Le Clef de mon couer
by John Davis Collins @1999 All Rights Reserved By John F. Clennan, Esq.
The lights were just being turned on in the basement of University Hall,
one of the four main buildings that dotted the crest of the old golf course
HILLTOP University stood on. Why was I here so early? Was I as crazy as my
friend Mad Mary who concocted this idea? And I was her loyal follower
because she, Mary Keyton, had the key to my adolescent heart.
On this brisk November morning, with the low grey clouds concealing a
cool dawn, I idly read the Signal Fire, HU's campus newspaper. Headlines
Glared:
"Brother," the security guard grunted, "you'll have to wait for 10
o'clock when the coeds show up."
The key to my heart promised to be here early. There was time. At the
Wailing Wall, a lonely clerk was just starting to hang the list of classes
opening in the new semester.
The article continued:
I returned to my article while waiting:
Mad Mary's dancing freckles gave her a devilishly innocent quality which
concealed her knowledge of the ins - and- outs of University Hall. "It all
comes from the diner, on the edge of campus. All the profs eat there..."
The diner where Mad Mary worked excluded students...except as help. I
returned to the article:
"Say again?"
"It means certainly, but can be used to mean correct or right or as an
interrogative to mean Really?"
"Good," she ordered, "you get to sit right next to me." Many of the
young men on campus would have loved to have heard those words, but she still
treated me like a kid brother.
"You brought your student id card? I got some of my relatives coming
from out of town and I need to go over per game limit."
"Increased to four per game." When she looked at me in amazement, I
defended myself, "look it's right in (I opened the paper to quote) the
"Signal Fire." I wrinkled the paper with exaggeration. "Lest you think the
campus needs to be returned to a state of nature for the study of applied
physics and geometry..."
I sighed. I'd even endure watching a basketball match for a date with
Mad Mary. "Let's see if the ticket office is open," she suggested.
"Third time, this month," I commented, "your relatives must really like
basketball."
She lowered her head impassively, "Never mind...I'll treat you to lunch
at the diner..."
"No longer forbidden fruit..." I replied. That's the closest I came to a
date with Mad Mary. After I bought the tickets and gave them to her, she'd
sit across from me at a booth in the diner, palms folded on the table in
front of her.
In the first day of new semester, it seemed the word about Professor
Facile had been widely broadcast and 60 students milled around a 30 seat
classroom. I stood along the wall with Mad Mary. Her cheeks were burnished
fire engine red by the heat of packed bodies.
An attendant came in and called out names as olive skinned Professor
Facile, in front of the instructor's desk looked sadly at a dangling watch
chain. As we were herded to a second floor classroom, Mary out stretched
pure white palms in question. Dr. Facile caught her eye and shook his head
slowly.
Shrugging her shoulders defiantly in reply, Mary led the death march out
of Dr. Facile's classroom. Upstairs we filed into a new classroom with a
youngish professor who introduces us to the art of reading 19th century
French writers:
"The important task is not thumbing through the dictionary at
every word. If you can get the gist of the story, individual phrases
will fall into place."
At that, the door flung open.
"Pardon, Monsieur Le Professeur," said Professor Facile with a bright
smile, "Il est necessaire apporter quelque etudiants a la salle en bas pour
retourner a ma classe." Professor Facile turned to the class and with a
thick french accent yelled out:
"Marie Keyton..."
Four other names followed. Mary and the others stood and grabbed their
books. I smiled a good bye to Mary. The young professor was about ready to
continue his lecture when Mary shot a glance to Professor Facile and pointed
to me...
"Mes pardons...j'ai oublie totalement...Monsieur?" Professor Facile
looked down at his list. Mary carefully pronounced my name and Professor
Facile hesitantly repeated it. "Oui, six etudiants," Professor Facile said
confidently.
I followed Mary out. She gleamed in triumph. We marched back to the
first classroom. When we entered it was empty.
"Empty?" I crept over Mary's shoulder to whisper in her ear. "There were
30 people here before we were sent upstairs."
"Erroneous registrations..." Mary replied tartly. "By the way, you owe
me. I need to buy tickets..."
The class of six met on and off and read a couple of stories. The
professor did have us recite and translate aloud.
Mad Mary had a beautiful voice for French and eloquently recited the soft
tones of the provincial French author.
"Bonne, M'mselle, tradussez en anglais."
"I'm sorry I was reading and not thinking."
"En Francais, M'mselle, Parlez en francais en cette classe."
"I'm sorry," Mary replied.
"Oh Marie," the professor pulled a chain from his vest. "Before this
semester, I lost the key." Professor raised his eyebrows and sighed
wistfully, "I used to call it the key to my heart." The professor dangled
his key chain. "You'll have to find it to pass." Professor Facile shook his
head solemnly.
"Mary," I whispered to her, "Lets have a study date..." She squinted her
nose. "At the diner, after you buy me tickets...the team is unbeatable...and
my...relatives would like..." I scarcely followed the HU's basketball team's
triumphant season.
"University Officials," the Signal Fire reported that morning, "Chafed
over the popularity of the student discounted tickets...yet only a small
portion of the student body actually takes advantage..."
Mid term exams were not especially difficult. "Entend, mes etudiants.
Les examens etient presque parfaitement." The professor took a deep breath
and raised his voice in annoyance "Mais, Marie..." Mary slouched objected in
her chair. Her long legs reached under the chair in front of her. Her face
burned beet red. When the professor returned her paper, she crumpled it in a
ball and tossed it into her purse.
"Marie, ce n' est pas lycee..." the professor said in soft French tones.
