The Man Without a Shadow Read online

  The chair asks Margot if she has anything to say, in strictest confidence, about Milton Ferris in this regard.

  “Please speak openly. I know it’s something of a shock, but—I suppose we might have seen this coming . . .”

  Margot is stunned. Her heart has been beating so rapidly, she’d been so certain that she was herself under attack, she isn’t sure that she has heard any of this correctly.

  She has to grasp the arms of the chair in which she is seated, to keep from slumping to the floor. She can feel the blood drain out of her face.

  “Would you like a glass of water? I’m really sorry to have so—upset you . . .”

  Harry Mills is not a friend of Margot Sharpe, nor is he a detractor. Like others in the department he may have expressed some slighting criticism, over the years, of the lavishly funded high-profile Project E.H.; he may have expressed criticism of his renowned colleague Milton Ferris of whom it has been said—not meanly but simply accurately—that the great man has not so much as glimpsed an undergraduate student in the past twenty years, and that his doctoral dissertation advisees become his lackeys and slaves, and are allowed to take as long as eight years to complete their degrees in order to linger in the community as a ready source of free labor for the professor. It has been noted that Ferris’s amnesiac lab has become the “crown jewel” in the department, unfairly eclipsing interest in the work of other, equally deserving researchers; and that Milton Ferris uses his influence to place his protégés in coveted academic positions and in elite academic journals, like a Renaissance prince bestowing favors. It is also said of Milton Ferris that for the past fifteen years he has been the “leading contender” in his field for a Nobel Prize—presumably for his pioneering work in memory.

  Mills asks Margot another time if she is all right? If she would like a glass of water? Or a tissue . . .

  (Has Margot begun to cry? Her cheeks sting with a kind of acid moisture.)

  Margot shakes her head slowly. Margot’s heart beats slow and hard now. She is not going to faint though she has never been so surprised in her adult life.

  Managing to say, politely, that yes, she is all right. She does not need a glass of water.

  Mills is apologetic. Clearly, he had not expected so extreme a reaction from Margot Sharpe.

  “I’d assumed, Margot, without justification I see now, that you would know about these charges—since they’ve been made by former associates in the lab known to you.” Mills pauses: Has he made a blunder? The identities of the accusers should remain confidential, surely? Quickly Mills continues, before Margot can respond, saying that he’d been hearing rumors for years about Milton’s “unorthodox” research methods—“And since you’ve worked so closely with him, you would be in a position to know.”

  “No. I am not in a position to know.”

  Margot pauses, and repeats: “No. I have no idea . . .”

  Though Mills will not reveal the identities of the individuals who have filed charges against Milton Ferris, he allows Margot to know that they are former postdocs who’d worked with Ferris within the past twelve to fifteen years; since their years in Ferris’s lab they have gone on to professorships, and most of them have tenure.

  Margot thinks—Kaplan? Can it be?

  The privileged son betraying the father. That is not possible.

  Gravely the chair asks Margot to speak “openly and at length” on the subject. Whatever she says will be kept confidential, she is assured; at no point, unless she initiates such disclosure, will her testimony be made available to anyone including Ferris; her name will not be listed on any document, unless she gives permission.

  “Harry—is this being recorded? Our conversation?”

  “Of course not, Margot! I wouldn’t record anything unless you authorized it.”

  Mills is looking offended, hurt. Margot thinks, as Milton Ferris might have thought—But can I believe you? How can I believe anything you say?

  “If you’d like to discuss this some other time, Margot, of course that would be fine. But—remember—our conversation must be kept confidential.” Mills pauses, delicately. “Of course, Milton Ferris should not be told.”

  “Not yet, you mean. Milton should not be told—yet.”

  “That’s right. Unless the accusations are borne out by evidence, Milton will never be told. The investigation is private and confidential and even the identities of the investigating committee are not to be revealed.”

  “Do you know who they are?—the ‘investigating committee’?”

  “N-No . . .”

