"A Professor's Lecture on _Death of a Salesman_"
                            by:  Kevin C. Bissessar
                          Release Date:  Aug 15, 1995
                          Revised Date:  Jun 19, 1997


May 23, 2039


      The sun shone brightly through the windows of the English classroom, 
illuminating the white floor, the desks, and the students who sat in them.  
Monday afternoons were a special time for Kevin.  The senior students of
20th Century American Theatre were always enthusiastic to put on a play. 
Today, Kevin was in the mood for a tragedy.  Miller's _Death of a Salesman_
instantly came to mind and the students were acting out a sequence close
to the end of Scene II.  The Professor of English Literature looked on with
delight, happy to see Miller's play being brought back to life ...


BIFF:   No, you're going to hear the truth--what you are and what I am!

LINDA:  Stop it!

WILLY:  Spite!

HAPPY,  [coming down toward Biff]: You cut it now!

BIFF,   [to Happy]:  The man don't know who we are!  The man is gonna know!
        [to Willy]:  We never told the truth for ten minutes in this house!

HAPPY:  We always told the truth!

BIFF,   [turning on him]:  You big blow, are you the assistant buyer?  You're
        one of the two assistants to the assistant, aren't you?

HAPPY:  Well, I'm practically--

BIFF:   You're practically full of it!  We all are!  And I'm through with it.
        [To Willy]:  Now hear this, Willy, this is me.

WILLY:  I know you!

BIFF:   You know why I had no address for three months?  I stole a suit in
        Kansas City and I was in jail. [To Linda, who is sobbing]:  Stop
        crying.  I'm through with it.

[Linda turns away from them, her hands covering her face.]

WILLY:  I suppose that's my fault!

BIFF:   I stole myself out of every good job since high school!

WILLY:  And whose fault is that?

BIFF:   And I never got anywhere because you blew me so full of hot air I 
        could never stand taking orders from anybody!  That's whose fault it 
        is!

WILLY:  I hear that!

LINDA:  Don't, Biff!

BIFF:   It's a goddam time you heard that!  I had to be boss big shot in 
        two weeks, and I'm through with it!

WILLY:  Then hang yourself!  For spite, hang yourself!

BIFF:   No!  Nobody's hanging himself, Willy!  I ran down eleven flights
        with a pen in my hand today.  And suddenly I stopped, you hear me?
        And in the middle of that office building, do you hear this?  I
        stopped in the middle of that building and I saw--the sky.  I saw
        the things that I love in this world.  The work and the food and
        time to sit and smoke.  And I looked at the pen and said to myself,
        what the hell am I grabbing this for?  Why am I trying to become
        what I don't want to be?  What am I doing in an office, making a
        contemptuous, begging fool of myself, when all I want is out there,
        waiting for me the minute I say I know who I am!  Why can't I say
        that, Willy?  [He tries to make Willy face him, but Willy pulls away
        and moves to the left.]

WILLY,  [with hatred, threateningly]:  The door of your life is wide open!

BIFF:   Pop!  I'm a dime a dozen, and so are you!

WILLY,  [turning on him now in an uncontrolled outburst]:  I AM NOT A DIME
        A DOZEN!  I AM WILLY LOMAN, AND YOU ARE BIFF LOMAN!

[Biff starts for Willy, but is blocked by Happy.  In his fury, Biff seems on
the verge of attacking his father.]

BIFF:   I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you ...


