Short story: Two Professors By Karl Whitney - - - - There were these two professors in a university in a town, whose offices were to be painted, one by one. These offices stood side by side in a corridor that otherwise held classrooms and laboratories. In order for each room to be decorated properly, each professor would have to share the other’s office for a week. There was no other way, although many other ways were discussed. Neither professor was happy with the arrangement, each having despised the other through the safety of the white-plaster dividing wall for the last two decades. But it was decided by a head of department, and it was to happen this very day. Professor Perrin sat in his tattered leather office chair grimly awaiting the fateful knock on the door that would signal the arrival of Professor Smuthingham. When it came, it came as a shock, as Perrin’s mind had wandered off into the valleys of abstraction. He had been thinking of a book he possessed years ago, and how pleasing the binding was to him, and how it had gone missing, presumably loaned to a student who never returned it, or pilfered by a crafty staff member on a visit to the room. Still, he had lost other books, but this one really rankled for some reason, and even when Perrin was making cursory small talk with Smuthingham his mind returned again and again to that book with its royal blue binding and gold embossed lettering. Smuthingham stood just inside the door, at a loss where to put himself, a cardboard box of possessions at his feet. After an hour or so of strained silences and occasional questioning, Smuthingham had settled at a desk in a corner of the cramped office and begun to arrange his things on the empty shelf next to him. He had just finished placing his books there when Perrin, for the first time, looked up to see what the other professor was doing. The afternoon sun caught something in the bookcase and sent the glint of gold embossed lettering on a royal blue spine shooting to the retinas of Perrin. He snapped into action, leaping across the room, dragging Smuthingham from his desk, across the room and into the corridor. He sprinted back to his office, locking the door behind him. He was safe. As he lay panting against the door, he held the book close to his chest and examined it. It now appeared to be dark red with silver lettering. It was not the book. -------- Stories | Home | About This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.