Lane picked up a coffee at a kiosk on the foyer on the main floor of the University of Calgary’s Education Classroom Block. The architecture had a dark, mid-last-century feel. He watched young people walk past or around him without taking much notice. They look so young! He caught the scent of a citrus perfume, then the stronger scent of cologne. It tickled his nose, and he sneezed into the crook of his elbow.
For an instant there was quiet. People turned, noticing him in his open-necked blue shirt and black pants. Then their eyes glazed over and they turned away. Except for one young woman, who smiled. “Bless you. You’re Christine’s uncle.”
He smiled, winking, putting his finger to his lips. She nodded, looking away. He hefted a green backpack he’d borrowed from Matt. Inside was an iPad borrowed from Dan, and a notebook and pencil he’d grabbed from his desk at work.
Lane saw a pair of young women open the door to the lecture theatre and followed them inside. He found himself at the top of steps leading to a stage and lectern. The room was brightly lit. The pair ahead of him stepped down to a middle row, sidling left to sit dead centre in the room. They’re going to be right at Dr. Pierce’s eye level. He moved left, choosing a seat in the back row behind a guy wearing a football jacket and built like Lane’s stainless-steel fridge.
More people arrived and began to fill up the theatre. Lane took off his jacket, hung it on the back of his chair, and reached into the backpack for the iPad and notebook. He opened the notebook, propped up the iPad, and used the pencil to doodle ideas. From time to time he’d glance up at the clock as the theatre gradually filled. He began to shift in his seat. I don’t know if I can sit here for ninety minutes.
On his right, a woman of Christine’s age with long black hair took off her full-length black wool coat, smiling at him, then pointing at the chair between them. “Mind if I put my coat there?”
Lane nodded, smiling back. “Of course not.”
“Thanks.”
A tall, lanky blond-haired man of about thirty-five entered from a door at stage right. He wore a green-and-white checked shirt, tight-fitting dark-grey slacks, and brown leather shoes. He stood behind the lectern, opened a textbook, leaned to one side to turn on the microphone, tapped it, and began to speak. “Today I’ll begin with a personal story, and then we’ll get to work on the characteristics of bullying.
“When I was nineteen, I went into a bar in Macklin, Saskatchewan. Half an hour later a woman picked me up off the gravel in the parking lot, took me home in her Buick, and cleaned up the cuts on my face and knuckles. I remember she put a butterfly bandage here -” he pointed at his forehead “- as she told me, ‘You did a dance with those two guys. A dance that meant the moment you walked in the door I knew you would end up in the parking lot with a face like this.’ She was doing her doctoral research on aggressive human behaviours. I -” he pointed at his chest “- became a chapter in her dissertation.”
He pressed a button. The screen behind him lit up. The cover of a book appeared. The title Unraveling the Human Puzzle was set above a picture of a group of human silhouettes with drinks in their hands. The black silhouettes were overlaid with white puzzle piece designs. Across the bottom of the page ran Dr. Andrew Pierce, PhD.
“Bullies and their prey do a kind of dance.”
From the right, a hand went up. Lane spotted the back and shoulders of a man of about forty whose black hair was thin on top and grey at the sides. Lane watched Pierce, who smirked as he acknowledged the man by holding out his hand for him to speak.
The man pointed his finger at the screen. “I read the chapter, and in it you say the victim only has to realize he or she can stop the behaviours triggering the bully’s actions. Isn’t that a bit like blaming the victim?”
Pierce looked at the pair of young women sitting at his eye level in the centre of the room. A brief smile appeared and disappeared. He lifted his eyebrows. “All the victim need do is recognize the signs, as I needed to do before I went into the bar in Macklin and as you -” He turned to face the man who’d asked the question.
Through the microphone, Lane could hear every nuance in the professor’s voice. It’s filled with contempt.
“- need to learn. There is a dance humans do to establish a hierarchy, and you need to learn your place within the hierarchy.”
One of the young women sitting in front of the professor began to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand and leaning closer to her friend. She talked behind her hand.
A broad smile profiled Pierce’s whitened teeth. “Even Darwin knew that natural selection favours those at the top of the food chain rather than those at the bottom.”
The ears of the man who’d asked the question turned red. Then his scalp did the same.
Lane watched the professor through narrowing eyes. He felt an inexplicable rage building. Tears formed in his eyes. He wiped at them with the index and fore fingers of his right hand. What the hell is my problem?
The young woman sitting next to him handed him a tissue. She leaned in close. “Pierce is such a douche.”
An hour later, when Lane left the theatre, he checked his phone for messages and found one from Arthur.
“What?” Nigel sat across from Lane in their downtown office. The door was closed, and Lane was staring at his computer screen.
Lane shook his head. “When will your contact have the information?”
“When she’s done.”
Lane turned to his partner. The aftermath of rage was still in his eyes. He’d been unable to walk it off after the twenty-minute trek to where he’d parked the car. Even the minus twenty temperature and a brisk wind out of the north had failed to cool his anger to the point where he could think clearly.
Nigel’s eyes opened wider. He held his hands up in mock surrender. “That’s just the way she works. She’s done when she’s done. She lives in the basement suite of her house. Her parents live upstairs. Her mom likes to keep an eye on her.”
“Her house! How does she make a living?” Don’t take it out on Nigel. He’s done nothing wrong.
“Look.” Nigel leaned forward in his chair, still holding his hands up. “I don’t know. She always has the latest computer, cell phone, and iPad. She’s a Mac user. Won’t use anything else. She always looks well groomed. She never appears interested in the opposite sex – or the same sex, for that matter. She’s totally self-contained and has this compulsion to make the world a better place. I knew her when I went to junior high, but we became friends after my mom was killed. She didn’t ask any questions and didn’t feel sorry for me. Then she got suspended for a week. When she came back, I treated her the same way I always had. We just became friends. We hung out together. She helped me out with some stuff. What’s got you so pissed off anyway?”
“Pierce.” Lane looked at the big screen and grabbed the mouse, highlighting the professor’s name, then enlarging his driver’s licence photo. “And my sister.”
“What did Pierce do?”
Lane took a long slow breath. “He was giving a lecture on the dynamics of bullying. This guy asked a question Pierce didn’t like, so Pierce belittled the guy in front of the class.”
“That’s all?” Nigel looked sideways at Lane.
Lane looked at Nigel, and his partner paled. “It was the way he did it. I can’t explain it. He’s giving a lecture to young people who will be teachers, and at the same time he’s bullying one of his students. It was the voice he used. The way he did it to impress a couple of the young women in class. The way some of them laughed. It was…”