"Kisasian vs. the Professor" by: Kevin C. Bissessar Release Date: July 25, 1995 Revised Date: June 12, 1997 May 14, 2039 Kevin looked at his students, all thirty-three of them. By the time they left the University of Toronto, their lives would be richer and more fufilled by attending his special English Literature class. The clock, centred on the back of the room, read two-fifty in the afternoon. There would be ten more minutes to bring the lecture to a close. " ... and so, by examining the character of Kisasian, we can see a whole multitude of struggles, problems, and feelings this lion character has to overcome," Professor Bissessar said lecturing. "But he is *more* than what is presented to us. He is the anthropomorphic human who has to struggle for acceptance, approval, and self-fulfillment. The fact that he is a lion does not diminish the human parallelisms which we can draw upon ... " Kevin continued to glance at his students. Most of them were paying attention. Some of them were even typing down his words in verbatim, in belief that the contents of this lecture may appear on a midterm or final examination. The professor smiled inwardly. These English students will be tomorrow's Shakespeares, Orwells, or Dickens. What they learn today will help them throughout their lifetime, ... just as _The Tales of Tanabi_ did throughout Kevin's lifetime. " ... to come to a conclusion, it is *clear* that Kisasian represents something more to us than just the lion king character that he is ..." Students, sensing that the lecture is coming to an end, began packing their portable palm tops inside their waist pouch. " ... but before you go, take a look at my essay, 'Kisasian, the Tragic Antagonist', and read Brian Tiemann's analysis on Mr. Templin's writing style. Students taking the Advance Literary Writing course should pay heavy attention to Mr. Tiemann's essay. Be prepared to contrast Templin's writing style with that of Richard Adams's style in _Watership Down_. We will finish off our discussion on Kisasian next week, and begin our new unit on dystopia novels." The classroom of students poured out into the hallways through the front and rear doors. Once the last of the students had left, Kevin locked the doorways remotely from his control panel situated on top of his desk screen. There was a stack of essay papers he had to grade at the back, and Kevin proceeded through the aisleway towards them. He still believed in paper printouts, and not electronic text files to grade and mark essays. On his way to the back of the room, pictures and posters of some of the prominent people and novels of human English literature glanced back at the professor. There was a young boy looking at the factory smoke-filled skies of London in Charles Dicken's _David Copperfield_. Another poster, on the left, depicted a firefighter with a blowtorch in his hands. The numbers "451" was etched into his suit and a pile of books was set on fire. _Fahrenheit 451_, thought Kevin. The temperature at which books burn. The English professor shuddered at the thought of man's literature being burned by the state in the name of utopia. A more disturbing poster caught Kevin's attention. A man's face was being displayed on a large video screen. He looked cold and inhuman. The words "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" was clearly displayed at the bottom of the screen. Again, Kevin shuddered at the thought of government having ultimate control of people's privacies. A more pleasing portrait eased Kevin's tension. It was a painter's depiction of William Shakespeare. Kevin in the past had never really liked Shakespeare. But the English professor had to admire Shakespeare's use of imagery, plot structure and a fascinating insight into human nature. Kevin didn't think there was anyone, author or playwright, who could come close to writing plays like Shakespeare. Off to Kevin's right was a picture of Dracula, the vampire character from Bram Stoker's novel, _Dracula_. Considerable debate about the beginning of horror fiction had always centred around this novel. Next to a window was Margaret Atwood's _Cat's Eyes_. It had a picture of a middle-aged woman with an air of concern on her face. A surrealistic picture of Toronto was displayed in the background. Here was a strong woman who returns to a city from which she fled earlier in life. The city of Toronto haunted this woman, summoning images of her unpleasant childhood and her stormy marriage. It took courage for the woman to come back to the city after rebuilding her life as a painter in Vancouver. At the back of the room was a rabbit picture of Hazel from Richard Adams' _Watership Down_. This was one of Kevin's favourite literary characters. Hazel, despite his rabbit nature, was the most humane character Kevin had ever read. Maybe even more humane than some of the human characters of twenty-first century fiction. Grass sprouted all around Hazel, and the rabbit's warren of Watership Down stood proudly in the English sunlight. Speaking of homes standing proudly in the sunlight, a few pictures away from _Watership Down_ was an ancient Lion King movie poster dating back to the late 20th Century. There was a wispy lion-cloud face in the sky and the rock-face structure