Carpe diem.

Mary leaned in closer, and, as she brought her lips into contact with Bandra’s, she said, “This is.”

Cornelius Ruskin knocked on the office door. “Come in,” called the familiar female voice with its slight Pakistani accent.

Cornelius took a deep breath, then opened the door. “Hi, Qaiser,” he said, waking into the office.

Professor Qaiser Remtulla’s metal desk was at right angles to the doorway, the long edge against one wall, the left short edge underneath her window. She was wearing a dark green jacket and black pants. “Cornelius!” she declared. “We were getting quite worried about you.”

Cornelius couldn’t manage a smile, but he did say, “That’s very kind.”

But Qaiser’s round face creased into a small frown. “I wish you’d called to let me know you’d be in today, though. Dave Olsen has already come in to teach your afternoon class.”

Cornelius shook his head a bit. “That’s fine. In fact, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Qaiser did what just about every academic has to do when a visitor comes: she got up from her own swivel chair and took the pile of books and papers off the one other chair in the room. In her case, it was a metal-framed stacking chair with orange vinyl cushions. “Have a seat,” she said.

Cornelius did just that, crossing his legs at the ankles and—

He shook his head again, wondering if he’d ever get used to the sensation. He’d spent his whole life subtly aware of the pressure on his testicles whenever he sat like this, but there was no such feeling anymore.

“What can I do for you?” prodded Qaiser.

Cornelius looked at her face: brown eyes, brown skin, brown hair, a trio of chocolate shades. She looked to be about forty-five, ten years older than he was. He’d seen her crying in anguish, seen her begging him not to hurt her. He didn’t regret it; she had deserved it, but…

But.

“Qaiser,” he said, “I’d like to take a leave of absence.”

“There are no paid leaves for sessional instructors,” she replied.

Cornelius nodded. “I know that. I—” He’d rehearsed all this, but now hesitated, wondering if it was really the right approach. “You know I’ve been sick. My doctor says I should take a…a rest leave. You know, some time off.”

Qaiser’s features shifted to concern. “Is it something serious? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Cornelius shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine, I’m sure. But I—I just don’t feel up to being in the classroom anymore.”

“Well, the Christmas break is coming up in a few weeks. If you could just stick it out until then…”

“I’m sorry, Qaiser. I really don’t think I should.”

Qaiser frowned. “You know we’re shorthanded as is, what with Mary Vaughan having left.”

Cornelius nodded but didn’t say anything.

“I have to ask,” said Qaiser. “This is a genetics department, after all. There are lots of things here that potentially could have made you sick, and…well, I have to worry about the health of the students and the faculty. Is your problem related to any chemicals or specimens you encountered here?”

Cornelius shook his head again. “No. No, it’s nothing like that.” He took a deep breath. “But I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” A few weeks ago, he’d have been unable to discuss this topic without getting apoplectic, but now…

He shrugged a bit.

“Because you’ve won.”

Qaiser’s eyebrows pulled together. “Pardon?”

“You’ve won. The system here—it’s won. It’s beaten me.”

“What system?”

“Oh, come on! The hiring system, the promotion system, the tenure system. There’s no place for a white man.”

Qaiser apparently couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s been a difficult issue for the university,” said Qaiser. “For all universities. But you know, despite the presence of me and a few others, the genetics department is still way below the university’s guidelines in terms of number of tenure-stream positions held by women.”

“You’re supposed to have forty percent,” said Cornelius.

“Right, and we’re nowhere near that—not yet.” Qaiser’s voice took on a defensive note. “But, look, even so, it should be half, and—”

“Half,” repeated Cornelius; he said it so calmly it surprised him, and apparently surprised Qaiser, too, since she immediately stopped talking. “Even when only twenty percent of the applicants are female?”

“Well, all right, then—but, anyway, the target isn’t half. It’s just forty percent.”

“How many tenured or tenure-track positions are there in this department?”

“Fifteen.”

“And how many are held by females?”

“Currently? Counting Mary?”

“Of course counting Mary.”

“Three.”

Cornelius nodded. He’d gotten back at two of them; the third was in a wheelchair, and Cornelius hadn’t been able to bring himself to…

“So the next three tenure-track openings have to go to women, don’t they?” he said.

“Well, yes. Assuming they’re qualified.”

Cornelius surprised himself; those last three words would have set him off before. But now…

“And if Mary’s leave turns out to be permanent,” he said, his tone still even, “as it probably will, you’ll have to replace her with a woman, too, right?”

Qaiser nodded, but she still wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“So the next four tenure-track appointments have to go to women.” He stopped himself—rather more easily than he’d expected to be able to do so—before adding, “Preferably crippled black ones.”

Qaiser nodded again.

“How often does a tenure-track position open up?” he asked, as if he himself didn’t already know the answer.

“It depends on when people retire, or move on to other things.”

Cornelius waited, saying nothing.

“Every couple of years or so,” Qaiser finally replied.

“More like three years, on average,” said Cornelius. “Trust me; I’ve done the math. Meaning it’ll be twelve years before you’re looking for a male, and even then it’ll be a disabled or minority male, isn’t that right?”

“Well…”

“Isn’t that right?”

But there was no need for Qaiser to reply; Cornelius had read the relevant part of the collective agreement between the Faculty Association and the Board of Governors so often he could recite it from memory, despite the awkward bureaucratic phrasing:

“Cornelius, I’m sorry,” said Qaiser, at last.

“Everybody is in line in front of an able-bodied white male.”

“It’s only because…”

Qaiser trailed off, and Cornelius fixed her with a steady gaze. “Yes?” he said.

She actually squirmed a bit. “It’s only because able-bodied white males cut to the front of the line so often in the past.”

Cornelius remembered the last time someone had said that to him—a bleeding-heart liberal white guy at a party, last spring. He’d jumped down the guy’s throat, and practically tore out his lungs, saying he shouldn’t be punished for the actions of his ancestors, and just…