The Wolf Magazine

Issue date: 3/13/09 Section: Features

Mug of Ben

Like every other Monday afternoon, Professor of German and Chair of Foreign Languages Roberta Roberts had just finished cleaning her office when Terrence, a friendly janitor and groundskeeper who sometimes brought her flowers, knocked at her door with an oddly suntanned man he introduced as Professor Tim-o-fee Pen-een. Terrence didn't stay long, just long enough to smile at Professor Roberts and put his cap back on as he turned to leave. Roberta offered the strange-looking man a chair and said "I'm sorry, Professor, but could you pronounce your name for me one more time?"

"Ah, off coarse. Eet is Timofey Pnin, I shall inscribe my nomenclature on ink in this paper," and he pulled a small notebook from a gigantic bag seated just beneath him, scribbled a few words, tore the page out, and handed it to her.

"I see. Timofey Pnin. Can I call you Tim?"
"That is fantastical. Teem. I shall make this my new pet-name."

"Um, yes. So what can I do for you Tim?" Roberta held her breath for she hadn't the slightest idea why Terrence had led this man to her, but she trusted Terrence.

"I have made acquaintances with Mr. T-Roc, and he informéd me of an availability within your department requiring in need of a Professor of Russian?" Pnin crossed his legs, exposing a couple inches of bronze calf.

"T-Roc? You mean Terrence? Wait! Oh! I was wondering about your accent! Yes, we are indeed looking for a Professor of Russian - the position is brand new and your timing is impeccable."

At this, Pnin nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to unsheathe a formidable resume from his massive bag.

II
Marques palmed a Benjamin to the bouncer and twisted through the door. Finally back in New Orleans. That stint in Harris County Jail was a long one - Houston's got the worst jails outside the Big Easy. Now that Marques is hustling again, cash is like candy. Squinting his eyes through a smoky screen of ganja and tobacco, he found T-Roc leaning against a column, nursing a drink and a Kool, his mirrored sunglasses a dead giveaway. "Say whodi!"

T-Roc turned and blew a cloud of smoke hiding everything but the flash of his shades, "Mmm, what's up witcha?" The two friends clasped hands and thumped backs - ever since T-Roc moved they've had to work at staying in touch. "I tell you that crazy Professor-guy we met bagged the job?"
"You mean my boy Tim?"

Continued...

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