Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee Read Free Book Online

and sits with the paper in his hand, trying to imagine what has happened.
    Melanie would not have taken such a step by herself, he is convinced. She is too innocent for that, too ignorant of her power. He, the little man in the ill-fitting suit, must be behind it, he and cousin Pauline, the plain one, the duenna. They must have talked her into it, worn her down, then in the end marched her to the administration offices.
    â€˜We want to lodge a complaint,’ they must have said.
    â€˜Lodge a complaint? What kind of complaint?’
    â€˜It’s private.’
    â€˜Harassment,’ cousin Pauline would have interjected, while Melanie stood by abashed – ‘against a professor.’
    â€˜Go to room such-and-such.’
    In room such-and-such he, Isaacs, would grow bolder. ‘We want to lay a complaint against one of your professors.’
    â€˜Have you thought it through? Is this really what you want to do?’ they would respond, following procedure.
    â€˜Yes, we know what we want to do,’ he would say, glancing at his daughter, daring her to object.
    There is a form to fill in. The form is placed before them, and a pen. A hand takes up the pen, a hand he has kissed, a hand he knows intimately. First the name of the plaintiff: MELANIE ISAACS , in careful block letters. Down the column of boxes wavers the hand, searching for the one to tick. There , points the nicotine-stained finger of her father. The hand slows, settles, makes its X, its cross of righteousness: J’accuse . Then a space for the name of the accused. DAVID LURIE , writes the hand: PROFESSOR . Finally, at the foot of the page, the date and her signature: the arabesque of the M , the l with its bold upper loop, the downward gash of the I , the flourish of the final s .
    The deed is done. Two names on the page, his and hers, side by side. Two in a bed, lovers no longer but foes.
    He calls the Vice-Rector’s office and is given a five o’clock appointment, outside regular hours.
    At five o’clock he is waiting in the corridor. Aram Hakim, sleek and youthful, emerges and ushers him in. There are already two persons in the room: Elaine Winter, chair of his department, and Farodia Rassool from Social Sciences, who chairs the university-wide committee on discrimination.
    â€˜It’s late, David, we know why we are here,’ says Hakim, ‘so let’s get to the point. How can we best tackle this business?’
    â€˜You can fill me in about the complaint.’
    â€˜Very well. We are talking about a complaint laid by Ms Melanie Isaacs. Also about’ – he glances at Elaine Winter – ‘some pre-existing irregularities that seem to involve Ms Isaacs. Elaine?’
    Elaine Winter takes her cue. She has never liked him; she regards him as a hangover from the past, the sooner cleared away the better. ‘There is a query about Ms Isaacs’s attendance, David. According to her – I spoke to her on the phone – she has attended only two classes in the past month. If that is true, it should have been reported. She also says she missed the mid-term test. Yet’ – she glances at the file in front of her – ‘according to your records, her attendance is unblemished and she has a mark of seventy for the mid-term.’ She regards him quizzically. ‘So unless there are two Melanie Isaacs . . .’
    â€˜There is only one,’ he says. ‘I have no defence.’
    Smoothly Hakim intervenes. ‘Friends, this is not the time or place to go into substantial issues. What we should do’ – he glances at the other two – ‘is clarify procedure. I need barely say, David, the matter will be handled in the strictest confidence, I can assure you of that. Your name will be protected, Ms Isaacs’s name will be protected too. A committee will be set up. Its function will be to determine whether there are grounds for disciplinary measures. You