Mille Feuille hated and loved the Mix Master.
Both were stars in their tiny firmament.
They were on the faculty of the English Department at a smallish but well-respected university in Peterborough, Ontario.
The academic life in such a small community was a tiny whirlwind of activity that mimicked the larger vortex in nearby Toronto that, in turn, was a microcosm of what transpired in the maelstrom of a truly monster-sized metropolis such as New York.
Professor Jacob Merrick occupied a coveted visiting chair thanks to his fame for being able to bring together disparate elements.
His world view advocated embracing the swirl.
Life is flux, flow, stoppage, starts, tugs, pushes, explosions and peace.
He acquired much of his insight from within his own family.
His wife had ongoing health issues. She was caught up in the medical system. Between visits to the doctor, time spent in the hospital, trips to the drugstore and research conducted over the Internet, her life was a whirling orbit that had a separate yet attached relationship to the rest of society.
The same was true for his daughter. She was a student in the drama department at the university where he taught. Acting in plays, participating in rehearsals and meeting with her thespian friends and fellow cast members carried her along in a sphere that was tangentially separate from the non-cognoscenti.
Even his young son had his own preoccupations, caught up in the minor hockey league scene and full of imaginings about scoring titles and toughness.
Merrick knew there were similar applications in all aspects of life.
Work is no different than the personal. Each of the professions has its own language, separate ways of looking at things, heroes and villains.
Merrick became relatively famous for his recognition of spinning orbs and how greater inner peace can be achieved by embracing the craziness.
His published poetry was replete with such imagery.
As he was fond of pointing out to his students, evidence in support of his themes could be spotted everywhere – the folding of mixes in marble cake; the cloud formations set against the blue seas of earth in pictures taken from outer space; galaxy clusters in the Milky Way.
His students took to calling him the Mix Master.
He’d illustrate his theories with toys. Doing battle with spinning tops is a game as old as antiquity. Through the centuries, there have been many incarnations. The most recent is a Japanese version that all the kids play.
He’d bring in some of his son’s beyblades and have the students fight it out. They loved him for it.
Merrick’s rapport with his classes also received a boost from his grading technique. He marked most papers PA, his famous shorthand for saying “perfectly acceptable.”
His popularity with the student population was a sticking point for some of the other faculty.
Fault was found with his teaching methodology, but the real problem was jealousy.
Holly Blades was one of those not immediately won over by Merrick’s charm.
Also an English professor on the faculty, but with a good deal more tenure than Merrick, she kept her distance from him for more than a year.
Accustomed to a degree of adulation on account of her good looks and spunky personality, she resented being supplanted by the new name in town.
On the surface, they had several similarities. About the same age, early 40s, with loyal spouses and lively well-adjusted children, a fondness for literature and committed to doing the best jobs they could for their charges, they had many points of connection.
It was mainly basic philosophy that caused Holly to keep a distance.
Her forte was also tolerance and understanding, but of a different dimension. She believed in depth. Everyone has a story. Every action has an explanation.
Life is a series of levels. Reasons pile on reasons with no end in sight up or down.
Her nickname to the student body became Mille Feuille, the thousand layers of baked-goods fame. And she was right to be wary. Her life was about to come a cropper.
Her downfall, her ruin, her descent into chaos began when she finally got around to reading Merrick’s epic poem, “Maelstrom’s Mind Meld.”
The opening two lines grabbed her attention.
“Oh so gradually,
the planet lost its gravity.”
Set out allegorically, the stanzas went on to consider how major events are becoming trivialized. That grace, manners, concern and intelligent analysis are all giving way to the crass and superficial.
In other words, the planet is losing its way.
The poem’s central image placed in a rural field really gripped her.
I cling to the earth,
entwine my fingers in the grass
fill my pockets with dirt,
clutch onto a rock,
look up to see
people flying by o’erhead.
B-52s in a single file,
arms and legs akimbo,
silhouetted against
lightning-flecked clouds.
The animals weren’t being sprung free; nor structures; nor sticks and stones. They were all well grounded. Individuals were losing their hold on permanence.
Only people were flying off the planet.
