snigger, no doubt, but sacred, yes—it seems to me, that if she could have produced worked copies of those—those masterpieces—those shining—never mind—if she could have done some work—understood the blues, and the pinks, and the whites, and the oranges, yes, and the blacks too—and if she could still have brought herself to feel she must—must savage them—then I would have had to feel some respect.’‘You have to be careful about the word masterpieces,’ murmurs Dr Himmelblau.‘Oh, I know all that stuff, I know it well. But you have got to listen to me. It can have taken at the maximum half an hour—and there’s no evidence anywhere in the silly girl’s work that she’s ever spent more than that actually looking at a Matisse—she has no accurate memory of one when we talk, none, she amalgamates them all in her mind into one monstrous female corpse bursting with male aggression—she can’t see, can’t you see? And for half an hour’s shit-spreading we must give her a degree?’‘Matisse,’ says Gerda Himmelblau, ‘would sometimes make a mark, and consider, and put the canvas away for weeks or months until he knew where to put the next mark.’‘I know.’‘Well—the—the shit-spreading may have required the same consideration. As to location of daubs.’‘Don’t be silly. I can see paintings, you know. I did look to see if there was any wit in where all this detritus was applied. Any visual wit, you know, I know it’s meant to be funny. There wasn’t. It was just slapped on. It was horrible.’‘It was meant to disturb you. It disturbed you.’‘Look—Dr Himmelblau—whose side are you on? I’ve read your Mantegna monograph. Mes compliments, it is a chef-d’oeuvre. Have you seen this stuff? Have you for that matter seen Peggi Nollett?’‘I am not on anyone’s side, Professor Diss. I am the Dean of Women Students, and I have received a formal complaint against you, about which I have to take formal action. And that could be, in the present climate, very disturbing for me, for the Department, for the University, and for yourself. I may be exceeding my strict duty in letting you know of this in this informal way. I am very anxious to know what you have to say in answer to her specific charge.‘And yes, I have seen Peggi Nollett. Frequently. And her work, on one occasion.’‘Well then. If you have seen her you will know that I can have made no such—no such advances as she describes. Her skin is like a potato and her body is like a decaying potato, in all that great bundle of smocks and vests and knitwear and penitential hangings. Have you seen her legs and arms, Dr Himmelblau? They are bandaged like mummies, they are all swollen with strapping and strings and then they are contained in nasty black greaves and gauntlets of plastic with buckles. You expect some awful yellow ooze to seep out between the layers, ready to be smeared on La Joie de vivre. And her hair, I do not think her hair can have been washed for some years. It is like a carefully preserved old frying-pan, grease undisturbed by water. You cannot believe I could have brought myself to touch her, Dr Himmelblau?’‘It is difficult, certainly.’‘It is impossible. I may have told her that she would be better if she wore fewer layers—I may even, imprudently—thinking, you understand, of potatoes—have said something about letting the air get to her. But I assure you that was as far as it went. I was trying against my instincts to converse with her as a human being. The rest is her horrible fantasy. I hope you will believe me, Dr Himmelblau. You yourself are about the only almost-witness I can call in my defence.’‘I do believe you,’ says Gerda Himmelblau, with a little sigh.‘Then let that be the end of the matter,’ says Perry Diss. ‘Let us enjoy these delicious morsels and talk about something more agreeable than Peggi Nollett. These prawns are as good as I have ever had.’