1. Return to Singapore
My wife - alas - did not like Melbourne any better than Wellington. She kept castigating me for my having failed to investigate the place properly before I took her there. The domestic problems, resulting from her inability to get accustomed to Australian society, kept bringing pressure on me. Whilst this situation induced me to get engrossed in my individual research work, it also produced a sense of isolation which started to affect my university work and standing in the Faculty. Eventually, my inability to relax led to genuine disruptions with Ted’s successor to the Deanship. A further change of scenery started to look advisable. As I was becoming convinced my wife could not find her feet in any place except her hometown, and in close proximity to her large family, there was little room for choice. The move, she kept nagging me to make, was further dictated by another, rather more positive, consideration. I was, in reality, approaching retirement, had made my mark in my own field and the University of Singapore, where I had made my start in academic life, was developing a special interest in my main area of work. The offer made to me, when I sent out feelers, was financially irresistible. After months of indecision, induced by doubts and fears concerning my ability to start afresh once again at this rather late stage in my professional life, we went.
To my relief, things went well back in the East. Within three years I developed a consultative practice, which augmented what was, in any event, a handsome salary. There was only one snag. In the course of the negotiations I had covered all aspects except my entitlement to leave. As my contract was an unusual one, it turned out that under the normal regulations I was not eligible for a sabbatical. The question became one of gentle manipulations in which my new Dean and I tried to outsmart one another. On this occasion, however, I was at a disadvantage. The Dean was none other than a most admirable and charming colleague from my earlier days in Singapore. With wit and a twinkle in her eye, she countered every argument and outwitted every clever move of mine. Left on my own, I would in all probability have given up, and settled for a few stretches of study leave during vacations. Indeed, I could well understand Mei Ling’s approach. Having secured me excellent employment terms and facilities for work, she felt that my attempt to wrangle out an additional concession was improper. In the circumstances, it was ungracious to persist. My wife, though, kept telling me what she thought of my capacity in a bargain.
I was getting desperate when, one bright morning, Mei Ling - who was actually a helpful lady and an excellent Dean - summoned me to the office, with the suggestion that there was a way to solve my problem. As it was always a pleasure to see her, I came eagerly.
“Well,” she said, after the usual pleasantries, “I think we can solve your leave problem. How would you like to go on an exchange to a fine University in California?
“Berkeley, or Stanford” I asked keenly.
“Oh, not quite that high up, but how about Barnes? I just got a letter from the Dean’s representative, who is coming over to discuss the subject. Well?” seeing my expression, she added, somewhat pensively, “What’s the matter? You have heard of Barnes?”
“That emissary,” I said, when I recovered my voice, “his name isn’t by any chance Alisdair Schultz?”
“As I matter of fact, he is the emissary,” she said, after glancing quickly at the letter. “Do you know him? What is so funny? Why don’t you have a look at his letter?”
It was the very same letter, except that Alisdair had added a profuse string of what he considered Eastern greetings and compliments. The word “honourable” was repeated incessantly.
Mei Ling waited patiently until I was able to control my mirth. Without any prompting I related my previous experiences with Alisdair, except that in the spirit of masculine solidarity, I suppressed his amorous advances to Valerie.
“He is just batting out on his own, is he?” Mei Ling asked, her flashing eyes made it clear she was not amused.
“I am pretty certain!”
“So, he is after a free meal and some entertainment, a performance to his tune,” she said, angry but in control. “I’ll see to it that he gets it. A good thing I found out in time!”
She was relieved that no arrangements had been made for Alisdair’s desired interview. The Minister of Law, a former colleague and her predecessor in the Deanery, was not one to suffer fools lightly. After a few moments she added, bringing our interview to an end. “We’ll soon get to the bottom of this business. Y ou better keep this to yourself. I ’ll revert as soon as I have further information.”
Leaving her office, I had the feeling that, for once, Alisdair had bitten more than he could chew. Any doubts on this point were dispelled in about a fortnight, when I received from her secretary a photocopy of a letter just received from the Dean of the Barnes Law School. After the usual polite overtures, in which the Dean thanked her for her communication and gave assured her that, in principle, an exchange could be attractive at some future time, he came down to business. He explained that, Alisdair Schultz, to whose letter she had referred, was highly respected for his standing as one of the country’s top Law Librarians and that they had always encouraged him to represent Barnes in that capacity when he paid visits to other academic institutions. With patent embarrassment, the Dean added that they had been surprised to hear that on several such occasions that Alisdair, who had a real zest for establishing new contacts, took the initiative of raising the subject of exchanges with the institutions he visited. The mere establishment of cordial contacts was, of course, most welcome, but an effective exchange scheme wouldhaveto be considered and approved by the relevant Committee if and when the Law School was in a financial position to pursue it. He deeply regretted that this was not the right time.