"Ah Pardon..." he continued in accented English, "For you in English...the
baby French I teach is not especially difficile for any English speaking
person...yet, this is not the lyceum, Excusez-moi, High School...you can't
get by on a few bars of Vive La Companie...Even for me, your paper was
unacceptable." The professor looked up to the heavens. "You must find the
key to my heart." Training his eyes on her as she squirmed in her chair, he
exclaimed, " Le Clef de mon coeur!"
"Bon Enfant." the professor handed me my grade.
When Professor Facile returned to the teacher's desk, I leaned over to
whisper to Mary "What went wrong?"
"Nothing, I've got to teach you better handwriting so that I can read it.
I thought you were pre law not pre med." She gasped in annoyance. "Never
mind..." she said with annoyance, "my relatives need more basketball tickets."
I tried to get a study date with Mary, but right up to the final exam,
she was always busy waitressing. The night before the final, she called me
down to the restaurant and reminded me to pick up basketball tickets on my
way.
"Pennant fever. My..eh...relatives will be back for the game."
It was supper time when I reached the ticket window. Only one student
was a head of me...complaining about the locations of her seats...the clerk
grunted, "Outside people would pay $100 for those seats in peanut heaven..."
In the diner, Marie accepted the small envelope with a devilish smile.
"It's quiet tonight, perhaps you could teach me..." Her bright green eyes
gleamed when she studied the tickets.
"Parlons." I said.
"Huh?" she asked.
"Lets talk," I said "we only need to know a couple of stories...the prof
doesn't ask..."
Another waitress tapped Mary on the shoulder. Mary walked to the
customer by the register, took some money and handed him some tickets.
Mary returned to the table with some hesitation. "Waitressing for tips
isn't bad. That good, but the owner does allow us some perks." She started
to finger my hand.
I looked at her carefully. "Prof only asks a couple of easy questions..."
The other waitress tapped her on the shoulder. "You have a customer
waiting." I reminded Mary with annoyance creeping into my voice "Brisk
business but not in food."
The other waitress sat down next to me and muttered, "it's not like she
needs the money...it's a game to her."
As soon as Mad Mary returned to the table, the other waitress motioned
toward the register. "Another customer, Mary."
Mad Mary plopped back. "I didn't expect this much action so early...with
the big game coming up..." She looked away.
"But you recited in French so well..." I stared at her critically. The
other waitress broke into a girlish giggle.
"You thought so because I own the key to your heart...Problem is I
need..."
I sat dumbfounded.
"How could that surprise you! You love everything French."
When Mary served another customer, the other waitress smiled. "It's okay
for you to teach me French."
Mary took her exam on a sultry day in a McGregor plaid skirt and vest
over a white blouse. The vertical red and black stripes accentuated her ruby
complexion and the morning sun sparkled in her strawberry hair. She folded
an exam booklet in the palms of her hands with a sickly half smile as the
five other students, more casually dressed, dove into the exam.
"Probleme, M'mselle?" Professor Facile asked. "J'ai le clef des
coeurs," she replied in her mellifluous voice.
"Bon, votre premiere phase en francais." The professor smiled.
After about a half an hour, the students tromped up to the professor's
desk to hand in papers, the exams had not been difficult. Mad Mary was right
behind me on line. Her expression was frozen and distant.
"I don't suppose you need me to buy any tickets for your relatives today"
I told her as I handed in my paper.
"No. Don't suppose." She said shaking her head in disgust.
I didn't see `Mad Mary' again until grades were posted on the Wailing
Wall in the basement of University Hall. Mary was there early, bubbling as
she waited for the clerk to start posting the grades. I pretended not to
take notice as I read the campus newspaper:
"The accreditation committee passed HU and commended
reforms. A lone dissenter derided changes as `Superficial
manicuring'..."
There were 36 grades reported in a class of 6. Professor Facile's long
list had five A's or B+'s in a sea of C's.
Wrinkling her nose, she exclaimed "C+!" She gasped, "The old lecher
lumped me with the basketball team!"
"More people with the key to his heart?" I replied.
I looked up at the blank "Wailing Wall" where the grades would be posted
at the end of the semester. A security guard, tromping idly through the
empty tiled halls, confronted a short dark skinned man who in a foreign
accent begged for help looking for the key to his heart. "An award from my
own days in University."
HU Keeps Accreditation
The prestige of HU's law school may have saved
HU, but reforms will be necessary on the campus
"too intertwined with its basketball team..."
My friend 'Mad Mary' had whispered to me "they'll put up the list right
before Thanksgiving when most students take a long weekend. We can
pre-register into the easy classes...together..."
"The action comes a breath of relief for the students
of HU, most of whom are strivers, working their way through the
University..."
Competition for the easy classes would be tough and I needed to keep up my
Grade Point Average.
"Promised reforms that kept accreditation include
requiring athletes to register for and attend most
classes..."
I looked at my watch. It was just 8 a.m. Mad Mary would be getting off
work at the diner and starting to trudge up the rolling hills. I returned to
the article:
"An indifferent attitude towards students will
end. HU will require the on-campus diner to accept student
patrons or will terminate the lease..."
When I looked up from the paper, Mad Mary was standing on her tippy toes
arching her back to inspect the list of classes. "Professor Facile for French
4," she wagged her reddish blonde carrot top leaving a dazzle of curls flap
in her wake. "Certainement," I replied.
"...student discounted tickets for the
championship basketball team will be increased
to four tickets per game..."
Two weeks were spent upstairs. While I enjoyed insightful lectures, Mary
stared out the window at a lonely flag dancing in the brisk winter winds.
The young Professor addressed the art of translation:
"They wrote in the main about the petit Bourgoisie,
not necessarily out of hatred for their stinginess
or their pettiness, but out of interest for their
predicament -- Unlike the upper class, the lower
middle class had no staying power. One error put them out of
the game..."
When the clerk hung the French classes grades, Mary sparkled
in anticipation which quickly turned to a scowl.
Final Report Approved