Right To Die

6

"YES, WELL, NINA, I'M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND.”

"No, Professor Strock, frankly I don't."

I had told Inés Roja I'd be back for the files. Searching for Walter Strock, I'd found him outside his office, confronted by a pudgy, determined woman with a lumpy knapsack on her back.

"Nina, there were many students interested in being my research assistant, and well, there was only one slot open."

"But you announced in class that you'd be weighing our exam grades heavily, and I got the highest grade on the final."

"I certainly did weigh that factor, Nina, but I weighed others as well." He gave her a funeral director's smile. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Right. Thanks."

Nina seemed disgusted as she stomped by me, the knapsack bonking the top of her rump.

Strock was entering his office when I said, "Professor?"

He turned. "Yes?"

"I wonder if I could have a word with you?"

"I'm rather busy. Do I know you?"

"It's about Professor Andrus."

' "Ah, yes. The man she favored over her institutional obligations."

"That's part of what I'd like to talk with you about."

Strock looked me up and down,. tugging on an earlobe. "For that, I always have time. Come in, come in."

His office stood in marked contrast to Andrus's bombsite. A polished wooden desk was the centerpiece of the room, several folders and books on it but not a paper out of place. One wall was covered by plaques and framed documents, a couch like the people eater in my landlord's condo nestling underneath them. The other walls sported lowboy oak filing cabinets, Currier and Ives hunting prints, and bookshelves. On the shelves stood trophies for riflery and a statue of Star Wars' C3PO holding a sign saying MAY DIVORCE BE WITH YOU. Two captain's chairs emblazoned with the school's logo were arranged in front of the desk. I took one of them as Strock sank into a judge's large swivel chair, swaying arrogantly.

"And you are?"

"John Cuddy, Professor." I nodded back toward the door. "I sure hope I'm not catching you at a bad time?"

"Bad…? Ah, Nina. No, no, just one of many disappointments she will suffer. In a mediocre career stretching long and lonely in front of her."

A sweetheart, old Walter. "Professor, let me get right to it. My lawyer is thinking of involving Professor Andrus on this case I have, and…" I did my best to wring my hands. "We1l, I have to keep this confidential."

"As you wish, but…"

"I wonder, I couldn't help but overhear you with the professor's secretary – "

"Ah, the lovely Inés. Pity she's a bit frigid. A Marielito, something to do with an incident on the boat coming over from Castroland. Tried to help her talk it out once upon a time, but she just won't open up."

I swallowed hard. "I've always believed, you want to know about a person, first talk to somebody who doesn't like them."

"Then you've come to the right place regarding Dame Andrus, sir." Tilting his chair back, Strock entreated the gods. "But where to begin, where to begin?"

"I thought you said something about her missing committee assignments?"

"The tip of the iceberg. Maisy fancies herself a latter-day Joan of Arc, you see. Believes that a faculty appointment here is merely the springboard for her cause, her great crusade."

"Which is?"

"To turn the sick of this planet into creatures with no more rights than an incontinent household pet."

"The right to die, you mean?"

"No, but that's how she'd phrase it for you."

"Aren't there 'living wills' or something now?"

"Yes, yes. The Supreme Court in the Cruzan case validated the concept. About forty states have statutes on that, allowing hospitals to withhold or withdraw heroic measures, even food and water. Our own compassionate Commonwealth has no such statute yet, but it doesn't matter much."

"Why not?"

"Because Massachusetts has a lot of case law on termination of treatment, and even in the living-will states, only ten percent of the citizens ever reach the stage of executing one."

"Sounds like you've made quite a study of it yourself."

Strock preened the hair at his temples. "Only to make the point, Mr… ah, sorry?"

"Cuddy."

"Cuddy, yes, Cuddy. You see, Maisy doesn't teach here to improve the hearts and minds of our students. She doesn't give the proverbial rat's ass about whether they're minimally competent to pass the bar examination and actually enter practice. No, our Maisy cares only about her crusade."

"Then why does she bother to teach at all?"

"Not for the money, I assure you. Maisy's in fine shape that way."

Strock pitched forward in his chair. "Do you know how she came to have that money?"

I short-circuited a little. "My lawyer said her husband died and left it to her."

Strock laughed meanly. "Ah, very good. I'd have been proud to teach your lawyer, sir. He makes accurate statements without telling the truth. A valued skill in an advocate. Her husband died, all right, but she gave him about ten cc's of propulsion along the way."

"She killed him?"

"The word I've heard her use is 'help.' She helped him find the peace that comes with sleep a tad sooner than his system otherwise dictated. Understand now. We're not talking about pulling the plug on a machine that's maintaining some veggie. We're talking murder."

"Like that Michigan doctor and the 'suicide machine'?"

"Not exactly. The doctor merely designed a machine for that unfortunate Alzheimer's patient to use. Aiding and abetting a suicide, so to speak. Maisy went way beyond that. She gave her husband a fatal dose, and still gets to inherit from him. Outrageous, no?

"Yes. And that's not the half of it. There was some incredible scandal in Spain – that's where all this happened. Some prosecutor got bribed, poor bastard blew his head off, I think. But Maisy enjoys the dead don's money, and thanks to our revered dean, she gets to teach the courses she wants at the times she wants to, curriculum and schedule and the rest of us be damned."

"Why is that?"

"Not for the reason you'd think. No, our Maisy is oh-so-happily married to some tennis has – been she wouldn't think of spreading them for anything so crass as professional advancement. You see, the dean is sitting in his chair around the corner because she turned it down."

"Professor Andrus was offered the deanship?"

"And she said, 'Oh, no thanks, I have all these other, more important irons in the fire. I couldn't possibly take on the mundane task of guiding the institution that nurtured me.' My God, can you imagine the regents offering her the job of administering this law school? I mean, forget that Maisy snuffed her own husband, the woman can't even keep up with her committee work!"

"What do the students think of her?"

" 'The Cunt That Belches Fire'?"

I thought about the notes.

Strock continued without prompting. "They love her. There is no justice, is there? Of course, Maisy teaches nonsense subjects like Law and Society or Sociology of Law. All of the touchy-feely stuff is really just a cover for indoctrinating the poor munchkins. The woman treats them like shit, then gives everybody A's and B's, so they figure they learned something. All they ever learn is how to be thankful for being manipulated into agreeing with her theories."

I'd about had my fill of Professor Strock. "Well, thanks for all your help."

He made a dismissive gesture. "Far be it from me to discourage you from retaining Maisy, even indirectly, but you're aware, are you not, that she is leaving us for a while?"

"Leaving?"

"Yes. A visitorship for the coming quarter. Spared of the cruelest months of the winter by venturing to San Diego with Bjorn."

"Bjorn?"

"Or whatever the tennis bum's name is. I've never actually met him, but I hope he bleeds her dry. That would be poetic justice, at least."

I stood up. "Thanks again."

Strock made no effort to rise. "Pleasure."

As I reached the door, he said, "Oh, Mr. Cuddy?"

"Yes?"

"One more thing. Maisy is participating in a debate tonight."

"She mentioned it."

"You really ought to go. Get a sense of how she comes across in a public forum."

"Will you be there, Professor'?"

Strock smiled like a man serving his kids roast rabbit for Easter dinner. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."