At the foot of the letter Mei Ling had scrawled. “Thanks for warning me off, I think this fixes him, hope you don’t mind looking after the fellow when he comes over, and as regards to your leave, don’tworry, we’ll arrange something.”
I had to smile to myself but, at the same time, had an awkward feeling. This was the third occasion on which my path had crossed Alisdair’s. On each I had done him some harm, even if it was only to his ego. I, in turn, had derived a benefit. I concluded that the score ought to be put right.
2. Alisdair Visits The National University of Singapore
On this occasion too, Alisdair’s eyes widened when the Dean’s secretary beaconed him to enter my room. For a moment we kept staring and one another. He had put on weight, looked slightly stooped and his thin light hair had turned grey. To my amusement, he had grown a goatee, impressively streaked with salt and pepper. But his blue eyes, though startled and expressing some resentment, appeared to have retained their lustre.
Striding towards him, I held out my hand and greeted him as I would an old friend. He shook hands awkwardly, his eyes still conveying suspicion and a certain unease.
“Have a seat,” I said cordially, but, as I was not certain about the appropriate degree of formality, refrained from addressing him by name. “Our Dean has asked me to look after you. She regrets that she is engaged today; but I have made some arrangements and hope they will be suitable.”
He kept looking at me fixedly, not knowing what to make out of my speech. Small beads of sweat were standing on his brow. To lighten the awkward atmosphere, I went on hurriedly: “I have booked the private function room in the Guild House, and we shall be joined by the University’s Chief Librarian, the Law Librarian, the Research Co-ordinator of the Academy of Law, and the Curator of the Books of the Supreme Court Library. In addition, we have the Research Directors of a number of our leading law firms; most of them are also in charge of libraries.”
He cleared his throat, and, at long last, said:
“I see … I suppose … there is no arrangement with the Minister of Law?”
“I am afraid not, although one of his aides, who is in charge of research, is joining us. But I forgot to mention that today’s second guest of honour - I mean in addition to yourself - is Mr Justice C, who supervises the conferences and research programmes of the Academy. He is one of our Senior Judges and, in terms of protocol, senior to any Minister except the P.M. and the Deputy P.M.”
Alisdair took his time to digest this information. To my relief his face cleared.
“That’s quite a function; it’s very kind of you to have taken the trouble,” he spoke warmly, but I had the feeling that something was left unsaid.
“It is a pleasure; actually most of them - including the Judge - know you from your writings in professional journals.”
I mentioned the name of some of the periodicals in which Alisdair published regularly his book reviews and articles on problems facing law libraries. I then added quickly: “Incidentally, I read your review of my Modern Banking Law. Thanks.”
“I hope you thought it was fair?” he spoke as a professional, concerned about his objectivity.
“It was. Actually, I thought your observations about my style and approach were extremely helpful.”
He nodded, with satisfaction. I had the impression he wanted to say something concerning our previous encounters. But his intention was frustrated by a knock on my door. Mrs. Lim, our Law Librarian, had come to meet him and, after the usual greetings, we walked across the yard to the Guild House.
By any standards, it was a singularly successful function. Alisdair’s writings were well known to all the professional librarians at the table. His reputation was, I decided, well earned. I had forgotten to mention to him that our Judge, who had once been a part-time member of the Law School, had published a monograph on local land law. Alisdair, however, was aware of its existence and expressed his delight when he was advised that the young author of days gone bye was the very judge with whom he was conducting a lively conversation. Throughout the entire, relaxed, lunch, our guest was not the vague exchange-scheme-Alisdair but a highly competent and professionally self-assured Professor Schultz, the renowned Law Librarian.
Alisdair retained this impressive image during a short tour of our Library, in which Mrs Lim asked for his advice on some of our problems. He answered all question with clarity; there was no slack, no prevarication. To my surprise, he was just as familiar with the confusing Indian and Pakistani sets of law reports as with the materials of North America.
Only one aspect kept puzzling me. What had induced this highly competent professional librarian, who could expect to be welcomed as a guest of honour at any Law Library, to have pulled the stunts concerning the exchange schemes? What had made him wish to sail under false colours when his genuine credentials were impeccable? My perplexity grew when I noticed that, although Alisdair was at ease and in command of the situation, he did not appear to savour the red-carpet reception given to him.
3.Alisdair explains
I found no easy overture for raising this subject when I drove Alisdair back to his hotel. But to my relief he bridged it himself when I joined him for a drink in the comfortable lounge.
