POWER

From the seventh floor of the Administration Building the view was breathtaking. It was early spring, and trees over the hills and across the city sent out pale green buds. From up here, it looked like someone had sprayed green fuzz between the tall buildings and on the hills. The harbor, with its long peers and metal-roofed magazines, lay further out, toward the ocean. Simon could make out the coastline and the blue waters beyond.

Though he wasn’t born in Capetown, Dr. Simon Van Den Niemands had spent nearly all his life in this maritime city where neo-classical mansions, beach homes, high rises and warehouses shared the confined space between the mountains and the ocean. He loved every brick, every cobblestone laid by hand on the streets, and the uneven surface that made the tires of his Mercedes S65 sound like a boiling pan about to overflow. He smiled. After all, this was his city, and Groote Shuur was his University, the place where he went to school, did his residency, and now was a professor and a leader in his specialty, Plastic Surgery. He had made a good name for himself, and the tall and handsome doctor was popular with the wealthy and famous women of South Africa.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t here to enjoy the view. He took a deep breath and spun around to face an equally gorgeous, though unsettling sight. A sight of opulence, the emblem of power. A power that obstinately rejected him.

Oak-paneled walls and an enormous bookshelf decorated The Chancellor’s office. The bookshelf hosted rare medical treatises, some of which commanded one’s attention. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have spent hours perusing those old pages, filled with illustrations so elaborate, no modern artist could render equal beauty.

She must enjoy being above it all, sheltered in this place; must be nice, the prim and proper witch. Simon Van Den Niemands didn‘t move a muscle, but his stomach knotted from the hate he felt for the woman who sat in this office.

She ’wants to ‘supervise’, does she? Can’t get dirt, blood, real work on her manicured hands! I’d do so much better than the minions running this place. They should be shot for the lousy job they’re doing! I’d turn this old establishment upside down. Heads will have to fall, but fame and glory will once again shine on Groote Shuur.

For now he had to be good, and hide his feeling behind a polite and pleasant posture.

“You can’t be Dean, Simon,” The tall, slim, impeccably dressed woman said. Her tone was firm and wrapped around a stifled smile. She had white, perfect teeth and thin lips a bright red lipstick hoped in vain to enhance.

She used to be pretty. She had long, straight chestnut hair kept back by a powder-blue barrette and her powder blue Oscar de La Renta pants and matching waist-length jacket could fit a supermodel. She sat behind her desk, her long legs crossed. Her brown eyes burrowed into his, waiting, seeking a sign of anger. None came.

She couldn‘t wait to tell me, could she? Look at her, so proud of her seat gained by sleeping with the ‘right‘ people. The Martini he had chugged down to calm himself before reaching her office was coming back up to burn his throat.

“Why not?” Simon stared back as he walked toward her and sat straight on the too-comfortable burgundy leather chair at the far corner of the enormous solid oak desk. “I’m Chief of Plastic Surgery. All you have to do is let me have my own Department, as I should. Then I’ll be Chair, and qualify to be Dean.” His body stiffened so much that his back barely touched the soft leather. In fact, to a careful observer, he leaned slightly forward, with his feet (size twelve, wearing black and perfectly polished wingtips) evenly set on the floor in front of him, as if he were ready to catch a throw.

The Chancellor knotted her long fingers and let her hands rest on top of her knee. Her calm, soft voice exuded confidence. “Yes, I’m well aware of that but, as you know, the decision rests on the vote of the Counsel.”

“You could recommend me, right? You could suggest that I’d become Chair, but you won’t, is that it? You won’t move one of those perfectly manicured fingers of yours. You know what?“ he exploded. “You’re still mad at me because I won’t sleep with you.”

The hopeful look in the Chancellor’s eyes told him that he had hit the nail squarely on its head and that’s when he lost it.

“Listen, Chancellor, I love my wife. She’s everything I have, and I will never disown the vow I gave at our wedding. Let the Counsel vote, then, I’m officially requesting to have my own department: The Department of Plastic Surgery. After all, I deserve it...the town deserves it. All right, I’m not as famous as Christian Barnard, but why shouldn't I have my own Department? Tell me. One. Single. Reason. In a few months, I will be Dean, you’ll see.” Anger, exuding from his pores, filled the room. He didn’t think he needed a vote and couldn’t bear to be subject to someone else’s decision.

The Chancellor felt that anger and smiled. She knew what was about to happen.

Simon couldn’t influence enough people in the council because he had made too many enemies.

She knew that not only Simon wouldn’t get his Department.

Most likely he would be demoted, and another candidate would take his position as Chief of Plastic Surgery, but the Division would never stand on its own. Too many people were against it. People who mattered in town, and in the State. People with lots of friends, like James Stewart, the current Chief of Surgery.

“This whole University does not stand just on one, dead man's shoulders” Simon had proclaimed frequently. “He's a relic from the past, but I'm here, and run a tight ship. The past is gone, and I represent the future!”

Not one of the members of the Council approved of that attitude, and the Chancellor knew it. She knew most of them intimately, and though she was very good at keeping bedside secrets, she knew that they resented his arrogant attitude, as if he were a god, and never made mistakes. They had worshiped Barnard and still did. They feared Simon would turn more physicians to be loyal to him, a move they would not approve. After all, did Simon ever invent a new procedure? Did he single handedly change the future of Medicine? No, he was just a power-hungry bastard.

No way they were going to take such a risk.

They turned him down.

When he learned he had lost, Simon was livid. He had a crooked smile, left over from a bout of paralysis. He had recovered, but his right face was weak. Now, that smile had become deeper, more sinister, and his eyes were cold. How dared the ugly woman who called herself Chancellor do this? How could the Council listen to her? He was a pillar of this University, and had sacrificed his whole adult life to it.

They had turned him down. They like James Stewart, he thought. He convinced everyone that I’m dangerous. I would change things…things he doesn’t want changed!

Dr. James Stewart, Chief of Surgery, was a non-voting member of the Council, but his opinion was respected. Dr. Stewart was the man from whom Simon so desperately tried to break free. He despised James.

That same night the Chancellor told him that his request had been turned down, while driving back to his expansive mansion overlooking the ocean, Dr. Simon Van Den Niemands realized that he had to be more daring if he wanted to eliminate his enemies and realize his dream of becoming Dean of his University.

He had to take action, and soon.