.  Soon nothing was in its right place.  Dust was everywhere.  Dirty clothes scattered wherever.  That’s when Paul realized it was more than just a lack of motivation to keep things tidy, it was grief, buut more than grief.  He felt it was the same type of loneliness she must have suffered from.  It was a loneliness that would never be temporarily lifted by her simply walking through the door.  Enough of the self-pity, he thought and shifted the focus back into reality as the night’s festivities came to mind.

 

Once again he turned to the mirror and examined the tuxedo.   A leftover of their fiftieth anniversary, he was surprised that it still fit. 

 

“Naw,” he whispered, taking one more look at the bow tie, “no one is going to care.”

 

A look outside a bedroom window revealed snowflakes falling to the ground.  While he made his way to the front door he remembered Raymond offering a limousine in case of a night a foul weather, but declined.  For some reason, the idea of walking through the chilly, wintery like air and experiencing the bitter cold appealed to Paul as a befitting end to the career.   And surprisingly, even to him, not only was the mind still very active for his age, but the body as well.  And while he could, Paul figured to get all of the use out of it as he could.

 

Draped in a heavy overcoat, a scarf wrapped around the neck, a warm hat to cover the head, and a pair of gloves to keep away the sting of the cold, Paul opened the door.  He stepped outside and quickly closed it to stop the draught of cold air from filling the house.

 

With eyes focused ahead and a brisk pace, he headed off to the new library. But he stopped in mid-stride and turned around to look at the house that was once a home.  Maybe, he figured, the finality of the night’s festivities signaled not only the end to a second career, but an end to the campus life altogether.

 

Staring lovingly at the simple house, he had never considered how fortunate they were to receive one of the last remaining faculty houses still on campus, but now he could fully appreciate the gesture.  The location offered easy pedestrian access to all parts of the vast campus.  He wondered, his hundredth birthday not too far away, that its location was probably the sole reason why the body managed to stay in such good shape as walking became the main means of travel throughout the university’s grounds. 

 

As Paul trekked through the cold air, he considered if it were a mistake to tell each of his boys not to bother to come out for the ceremony, but then dismissed such a thought as doubt.  It was not like they grew up in the house and had strong memories of it, thought Paul.  He also understood that they too were either retired or near retirement and the travels would have been burdensome for them.  Besides, he realized that if their presence had been requested it would have been done so out of vanity.

 

Approaching the library, Paul stopped again.  He could hear the excitement emanating from the parking lot ahead.  The building itself, the front façade, was alit with light that illuminated the surrounding area for blocks.  Guests were arriving in bunches.  Cars lined up at the valet station waiting for their number.  Women were dressed in fancy evening gowns and men in their tuxedos.  He could see a throng of people walking together as they approached the entrance to the library.  They were busy engaging in conversation which amplified the excitement.   

 

Embarrassing thoughts filled his mind.  A temptation to flee the over-extravagant affair entered the thoughts. But seeing that he declined the offer of a faculty party to see him off into retirement, Paul figured he owed Raymond a few hours of time.

 

With just a few late comers arriving, Paul stood at the front of the steps and looked up.  Brazenly etched into the arch encompassing the entrance was written: Paul L. Hatford Library.  With a shrug of the shoulders the name was dismissed as a mere token of appreciation, for he realized that soon students would forget.  It would be a matter of time before they started asking who was Paul L. Hatford.

 

Guests came up in bunches as Paul strolled through the door.  A flurry of handshakes and well-wishes and thank yous were extended non-stop.

 

Working his way through the guests, Paul came to an opening and there it was; the bookshelf as he had assembled it.  Given a prominent place at the entrance, it was shielded by a perimeter of clear glass.  With a plaque secured to a stand. it listed many of his life accomplishments not only at the university, but also the times spent as a neurosurgeon.  Without explanation, he viewed the showpiece as if it were a mere illusion.  Maybe it would make for a good conversation piece in the present, but again he knew it was just a matter of time until it was viewed as one more useless artifact occupying valuable space.  In the future, he could imagine the echoes of those crying that he had gone the way of the dinosaurs, dead and buried, and that the display only contained outdated materials the like of fossilized bones.

 

“Paul,” a voice was heard from behind.

 

Paul turned and saw the grin planted on Raymond’s face.  His eyes immediately took notice of a man with white hair and donning a pair of thick glasses standing next to him.  Raymond stepped quickly up to him.   The man, a polite yet warm smile shining from his weathered countenance, followed by hobbling along with a cane.

 

“Paul, this is our benefactor….”

 

“Doctor Hatford,” the man abruptly announced, “I have waited for this moment for years.”

 

“I’m sorry, you are?”

 

“Jeffrey McKay.  You know, the generous benefactor,” he stated with a wink.

