36 Arguments for the Existence of God - [50]

So many of the taboos of the various religions can be traced back to the psychology of disgust, and to the antithetical notion, staking out the opposite neurobiological pole to the disgust response, of spiritual purity: the self’s removal from all of the disgusting aspects of the world.

Cass thinks he sees the guy from yesterday, the protest-of-one that Roz had spotted at the side of the road. He’s no longer in his parka with his hood up, as he had been yesterday, and Cass sees that he’s wearing a yarmulke. He’s also no longer alone-there are three similarly head-geared young men with him, as well as two girls in ankle-length jean skirts, standing behind a table and giving out leaflets. The sign that’s draped over the table repeats his slogan of yesterday: “Nais gadol haya sham,” “A great miracle happened there.” The miracle of the oil. The beaker of purity.

The Maccabees had cleared the holy temple of the defilement of alien values, of all signs of the pagan Greeks with their glorification of the human body as a thing of beauty. As Cass’s bubbe would have said, “Feh!”

“Feh,” Cass suddenly realizes, is an expression of central significance in understanding the etiology of religion. “Feh” says a lot.

In the president’s office there is a subdued air, or at least Bunny Bernstein, the president’s executive secretary, seems subdued. Bunny is usually a happy lark of a person, but she’s looking pinched today, the Botoxed space between her brows straining toward a frown.

It occurs to Cass that this brouhaha must have been brewing even yesterday and was the reason for Shimmy’s having to skip their meeting. Bunny had apologized for Shimmy’s absence, telling Cass that they couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if there might be an unexpected event that the president had to make sure about.

“Ah,” Cass had said, smiling, “unexpected events are always the hardest to make sure about.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Bunny had returned, her smile as wide as it could be in her largely immobilized face.

Cass knows-everybody knows these sorts of things at Frankfurter, where personal privacy is about as easy to maintain as among the Onuma-that Bunny is one of Deedee Baumzer’s oldest friends, her sorority sister from Gamma Gamma Gamma, and over the years-perhaps because they frequent the same plastic surgeon-the two have come to look like honest-to-God sisters.

Now that Cass has been on The Daily Show, Bunny always greets him with “Hey, Cass, have they invited you on The Colbert Report yet?” But since she had just asked him that yesterday, she only asks him if she can get him some coffee as she shows him to a seat in the president’s well-appointed waiting room.

Shimmy doesn’t keep Cass waiting more than three minutes, an unusual courtesy toward a faculty member. Even Bunny looks taken aback.

As usual, Shimmy is dressed in an elegant suit that seems too tight in the shoulders and legs. Shimmy is a former Israeli paratrooper, and though the constant fêting of potential donors has thickened him around his middle, he still gives the impression that it’s pure muscle that’s bulging the suit. The suggestion of brute force he projects is almost as useful to him as his polished self-deprecatory charm, the paratrooper instincts he keeps out of sight until they’re required.

As powerful as his image is, it never occludes Deedee’s. References to “Shimmy” are almost reflexively followed by “and Deedee,” and there is a sophomoric joke on campus that is not confined to the undergraduates:

Question: You think Shimmy has been anyplace interesting recently?

Response: Yes indeedee!

Deedee is bodacious, blonde, and buxom, her teeth capped and her breasts implanted to perfection-the last a birthday present she gave herself when she turned forty. Her accent is the charming lilt of her native Texas. If she goes overboard in her armor-heavy jewelry, her manner is always gossamer-winged. Some had worried, when Shimmy was announced as the new president of Frankfurter eight years ago, that Deedee’s background might not altogether suit her to Frankfurter’s campus, but Shimmy and Deedee have worked together splendidly as Frankfurter’s first couple, and the fund-raising campaign has enjoyed unprecedented success.

“Cass, Cass,” Shimmy greets him now, shaking his hand solemnly. This gesture, like the facial expression that accompanies it, is highly formal for Shimmy Baumzer, and Cass worries whether he’s going to be roughed up for his intention of defecting. Cass knows that Shimmy knows there’s no way he’s not going to accept Harvard’s offer. He’s not going to finesse Harvard’s offer into a sweeter situation here at Frankfurter, and he’s all but certain that Shimmy understands.

Still, protocol requires that Shimmy flex those muscles underneath the bulging suit. He probably thinks that Cass would be insulted if he were to do anything less. Cass wishes that this entire procedure could have been dispatched by way of e-mail.

“Hold all calls,” Shimmy commands Bunny.

Shimmy’s accent, a harsh gurgle in the back of his throat, subtracts from the sense of elegance he projects. He ushers Cass into his huge beige office. There’s a table already laid out with a linen tablecloth, china plates, crystal goblets. Domes of steel are keeping the food warm.