Gabriel's Inferno

Gabriel glared at the back of the room. “I believe I’m somewhat familiar with the woman  you’re talking about, but she isn’t from Philadelphia. She’s from some podunk village in rural Pennsylvania. And she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so she should refrain from pronouncing judgment.”

Julia’s cheeks flamed. “That’s an ad hominem objection. Her place of origin doesn’t diminish her credibility. And Dante and his family were from a podunk village too. Not that Dante would ever admit it.”

Gabriel’s shoulders shook slightly as he tried to control himself. “I’d hardly call the Florence of the fourteenth century podunk. And with respect to the mistress, that’s just shoddy research. In fact, I’ll go further. That woman’s head is filled with nothing more than appalling rubbish, and she doesn’t have a shred of evidence for her conjectures.”

“I wouldn’t dismiss her evidence out of hand, Professor, unless you’re prepared to discuss it in detail. And you haven’t given us an argument, just an abusive attack,” she countered, arching an eyebrow at him and trembling slightly.

Paul took her hand underneath the table and squeezed. “Stop,” he whispered, so low only she could hear. “Right now.”

Gabriel’s face reddened again, and he began to breathe through his mouth. “If that woman wanted to know how Dante truly felt about Beatrice, she knew where to find the answer. Then she wouldn’t be shooting her mouth off about things she knew absolutely nothing about. And making herself and Dante look ridiculous. In public.”

Christa looked from Professor Emerson to Julia and back again. Something wasn’t right. Something was definitely wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She was determined to find out.

Gabriel turned back to the board and began writing, trying to calm himself down:

Dante thought it was a dream.

“The language that Dante uses about his first meeting with Beatrice has a dreamlike quality. For various — ah — personal reasons, he doesn’t trust his senses. He’s not sure who she is. In fact, one theory is that Dante thought Beatrice was an angel.

“So later in life, Beatrice is completely out of order in assuming that he remembered everything from their first meeting and in holding that fact against him and not giving him the opportunity to explain himself.

Clearly, if he thought that Beatrice was an angel, he would have no hope that she would return.

“Dante would have explained all of this to her, if she hadn’t rejected him before he had the chance. So once again, her lack of clarity on this point is her fault. Not his.”

Christa’s hand shot up, and Gabriel reluctantly nodded at her, growing very tense as he waited for her to speak.

But Julia spoke first. “The discussion of their first meeting is patently irrelevant, since Dante must have recognized her when he saw her the second time, dream or not. So why did he pretend not to?”

“He wasn’t pretending. She was familiar to him, but she was all grown up, he was confused, and he was upset about other things in life.” Gabriel’s voice grew pained.

“I’m sure that’s what he told himself so he could sleep at night, when he wasn’t on an alcoholic bender in the lobbies of downtown Florence.”

“Julia, that’s enough.” Paul raised his voice above a whisper.

Christa was about to interject something when Gabriel held out his hand to silence her.

“That has nothing to do with it!” He inhaled and exhaled quickly as he tried in vain to keep his emotions in check. He dropped his voice and stared only at her, ignoring the way Paul shifted his body so that he could come between The Professor and Julia if need be.

“Haven’t you ever been lonely, Miss Mitchell? Haven’t you ever ached for companionship, even if it’s only carnal and temporary? Sometimes it’s all you can get. And so you take it and you’re grateful for it, while recognizing it for what it is, because you have no other choice. Instead of being so high-handed and self-righteous in your assessment of Dante’s lifestyle, you should try having a little compassion.” Gabriel snapped his mouth shut as he realized he had revealed far more than he had ever intended. Julia stared back at him coolly and waited for him to continue.

“Dante was haunted by his memory of Beatrice. And that made things worse, not better, for no one ever measured up to her. No one was beautiful enough, no one was pure enough, no one made him feel the way she did.

He always wanted her — he just despaired of ever finding her again. Believe me, if she had presented herself earlier and told him who she was, he would have dropped everything and everyone for her. Immediately.” Gabriel’s eyes grew desperate as they bore into Julia’s deep brown eyes.

“What was he supposed to do, Miss Mitchell? Hmmmm? Enlighten us. Beatrice rejected him. He only had one thing of value left and that was his career. When she threatened that, what else could he do? He had to let her go, but that was her choice, not his.”

Julia smiled sweetly at his tirade, and he knew that he was in for it.

“Your lecture has been very  illuminating, Professor. But I still have one more question. So you’re saying that Paulina is not Dante’s mistress? That she’s just a fuck buddy?”

