“Whoever fixed the regulations,” said Nat, as he lay next to Rebecca on her single bed, “must have thought that students could only make love in the dark.” Rebecca laughed as she pulled her sweater back on.
“Which means that during the spring semester you won’t have to go back to your room until after nine o’clock,” she said.
“Perhaps the regulations will allow me to stay with you after the spring semester,” said Nat without explanation.
During his first term, Nat was relieved to discover that he rarely came into contact with Ralph Elliot. His rival showed no interest in cross-country running, acting or music, so it came as a surprise when Nat found him chatting to Rebecca outside the chapel on the last Sunday of the term. Elliot quickly walked away the moment he saw Nat approaching them.
“What did he want?” asked Nat defensively.
“Just going over his ideas to improve the student council. He’s running as the freshman representative, and wanted to know if you were thinking of putting your name forward.”
“No, I’m not,” said Nat firmly. “I’ve had enough of elections.”
“I think that’s a pity,” said Rebecca, squeezing Nat’s hand, “because I know a lot of our class hope you will run.”
“Not while he’s in the field,” said Nat.
“Why do you hate him so much?” asked Rebecca. “Is it just because he beat you in that silly school election?” Nat stared across at Elliot and watched him chatting to a group of students—the same insincere smile, and no doubt the same glib promises. “Don’t you think it’s possible that he might have changed?” said Rebecca.
Nat didn’t bother to reply.
“Right,” said Jimmy, “the first election you can run for is as freshman representative on the Yale college council.”
“I thought I’d skip elections during my first year,” said Fletcher, “and just concentrate on work.”
“You can’t risk it,” declared Jimmy.
“And why not?” asked Fletcher.
“Because it’s a statistical fact that whoever gets elected to the college council in his first year, is almost certain to end up as president three years later.”
“Perhaps I don’t want to be president of the college council,” said Fletcher with a grin.
“Perhaps Marilyn Monroe didn’t want to win an Oscar,” said Jimmy, as he produced a booklet from his briefcase.
“What’s that?”
“The freshman yearbook—there’s 1,021 of them.”
“I see you’ve once again begun the campaign without consulting the candidate.”
“I had to, because I can’t afford to hang around waiting for you to make up your mind. I’ve done some research and discovered that you have little or no chance of even being considered for the college council unless you speak in the freshman’s debate in the sixth week.”
“Why’s that?” asked Fletcher.
“Because it’s the only occasion when all the frosh come together in one room and are given the chance to listen to any prospective candidate.”
“So how do you get selected as a speaker?”
“Depends which side of the motion you want to support.”
“So what’s the motion?”
“I’m glad to see you’re finally warming to the challenge, because that’s our next problem.” Jimmy removed a leaflet from an inside pocket. “Resolved: America should withdraw from the Vietnam War.”
“I don’t see any problem with that,” said Fletcher, “I’d be quite happy to oppose such a motion.”
“That’s the problem,” said Jimmy, “because anyone who opposes is history, even if they look like Kennedy and speak like Churchill.”
“But if I present a good case, they might feel I was the right person to represent them on the council.”
“However persuasive you are, Fletcher, it would still be suicide, because almost everyone on campus is against the war. So why not leave that to some madman who never wanted to be elected in the first place?”
“That sounds like me,” said Fletcher, “and in any case, perhaps I believe…”
“I don’t care what you believe,” interrupted Jimmy. “My only interest is getting you elected.”
“Jimmy, do you have any morals at all?”
“How could I?” Jimmy replied. “My father’s a politician and my mother sells real estate.”
“Despite your pragmatism, I still couldn’t get myself to speak in favor of such a motion.”
“Then you’re doomed to a life of endless study and holding hands with my sister.”
“Sounds pretty good to me,” said Fletcher, “especially as you seem quite incapable of having a serious relationship with any woman for more than twenty-four hours.”
“That isn’t Joanna Palmer’s opinion,” said Jimmy.
Fletcher laughed, “And what about your other friend, Audrey Hepburn? I haven’t seen her on campus lately.”
“Neither have I,” said Jimmy, “but it will only be a matter of time before I capture Miss Palmer’s heart.”
“In your dreams, Jimmy.”
“You will in time, apologize, O ye of little faith, and I predict that it will be before your disastrous contribution to the freshman debate.”
“You won’t change my mind, Jimmy, because if I take part in the debate, it will be to oppose the motion.”
“You do like to make life difficult for me, don’t you, Fletcher. Well, one thing’s for certain, the organizers will welcome your participation.”
“Why’s that?” asked Fletcher.