“You look somewhat perplexed, Peter”, he said, dropping formalities.
“Well, it occurred to me that we could have had similar functions in Wellington and Monash if you had indicated an interest in meeting our library and research staff?”
“You wonder why I didn’t,” he paused for a minute, “and instead came to discuss exchanges.”
“Sort of hiding you light under a bushel,” I said, adding untruthfully “I came across your biodata only after your visit to Monash. You are, obviously, one of America’s leading Law Librarians.”
“Well,” he said, accepting the compliment unflinchingly, and adding in a matter of fact voice devoid of pomp, “I dare say I stay in Barnes by choice; I have been invited to top schools on the East Coast. But I like the fishing, and the free out of doors life.”
Both of us remained silent for a few minutes. I felt too awkward to voice any further questions. After all, how do you ask a solid citizen what induced him to act as a humbug. Alisdair, in turn, was trying to formulate his explanation. He was, clearly, no fool and comprehended only too well what was on my mind. Eventually, he raised his head:
“Look here, you realise that during each visit I was on recreation?” seeing me nod, he added: “Not on university service. I visit universities, officially, as a librarian during term time. When you are on leave, don’t you like to put it all behind you? You see my point?”
“Sure,” I said quite perplexed, “but I simply don’t make professional calls; I’d rather stay at home than attend a function when on leave!”
He reflected for a moment, as a person does when he seeks to make a difficult point indirectly. He then said: “But don’t you, on occasions, pretend that you are in a sort of different world when you are away. Something perhaps related to a hobby?”
“Well, yes,” I said, feeling even more bewildered than before. “But what has this got to with it?”
“Come, tell me about it; I’ll soon show you. What is your hobby?”
“I suppose collecting European porcelain is the closest,” I said, still far behind.
“That will do. How do you get it?”
“Mainly in auctions when I fly to London or Vienna!”
“Now, tell me, do you only bid on pieces you expect to get?”
“Well …,” I started and then saw light. “Sometimes, but not often, I bid on pieces which are going to go for considerably more than I can afford.”
He looked at me eagerly, with a plea for understanding, and with a slowly growing twinkle in his eye. He then asked rhetorically: “And sometimes you go well beyond your means because you know, for sure, that someone else will raise your bid?” He stopped for a moment, took in my nod, and added, with conviction: “You see, you are in dream land, aren’t you? Actually, what do you say to yourself?”
“Actually,” I confessed, shamefacedly, “I pretend, on these occasions, that I’m a wealthy collector from some Eastern country. As you rightly say, for a moment I sort of assert that I’m not confined to my professional income. I act as if I were a Japanese businessman or, perhaps, the envoy of some multi-millionaire.”
Alisdair’s face broke into a warm, brotherly, smile. He looked at me approvingly. Naturally, he realised that I had caught the drift but, all the same, felt it necessary to sum up: “So now you get the point. When I call in connection with my exchange schemes, I too am in dream land. I always wanted to be a diplomat; perhaps an Ambassador at Large; but they didn’t think I had the right personality for the service. So, I became a Law Librarian. My missions,” he added with a guffaw, “are your extravagant bids; on my missions, I am his Excellency Alisdair Schultz! I conduct vague discussion on a diplomatic scale!”
“But surely, there is a difference; mine do no harm; you could have fooled quite a few people and, in Wellington, your visit may have put a spanner in the wheels of our leave scheme?”
“Come, come; everything was alright in the end; perhaps a small complication; and don’t pretend your game is harmless. You and some other enthusiasts can force the price up considerably to the disadvantage of the genuine bidder; you sort of help to create euphoria; I hear that some sales rooms even sponsor such bidding; helps them to get a higher commission.” Stopping for a moment, he added with a touch of religiousness: “We always think our own little game is less harmful than the other guy’s.”
It was my turn to chuckle. We had another drink, this time at my expense, and then I was preparing to go. However, just as I was getting ready to leave, I pointed out to Alisdair that, in a sense, he could have combined the playful with the useful. If, for instance, he had presented his credentials at Monash coupled with a request to meet some of our politicians, we could have easily arranged to invite the most suitable persons to the function. This, I pointed out, was what I had done on the present occasion, except that my choice had fallen on a judge. On such occasions, I added, he would be presented as Professor Schultz but could readily assume ambassadorial airs. He could, in addition, utilise such functions to further the cause of Law Libraries and law librarians. Initially, Alisdair shrugged his shoulders but, as we walked to the front door, I noticed that he looked rather thoughtful.