― P.S. J Kumar
Nemesis
“So, this happens every night?”
Brett Waters stares at me as if I’m insane, and frankly I’m beginning to agree.
We’re sitting in the Hart House dining room having lunch and of all the things I could discuss, I’m telling him about my dreams.
We both teach courses in modern drama, although he teaches Ibsen and Chekhov, who tend to be philosophical, and I, the polar opposite, specialize in Tennessee Williams, who’s preoccupied with desire.
Lucky me.
Brett's looking at me askance and who could blame him? I'm beginning to question my own sanity lately.
But I’m not just a drop of reason in an ocean of emotion—I hope. I try to convey some semblance of rationality.
I'm telling him about a recurring dream that's making me obsess over the details.
“I’m at a loss to explain it,” I tell him, “but somehow I get the impression this girl is someone I once knew and is now dead—and, let’s face it, she’d have to be, because as you know, my love life is pathetic.”
Brett smiles at my gallows humour but doesn't refute it.
“Any clues as to where your dream affair takes place?”
“I get the impression it’s the Deep South—I see white manses and smell magnolias.”
Yeah, now I think I've gone too far and lost him.
He rolls his eyes. “O my god, Bro—southern belles and mint juleps! Can’t your dreams at least be a little less conventional?”
I colour a little—Okay, a lot. I need to explain—try to justify myself.
“Yeah, I thought of how lame that sounds too—but I do teach Tennessee Williams.”
He arches an eyebrow and I feel judged.
“Well, if I were you, Pal, I’d just go with the flow. It seems harmless enough—but until we perfect 3-D holography, this is probably the closest you’re going to come to losing yourself in a romantic fantasy.”
He gets up to go to his 1:00 pm lecture. “I hate to say it,” he grins, “but Freud would have a field day with you.”
I smile ruefully as he walks away.
He’s right, of course—it’s probably my long-suppressed libido, my Id, making a back-door assault on my Ego and speaking to me through the language of dreams.
I try to take myself by the ear and force my attention back to reality.
I also have a lecture to give as well, and as I think about it, the image of my Nemesis comes to mind in the person of Karine Williams, a beautiful, but challenging grad student.
From the first day of semester, Karine has been a persistent adversary, peppering me with incessant questions and smirking if she succeeds in catching me unprepared.
Her constant needling has worn me down and made me limit student questions.
I know I sound hopelessly pathetic, not even being able to rein in a headstrong grad student.
Lately though I’ve decided to take a more proactive approach—not allowing her acres of time to hand in assignments, and cutting her off when she verges off track.
I don’t know why she upsets me so much—she’s a gifted student but certainly not a formidable opponent—still, we already have a history, so to speak, and she can call out elemental emotions sleeping within me.
On second thought, in view of the dreams I've been having, I shouldn't refer to sleeping at all, even as an expression, when talking about Karine—that's all she'd need—to imagine I'm obsessed with her.
But I’ve made up my mind and have finally drawn my line in the sand...
and if she crosses it today, I’ll make sure she pays.