A very loud popping sound echoed across the seminar room. Each graduate student gazed in complete and utter shock as they realized that Professor Emerson had snapped the whiteboard marker in two. Black ink spread across his fingers like a starless night, and his eyes ignited into an angry blue fire.

That’s it. That’s fucking it,  he thought.

Paul pulled Julia into his side protectively, curving his body around her as he watched The Professor’s shoulders begin to shake with rage.

“Class is dismissed. In my office, Miss Mitchell. Now!” Professor Emerson angrily shoved his notes and his books into his briefcase and exited the seminar room, slamming the door behind him.

Chapter 16

The graduate students sat in the now silent seminar room, stunned. Since the majority of the students weren’t Dante specialists, they quickly dismissed the altercation as an entertaining (albeit aberrant) internecine debate.

Academics could be passionate about their subject matter; everyone knew it. Some, like Julia and The Professor, were more passionate than others.

Today’s seminar was a train wreck, of course, but not entirely surprising. Not, thought Paul, as bizarre as some of the things that happened the previous semester in Professor Singer’s Medieval Torture Methods seminar…which turned out to be surprisingly hands-on…

As the students slowly realized that the steel-cage death match they’d just witnessed was over, and that there would be no second round (or pop-corn), they began filing out, with the exception of Christa, Paul, and Julia.

Christa fixed Julia with narrowed eyes and went after The Professor like a co-dependent duckling.

Paul closed his eyes and groaned. “Are you suicidal?”

Julia seemed to be shaking herself awake from a dream. “What?”

“Why did you provoke him like that? He’s looking for a reason to get rid of you!”

She was only now able to grasp the gravity of her predicament. It was as if she’d been another person, spewing venom and anger, without any thought about the audience. And now that she’d vented she felt deflated, like a lonely and empty balloon left after a child’s birthday party. She slowly began packing her things and tried to steel herself for what she knew would be a very, very  unpleasant conversation in The Professor’s office.

“I don’t think you should go,” said Paul.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Then don’t. Send him an e-mail. Tell him you’re sick — and you’re sorry.”

Julia thought about that for a moment. It was very, very tempting.

But she knew that her only chance at saving her career would be to woman up  and take her punishment, and try to piece her personal life together afterward. If that was even possible.

“If I don’t go to his office, he’ll be even angrier. He could kick me out.

And I need this class, or I won’t be able to graduate in May.”

“Then I’m going with you. Better yet, I’ll speak with him first.” Paul drew himself up to his full height and flexed his arms.

“No, you need to stay out of this. I’m going to go and apologize and let him yell at me. And when he has his pound of flesh, he’ll let me go.”

“The quality of mercy is not strained,”  muttered Paul. “Not that he would know anything about that. What were you fighting about, anyway? Dante didn’t have a mistress called Paulina.”

Julia blinked rapidly. “I found an article about Pia de’ Tolomei. Paulina was one of her nicknames.”

“Pia de’ Tolomei wasn’t one of Dante’s mistresses. There were rumors of mistresses and illegitimate children, so you weren’t completely wrong.

But I’m sorry Julia, Emerson is right — no one believes that Pia was Dante’s mistress. No one.”

Julia chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “But he wouldn’t let me explain. And I just kind of…snapped.”

“You snapped, all right. If it were anyone else, I’d be cheering you on thinking that he got what was coming to him. The uptight prick. But in your case, I knew he’d overreact.” Paul shook his head. “Let me talk to him.”

“You’re writing your dissertation with him, you can’t have him angry with you. If it’s too much, I’ll leave. And I’ll file a harassment complaint.”

Paul gazed down at her with a very worried expression. “I don’t feel right about this. He’s furious.”

“What can he do? He’s the big bad Professor, I’m the little grad student.

He has all the power.”

“Power does funny things to people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paul stuck his head outside the door of the seminar room in order to check the hallway.

“Emerson is a twisted fuck. He was involved with Professor Singer and that means that he…” Paul stopped suddenly and shook his head.

“That means that he — what?”

“If he has been harassing you, or trying to get you to do things, let me know and I’ll help you. We can file a complaint.”

Julia gazed at him blankly. “There’s nothing sinister going on here. He’s just a crusty Professor who doesn’t like to be contradicted. I’m going to eat humble pie in his office, and hopefully, he won’t make me drop his class.”

“I hope you’re right. He’s always been professional with his students.

But with you, things are different.”

Paul walked Julia to The Professor’s office and without warning, knocked on the door.

Professor Emerson opened the door quickly, his eyes still an angry, sparking lapis. “What do you want?” he spat, shooting daggers at Julia.

“Just a minute of your time,” said Paul mildly.