She absorbed Merrick’s sense of loneliness, fear and hopelessness. His words did more than speak to her. The deep well of her empathy could no longer yield a sounding.
She continued reading.
Eventually, the poet protagonist hid in a large culvert running under a back country road. He was safe for a moment. Then he was lifted to the corrugated ceiling of the drainage pipe. Inch by painful inch, he was sucked back towards the entrance.
Whoosh, he was pulled loose and introduced to the horrifying experience of flying rootless in formation.
She put the poem aside. Her emotions shorted out. The mental structures she’d erected collapsed.
Holly knew immediately she had to have Merrick.
Her own poetic instincts took over. Where sustenance from roast beef had once been more than sufficient, she now needed filet mignon.
He was the key to re-building her foundations.
As a married woman, she hated the circumstances but loved the ideas of the man.
So now she was sitting on the side of a bed at four in the morning in a barely-furnished room at the Proud Peacock motel.
Her affair with Merrick had been underway for six months.
He’d been mildly difficult to seduce, adding to the thrill. Since he had the pick of the most nubile among the female student body, snaring his attention was a challenge.
Her determination, maturing-but-alluring appearance and considerable intelligence eventually won him over.
But matters had come to a head this evening. On the pretext of attending one of his many out-of-town conferences, he was spending another night with her.
She’d made the ultimate commitment to their relationship, partly on the assurance he would do so as well. She’d walked out on her brood two weeks ago.
Turned out he never had any intention of doing the same. When fully pressed on the subject, he announced he wasn’t going anywhere. His family remained his life.
She’d have to accept it. Now he was going to get his rest. That’d been several hours ago.
She decided Merrick was a phony. And her role? She was a cliché. What next?
She turned and looked at his sleeping form. He was splayed on his back under her safe-keeping. A single blanket covered the lower half of his nakedness.
When it came to their physical relationship, she couldn’t get enough of his skin. Running her fingers over his body sent sparks to her cortex and beyond. How could she most harm such a source of pleasure?
She was really pissed. He wasn’t going to get away with it. Her life had been turned upside down. What did she have, if not him, to anchor her future?
Never mind that she’d initiated their coming together. He knew very well the seductive nature of the words he employed in his writing.
There were few implements to be used as a weapon in these dreary lodgings. She picked up the sommelier’s corkscrew she kept handy to open wine bottles. It would have to do.
Climbing onto the bed, she straddled her lover with knees on either side of his prostrate form.
Lifting the weapon behind her right ear, she used all her arm strength to strike down on Merrick’s chest. She repeated the stroke in quick succession. She found it wasn’t so easy to cut through a rib cage.
Merrick awoke with a terrible start. What was going on? Blows were pounding down on him from an indistinguishable fury. It had to be Holly.
Reflex took over. He used his upper body strength to push off and roll to the left. He found himself on top of her. With one hand, he blocked her wild swings. With the other, he grabbed a pillow and held it over her face.
He meant to stop the madness. To halt her assault. To calm things down, then talk to her. But the seconds passed and he grew light headed.
Holly’s thrashing quieted. Merrick semi-collapsed on top of her.
In his extremity, words still tumbled around in the spin dryer of his mind. He had only to choose the right ones.
A final thought. “Pain is poetry at its purest.”
The cleaning staff found the bodies in the morning. When the police arrived, they had little trouble figuring out what transpired.
****
What to try next? I recommend Undeterred She Forged Ahead. This story takes us back in time to reveal the genesis of an impossible love.
Or, if you want to stay on campus, there’s Platter and Glance. Oh, the silly things we do when we’re young and foolish.
**
For my first book, “Two Scoops” Is Just Right, please click here for the paperback version and here for the Kindle e-book version.
For the sequel, “Three Scoops” Is A Blast! (with the award-winning “Size of the Skip”) click here for paperback and here for Kindle.
For “Four Scoops” Is Over The Top (containing Hemingway short-listed “Caboose Follies”) click here for paperback and here for Kindle.
And finally, for my latest book, “Five Scoops” Is An Addiction!, please click here for the paperback and here for the Kindle digital version.
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