      Professor Bissessar stood up from his seat.  The student actors
momentarily paused in the play.
      "I hate to break this play short, but it is almost time to go,"
Kevin Bissessar said to the classroom of students.  Turning to the group
of young actors, "The performance you put on was quite good and really
convincing.  We can finish off this scene and then the requiem next day."
      The students began packing their materials and poured out into
the hallway once the clock approached three.  Kevin took out a chalkbrush
and began erasing some of the key themes of Miller's play he had discussed
on the blackboard.  He thought all the students had left the room when a
startling voice called out to him...
      "Professor, ... " called out the voice.  Kevin turned around and
saw Sarah, one of his female pupils.  She was walking towards him until
she got up to the front of the classroom.
      "Yes, Sarah?" Kevin asked, putting the chalkbrush away and dusting
his hands off.
      "I think the air conditioner is not working at the back," said
Sarah.  "I was feeling pretty cold throughout the class."
      Kevin looked at Sarah with a casual expression.  "Where were you
sitting today?"
      Sarah pointed straight to the back of the classroom.  "The last 
desk in front of that, ... blackish-orange lion painting ... " she said 
kindly.  She didn't want to offend her professor. 
      Kevin looked up and instantly saw the picture she was referring to.
"Kisasian," he breathed slowly.  Kisasian's eyes stared back with glare
and hatred, as if to say he did not approve with the professor's teachings
today.  But Kisasian had every good reason to.  Kevin was likening
Kisasian and his father Scar to that of Biff Loman and his father Willy
Loman.  Willy Loman had pushed his son so much that Biff couldn't tell who
he was.  Scar seemed to have the same influence on Kisasian, to the point
where Kisasian turned out to be his father Scar.  Kevin was purposely
contrasting the character differences between Biff Loman and Kisasian. 
Only Biff Loman was able to identify himself.  Kisasian still had a long
way to go.
      Sarah had her head turned away from her teacher.  She was looking at
the painting too.  Sarah turned her eyes back to Kevin.  "If I didn't know
any better, I would've thought it was _Kisasian_ who was breathing down my
neck and not the air conditioner.  But we all know paintings cannot do
that," she said with a laugh, and the professor joined in with her.
      Kevin eventually resumed his professional manner.  "I'll look into 
the matters further.  I'll send a voice memo to Maintenance to get an 
electrical crew upstairs to my room.  I, too, have found it unusually cold
at the back of the classroom."  Kevin sat down at his desk and saw his 
Arther Miller's _Death of a Salesman_ textbook.  He picked up the book and
admired the play that was written inside.
      "Perhaps it was Miller's play that got you all feeling cold today,"
Kevin said to Sarah.  He curled the paperback in his hand.  "After all,
the play is frightfully real.  Willy Loman is trapped in a brutal world
with no compassion and poorly constructed dreams.  Miller had captured the
feelings he wanted to show when he first put on his play at the Morosco 
Theatre in New York, back in 1949..." Kevin was starting to lapse back
into his professor-lecturing mode when Sarah interrupted him.
      "Ah, ... professor, I have a class to go to..." Sarah said.
      Kevin smiled, realizing that he was holding a student back from 
learning.  "Go to your next class, Sarah.  I'll finish off Miller's play
on Wednesday."
      "Thanks," Sarah said with a smile.  She picked up her Arthur Miller
textbook and exited the class.
      The room was now empty, lifeless.  Kevin tapped a few commands
into the built-in desk console screen and the doors in the room became 
locked.  This was his private moment of the day, where he can be at ease
with the pictures and paintings of various literary characters and figures
in the room.
      Kevin looked up at Kisasian, and Kisasian looked straight back.
There was a reason for centering Kisasian's picture at the back of the
room.  This was where Kevin could see him directly head-on from his desk. 
Whereas The Lion King movie poster and Richard Adams's Hazel stood off to
the side, it was Kisasian that Kevin wanted in view.  There were many
times Kevin initiated a challenge to the lion:  the first one to break
eye-contact would lose.  The challenge was to determine who could send the
most fear into the other opponent just by looking at him.  Of course,
Kisasian always won.  Nobody could defeat his angry glare.  But that was
because Kisasian was only a painting ( ... right?).
      "Rudyard Kipling's Bagheera said to Mowgli that no animal could 
stare into the eyes of man.  Akela could not do it.  Bagheera could not do
it.  I don't even think Shere Khan could've done it," Kevin said quietly
