Underneath, they all trembled with seriousness, she thought, and the subject obviously dealt with her.
“How are things?” said Masterson.
It felt as awkward as it sounded.
Alred decided to get right to the subject and spoke honestly. “I thought we were going to discuss my dissertation.”
Masterson nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“With all due respect,” she said, “what do these gentlemen have to do with my thesis. Am I in trouble?” She knew she wasn’t, but felt slightly agitated and didn’t want to admit it. She was used to being in control of her life, and this situation was highly irregular.
Masterson continued to nod. Then quite suddenly, he leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands together. “Ms. Alred, we’ve come up with a great idea for your dissertation.”
“I was…was under the assumption that the student chose the subject of her final argument,” she said. Her face remained relaxed, though all her muscles grew firm.
“Oh, absolutely!” Masterson said.
Alred knew he was lying and recognized that everyone else in the room had a better grasp on the truth than she did. They’d obviously planned this meeting from start to finish. She’d made the appointment, and they’d set it all up. Question was, what were they pushing for?
Without losing the smile, Masterson said, “You have complete control over your dissertation. All we would like to do is present an option.”
Alred wanted to squint at him, to scowl, but she relaxed her face and remained outwardly unmoved by his words. “An option,” she said. Was it really a choice, or a threat? Did she have control, or were they really saying, If you want to get your doctorate at Stratford, you will complete this project!
Masterson’s smile did not sit well with him, probably because he rarely smiled. He was a kingpin in scholarship, and Alred was smart enough to recognize it. Masterson made the rules, knew he did, and liked it. His options were not alternatives, but demands. Those possessing wisdom learned to do as he said. He’d been the Chair of the Department of Ancient History and Anthropology for far too long, and there was no way he’d let anyone else in his seat.
Alred inwardly confirmed to herself, I’ve lost all control over the end of my academic career.
Her muscles started to feel unusually tense, but she tried not to show it. She kept her hands under the table so no one would catch her scratching her fingernails together. She sat like a rabbit before headlights, without motion, without breath, as the explanation continued. She even fought the urge to look at the shielded window in the corner of the south side of the empty room
Masterson lifted a hand, indicating the end of the table, “Dr. Kinnard?”
Kinnard lifted his head slowly and began immediately. “Ms. Alred, you studied under…Professor Ulman for how long?”
Alred pulled her head back. “I’ve worked with him since I came to Stratford two and a half years ago. He’s an excellent man.” What was this, some sort of secret board of inquiry?
Looking back at the tabletop, Kinnard swallowed, and his face hardened. His eyes appeared to be closed, but were only squinting behind his glasses. Both his hands locked together in a firm grip. Alred almost thought he looked like he was about to scream out in rage. “Dr. Ulman…has disappeared.”
Alred waited in silence for a moment, then said sincerely, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I understand you were close,” Kinnard said, shooting a sharp look at her.
She suddenly felt as if she were being accused of some odious crime involving her favorite professor, the one she’d wished had become her supervisor of studies, but had already taken on too many graduate students. Smoothly, she clarified, “We worked on one of his books together, Ancient Man in Modern Mesoamerica. It’s due to come out in five more months.”
Kinnard didn’t nod.
Alred looked at everyone before saying, “How are you connecting me with professor Ulman?”
“Ulman and I were good friends,” Kinnard said. “He praised your work. Said you were quick and possessed a strong initiative.”
“What’s happened to him?” Alred said, not realizing she was leaning slightly forward.
“We don’t know,” said Masterson. “But we are sure there is nothing to be concerned about.”
“Do you have any idea where he is?” Kinnard asked Alred.
“If you’re not worried,” she said, looking back and forth at the two professors, “why are you asking me where he is?” She tried to keep her voice controlled, and succeeded, but her actions revealed her concern.
Masterson’s smile faded momentarily, but quickly returned. “Dr. Kinnard is more concerned than the rest of us.” He hit Kinnard with a glance, which Alred assumed she was supposed to miss, and it looked as if Masterson was doing his best to send some dark kind of telepathic message to the muscular professor opposite him at the table. Masterson resumed his smile.
Kinnard seemed to ignore the gesture. “What is your knowledge of Ulman’s current whereabouts, Ms. Alred?”
“Am I being accused of something? I thought we were discussing my dissertation,” she said.
“You’re not being accused of anything, dear,” Goldstien said with a grin, revealing his poor dental work. Like an actor making sure he was sticking to his lines, he looked at Arnott, but only for a moment.
“Ms. Alred, are you aware of Dr. Ulman’s most recent project?” Masterson said with gray eyebrows smashing his bald forehead into wave after wave of wrinkles. “Did he send you any letters? Memos?”
“I believe Dr. Ulman has been working on something he found in Highland Guatemala,” she said, a little hostility in the back of her throat. “He wrote me sometime last semester, but I had assumed he was too busy to write me a second letter. We are not working on his new project together.”
“Did Dr. Ulman invite you to join him in Central America?” said Kinnard.
“No.”
“Did Dr. Ulman send you anything other than a letter. Say, some artifacts, anything he may have found in Guatemala?” Masterson said.
“That would be illegal,” said Alred.
“But did he send you anything other than a letter?” Goldstien said.
“No,” she said, but she could tell by the look in Masterson’s darting eyes that he didn’t believe her. “Why do I get the impression that I’m being interrogated?”
“We don’t mean to give you that feeling,” Wilkinson said over a cough as Kinnard put his face in his hands and sagged.
“You’re accusing me of a crime, aren’t you,” Alred said, her muscles hardening.
“Not at all,” Kinnard moaned from behind his hands.
“Why are you so suspicious?” said Goldstien with a big grin, repulsive to look at.
“I’m not being suspicious,” she said, her eyes rigid in her head as she turned it from side to side. She did her best to keep her voice calm, but there was too much energy in her lungs. “I came here to discuss a dissertation proposal with Professor Masterson, only to find you four in the room circling me like vultures. Now, what do you want.”
Masterson leaned back in his chair, at ease in the room. “Ms. Alred…I didn’t mean for these questions to get you all rallied up.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but instantly sensed her forward-leaning position, the tension in her face, her tightened eyes, and realized that everyone would recognize all of these signs for what they were. She relaxed and allowed the steam to rush out of her overheated muscles.
“We just wanted to know how suited you would be for the project we’re about to suggest,” said Masterson. “It is unorthodox enough to be exciting and give you the opportunity to make quite a name for yourself. It is also something we thought you might find particularly interesting since it is based on Dr. Ulman’s recent discovery. Unfortunately, little is known about the find so far, except for what letters he has sent to the states. We were hoping…that you already had your hands in the work; that Ulman had informed you of his theories. It would have provided you with a greater advantage than starting with nothing.”