Chapter 3

Portrait

Bill Pierce was home trying to decide how likely it was that both the boys would stay asleep long enough for him to read at least one entire story in the Trib when Carolyn asked him a question out of the blue.

“You sure you got the dissertation to Kindle?” That had been weeks ago.

“I went to the classroom you told me to. I addressed him by name. I mentioned your name, and he didn’t say ‘Who?’ He addressed me by name. He put the dissertation in his briefcase. It was as full and as scruffy as you had described it. I really think it was Kindle.”

“I should call him.” She presumably did. Kindle came to supper that Saturday, and it was the same guy. The Professor was on time, which Carolyn and he weren’t. The boys had decided that they weren’t going to cooperate with Mommy’s schedule. He was carrying John when he answered the door. Paul was getting fed, and John wasn’t. John was telling the world how unfair that was. If John was at his least charming right then, Kindle was charmed, nevertheless. He left him in Bill’s arms but spoke to him and gave him a finger to hold.

When Carolyn called, he went in and traded babies. He burped Paul and changed him. Then he brought him out to meet Mommy’s professor. Paul was in a better mood than his brother had been, and he was soon in Kindle’s arms. Bill went to wash his hands, and then offered the professor a drink. From the choice Bill offered, Kindle took Scotch and soda.

“But afterwards,” he said. He nodded at Paul who was fascinated by his glasses. “Both my hands are busy now.” Bill poured himself one, too. He sipped his, as he’d have his own hands full soon enough. And he did. When Carolyn came in and handed John to him, he went back to the kids’ room and put him in the cradle. He wasn’t ready for sleep yet, but he was getting close. The mobile would hold his attention ‘til his eyes closed. He went back to collect Paul and handled him the same way.

The professor brought his drink, half full by that time, to the table with him. The conversation began with the kids and went on to the dissertation. Apparently, Kindle thought it was coming along, too.

“The details may seem niggling. They are, in fact, niggling, but the audience for that dissertation, tiny as it is, will be very important to your future, and they will frown at any imprecision. The difference between absolute clarity, clarity for your professional peers, not for the general reader, who won’t ever take the opportunity -- will never have the opportunity -- to read it, and enough clarity for them to understand what you meant even if you didn’t quite say it, is the difference between their occasionally citing you when they need a particular fact and their referring to you as an exemplar of how the facts should be gathered and presented.” If that speech had been in a movie, he would have considered the parody of a mad professor over the top.

“My dear,” the professor replied to a question from Carolyn, “it’s acceptable now. These last changes will make it exemplary.”

Carolyn fussed with it some more, and he played delivery boy some more, but the dissertation was finally accepted.

He brought the boys to witness Mommy’s getting her degree. They wouldn’t remember it, of course, but he took a picture to commemorate the event. Really, they should have a better picture than he could produce. He should have a better picture than he could produce.

“You can keep the robe another few days, can’t you?” he asked her.

“Bachelor’s robes are rented. I purchased the doctoral robe. We wear them again. Didn’t you see all the faculty in the parade?” That was fine. Even so, they should move quickly. The robe would look the same in a year; the twins wouldn’t look the same in even a week.

“Great! Now, what I want to do is to get a real portrait-style photo of you in the robe with the twins. We can go to a studio where the guy will do it right.”

“Why?” That was a weird question. If you wanted something done right, you didn’t do it yourself.

“Because my snapshots are just that. We want a professional job.”

“Why? I mean, not why the professional will do a better job than the amateur, but why do you want the picture at all?” Why the emphasis on ‘you’? Did she think him really that selfish. Even if he were selfish, it was his wife and his kids that they would be celebrating.

“Because it puts together your successes of this year. You know, you academics think of the doctor’s degree as one rung on the ladder. Doctor Smith is inferior to Assistant Professor Jones. But we think of it as a high point. Even if not, and I want the picture for my friends not for your fellow faculty, you aren’t going to have a baby -- let alone twins -- the year you make full professor.” It was a perfect version of her to present to the other executives. She was bright and educated, but she was a wife and mother, too. Twin infants made you more of a mother than most women ever were.

He brought the snapshot he had taken to the photography studio. Carolyn brought her robe, and they brought several outfits for the twins. If you were going to show two babies off, much less take their picture, then you could be certain that at least one of them would get his clothes covered in urine or spit-up. On a bad day, they both managed both.