‘It isn’t so simple, unfortunately. If she does not withdraw her complaint you will both be required to put your cases to the Senate of the University. And the University will be required—by a rule made in the days when university senates had authority and power and money—to retain QCs to represent both of you, should you so wish. And in the present climate I am very much afraid that whatever the truth of the matter, you will lose your job, and whether you do or don’t lose it there will be disagreeable protests and demonstrations against you, your work, your continued presence in the University. And the Vice-Chancellor will fear the effect of the publicity on the funding of the College—and the course, which is the only Joint Honours Course of its kind in London—may have to close. It is not seen by our profit-oriented masters as an essential part of our new—“Thrust”, I think they call it. Our students do not contribute to the export drive—’‘I don’t see why not. They can’t all be Peggi Nolletts. I was about to say—have another spoonful of bamboo-shoots and beansprouts—I was about to say, very well, I’ll resign on the spot and save you any further bother. But I don’t think I can do that. Because I won’t give in to lies and blackmail. And because that woman isn’t an artist, and doesn’t work, and can’t see, and should not have a degree. And because of Matisse.’‘Thank you,’ says Gerda Himmelblau, accepting the vegetables. And, Oh dear yes,’ in response to the declaration of intent. They eat in silence for a moment or two. The Cantonese voice asserts that it is a beautiful miming. Dr Himmelblau says,‘Peggi Nollett is not well. She is neither physically nor mentally well. She suffers from anorexia. Those clothes are designed to obscure the fact that she has starved herself, apparently, almost to a skeleton.’‘Not a potato. A fork. A pin. A coathanger. I see.’‘And is in a very depressed state. There have been at least two suicide bids—to my knowledge.’‘Serious bids?’‘How do you define serious? Bids that would perhaps have been effective if they had not been well enough signalled—for rescue—’‘I see. You do know that this does not alter the fact that she has no talent and doesn’t work, and can’t see—’‘She might—if she were well—’‘Do you think so?’‘No. On the evidence I have, no.’Perry Diss helps himself to a final small bowlful of rice. He says,‘When I was in China, I learned to end a meal with pure rice, quite plain, and to taste every grain. It is one of the most beautiful tastes in the world, freshly-boiled rice. I don’t know if it would be if it was all you had every day, if you were starving. It would be differently delicious, differently haunting, don’t you think? You can’t describe this taste.’Gerda Himmelblau helps herself, manoeuvres delicately with her chopsticks, contemplates pure rice, says, ‘I see.’‘Why Matisse?’ Perry Diss bursts out again, leaning forward. ‘I can see she is ill, poor thing. You can smell it on her, that she is ill. That alone makes it unthinkable that anyone—that I—should touch her—’‘As Dean of Women Students,’ says Gerda Himmelblau thoughtfully, ‘one comes to learn a great deal about anorexia. It appears to stem from self-hatred and inordinate self-absorption. Especially with the body, and with that image of our own body we all carry around with us. One of my colleagues who is a psychiatrist collaborated with one of your colleagues in Fine Art to produce a series of drawings—clinical drawings in a sense—which I have found most instructive. They show an anorexic person before a mirror, and what we see—staring ribs, hanging skin—and what she sees—grotesque bulges, huge buttocks, puffed cheeks. I have found these most helpful.’‘Ah. We see coathangers and forks, and she sees potatoes and vegetable marrows. There is a painting in that. You could make an interesting painting out of that.’‘Please—the experience is terrible to her.’‘Don’t think I don’t know. I am not being flippant, Dr Himmelblau. I am, or was, a serious painter. It is not flippant to see a painting in a predicament. Especially a predicament which is essentially visual, as this is.’‘I’m sorry. I am trying to think what to do. The poor child wishes to annihilate herself. Not to be’‘So I understand. But why Matisse? If she is so obsessed with bodily horrors why does she not obtain employment as an emptier of bedpans or in a maternity ward or a hospice? And if she must take on Art, why does she not rework Giacometti into Maillol, or vice versa, or take on that old goat, Picasso, who did things to women’s bodies out of genuine malice? Why Matisse?’‘Precisely for that reason, as you must know. Because he paints silent bliss. Luxe, calme et volupté. How can Peggi Nollett bear luxe, calme et volupté?’‘When I was a young man,’ says Perry Diss, ‘going through my own Sturm und Drang, I was a bit bored by all that. I remember telling someone—my wife—it all was easy and flat. What a fool. And then, one day I saw it. I saw how hard it is to see, and how full of pure power, once seen. Not consolation, Dr Himmelblau, life and power! He leans back, stares into space, and quotes,‘Mon enfant, ma soeur,