Chapter 1
"I've read many books," said Professor Mephesto, with an odd, weary finality, placing his hands flat on the podium, addressing the seventy-six sophomores who sat in easy reverence, immortalizing his every phrase with their pads and pens, and now, as always, giving him the confidence to slowly, artfully dramatize his words, to pause, shrug, frown, gaze abstractly at the ceiling, allow a wan wistful smile to play at this lips, and repeat quietly, "...many books. Yes... and I've travelled some-they say travel broadens one-and I've... no doubt that it does." Here he pretended to drop some of his lecture notes and, in retrieving them, showed his backside to the class, which laughed appreciatively. Professor Mephesto's course, Ethics, was one of the most popular in the school. In addition to being so highly intellectual and abstract, the professor was a regular guy, not just a simple armchair crackpot. "I've no doubt that it does," he said softly, keeping a straight face as he adjusted his notes, and now letting a slight edge enter his voice-for having given them the laugh at that point, he was now setting them up for the high seriousness to follow-this being his formula, one part tomfoolery, two parts high seriousness, "and in my travels, I've seen... beauty. I've seen the rainbow on Mont Blanc, and I've seen the illuminated manuscripts of the Flemish monks where every page took seven monks two years to produce! God, they're lovely! Yes, I've strolled through the dew-sparkling Gardens of Babylon in the dawn of a summer morning, and I've seen the birds of paradise stand at eventide against the white glittering marble of the Taj Mahal. God, what a sight!" He paused to touch his temple, as though the beauty of the recollection were overwhelming, "Yes, I've seen the... wonders of the world... I've seen the BEAUTY... of the world... the Pyramids in the thunderous blood-colored dawn, and the Tower of Pisa, and the paintings of the Great Masters... I've seen them all. I have seen beauty... in every form. I've stood on the ancient bridge in a snow-falling morn and heard the winter peal of the silver bells, from the high towers, over the dark stone and mysterious waters of old Heidelberg! And I've seen the... flowers of the field! And the Great Northern Lights!" And he leaned toward them, touching one hand, as though absently, to his hair, and spoke with a soft, terse defiance, so that everyone knew how very serious he was now, "... and I've seen the SUN! The glorious, glorious sun! Beauty... in every form... BUT... but... I'll tell you this": and his lip curled in a strange, almost angry way, and a tremor came into his voice, while in the lecture-hall, not even a breath was heard, "I have never seen anything... to compare... with the beauty... of... the... human... face!"
The bell sounded at precisely that instant, for it was another curious feature of Professor Mephesto's lectures, that they reached a dramatic highpoint at the exact second of the bell.
In the fifth row center, Candy Christian slowly closed her notebook and dropped her pen into her purse. She was sitting on the edge of her chair, holding her breath; then she gave a soft sigh and sat back. She felt utterly exhausted, yet exhilarated too. 'A great man,' she thought, 'a truly great man. I'm in the presence of a truly great man.'
She gathered up her things and filed out slowly with the others. At the door she had a glimpse of Professor Mephesto walking down the hall toward his office, clasping his notes up to his chest, talking amiably to one of the students, his arm around the boy's shoulder-a very young boy with wild hair and a sullen face. She wondered what they were saying. She wondered what she would say. How she would love to be a part of the conversation! Yet, what could she say? She decided to go straight to the library and read for the rest of the afternoon, then she remembered that she had promised her father she would come directly home after class and go with him to Aunt Ida's. 'Darn Daddy anyway!' she said to herself.
Candy was born on Valentine's Day. Perhaps this was why she was so beautiful-or so her father often remarked, at least in the presence of others; when they were alone however he was inclined to be a bit strict with her-not strict so much as insensitive to her needs, or possessively solicitous. But he was, after all, only a simple-minded businessman. At any rate though, there was something like a Valentine about Candy-one of the expensive ones, all frills and lace, and fragrance of lavander. But she was petulant, and perhaps it was this, her petulance, more than her virginity, which was her flaw and her undoing.
Mr. Christian was waiting in his armchair when Candy arrived. "Hi!" he said, glancing at his watch and folding up the paper, "learn anything today?" She came over and gave him a perfunctory kiss. She wanted so much to tell him about Professor Mephesto and the human face, but of course he could never understand, not in a billion billion years. "Yes, I think so," she said quietly.
"Anything wrong?" asked Mr. Christian. He didn't like to see her face in repose, or perhaps thoughtful.
"No," she sighed and gave him a tired smile as she put down her books, "just that things are a little hectic with exams coming on."
"Hmmmm," said her father, getting up, brushing some tobacco from his lap, looking at his watch again. "Well, we'd better get started, if we're going," he said, "I don't want to be tied up there all afternoon. I'll get the car out."
Candy went into the bathroom, and quickly brushed her hair and freshened her makeup. It did so please her father for her to look nice at Aunt Ida's. Still holding the brush she stood gazing at herself in the glass. "And I've seen the glorious sun," she said softly, "... but I've never seen beauty to compare-"
Two short sharp burps from the horn of her father's new Plymouth made her start and put down the brush. She turned out the bathroom light. ' Darn Daddy anyway!' she said to herself as she hurried for the car.