THE STUDY

A Scholar’s Study

He carries around a fountain pen with blue ink and a gold pocket watch either in his jacket pocket or trouser side. He does not like wearing things on his wrist and he grew up with the fountain pen and thought it to be something useful and authentic from that time period. He owns first editions of John Cheever’s Whapshot novels and had introduced me to Cheever but the only thing I could say I enjoyed about the series is the creative use of names Cheever gives to all his characters. We both agreed that Leander is a solid name for a person; he then wished he could change his name from Leonard to Leander. “Well its not so much about changing your name, it is just about switching the letters around, L-e-a-n-d-o-r, see, now I will call you Leandor from now on” I said this to him and he was happy.

            As you enter Leandor’s study you are struck by the warm smell of old books in leather bindings and coffee. This very much suits the room and once over the threshold I knew this is the room for study, reading, and relaxing. There are two windows in the study - one larger facing West over the Charles River and one Northeast overlooking Longfellow Park and Mt Auburn Street. Around tea time as the sun moves to the West the room is flooded with strong streams of sunlight that eventually cast bold/clear shadows against the walls; but because the room is on the first floor of the apartment building it does not let in as much light as it does on the floors above. The larger window sits above a light mahogany reproduction ships table on top of which sits a reproduction of the small portable writing desk on which Jefferson drafted the Declaration of Independence. Next to this sits a silver/blue microscope and several objects, elegantly placed, that stretch out to the bay of the window. Among the objects is a baby blue wedge wood cup with a white ancient Roman design of figures around the sides. This cup is filled with his pencils, scissors, pens etc. Along the side of this is a small ushbati Egyptian figurine sitting upright facing the door and next to this are three small mahogany boxes with brass latches.

To the right of this window is a smaller window which is positioned not flat against the wall but in the corner. In between these two windows is one, double-bay, bookcase of cherry wood that has been darkened by time and sun and to the right of the smaller window is a wall-case with four bays of a light cherry that has not been darkened by time or sun. When looking directly at the smaller window the bookcases that surround it create a tunnel like shape whose end point is this small window. The few sections of the wall that are not occupied with a picture or a bookcase are painted in a colonial pale green. The third bookcase of a dark cherry sits between the two closet doors and is closest to the entrance door. Among the books it holds are family pictures of he and his wife Jenna. Every time I look at these I am always drawn to the two college graduation photos of Jenna. These two pictures in connecting gold oval frames,  her dressed in a gown but one with a cap and one without a cap, are what I think is the perfect college graduation photo, one you would see in a magazine. Jenna’s short, straight, light brown hair, and her ease of a smile showing perfect white teeth, intrigues me as an onlooker. I modeled my graduation pictures to these but I did not come close to Jenna’s photogenic look.  

He steps up on his chair and takes down one of the red boxes with brass latches that are stacked in three columns, six boxes to a column, on top the bookcase closest to the door. He opens it and looks but was not what he was looking for. He closes and latches the box and puts it back in the stack and small dust particles lifted into the air. He then reaches over to the far left column and pulls down box 72 “entorhinal cortex of case #72”. He steps down as dust trails behind him. He turns to his desk and plugs in his microscope. He took out a slide that was stained for Ab and SMI32 pathology =AB plaques. He focuses in on the slide. I sit myself down on the maroon two-seater couch whose edges are torn from Pymmy the cats’ natural instinct of clawing upholstery. I begin to think of things I could say that would relate to science or about the microscope but having failed Biology and thinking back on terms that were tested on the microscope in high school all I could remember is the base, the neck and the platform thingy that holds the slide of the microscope. I then resorted to not saying anything at all.

As he stands hovering over the microscope and adjusting the focus, unable to speak about anything science related I begin to tell him about the startling reaction my boss gave me after I had told her I was to graduate with a BA in English Literature this coming May. “She gave me a sneer and asked me what I could do with an English Literature degree and told me that I would probably benefit more with something more practical” to which he turned and replied:

What?! Julie do not listen to her, education is about other than vocational training. If all you wanted out of an educating was a job you could have done better by skipping college - truly someone with no understanding. Tell her to read Henry Newman on "liberal education'... shit head as I would say - god I hate narrow minded stupid people like that. Am serious in my condemnation of her - she is small minded in the extreme and people like that drive me wacky,  you stick with your studies - you will be a better person for them... when you graduate we will welcome you to the company of educated men and women. That is what is said at Harvard commencement: "I welcome you to the company of educated men and women" not "I welcome you to some 9 to 5 shit ass job:"--- they are plainly ignorant Julie – believe me… really that is so lame and so clearly a sign of not understanding what higher education is all about - it is NOT VOCATIONAL SCHOOL

Looking up at him wide-eye I could not help but laugh slightly at each inhalation of air he took to continue his rant. All the while I am thinking I should have said this to my boss. He bids me over to the microscope and I look at what is being magnified. “It is brain tissue that has AD pathology and cell loss. Cool right?” “Yes, very cool Leandor”.

