Illusions of Love by Cynthia Freeman Read Free Book Online Page A

devotion which drew him towards it. In the face of his roommates’ rejection he felt a compulsion to proclaim his identity.
    He began to understand the studious habits of his fellow Jews, and found himself spending longer and longer hours in the library. He tried to keep his parents from knowing he was unhappy, but from the noncommittal tone of his letters to Julian and his reluctance to discuss his life at Yale over the phone with Bess, he suspected they guessed.
     
    The first break in his loneliness was none of his own doing. Suffering through a calculus class taught by a crusty old professor who seemed to delight in his students’ misery, Martin caught sight of an animated young man two seats away who actually seemed to be enjoying the course. This bright-eyed enthusiast filed out of class with Martin. At the doorway the student turned to him, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hi. I’m Dominic Gatti.”
    After weeks of unabated solitude, this introduction seemed like a real gesture of friendship. Dominic was a far cry from the snobbish Mikes, Tims and Chrises who cold-shouldered him at every opportunity.
    “I’m Martin Roth,” he replied eagerly, accepting Dominic’s hand.
    “So what do you think about this Professor Wheeler? Is he always that sarcastic? I live in fear and trembling he’ll call on me.”
    “Save fear and trembling for Lyons’ Intro Philosophy,” Dominic said with a sly smile.
    “But Wheeler is tough. He’s a piranha. He’ll gobble you up in one semester. If you don’t make it, he doesn’t fool around, I understand.”
    “What do you mean, you understand?”
    “Because Wheeler is notorious for extracting his pound of flesh.”
    Never had a more astute statement been made, Martin found out in the weeks to come. For some reason, Professor Wheeler had singled him out among that vast ocean of faces, just why, Martin didn’t know. Each time Martin raised his hand to a question he was sure he knew, the answer was barely out of his mouth before Wheeler had poked holes through every one of his arguments. Martin couldn’t dismiss the thought that Wheeler’s badgering was more personal than academic.
    Goddamn/he thought. Am I becoming paranoid about my Jewishness? As he and Dominic walked across campus, he tried to figure out a way to ask his friend what he thought without appearing ridiculous. It took him a week, but when he finally mentioned to Dominic that Wheeler might be anti-Semitic, the Italian just laughed and said, “Don’t take it
    personally. Wheeler’s anti-everything. But especially anti-freshmen.”
    As the days passed, Martin had to admit that Wheeler wasn’t happy unless he flunked over half his class. Martin spent his nights cramming his head full of calculus, but the harder he tried the less he found he could concentrate. As midterms drew close, he became certain he was going to fail. He could barely listen to Wheeler’s lecture.
    “Now there are two fundamentals with which we must concern ourselves . ‘ That was the last of the lecture Martin heard. His mind drifted off.
    He was wondering why the hell he had wanted to come to Yale in the first place. He daydreamed about transferring to Stanford. He was happily imagining long, lazy days at the beach at Carmel when Dominic tapped him on the shoulder.
    “Wrong class to sleep through,” he said.
    “And anyway, it’s over.”
    Martin struggled to his feet.
    “You may be right about his hating all freshmen, but I still feel as if there is a personal vendetta between the two of us, as if he’s taking his own frustrations out on me.”
    “I know what you mean,” Dominic said.
    “He really does come down hard on you. But you have to understand that professors are not gods. Some are carried away with their own importance. Some bring their own paranoia to class. And some feed off the fears of their students. I don’t know which category Wheeler falls into, but if you survive his class you’ll have a great grounding in