The little fat man squirmed in his chair, sweat running down his red cheeks. I thought he was going to cry. Instead, he stared at me as though I had arrived from another planet, an alien being sent solely to torment him.
I didn’t know why Professor Harris felt such pain. He had always been a quick wit, someone who could make me laugh and feel at ease when I worked with him. An affable man, he taught history at the State University, where I also labored. I had never seen him in despair. It did not become him.
The library I worked in served students and faculty with information and, though small, we did maintain equipment with the latest technology. Harris sat outside the Director’s office, toying with a computer keyboard.
I approached the Professor with caution, thinking I could distract him with a question regarding his field, an inquiry I had from a student concerning Thomas Jefferson. I knew where to look for the answer, but I needed this pretext to talk to him.
“Hi, John.” I was on a first-name basis with Harris, as we had worked together for some time. “Can you help me with a
