into his orbit.” There’s a reproving note in Mark’s voice that I’m afraid is directed toward me, but when I look up I see that he’s looking at Gene Silverman, who remains impervious to Mark’s gaze behind his Ray-Bans.
“I’d like to ask if any of you encountered any irregularities with Mr. Weiss’s written work—any cases of plagiarism.” Now Mark’s gaze does come to rest on me.
I raise my hand and describe the incident of the Oscar Wilde paper freshman year. “He seemed quite chastened, and he never gave me any reason to suspect his work again,” I conclude.
“Did you continue to submit his papers to ithenicate.com?” Frieda Mainbocher asks.
“Periodically,” I answer, not adding that I stopped after the rest of his papers that semester checked out okay.
“Did anyone else encounter any issues of plagiarism with this young man?” Mark asks.
Lydia Belquist, looking uncharacteristically abashed, clears her throat. “He handed in some Virgil translations that clearly had been cribbed from the Robert Fitzgerald translation, but that’s not all that unusual…”
“He failed to attribute a few quotes in one of his papers,” Ted Pierce volunteers, “but it seemed to be a confusion about MLA citation practices instead of a deliberate attempt to steal.”
“He submitted a story to a workshop that sounded a lot like some-thing by Bret Easton Ellis,” our writer-in-residence says, “but to tell you the truth, so do half the things I get. Kids that age are so impressionable…”
A silence descends on the table. Another moment of silence for Robin, only this time I imagine we’re all wondering whether we ever knew the boy we’re mourning at all. I know I am.
Mark breaks the silence with a long-drawn-out sigh. “I think we can all see the necessity of reporting such incidents, however minor they may seem. Each on its own may appear innocent, but taken together they present a disturbing pattern. If this young man from Italy publicly accused Robin of plagiarizing this script that he’d just sold to Hollywood, all these other stories would have come out, and so he chose to take his own life instead.”
“But are we absolutely sure it was a suicide?” Ted Pierce asks. “I was inside and couldn’t see everything, but it looked to me like the Italian boy was running right at Robin and would have rammed into him hard enough to knock him off the railing.”
“He would have if Mark hadn’t gotten in the way,” Gene Silverman says, pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and turning his bloodshot eyes toward Mark. No wonder he’d worn the sunglasses; his eyes look ravaged. “Maybe if we hadn’t been distracted by the other boy we could have kept Robin from falling. I know that I was paying more attention to him than to what Robin was doing. Even if he didn’t push Robin, I think Orlando Brunelli has a lot to answer for.” When he’s finished speaking, Gene lowers his sunglasses, retreating behind them as if behind a stage curtain.
“Brunelli?” Lydia Belquist asks. “Isn’t that the name of the family who is suing Cyril Graham for control of half the villa?”
At the mention of the lawsuit, a palpable ripple of excitement sweeps through the room. There have been rumors that Cyril Graham’s ownership of La Civetta was being contested in the Italian courts, but this is the first I’ve heard the name of the other party in the suit. I can hear the words “illegitimate heir,” “Sir Lionel Graham’s mistress,” and “slept with his wife’s secretary” in the general melee. I turn to Chihiro and see immediately by her wide-eyed look (she always looks like an anime princess when she’s trying to hide something) that she knew.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was the Brunelli family that was suing Graham?” I whisper.
“Because,” she says, “that name makes you crazy.”
Of course she’s right. Just the sound of the name, repeated in the fervid whisperings
“I’d like to ask if any of you encountered any irregularities with Mr. Weiss’s written work—any cases of plagiarism.” Now Mark’s gaze does come to rest on me.
I raise my hand and describe the incident of the Oscar Wilde paper freshman year. “He seemed quite chastened, and he never gave me any reason to suspect his work again,” I conclude.
“Did you continue to submit his papers to ithenicate.com?” Frieda Mainbocher asks.
“Periodically,” I answer, not adding that I stopped after the rest of his papers that semester checked out okay.
“Did anyone else encounter any issues of plagiarism with this young man?” Mark asks.
Lydia Belquist, looking uncharacteristically abashed, clears her throat. “He handed in some Virgil translations that clearly had been cribbed from the Robert Fitzgerald translation, but that’s not all that unusual…”
“He failed to attribute a few quotes in one of his papers,” Ted Pierce volunteers, “but it seemed to be a confusion about MLA citation practices instead of a deliberate attempt to steal.”
“He submitted a story to a workshop that sounded a lot like some-thing by Bret Easton Ellis,” our writer-in-residence says, “but to tell you the truth, so do half the things I get. Kids that age are so impressionable…”
A silence descends on the table. Another moment of silence for Robin, only this time I imagine we’re all wondering whether we ever knew the boy we’re mourning at all. I know I am.
Mark breaks the silence with a long-drawn-out sigh. “I think we can all see the necessity of reporting such incidents, however minor they may seem. Each on its own may appear innocent, but taken together they present a disturbing pattern. If this young man from Italy publicly accused Robin of plagiarizing this script that he’d just sold to Hollywood, all these other stories would have come out, and so he chose to take his own life instead.”
“But are we absolutely sure it was a suicide?” Ted Pierce asks. “I was inside and couldn’t see everything, but it looked to me like the Italian boy was running right at Robin and would have rammed into him hard enough to knock him off the railing.”
“He would have if Mark hadn’t gotten in the way,” Gene Silverman says, pushing his sunglasses up onto the top of his head and turning his bloodshot eyes toward Mark. No wonder he’d worn the sunglasses; his eyes look ravaged. “Maybe if we hadn’t been distracted by the other boy we could have kept Robin from falling. I know that I was paying more attention to him than to what Robin was doing. Even if he didn’t push Robin, I think Orlando Brunelli has a lot to answer for.” When he’s finished speaking, Gene lowers his sunglasses, retreating behind them as if behind a stage curtain.
“Brunelli?” Lydia Belquist asks. “Isn’t that the name of the family who is suing Cyril Graham for control of half the villa?”
At the mention of the lawsuit, a palpable ripple of excitement sweeps through the room. There have been rumors that Cyril Graham’s ownership of La Civetta was being contested in the Italian courts, but this is the first I’ve heard the name of the other party in the suit. I can hear the words “illegitimate heir,” “Sir Lionel Graham’s mistress,” and “slept with his wife’s secretary” in the general melee. I turn to Chihiro and see immediately by her wide-eyed look (she always looks like an anime princess when she’s trying to hide something) that she knew.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was the Brunelli family that was suing Graham?” I whisper.
“Because,” she says, “that name makes you crazy.”
Of course she’s right. Just the sound of the name, repeated in the fervid whisperings
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