  Mills had hesitated just perceptibly. Margot suspects that he is lying.

  Or rather, not telling the full truth.

  (Mills may mean that he knows who has been asked to serve on the committee but doesn’t yet know who has agreed to serve. Technically then, he is not lying to his colleague Margot Sharpe.)

  “What was the charge?—‘protracted and repeated scientific misconduct’? What exactly does that mean?”

  “It doesn’t mean that Ferris has falsified data in his published work. No one is accusing him of that, at least not so far. The primary charges are that over a period of many years Ferris has ‘appropriated’ the work of younger colleagues in his lab including graduate students—he has published articles under his name that don’t reflect work he has done, and he has routinely ‘punished’ individuals who’d questioned him in even the mildest of ways. ‘A reign of terror’—one of the former postdocs has said of his years with Ferris. ‘No one dared complain or challenge him, for fear of retribution.’”

  You will wind up in Siberia. Or somewhere west of here like Purdue.

  Margot is still feeling somewhat shaky, light-headed. She is still wondering if the departmental chair—in collusion with the dean of the faculty—is conspiring against her.

  Could it be that the accusations against Milton Ferris are a ploy? Or—there will be accusations against Margot Sharpe, as well as accusations against her mentor Milton Ferris?

  The way in which Harry Mills stares at her, the very set of the man’s mouth as if he is resisting a sneer, is disconcerting to Margot. For a moment she loses the thread of their conversation and can’t remember what the charges are.

  There has been nothing inappropriate between Elihu Hoopes and me.

  It’s true, we have a special rapport—as others have (probably) observed. But there is nothing unethical in my relationship with the subject and I challenge anyone to prove that there is.

  When she can speak clearly Margot says that she knows “absolutely nothing” about misconduct on Milton Ferris’s part. She has never heard of such accusations until now, and is very upset and astonished by them.

  “Milton Ferris never ‘appropriated’ anything of mine in the many years I assisted him. When I arrived here, I was immediately invited to work on Project E.H.—the opportunity of a lifetime. I didn’t even realize at the time what an opportunity—what a privilege—this was. I was only twenty-three years old.”

  Margot speaks carefully, calmly. Margot speaks as clearly as if she believes the conversation is being recorded after all. Several times she reiterates that Milton Ferris never appropriated any of her work, nor did he appropriate the work of anyone else in the lab at the time—she is certain. “Along with Alvin Kaplan, I was helping oversee the lab from an early stage. We worked with the other associates closely. We collated data, we collaborated. Milton was always the ‘principal investigator’ in every sense of the term. He designed experiments, he helped execute experiments, he helped collect data—most of the time. Of course, Milton was sometimes traveling; he was often at conferences giving important papers, based on our project. But not once in eighteen years—(I think it has been eighteen years?)—did I ever witness Milton behaving in any way unethical or unprofessional—far from being guilty of scientific misconduct, Milton has been a model of the very highest scientific conduct.” Margot pauses, breathing quickly. Her pulses are racing. The pupils of her eyes feel d
ilated.

  “Harry, I’m distressed by these charges. I’m—outraged! There must be some personal vendetta against Milton Ferris. I know there has been a good deal of professional jealousy. Especially since Milton is so often on public television—no one is so envied and resented as a successful ‘popularizer.’ You should be trying to protect the reputation of your outstanding colleague, not undermining it. If Milton were to know, there might be grounds for—for a lawsuit . . .”

  Quickly Dr. Mills assures Margot that indeed he is trying to do just that—protect Milton Ferris’s reputation. That’s why he and the dean are initiating an inquiry, only just preliminary at the present time.

  “But you must not tell Milton, you know. That would be a breach of ethics, Margot.”

  “Of course, I won’t tell Milton! I would not dignify these charges by repeating them, especially to Milton. He would be crushed, and he would be furious. He would want to sue, I think—for criminal slander and libel.”