“Because they haven’t been able to find anyone half electable who is willing to put the case against withdrawal.”
“Are you sure,” asked Nat quietly.
“Yes, I am,” replied Rebecca.
“Then we must get married as soon as possible,” said Nat.
“Why?” asked Rebecca. “We live in the sixties, the age of the Beatles, pot, and free love, so why shouldn’t I have an abortion?”
“Is that what you want?” asked Nat in disbelief.
“I don’t know what I want,” said Rebecca. “I only found out this morning. I need some more time to think about it.”
Nat took her hand. “I’d marry you today if you’d have me.”
“I know you would,” said Rebecca, squeezing his hand, “but we have to face the fact that this decision will affect the rest of our lives. We shouldn’t rush into it.”
“But I have a moral responsibility to you and our child.”
“And I have my future to consider,” said Rebecca.
“Perhaps we should tell our parents, and see how they react?”
“That’s the last thing I want to do,” said Rebecca. “Your mother will expect us to get married this afternoon, and my father will turn up on campus with a shotgun under his arm. No, I want you to promise you won’t mention that I’m pregnant to anyone, especially our parents.”
“But why?” pressed Nat.
“Because here’s another problem…”
“How’s the speech coming on?”
“Just finished the third draft,” said Fletcher cheerfully, “and you’ll be happy to learn that it’s likely to make me the most unpopular student on campus.”
“You do like making my task more difficult…”
“Impossible is my ultimate aim,” admitted Fletcher. “By the way, who are we up against?”
“Some guy called Tom Russell.”
“What have you found out about him?”
“Went to Taft.”
“Which means that we have a head start,” said Fletcher with a grin.
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Jimmy. “I met him at Mory’s last night, and I can tell you he’s bright and popular. I can’t find anyone who doesn’t like him.”
“Have we got anything going for us?”
“Yes, he admitted that he’s not looking forward to the debate. He’d rather support another candidate, if the right one came forward. Sees himsel
f as more of a campaign organizer than a leader.”
“Then perhaps we could ask Tom to join our team,” said Fletcher. “I’m still looking for a campaign organizer.”
“Funnily enough, he offered me that job,” said Jimmy.
Fletcher stared at his friend. “Did he really?”
“Yes,” replied Jimmy.
“Then I’ll have to take him seriously, won’t I?” Fletcher paused, “Perhaps we should start by going over my speech tonight, then you can tell me if…”
“Not possible tonight,” said Jimmy. “Joanna’s invited me over to her place for supper.”
“Ah yes, that reminds me, I can’t make it either. Jackie Kennedy has asked me to accompany her to the Met.”
“Now you mention it, Joanna did wonder if you and Annie would like to join us for a drink next Thursday. I told her that my sister was coming over to New Haven for the debate.”
“Are you serious?” said Fletcher.
“And if you do decide to join us, please tell Annie not to hang around for too long, because Joanna and I like to be tucked up in bed by ten.”
When Nat found Rebecca’s hand-written note slipped under his door, he ran all the way across campus, wondering what could possibly be that urgent.
When he walked into her room she turned away as he tried to kiss her, and without explanation locked the door. Nat sat by the window, while Rebecca perched herself on the edge of the bed. “Nat, I have to tell you something that I’ve been avoiding for the past few days.” Nat just nodded, as he could see that Rebecca was finding it difficult to get the words out. There followed what seemed to him to be an interminable silence.
“Nat, I know you’ll hate me for this…”
“I’m incapable of hating you,” said Nat, now looking directly at her.
She met his gaze but then lowered her head. “I’m not sure you’re the father.”
Nat gripped the sides of his chair. “How’s that possible?” he eventually asked.
“That weekend you went over to Penn for the cross-country meet, I ended up at a party and I’m afraid I drank a little too much.” She paused again. “Ralph Elliot joined us and I don’t remember a great deal after that, except waking up in the morning, and finding him sleeping next to me.”
It was Nat’s turn not to speak for some time. “Have you told him that you’re pregnant?”
“No,” said Rebecca. “What’s the point? He’s hardly spoken to me since.”
“I’ll kill the bastard,” said Nat, rising from his chair.
“I don’t think that will help,” said Rebecca quietly.
“It doesn’t change anything,” said Nat, walking across to take her in his arms, “because I still want to marry you. In any case, the odds are far more likely that it’s my child.”
“But you could never be sure,” said Rebecca.
“That’s not a problem for me,” said Nat.
