(Christos Tsotsos is the author of The secret of the elements)
A year ago I
became the father of a beautiful baby girl living with my wife on a warm
Mediterranean island. I was enjoying family life in a warm laid back
climate. For the past three years I was
working on a very prestigious European science award considering how to “burn”
neoplastic growth of tissue in bone without chemically raising the patient’s
body temperature to avoid risking organ failure. This was a dream job for an
engineer. It was nanotechnology at its best. I was over the moon, results were
promising and although we were years before in-vivo tests I felt that I was
contributing to a greater cause. I was oblivious to the political war that the
Head of the lab was having with the rest of the department, and felt that my
specialist skills had my job secured over the looming economic crisis.
A year ago
to this day I was living the dream when the phone rang.
“Hey chief!
Ok give me a minute to compile some data and I’ll be right there.”
It was my
boss asking me for a meeting. The university campus was near a park full of
pine trees. It had paths for joking and cycling, a stream, a football field and
a café under the shade of sycamores. During the hot summer days we used to have
our meetings there.
He and a cold coffee were waiting
for me at our regular table. I sat down, we chatted about the weather, about
family life and then, out of the blue, he landed a bomb.
“We have a
serious problem. Iker’s project in the US was dropped and he is in serious need
for some money.” He assumed a grave look.
“No shit!
What happened?”
“Prof Sammie
had his National grant stopped just like that”
“Can they
do that?”
“I do not
know the details but apparently they can and now Iker is without a job.”
I imagined
him in the shit and empathized with the guy “Sorry to hear, what he is going to
do?”
“I was
thinking maybe you can help him.” I jumped at the opportunity being more than
happy to help. “Sure but I can possibly spare about 500 euros a month from the
project for as long as it is needed. He can do some theoretical calculations. Will
that be enough?”
“Not
really.” He pulled a paper out of his pocket and started doing some arithmetic.
He added figures and after a few seconds said “I was thinking, since you were
away for a couple of months that you could possibly ‘donate’ about… 3 to 4k to him.” It felt as if the birdsong from
the nearby tree branches stopped.
“Sorry!!
What?” I managed to say nearly drowning on my coffee.
He
continued coldly “If you take out the amount you were paid during your
absence…”
“You mean
my paternity leave…” I protested.
“Well there
is no contract agreement.” He cut in.
“In
academia? Where we are sensitive about a person’s needs?” I said with arms
flapping like the wings of a bird in distress.
“It is not
like you are a mother!” he said avoiding looking me directly in the eye. I
could not believe my ears. “You imply that I can only take a paternity leave if
it is negotiated in my contract or if have a vagina?”
“You are
over reacting.” I waved goodbye to the sound of his voice with a flick of the
hand. Around us kids were playing with their mothers watching over them. There
was a pit full of toddlers that dag trenches and raised sand castles fighting
invisible dragons and pirates. A young couple kissed like there was no tomorrow,
old men and women in training suits walked fast past them. It was such a
beautiful day. I could have been at home holding my daughter in my arms. I
could just drop everything and take my family to the beach, swim, drink beer
and eat cold sandwiches, sail a dinghy. I could do a million other things than
listening to this clown.
“Listen.”
He interrupted my daydreaming “Your project should not have started in the
first place and you know why.”
“Yes
because the university should match the amount, but no university ever does
physically match it. Instead they offer access to facilities and equipment that
miraculously equals to the sum they should match. But that is ok. The Agency
knows and they do not care.”
“Administration
does.”
“What are
you implying?” I had a terrifying thought and his look reassured me I was
thinking right. “Oh no you don’t! Do I have an option here? You mean that if I
do not ‘donate’ money you will pull
the plug? This is blackmail.”
“Oh stop
being melodramatic. It is not blackmail.”
“It is. There are no other options. We are not
looking for a solution. You are going to use a technicality to stop the program
if I do not give you money.”
“Not to me.
To help a colleague.”
“To help a
colleague that works for you through a contact elsewhere. I do want to help a
colleague but the option I am offering is not considered. You do not want money
from my project for work on the project; you want money out of my pocket.”
“Which you
were paid from the project but you were not there to do the work.”
“You are
referring to my salary and my paternity leave. I am not the one who is breaking
the law here.”
“But you
were not working in the lab”
I wanted to
punch the guy.
“I do not
see how literature work from home while helping my wife with our new born baby
justifies your claims? It certainly does not give you the right for extortion” My
heart was drumming and a fat soprano sang inside my head. It was Wagner. I hate
Wagner. What was it that Woody Allen said about Wagner? Any thought to take me
far away from my anger would do. Any thought. That’s when I realized I had no
to proof that he is blackmailing me.
“We are
playing with words here.”
“You are
right we do and this innocent chat between colleagues appears like an illegal
activity.” There we are in the park, surrounded by people who do not hear what
we are talking about. Man I am a fool. I am a stupid little fool that thinks he
is smart. I should hear but not speak what I think. I had to buy some time.