 

Paul extended his hand and said, “Well, I must say, for both myself and this university, that your exceeding generosity over the years has been much appreciated.”

 

“Please Doctor Hatford,” Mister McKay said as he shook Paul’s hand, “the contributions are not the important thing.  It is what you have accomplished with the funding that is most important.”

 

“Well thank you Mister McKay but…but it has not been just I….”

 

“Yes, yes, Doctor Hatford, Raymond warned me well in advance at your humble demeanor, but in truth you have done more for this university than everyone else combined.”

 

“Well, understand Raymond is my good friend Mister….”

 

“Please Doctor, I do not think of myself as self-important; please call me Jeffrey.”

 

“Of course Jeffrey.  And please, if you may be so kind as to call me Paul.”

 

“Well gentlemen, if you do not mind, I will take leave of you now.”

 

Jeffrey shook Raymond’s hand and with a warm smile said “Thank you.”

 

“By the way Paul, would you entertain me for a couple of hours after the commemoration speech?”

 

“Of course, but I am not sure when they have me scheduled to speak.”

 

“Do not worry about that,” Jeffrey laughed.  “Trust me, my intentions for tonight are much like yours; to discretely leave at the soonest possible moment.  I have arranged our getaway.”

 

Paul watched as Jeffrey hobbled off in the direction of Raymond.  In a matter of seconds words were exchanged between them.  Then Raymond abruptly ended the conversation with a faculty member and rushed up to the podium.  “May I have your attention,” came blaring over a speaker.

 

Paul listened intently to the voluminous chatter among the throng of well-wishers slowly drop off while Jeffrey made his way to the foot of the podium.

 

“I thank all of you for coming out tonight,” Raymond stated.  “As you know, tonight’s program is twofold: one, to commemorate this, our university’s new state of the art library; and two, to honor the man for which it is named; Doctor Paul L. Hatford.”

 

All Paul could do was smile and wave as the crowd turned their attention to him with a thunderous round of applause.  Figuring it was the cue to come to the podium, he brushed his way through the well-wishers to the base of the steps.

 

Jeffrey put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Trust me,” then stepped up to the podium.

 

Paul abided by the request and watched as Raymond lent a helping hand to Jeffrey.  While the throng clapped and hooted and hollered, he could not help but to think what was planned.   With the exception of Raymond, as told by Raymond, no one knew of Jeffrey or about being the source of the generous contributions through the years.

 

Jeffrey brought the noise to a low hum with the waving of hands.  Softly resonating from the speakers, his request for quiet was heeded.   The servers lowered their trays crowded with an ample supply of drink.  Those wandering from tables filled with appetizers put away their hunger and put down the plates.

 

“Obviously,” stated Jeffrey, “I am not our dear, good friend Doctor Paul Hatford, the man for whom we have gathered here tonight to honor, but to say ‘honor’ is an understatement.  I can only imagine that all of you, as myself, are here tonight to not only express our most sincere gratitude for the man who has raised the status of this university through his undying passion and relentless pursuit to put an end to the suffering of those afflicted with a damaged mind, but to gather to pay homage to the man as well.  We are here, are we not, to acknowledge, to reflect on the work of a man who through diligence has transformed despair into hope and hope into reality.”

 

Paul’s eyes fell to the ground as a warm round of applause filled the library.

 

“And yes,” Jeffrey went on, “we are also gathered here tonight to commemorate this library that will not only serve future generations in their academic pursuits, but it will also serve as a sanctuary.  This will be a place where students can find solitude.  They can  discover an intimate, quiet corner to reflect and to revitalize their passions. This library will be a place to bring to fruition the same visions as that of our dear, good friend Doctor Paul Hatford.

 

“If you look to the left, you will see what appears to be a simple bookcase filled with a variety of texts, a photograph of a beautiful woman, and what appears to be a copy of the classic Frankenstein—why Doctor Hatford,” said Jeffrey with a wink, “what have you been up to all these years?”

 

Paul could not contain the laughter and let out a snicker.  The guests busted out laughing as he looked to Jeffrey with a wagging finger and a playful smile.

 

“I jest of course my friends,” said Jeffrey as he hushed the guests.  “In seriousness, while the bookcase is meant to be a showpiece for the library, it is meant as a reminder to so much more.  It is a reminder to all that enter that success is not limited to one’s pursuit of a successful career; it is the representation of the man and his heart of gold.  And do not look at the words in the texts as the end, the summation of his life’s work, but in truth, look at the words as representing the beginning—for the words are just a testimony of his works that came beforehand.”

 

Jeffrey looked down at Paul and clapped.  The rest of the guests joined in and shouted “speech.”

 

Once again, the crowd fell silent at Jeffrey’s command.  “I thank all of you,” he said, “for taking the time tonight to come out to honor our friend, but as you may have