  Mills hasn’t expected such a vehement response from Margot Sharpe. If he knows of Margot’s relationship with her mentor, or knows something of it, he would also know that Margot Sharpe and Milton Ferris are no longer intimately involved with each other; Margot would have no reason to defend Ferris, and might even be expected to be vindictive toward him. But clearly she is not, and this makes a strong impression on the chairman.

  “I think—I think I want to leave now. I don’t want to discuss this any further.”

  Margot rises to leave the chair’s office. She moves stiffly, like a much older woman. When she almost stumbles Mills leaps to his feet to assist her.

  Returning to her office like a sleepwalker Margot thinks—I will go to Milton. I will warn him! He will know how I love him. He will love me again.

  SHE DOESN’T CALL Milton Ferris.

  She will not call Milton Ferris.

  She cannot risk hearing the surprise in the man’s voice. That unmistakable dip in tone; the lack of enthusiasm cloaked by a forced-affable greeting edged with guilt—Oh yes, Margot. Hello . . .

  For it has been some time since Margot has spoken with Milton Ferris privately. A considerable time, since out of pride she has refused to call him, and longer still since Milton has called her.

  Instead, that evening she calls Alvin Kaplan. A shot glass of whiskey for courage, and then—the call.

  As soon as Kaplan hears her voice, he knows why Margot has called.

  “Alvin, how could you! My God.”

  Their exchange is halting, painful. Like a guilty child Kaplan tries to pretend that he isn’t one of those who’ve filed charges against Milton Ferris but Margot insists that he is: she is certain. Then, Kaplan is defensive—“God damn him, he was stealing from all of us, even graduate students! For Christ’s sake, Margot, he was stealing from you—he took advantage of you from the start . . .”

  As Kaplan speaks in an aggrieved voice Margot holds the receiver a few inches from her ear. She can’t bear to hear this! She thinks Of course they knew, I was in love with him. They all knew. They laughed at me, but they pitied me. They did not hate me.

  She points out to Kaplan that without Milton Ferris, neither of them would have a career.

  “Margot, how can you make such a statement? That’s ridiculous. You and I are first-rate scientists—I’m sorry to sound vain, but it’s true for both of us. Certainly we would have studied and worked with other people. We might have gone to other universities, and we might not have wound up with E.H., but it’s possible—it’s quite probable—we might have done just as well professionally.”

  “You don’t believe that, Alvin. How can you say that! Milton taught us everything we know.”

  “It’s true that Milton taught us many things, Milton is, or was, a brilliant scientist. But he lost interest in research, that was obvious. He lost interest in work. And so he just appropriated our work, and passed it off as his own. He was sitting on a gold mine—with Eli Hoopes. Everything connected with our amnesiac has turned to gold—for Milton. E.H. is unique in neuroscience and Milton appropriated him. And we never dared challenge Milton. And those who did . . .”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anyone who ‘challenged’ Milton. Who is it? Who is filing charges against him?”

  Kaplan names a former assistant professor at the university, now at the National Institutes of Health in Washington, D.C. Margot, who knows this individual fairly well, is astonished and disbelieving.

  “I’ll call him! He can’t be serious.”

  “You will not call him, Margot! Please.”

  “What do you mean, ‘please’? How can I stand by while Milton is being falsely accused of misconduct? He will be broken, humiliated. His reputation will be ruined. He’s seventy years old . . .”

  “Because he has behaved unethically for more than a decade. Because he has ruined some scientists’ reputations—their lives. Young women’s lives.”

  “That’s ridiculous! That is not true.”

  “You’ve been blind. You haven’t wanted to know.” Kaplan pauses, then says, cruelly, “He hasn’t treated the others the way he’s treated you, Margot. He’d always favored you—the other women, he simply used. It’s your vanity that is driving this—not your professional judgment.”

  Margot is struck dumb. Though Kaplan can’t see, a fierce blush rises into her face that is part shame, and part exhilaration. Always favored you—she will remember this.

