Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Gray Cavender (motivational novels for students .TXT) 📖

strong credentials and also enjoys the support of many of the faculty there. So, the…smart money is on her.” She smiled. Jillian had always observed that most of ZZ’s sentences were spoken with a smile; it was simply how she talked. In part, it is what made her so engaging.

Jillian said, “OK, while I’m here, I have an intellectual question.”

“If I can help…yes?

“In doing some homework on Professor Keefer, I saw that he’d written critically about a Raymond Williams. Who is this Raymond Williams…if you know?”

“Yes, but of course. Raymond Williams was one of the…Big 3, the troika of post-war British Marxist theorists. The others were E.P. Thompson, a historian, and Stuart Hall, the…inventor of British Cultural Studies.”

“I think we covered Hall for sure and maybe Thompson, too, in Professor Naremore’s class. But not Williams…at least I don’t think we covered him.”

“Raymond Williams was a cultural scholar, but also much more. For example, he was a novelist. It is here that Keefer enters the scene. He wrote a book that was critical of Williams’ novels. But, it was merely a backhanded attack on Marxism in literary criticism. Still the student…this is good,” she commented as she saw Jillian taking notes on her IPAD.

She continued, “This Keefer guy makes his way like this…always criticism, never offering anything original himself…just critical of others…and always backhanded. He is a…weasel.” She laughed again. “You know weasel…yes?”

“Oh yes,” Jillian laughed. “So, were his criticisms of Williams correct?”

ZZ gave an exaggerated shrug. “But no. Keefer, in his critical commentary, always…travels light. I laugh at my own cleverness,” she said, laughing. “I make the…’in joke.’ Long ago, when Raymond Williams reviewed Orwell’s novel, 1984…you know the novel…of course you know it…Williams accused Orwell of ‘travelling light.’ Williams meant this as a theoretic critique. You see, Orwell, a socialist, was critical of Marxism in 1984…also in Animal Farm. Williams was saying that Orwell’s critique lacked theoretic depth.”

ZZ made another exaggerated shrug. “But, back to Keefer. He is always careful,” ZZ paused and shook her head as if disagreeing with herself, “not careful…’studied,’ in his literary criticism. He criticizes Williams, but never Hall. He criticizes feminisms, but again, in a way that is crafty. He writes of identity, by which he means race…as if class and gender are not important with along with race. He should take one of our courses on intersectionality to understand the interplay of race AND class AND gender. You know these things…you have a graduate degree in Justice Studies with much attention to Women and Gender Studies. These ideas are in your graduate project…I remember them…they are…second nature to you. To him,” she expelled a puff of air, “no, they are absent. What does he think identity is—only one thing? But no.”

Jillian smiled. It was a treat to talk with ZZ. Coming to her office had always been a tutorial, theoretically, methodologically. She was always passionate about ideas, and it was exhilarating.

“But you ask these questions of me, Jillian. Do you suspect Keefer of the murder?”

Again, Jillian felt qualms about this conversation. “Well, he and the victim were having an affair…and you seem to have a negative opinion of him…”

“Yes, but as a scholar. He is so…” She thought before speaking. “He does not engage, only react. I cannot imagine him doing something…not positive, a murder is not positive, something that requires an original action. But pay me no mind, Jillian…I am an academic…you are the police.”

“OK, but in any case, thank you for your insights.”

“You are welcome.” ZZ was quiet again, and then said, ‘You know, when you decided to work as the police, I was upset.”

“Why?”

“We Roma do not always get along so well with police, with authorities. Your choice troubled me. But, I can see that you are still you. You listen, you make the notes. Maybe you will be good for the police.” She arched her eyebrows again.

“I will try…I promise. And, my partner who you’ve met, Wes Webb, he is a good person. He is my mentor, and his advice and training are not just about being a good police officer, but also being an officer who is a good person.”

“I sensed this.”

Both women were quiet for a time. Jillian broke the brief silence by asking, “But what about you, ZZ? What’s new?”

“You mean, what am I working on, no?”

Jillian blushed. “If you’d rather not say…”

“No worries,” ZZ paused, then said, “I am thinking about travelers.”

“You mean Roma people?”

“We are travelers, yes…but others also…people who work in carnivals, in circuses, musicians. They travel, too, constantly. I sometimes travel with such people…seeing how they live.”

“I didn’t know that you were doing this. So, do they accept you?”

“Why would they not?”

“Well, you’re a professor…”

“Yes, and of course I tell them this, but I live with them, too. And also, I can play music…not like Django,” she laughed and gestured to his photograph, “but not bad. And with the carnivals, I can tell the fortunes. I will not traffic in stereotypes, but this is something that I learned at an early age. From an aunt, the technique…and the other part, the ability, I have this from my Nagyi…my grandmother.”

“Really?”

“Do not seem so surprised, Jillian. Professors can have other…skill sets.” She laughed and said, “With the fortunes, Jillian, you have but to cross my palm with silver.”

Jillian automatically asked, “So, will we catch Professor Siemens’ killer?”

ZZ, stopped laughing, looked at her intently before answering. She then smiled and said, “Most certainly.” The smile faded, but the intensity persisted, even increased. “But, be careful, Jillian, there is danger in the darkness.”

Jillian was taken aback, but quickly said, “I’m embarrassed, I don’t want to insult you…may I pay you?”

ZZ simply smiled as she said, “No, once my student, always my student…it is…on the house.”

“Thank you,” Jillian laughed, nervously.

“But, I must ask a return favor.”

“OK…?”

“Please, keep secret my research on travelers. I like it when people think I am…a bum. I can hear the crows cawing. She pressed her finger to her mouth. “So, shoosh.” She