1976

In 1974 Harry worked as a professor for a small college that specialized in liberal arts and archaeology called Ogden Sumner University. He had been leading a dig in the Tolfa Mountains in northern Italy for a year and returned to gather more supplies and students. Carl, the chancellor of the school, took on a new professor and invited him to dinner to meet Harry and the rest of the faculty.

The campus was small and no more than a fifteen-minute walk from end to end. It lay deep in the Rocky Mountains on a high plateau that offered a bucolic atmosphere, with low sloping hills and a view of the distant mountains. Bear Creek River ran straight through the center of campus and was prized for its beauty and its sport. OSU won conference in rowing three straight years and sent four students to the '72 Olympics the year before.

Few people used their cars on campus and most walked to classes and even to town, which doubled in size when school was in session. The chancellor lived in a large stone mansion built in 1810 by a British architect who sold it to Ogden Sumner for twice what it was worth just before the war of 1812. The college came along in 1822.

Dinner at the Chancellors house was always a formal affair and Harry dug his tuxedo out of storage and was surprised he still fit into it. He even shaved his beard for the occasion.

The dinner was a success as usual and Carl paired the new man, Dagon and Harry with splendid results and although the affair was to welcome the new professor to the family, many of the professors' wives and the two not married often mistook Harry's magnanimous personality for flirtation.

Professor Jim Barnes, from the math department, came up to Harry after dinner and thanked him for keeping his wife company so he could maneuver closer to the new graduate assistant with what he called the "extraordinary assets." The male population assumed that Harry's advances were merely polite, but the women took turns seducing the adventurer. This worried Carl who hoped that some of the women would fuss over Dagon.

"Harry," he said, pulling him aside just after dessert. "I want you to share some of the affection you receive with the new guest. I want him to feel comfortable."

They scanned the crowd and locked eyes on Dagon who was already three deep in women. "I don't think you have too much to worry about, Carl. I'm guessing he'll do just fine."

Dagon told stories of his adventures in the mountains of South America. He swirled his brandy and told of being chased by bandits and thugs, "And they were just the government officials!" The women near him laughed solicitously. In his other arm, he held Mrs. Buxley, the librarian and regaled the women with tales of the cold dark tombs he had exhumed.

"He's doing okay for an old man, Carl."

"Old, Harry." Carl looked surprisingly offended. "I'm a year younger than he, and I'm only fifty-two."

"It must be the grey," Harry said with a wry smile. That seemed to quell Carl's insecurities, although he and Dagon both had greying sides.

Carl stood by the door talking quietly with Dagon for several minutes and when Harry approached, they stopped.

"I'm heading back home, Carl," he said. Then he looked at Dagon and put his hand on his shoulder. "Dagon, would you like to walk with me? I think we're heading in the same direction."

They walked back to campus together. "Professor Benicia," Harry said, "how do you like the school so far?"

"Dago, everyone calls me Dago. Or Dagon." However, before Harry could say his name, Dago read his expression and said, "I'm Italian. I grew up in Brooklyn and we all had politically incorrect monikers." He paused and stopped to pick a twig off the ground. "I've just dipped my feet into the pool, so to speak, and I'm going to teach a course this spring on the influence of mummification on the Indian culture in South America; a specialty of mine." He stopped to look at his watch.

Harry noticed they were standing in front of an old cottage with a freshly painted white picket fence.

"Ah well, anyway, I'm home." Dago swung open the little gate to the path leading up to the front door. "The others should be here by now. Why don't you come in for a drink? There's a lot to talk about."

The others turned out to be two graduate students: Nancy Tully and Don Cassopolis and a flock of undergraduates who had separated themselves from the Dago and Harry and the graduate pair.

Dago offered them a vintage bottle of wine. "It's from Argentina. They have a young wine industry there." A rousing cheer came from the other end of the house when one of the male students chugged beer from a pitcher. "This bottle," Dago said with a smile, "is from a German gentleman who brought over several thousand cuttings from a very old vineyard in France to Argentina after the war."

"They say never ask a woman how old she is, a man his salary, or a German why their grandpa is from Argentina," Nancy joked. That brought on several minutes of bad joke telling from the others. While that was going on Harry looked at Nancy who kept laughing at the others' jokes.  She was an attractive woman with light brown hair and a short turned-up nose, and her eyes sparkled when she smiled, and she had dimples. She was a graduate student transferred from the History department to work specifically in Italy with Harry.  

"And what is your story," Harry asked her. "What brings you over from history?"

She explained that her ex-husband worked in that field, and she had done her master's under his tutelage. "But he was a drunken slob with an insatiable appetite." 

"He was obese?" Don ventured to ask. 

Nancy liked Don and gently looked over at him and paused before adding, "I fell for his charm and somehow found myself part of his dessert menu." 

Don blushed but the others let that pass unnoticed. "I caught him in bed with another professor's wife. That's when I came here for my doctorate." She held a glass of wine in her hand, and it often came close to spilling, but she never took a sip. She held his gaze for a while and Harry smiled.

He turned to Don who looked as much like a wrestler as anyone he had ever seen. He was a handsome enough fellow, with a Slavic looking face: square, blonde hair, blue eyes, and even some freckles across the bridge of his nose. He thought, if Nancy were attracted to anyone it would be Don.

"I'm a Nebraskan. We never sleep with any man's wife, Dr. Thursday," he said, his face sincere.

"Well, you've never slept with any of mine," Harry replied. "I'm sure."

"Any?" Dago inserted.

Harry shrugged and shook his head with a discerning frown. "Short term and I'm not sure if it was legal in the Queen's eye."

They talked into the night. Dago told them of his lifelong work, and of the Chilean mountains. "There are mummies there and so much work to do. My last post let me go after I failed to produce any substantial return on their investment, but I am very close." Then he went on about Europe and his time spent there during the war in Italy and France. "I was with the 101st airborne," he said. "We'd got around a bit."

He brought out a humidor filled with cigarettes and offered one to each. Don refused, but Nancy and Harry accepted. Harry rarely smoked; in fact, he quit the year before going to Italy. It was easier to smoke with alcohol. He pressed Dago with the European thing, wondering how a corporal could be in so many places in so short a time.

"I stayed on after the fighting stopped. I spent thirteen years in Europe as a private citizen. Started my career there. You can't believe how much antiquities survived the massive amount of bombing that went on. Then I moved to Argentina for a few years before coming here.

They finished the evening when the sun came up unexpectedly. Don had already gone home, promising to be ready in two days to head south. Harry took the opportunity to walk Nancy home across campus. She was tall, reaching nearly to Harry's eyes. She wore a cotton dress that flared from the waist down. Rather than wearing high heels, she had a pair of flats, which revealed her true height. Harry found himself holding her hand by the time they reached the cottage she shared with other girls. The cool morning air was calm and dry. Leaves rustled in the tops of the trees, and they could smell the roses in the garden. Somewhere, a student shouted for his girlfriend, calling her name.

Nancy looked over. "He must be lost."

"It doesn't get any more romantic than that," Harry said.

She invited him in for coffee. This was no young coed, and Harry felt the temptation, but politely suggested that he was tired and had a lot to do to prepare for the trip south. He kissed her gently on the cheek instead and stood watching as she entered her cottage.