  She says, stammering, “But—we can’t hurt Milton. He may have behaved unconscionably—at times—but we have ‘consciences’—we can’t break an old man’s heart.”

  Can’t break an old man’s heart. Words out of a TV melodrama of the kind Margot never watches. Yet, Margot is sincere; she is trembling, and tears run down her heated face.

  Spitefully Kaplan says, “He named you head of the project. Of course you feel grateful to him and protective of him.”

  “He got you your job at Rockefeller! And he would have named you head of the project, except you wanted to move.”

  “I didn’t ‘want’ to move—I was urged to move. By Milton.”

  “You were? But why?”

  “So he could promote you, why else? He’d always favored you.”

  Spiteful as any sibling. And Margot can sense the hurt, and the fury beneath the hurt.

  “But the fact is, Alvin, you wouldn’t have your position at Rockefeller, you wouldn’t have brought all that grant money with you, if Milton hadn’t pushed for you.”

  “That’s an insult. That isn’t worthy of you, Margot.”

  “None of this is worthy of you, Alvin.”

  But by degrees Kaplan has begun to weaken. He is suffused with guilt and shame, Margot knows. Betraying the man who’d made their careers and their lives possible! Betraying their common father.

  Kaplan speaks of a half-dozen others who are intent upon exposing Milton Ferris out of disgust with his “unsullied” reputation, and with the power he continues to wield in the scientific community. Some of these are individuals whom Margot knows, though not well. (Yes, one of those is the former colleague now teaching at Purdue. Margot knew this!) Kaplan tells her of other instances of questionable professional behavior on Milton’s part which include “taking advantage” of his female associates; on this delicate matter, Kaplan is diplomatic, and doesn’t humiliate Margot by listing other women by name. He allows her to know, however, that it is something like a general knowledge, that Ferris is “known, notorious” for taking advantage of the naïveté of young women scientists, sexually, professionally. Kaplan concedes, “Of course, Milton is also a very nice person—he can be. He’s gracious, he’s charming, he has won every award and has received every grant he’s ever applied for. He’s chair of the membership committee at the National Academy. If he hears of this, and if we don’t follow through with our charges so that he’s at least removed from that powerful committee, he will veto us for as long as he lives.”

  “What do you mea
n, ‘if he hears of this’? I haven’t accused him of anything—I’ve defended him. I was just in Mills’s office defending him, and I will put my statement in writing, you can be sure.”

  “You can’t sabotage this investigation, Margot. You know very well that Milton Ferris should be made to retire.”

  “I’ve told you, that is not true. I will never testify that that is true.”

  In any case, Margot says hotly that she doesn’t give a damn for being elected to the National Academy or any other professional organization. She is a scientist, not a social climber.

  Kaplan says that’s bullshit. Of course she cares, and she should care. He cares.

  Margot reiterates: she can’t betray Milton Ferris. She will not—ever—betray Milton Ferris.

  “He’s going to retire soon. There’s no point in destroying him now.”

  After an exhausting hour or more on the phone, Kaplan relents. Or seems to relent. Margot thanks him, in a voice trembling with emotion. They hang up the phone, each edgy and excited.

  Soon after, Margot hears from Harry Mills that proceedings against Milton Ferris have been “temporarily suspended.” Her remarks will be stricken from the record if she wishes.

  “Yes, strike everything. Including this conversation. Good night!”

  In exhausted triumph Margot thinks—I would never do such a thing to you, Milton. We loved each other so much.

  IT WAS MILTON Ferris who taught her to drink. Taught her to prefer his favorite whiskey—Johnnie Walker Black Label.

  Flamey-hot going down, and all of her body suffused with flame so she stumbles into her darkened bedroom and falls half-dressed onto her bed. Drifting into the sweetest and most delicious sleep from which it is becoming ever harder to awaken.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Eli? Eli!

  Standing on a plank bridge in a low-lying marshy place with feet just slightly apart and firmly on his heels to brace himself against a sudden gust of wind.