The explanation had to lie elsewhere. His feelings for the bedder deviated from every known norm. So for that matter did Mrs Biggs. She bulged where she should have dimpled and bounced when she should have been still. She was gross, vulgar, garrulous and, Zipser had no doubt in his mind, thoroughly insanitary. To find himself irresistibly attracted to her was the worst thing he could think of. It was perfectly all right to be queer. It was positively fashionable. To have constant and insistent sexual desires for French au pair girls, Swedish language students, girls in Boots, even undergraduates at Girton, was normality itself, but Mrs Biggs came into the category of the unmentionable. And the knowledge that but for the fortuitous intervention of the vacuum-cleaner he would have revealed his true feelings for her threw him into a panic. He left his table and went downstairs and walked back into town.
As he reached Great St Mary’s the clock was striking twelve. Zipser stopped and studied the posters on the railings outside the church which announced forthcoming sermons.
CHRIST AND THE GAY CHRISTIAN. Rev. F. Leaney.
HAS SALT LOST ITS SAVOUR? Anglican attitudes to disarmament. Rev. B. Tomkins.
JOB, A MESSAGE FOR THE THIRD WORLD. Right Reverend Sutty, Bishop of Bombay.
JESUS JOKES. Fred Henry by permission of ITA & the management of the Palace Theatre, Scunthorpe.
BOMBS AWAY. A Christian’s attitude to Skyjacking by Flight Lieutenant Jack Piggett, BOAC.
Zipser stared at the University Sermons with a sudden sense of loss. What had happened to the old Church, the Church of his childhood, the friendly Vicar and the helping hand? Not that Zipser had ever been to church, but he had seen them on television and had been comforted by the knowledge that they were still there in Songs of Praise and Saints Alive and All Gas and Gaiters. But now when he needed help there was only this pale parody of the daily paper with its mishmash of politics and sensationalism. Not a word about evil and how to cope with it. Zipser felt betrayed. He went back into Porterhouse in search of help. He’d go and see the Senior Tutor. There was just time before lunch. Zipser climbed the stairs to the Tutor’s rooms and knocked on the door.
“The trouble with the Feast,” said the Dean, munching a mouthful of cold beef, “is that it does tend to run on. Cold beef today. Cold beef tomorrow. Cold beef on Thursday. After that I suppose we’ll have stewed beef on Friday and Saturday and cottage pie on Sunday. By next week we should be getting back to normal.”
“Difficult to eat an entire ox at one sitting,” said the Bursar. “One suspects our predecessors had, shall we say, grosser appetites.”
“I always said it was a mistake to make him Prime Minister,” said the Chaplain.
The Senior Tutor took his place, at table. He was looking more than usually austere.
“Talking of gross appetites,” he said grimly, “I have the gravest doubts about some of our younger members. I have just had a visit from a young man who claims to be under some compulsion to sleep with his bedder.” He helped himself to horseradish.
The Bursar sniggered. “Which one?” he asked.
“Zipser,” said the Senior Tutor.
“Which bedder?”
“I didn’t enquire,” said the Senior Tutor. “It didn’t seem a particularly relevant question.”
The Bursar considered the problem.
“Isn’t he in the Tower?” he asked the Dean.
“Who?”
“Zipser.”
“Yes. I think he is,” said the Dean.
“Then it must be Mrs Biggs.”
The Senior Tutor, who had been debating what to do with a long piece of gristle, swallowed it.
“Dear me. Mrs Biggs. I must say I did young Zipser an injustice.” he said with alarm.
“Impossible to do an injustice to anyone with such depraved tastes,” said the Dean firmly.
“Mrs Biggs hardly comes within the category of forbidden fruit,” tittered the Bursar.
“Thank you,” answered the Chaplain, “I think I will have an apple.”
“Mrs Biggs,” muttered the Tutor. “No wonder the poor fellow imagined he was going mad.”
“Not really,” said the Chaplain. “This one is all right at any rate.”
“What advice did you give him?” the Bursar asked.
The Senior Tutor looked at him disbelievingly. “Advice?” he asked. “It is hardly my position to offer advice on such questions. I am the Senior Tutor, not a Marriage Guidance Counsellor. As a matter of fact I advised him to see the Chaplain.”
“It’s a noble calling,” said the Chaplain, helping himself to a pear. The Senior Tutor sighed and finished his cold beef.
“It only goes to show what happens when you open the doors of the College to research graduates. In the old days such a thing would have been unheard of,” said the Dean.
“Unheard of perhaps but not I think unknown,” said the Bursar.
“With bedders?” the Dean asked angrily. “With bedders? Maintain some sense of proportion, I beg you.”
“No thank you, Dean. I’ve had quite enough already,” the Chaplain replied.
The Dean was about to say something about old fools when the Senior Tutor intervened. “In the case of Mrs Biggs,” he said, “it is precisely the question of proportion that is at stake.”
“We had that last night,” said the Chaplain.
“Oh for God’s sake,” the Senior Tutor snarled. “How the hell can one conduct a serious discussion with him around.”
“My dear fellow,” the Praelector sighed, “that is a question that has been bothering me for years.”
They finished the meal in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts. It was only when they were assembled in the Combination Room for coffee and the Chaplain had been persuaded to go to his room to write a note inviting Zipser to tea that the discussion began again.
“I think that we should view this matter in the wider context,” the Dean said. “The Master’s speech last night indicated only too clearly that he has in mind an extension of precisely that permissiveness of which this latest incident is indicative. I understand. Bursar, that you had a tête-à-tête with Sir Godber this morning.”
The Bursar looked at him unpleasantly. “The Master phoned to ask me to discuss the College finances with him,” he said. “I think you might give me credit for having done my best to disabuse him of the changes his speech suggested.”
“You explained that our resources do not allow us to indulge in the liberal extravagances of King’s or Trinity?” the Senior Tutor asked. The Bursar nodded.
“And was the Master satisfied?” the Dean asked.
“Stunned, I think, would be the more accurate description of his reaction,” said the Bursar.
“Then we are all agreed that whatever he suggests at the meeting of the College Council tomorrow we shall oppose on principle,” said the Dean.
“I think it would be best to wait to hear what he proposes before deciding on a definite policy,” the Praelector said.
The Senior Tutor nodded. “We must not appear too inflexible. An appearance of open-mindedness has in my experience a tendency to disarm the radical left. They seem to feel the need to reciprocate. I’ve often wondered why but it has worked to keep the country on the right lines for years.”
“Unfortunately this time we are dealing with a politician,” the Dean objected. “I have a shrewd idea the Master is rather more experienced in these affairs than we give him credit for. I still think an undivided front is the best policy.”