            Over at his wall-case Leandor steps on his two step stool and looks for my next summer reading book. Curious about his study I look over at his desk and see the papers that is stacked about. One title reads bolded at the top of A4 white paper Editorial Manager (tm) for Acta Neuropathologica:  Manuscript Draft. I then turn my attention to the bay of the window where sits the three small mahogany boxes. I lift one up and notice its slight heaviness. I place it back where it was when I hear Leandor step down from his stool and turning to me he says,

Ok I found the book, The Longest Journey by E.M Forster. I really enjoyed reading this book while I was in college. The writing is of a different style than the past books I have given you. This book is centered on the aesthetic of the writing more so the action, but there is a story to it. I hope you will enjoy it.

I thank him, take the book and flip through the pages and happy to see that it was a relatively short novel. Turning to the window again I ask Leandor about the small mahogany boxes. He picks one up and says, “oh these are my microscope collection, here look”. We sit down on the maroon two-seater couch with the edges torn from Pymmy the cats’ continual use of clawing at it; Leandor opens the box and says,

This is from the first quarter of the 19^th Century 1800-1825. This one is a single lens but some of them can have compounded lenses. They were mostly what are called field microscopes you could carry them in your pocket as you were out in the field studying pond water or insects or plants. But could be used indoors also.

He screws the brass shaft of the microscope into the box which then becomes the base. In a simple twist the small mahogany box then becomes a 10cm brass microscope whose stage is fixed to the shaft and a wheel that moves the stage up and down the shaft to change the focus. The lenses are set and screwed into a ring that holds them and is fixed to the top of the shaft. Looking at this tiny microscope I begin to think of how simple science class would have been if I were to take it during the 19^th century.

            Leandor places the microscope back on the bay of the window displaying the brass model. He turns to me and grasps his hands and asks me “Julie, do you think this looks like a scholarly study?”. Slightly shocked I smile at him and wonder why he wanted my opinion and my judgment of his study, a poor Hunter College student. I then said “of course it is a scholarly study, it is so New England; you’ve got the books, the wood furniture, and the antiques. It is very much scholarly”. What a scholarly answer.

            Jenna is the most delicate creature I have ever met. Growing up being my brother’s best and only sports partner, I mostly learned how to throw a football in a perfect spiral, and to pitch a fast fastball, and to make absurd reverse lay-ups when my brother dominated me in defense during a basketball game. I do have manners and am polite but I would never call myself elegant. Jenna moves with grace and her hand movements always mesmerize me.  There is much care that is put into whatever she touches, especially inanimate objects. She will pick up a fork or a cup with such tenderness that the object becomes something more; it becomes its own being. There is no characteristic about Jenna that would lead me to believe her gestures were ever abrupt, she seems to have been always of the delicate nature. But I believe 30 years of working in and being a curator at the University Library and Hougton Library, her handling of rare and precious books have developed into a precise touch where she does not invade the objects space and abuse its services but she gives the object life by allowing it to be apart of her. She guides it and it follows in a subtle, rhythmic motion creating a unique union between life and the inanimate and it is her hands that are the agents of this divine nature. 

            Peering into the study from the living room I watch Jenna place the top sheet on the fold out bed. Patting down and sweeping gently off the wrinkles of the top fold of the white lace trimmed sheet, she moves down to the foot of the bed and folds the corners; tucking them under the mattress. She moves up the other side of the bed, her back facing me now, and evens out the top fold to the single pillow on the bed. Rising from her bent position she looks at the made up bed and is satisfied. She turns to leave and as she comes out of the study I say to her that I would have helped but she smiled and shook her head and said that I was the guest.

            That night I lay in the bed thinking about the care Jenna put into in making the bed up for me, I think to myself that I want to be as elegant as she and treat objects the way she does because it is so beautiful. I think about this and wrap the white, lace tripped sheet about my neck and fall asleep. Early the next morning, I wake slightly as I inhale deeply the ancient yet familiar smell of fresh brewed coffee.   The last time I woke to fresh brewed coffee was when I was 4 and living with my Grandparents as my mother went through her divorce. When I was young I would wake to this and run downstairs to greet my Grandfather for breakfast. This was our time together and even if I sat there silently while he was reading the news paper I was content in just being in his presence. When the fresh brew of coffee slowly filled the study I had an overwhelming feeling of safety and comfort. I knew that this was a place where I felt safe, safe to succeed, to fail, to be me.