at his desk.  He was looking straight on at the Kisasian painting.  "For
over a century, that literary belief had went unchallenged.  Why are you
the exception?"  Kevin said, almost angrily.  The professor contemplated
the question he had asked, more to himself than to Kisasian, for he knew
he wouldn't receive a response from the painting.  He stared at Kisasian
for a few seconds longer before he broke off the eye-contact, as usual.  
      Kevin turned to a built-in angled screen on the desk.  He wanted
to find the exact quotation of Bagheera's speech.  Kevin activiated the
voice input control.
      "English Literature.  Author:  Rudyard Kipling.  Novel:  _The Jungle
Book_.  Search pattern:  Page.  Key words to find:  Bagheera, Mowgli,
eyes, man.  Commence search," Kevin said to the computer screen.
      The computer worked for a few seconds.  A "Please Wait" sign flashed
on the screen.  Soon, a real-life voice spoke from the computer speaker.
      "Unable to comply.  University server has gone down.  Please try
again later."
      Kevin 'arghed' at the computer screen, just when he needed the
quotation!  He banged his fist on the console button to collapse the 
computer screen.  The screen folded and returned back inside the desk.
Damn, he muttered to himself.  Even in this modern era, UToronto was STILL
plagued with system failures, restricted configurations and malfunctioning
equipment.
      Kevin looked up at Kisasian again.  He spoke an old Indian saying,
"When you look into the eyes of an eagle, you are seeing God.  But when I
look into the eyes of the lion Kisasian, I am seeing contempt, scorn,
anger and disapproval.  Worst of all, I see burning hate, a twisted sense
of the Circle of Life and never-breaking dedication."
      Kevin tapped a console button and the window shutters began to
close.  The afternoon sunlight was cut off from the classroom.  Then Kevin
killed the lights, plunging himself and everything in the room into total
darkness.  He pressed a last button and two halogen spotlights came on. 
They shone their yellowish light upon the portrait of Kisasian.
      Kisasian was King from where he came from.  Kevin had no intention
to dishonour him.  The English classroom was not the Valley of the Damned,
but at least Kisasian would not have to share his rightful place with the
other literary characters who did not belong here in Lion King Africa. 
This was the most respect the professor could have provided for Kisasian. 
The glow of the console screen and the hum of the air conditioner were the
only two objects that made themselves aware to the painting and the
professor.
      Kevin approached his Kisasian artwork.  He wanted to be in his
presence.  Standing at his desk would've looked cowardice.  Standing
before the painting would've shown no intimidation or fear, and Kevin
wasn't about to demonstrate those feelings of fright before the lion.  He
walked to the second last desk before the painting, and sat down on the
table top.
      "You look angrier and colder today, Kisasian--much more than your
usual self," Kevin said calmly.  "I think it has something to do with my 
'misunderstandings' about your behaviour towards Lisani today.  I saw you 
on the Promontory of Pride Rock today, presenting her to all the animals
of the Pride Lands.  Strange, ... you call it 'dedication'.  If I remember
correctly, you're 'existance requires [your] pride, and this is [your] 
dedication to it'.  Is there not a sparkle of love inside that cold body 
of yours?"
      Kevin paused, pretending to wait for a response.  He looked around. 
The room felt unfamiliar and unnatural, despite his many teachings over
the past decade or two.  The Kisasian painting loomed over Kevin,
watching, waiting, as if to make a strike at the professor.  But the
attack never came.  Reality separated the mental from the physical.
      "If only I had a Lisani portrait.  Then I could have positioned it
side-by-side with your painting."  Kevin paused again.  "Kisasian, you
told me that I do not understand your behaviour towards Lisani today. 
Then explain it to me.  The roles are reversed today.  You are the
professor, and I am the student."
      Kevin got up from the student desk and returned to the front of
the classroom.  He opened the window shutters, turned on the ceiling
lights and allowed the brightness to flow once again.  The Valley of the
Damned was no more, and Kevin was safe at home in Toronto.  He turned off
the halogen spotlights shining on Kisasian and looked up at the dark lion.
      "Even though you might not be able to explain your behaviour to me 
in your current form, I suspect you will use some other medium to contact 
me," said Kevin.  "I leave in peace, as always."  Kevin picked up his
Arthur Miller paperback and exited through the front door, leaving his
classroom and the multitude of unlocked worlds behind him.


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Copyright (C) 1995, 1997