of Pride Rock in the middle ground. Matt Robinson, one of Kevin's oldtime TLK friends, was able to retrieve the poster for him, considering that the professor's oldtime TLK collection was destroyed in a house fire nearly twenty years ago. But Kevin didn't mind losing his TLK collection. They were all material items. His real TLK treasures were the friendship, knowledge, discussions, and insights he had gained throughout his years. *That* did not go up in flames. Kevin had made it to the back. The stack of English papers were within his grasps. Then suddenly, he felt a strange surge of coldness around him. At first he thought he had stepped underneath the overhead air conditioning vent. But the vent was off two or three metres to the side of him. Kevin shrugged off the unimportant discovery and looked up at the final picture. On the wall behind the English papers, in between _The Lion King_ and the _Watership Down_ posters was a dark, frightening picture of what Templin's cold-hearted lion, Kisasian, might have looked like. Brian Tiemann had painted the dark lion for Kevin many, many years ago, and wherever Kevin taught English Literature, he always took along his portrait of Kisasian with him. Kevin paused for a moment, forgetting about the English papers he had to pick up. He stared at the picture of Kisasian for quite some time. There was something remarkable about this fictional character who seemed so real to the professor's mind. "You know, Kisasian, there will come a day I won't be able to talk about you anymore," Kevin said sadly, but solemnly. He placed a hand on the lion's head and felt the coldness of the tapestry. Kevin shivered and jerked his arm. He was tempted to withdraw his hand, but he continued to press on, as if to show no fear or intimidation from the lion. "It's amazing that after all these years, you are still the young bitter lion of _The Tales of Tanabi_, forever trapped in your fictional prison. Perhaps you were never meant to change, Kisasian. Perhaps we, the readers, are the ones who are supposed to do the changing. We put on our Kisasian masks, becoming you for a time, and when we take them off, we change. Maybe for a second. Maybe for a life time. But you, like every other literary character in this room and beyond -- you remain constant in an ever-changing human world. Maybe that's the reason why you can't change, Kisasian. You have given up the freedom to change so that the humans of the outside world may have the liberty to do so. They *are* the real Kisasians. We move on in life, but you yourself will never feel or experience our happiness. And maybe that is the true sadness of tragedy and literature itself ... " The rear door creaked opened, and a woman stepped inside. "Still talking to Joshua's lion, Kevin? I guess some things never change." Kevin, being distracted from his 'soliloquy' to Kisasian, smiled, and approached the woman to give her a hug. "It's been a long time, Jennifer. How's Steve and the family?" "They're fine, Kevin. They're fine," Jennifer replied. "Steve's waiting for us in the hovercar. Are you all set for the FDC Meet? The space shuttle takes off in an hour, and most of the FDC members are already on board Space Station Freedom." "I sure am," Kevin answered. "Just let me pack my students' essay papers and I'll be ready." Kevin walked back to the English papers and to the portrait of Kisasian. "I will soon be departing this Earth, Kisasian, both literary and figuratively. I will not live forever, but the future English professors and students of English Literature will continue to learn all about you, and rediscover all the magic and wonder that I have discovered about you." Kevin picked up the stack of English papers on Tennessee Williams' _A Streetcar Named Desire_. "It will be impossible to forget you, ... " Jennifer shook her head in disbelief as she watched Kevin talk to a painting. "I really don't see why UToronto has allowed you teach English Literature *this* long, Akela." Jennifer smiled after the comment. "We best head for the spaceport in order to make our flight." "In a second, ... Nala," Kevin playfully replied back. He turned his attention to the Kisasian artwork. "Before I go, I want to leave a certain lion for you. I know he's your favourite, ... " -- Kevin withdrew a Simba figurine from his suit pocket. It was one of the TLK items that didn't go up in smoke on the night of the house fire. "Here's Simba to guard my classroom. Take care of your lion pride as I take care of mines. I *will* be back." Kevin grabbed the essays and walked out of the classroom alongside with Jennifer. The automatic locking mechanism clicked into effect and the door machanically began to close. Kevin and Jennifer were long gone from the hallways of the University of Toronto, but just before the classroom door was about to shut tight, a sinister growl could be heard from inside. It almost sounded leonine. The growl was followed by a loud , as if an object fell off a shelf and down onto the floor. In the final split-seconds before the door closed, anyone who happened to be in the hallway at that time might have heard: "*I'll* be waiting..." And then the door closed. ------------------------------------------------- Copyright (C) 1995, 1997