“Ok I will
help. But give me a few months to gather the money.”
“Impossible.
We need to have about 2k by the end of the week and another 2k by the end of
the month. Iker has no money.” He said. The bastard once you are down he tries
to step all over you, but I had nothing. “Ok I will let you know by the end of
the week.” Even a few days buying time to think how to deal with the situation
is enough. “I have to toughen up with absence. These are hard times. Others
would give an arm and a leg to have a job like yours in the middle of the
crisis. If there is anymore absence similar penalties will be imposed in the
future.” He was ruthless.
“But you
are not my employer. You are just a coordinator. I am employed by the Agency on
a scientific project proposal I
submitted. You are not paying any
part of my salary.” I said as calm as
I could.
“Yes but I
am coordinator and have obligations.”
That night
I did not sleep. I said nothing to my wife. Stress during breast feeding was
not something I wanted to impose on her. I had to suffer it alone. I had no
other option but to decline his insulting offer. Of course he will follow the
rules and use his position to suspend the project. I would report him and while
he is under investigation I will be without a job. The whole thing could take a
year. I checked our savings account. It was not enough. After paying for
hospital bills, items for the baby and mother, health plan for the family,
there was not enough to go by for a year. There was only one option left.
Return home to Athens. There is a flat there we can occupy and save on rent and
I could try and work freelance. It seemed like a good idea at five in the
morning when she got up to feed the baby. I fell asleep. The next day in the
office an email came like manna from heaven with the donation request and the
bank details of the beneficiary. At least now I had something of a proof. I
walked in his office this time and denied to pay any money. He picked up the
phone threatening to call accounts and stop the project. I warned him that I
would report him if he did. Two months later I was avoiding contact, eventually
I received an email from administration that the project was suspended. The
bastard finally did it.
I do not
care that much about it now, but at the time it was like a war. Emails went to
and from the head of the department. Nothing happened for months. In the
meantime I worked odd jobs to make a living had interviews and waited for my
project to be re instated. Nothing happened. I worked installing tvs, washing
machines, air conditions, cleaning fuel tanks, gathering grapes. Out of all
these jobs I loved gathering grapes. The work was hard and my hands and arms
will go numb during night-time keeping me awake. My wife was there by me, my
daughter gave me hope. I cared very little about my 15 years of scientific work
going to waste. I did not want to leave the country and did not want to work in
industry. It was either this research of the fields.
One day the
Dean called. He wanted a scientific report. I was clipping grapes. I wanted to
help but was not sure if his intentions to help me were honest. He then sent me
an email.
Dear Dr Tomas Sarris
It is imperative that we have a scientific
report as required by the Agency, otherwise the university will have to
return a considerable amount of the funding. This will damage the
University’s progress in its quest for Excellence in Research.
Furthermore I
cannot stretch out how significant this funding is during the economic crisis.
Regards
The Dean of Research Affairs
They say
never answer an email when you are mad, angry or drunk. I rarely follow that
rule.
Dear Dean of Research Affairs
I am more than aware of the financial pressure felt by the looming economic crisis on both myself and my family. Please
allow me to take a little bit of your time to make my intentions clear. To
explain better I would like to take you on a journey in Vietnam during the war,
many, many years ago. In the US force camp in Phan Rang there was a neighborhood full of beautiful French colonial houses and mansions. That was the same neighborhood that General Ky used to live. In one of these houses a brothel operated to
entertain the Ground Infantry troops during their break from war, napalm and
mayhem. In that brothel worked a Vietnamese girl named Honey. Her beauty and skill was legendary among the troops and was the most
popular whore in the whole of Vietnam and Laos. She used to waltz her way along
the tables at the bar and GIs will call out to her “Come here Honey! We love you Honey! Marry me tonight Honey!” With a smirk and a posture that could yield any man she replied to them “Honey loves to please long time. Show me the money, I give you Honey!” Then she would let her head drop on her shoulder, lift her skirt a tad and with an apologetic look followed by a flick of her eyelids she would sing “No Money – No Honey!” making the GIs go
crazy. The men clapped frantically, whistling and opening their wallets to wave
their money at her.
What I want to say by that is. Ever since the
professor decided to blackmail me and suspend my project I am no longer
employed by the university. For the past 15 years I devoted my life to scientific research with crappy salaries and many hours,
weeks and months of unpaid work. Enough is enough. The phrase of the Vietnamese prostitute fully expresses me. You could
ask for a scientific report from my blackmailer, last time I checked he is
still on your payroll.
Regards
Tomas
It was
Sunday. On Monday we were going to gather wine grapes. They were sweet and ripe;
wine was promising this year, promising to be full in texture and body and of
course rich in aroma and strong.
(The above is a short story inspired by life although any resemblance to real events and people is purely coincidental)
(Christos Tsotsos is the author of The secret of the elements)
