A New Life by Bernard Malamud Read Free Book Online Page A

incidentally, does Pauline—you can be sure of a worthwhile career here. On the other hand, if you don’t like the climate, let’s say, and want to go elsewhere, the experience you get here will make it that much easier for you. That’s up to you and all right with us.”
    He said in afterthought, observing his shoe, “We’ve got a new dean, the man who replaced Dean Feeney, and I guess
he seems to want to make some changes here and there. Well, they may be good ones and they may not, but I’ve heard him say we’ll need some first-class people for the responsible jobs.”
    Levin felt oddly wrung out. “Thanks, but could we go in now? I hate to be late—”
    “Righto.”
    But in the hall, Gilley introduced him to a gray-haired man in coveralls, holding a broom. “This is Marv Beal. He’ll be sweeping your office.”
    Levin shook hands with the janitor.
    “He get his athletic season ticket yet?” Marv asked Gilley.
    “No, not yet,” Levin said hastily.
    “He will, Marv.”
    To Levin, Gilley said, “I’ll have a copy of The Elements and the workbooks for you when you come out. All you have to do is follow them more or less according to our syllabus, keeping an eye out for the d.o. That’s the departmental objective final we always give the comp freshmen at the end of each term.”
     
    “STRANGERS ARE WELCOME HERE BECAUSE THERE IS ROOM FOR ALL OF THEM, AND THEREFORE THE OLD INHABITANTS ARE NOT JEALOUS OF THEM—” B. Franklin
     
    The framed tapestried motto hung over Professor Orville Fairchild’s head as Levin entered his many-windowed sunlit office, directly across the hall from Gilley’s. Gerald had knocked and held the door open as Levin went in. The head of department laid down his galley proofs, fixed a cigarette in a yellowed ivory holder, lit it, and resting back in his flexible chair, examined Levin.
    He was, secretly examined by the new man, an old one, meticulously dressed, with a flower in his button hole; he had a bit of a belly, bags under both eyes, and a halo of sunlight ensnared in his bushy gray hair.
    He frowned as he puffed and Levin quickly warned himself not to let a foolish word pop out of his mouth.

    The head of department shook out the lit match that had nipped his fingers, a gesture that eclipsed the flame. Snapping the burnt matchstick he dropped it into the metal wastebasket, at the same moment blowing a stream of smoke that partly hid a sigh.
    Life, or my interruption? Levin wondered. In the direct path of the smoke, the new instructor discreetly coughed but did not avert his head, not to affront.
    “Well,” said Professor Fairchild, chuckling to himself, “how do you like the West?” A vibrant old man’s voice filled space. With small blue eyes, when he looked it penetrated.
    “What I’ve seen I like,” Levin said. “I only got here yesterday.”
    “I myself am an anomaly here, an old man in a young country. What about you?”
    Ancient, thought Levin. Not sure whether the question connected to the statement, he cagily answered nothing.
    “What I meant to say, is what brought you out this way? We hear from all over, true, but rarely New York.”
    “I wanted a change—” Levin hesitated.
    “From the city?—”
    “That’s right,” he said with relief. “I’m grateful to you and Dr. Gilley for—”
    “You’ve spoken to Gerald about the department, I take it? Our program and course offerings are limited. Have you examined the college catalogue?”
    “I have, sir.” He had discovered a glut of composition, bonehead grammar, and remedial reading, over about a dozen skimpy literature courses.
    “What did he tell you?”
    “He said the people around were nice to work with. He—er—also mentioned your grammar text.”
    “Did he say anything about the history and purposes of the department? We’re pretty much service oriented. Our school, for example, is called The Liberal Arts Service Division. Did he go into that?”

    “Not exactly, sir. But he told