“But it’s a problem for me,” said Rebecca, “because there’s something else I haven’t told you…”
The moment Fletcher entered the packed Woolsey Hall he regretted not heeding Jimmy’s advice. He took his place on the bench opposite Tom Russell, who greeted him with a warm smile, as a thousand students began to chant, “Hey, hey LBJ, how many kids have you killed today?”
Fletcher looked up at his opponent as he rose from his place to open the debate. Tom was welcomed by the assembled throng with acclamation even before he’d opened his mouth. To Fletcher’s surprise he appeared to be just as nervous as he was, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.
The crowd fell silent the moment Tom began to speak, but he had only delivered two words when it turned to boos. “Lyndon Johnson,” he waited. “Lyndon Johnson has told us that it is America’s duty to defeat the North Vietnamese and save the world from creeping communism. I say it’s the president’s duty not to sacrifice one American life on the altar of a doctrine that, given time, will defeat itself.”
Once again the throng erupted, this time into cheers, and it was nearly a minute before Tom could continue. In fact the remainder of his words were punctuated with so many interruptions of approval, that he’d barely delivered half his speech before he came to the end of his allotted time.
The cheers turned to boos the moment Fletcher rose from his place. He had already decided that this was the last public speech he would ever make. He waited for a silence that never came, and when someone shouted, “Get on with it,” he delivered his first faltering words.
“The Greeks, the Romans and the British have all, in their time, taken on the mantle of world leadership,” Fletcher began.
“That’s no reason why we should!” hollered someone from the back of the hall.
“And after the breakup of the British Empire following the Second World War,” continued Fletcher, “that responsibility has been passed on to the United States. The greatest nation on the earth.” A smattering of applause broke out in the hall. “We can of course sit back and admit that we are unworthy of that responsibility, or we can offer leadership to millions around the world, who admire our concept of freedom and wish to emulate our way of life. We could also walk away, allowing those same millions to suffer the yoke of communism as it engulfs the free world, or we could support them as they too try to embrace democracy. Only history will be left to record the decision we make, and history must not find us wanting.”
Jimmy was amazed that they had thus far listened with only the occasional interruption, and surprised by the respectful applause Fletcher received when he resumed his place some twenty minutes later. At the end of the debate everyone in the hall recognized that Fletcher had won the argument, even if it was Tom who won the motion by over two hundred votes.
Jimmy somehow managed to look cheerful after the result had been read out to the cheering mob. “It’s nothing less than a miracle,” said Jimmy.
“Some miracle,” said Fletcher. “Didn’t you notice that we lost by two hundred and twenty-eight votes?”
“But I was expecting to be beaten by a landslide, so I consider two hundred and twenty-eight to be nothing less than a miracle. We’ve got five days to change the minds of a hundred and fourteen voters, because most frosh accept that you’re the obvious choice to represent them on the student council,” said Jimmy as they walked out of Woolsey Hall, with several people whispering to Fletcher, “Well done” and “Good luck.”
“I thought Tom Russell spoke well,” said Fletcher, “and more important, he represents their views.”
“No, he won’t do anymore than keep the seat warm for you.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Fletcher. “Tom might quite like the idea of becoming president.”
“Not a chance with what I have planned for him.”
“Dare I ask what you have in mind?” said Fletcher.
“I had a member of our team present whenever he gave a speech. During the campaign he made forty-three pledges, most of which he will not be able to keep. After he’s been reminded of that fact twenty times a day, I don’t think his name will be appearing on the ballot paper for president.”
“Jimmy, have you ever read Machiavelli’s The Prince?” asked Fletcher.
“No, should I?”
“No, don’t bother, he has nothing to teach you. What are you doing for dinner tonight?” he added, as Annie came across to join them. She gave Fletcher a big hug. “Well done,” she said, “your speech was brilliant.”
“Too bad a couple of hundred others didn’t agree with you,” said Fletcher.
“They did, but most of them had decided how they were going to vote long before they entered the hall.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him.” Jimmy turned to Fletcher. “My kid sister’s right, and what’s more…”
“Jimmy, I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks’ time,” said Annie, scowling at her brother, “just in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed, and some of my friends even tell me that y
ou’re passably pretty, but I can’t see it myself.”
Fletcher laughed. “So are you going to join us at Dino’s?”
“No, you’ve obviously forgotten that Joanna and I invited you both to dinner at her place.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” said Annie, “and I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s tied my brother down for more than a week.”
“I haven’t looked at another woman since the day I met her,” said Jimmy quietly.
“But I still want to marry you,” said Nat, holding on to her.
“Even if you can’t be sure who the father is?”
“That’s all the more reason for us to get married, then you’ll never doubt my commitment.”
“I’ve never doubted it for a moment,” said Rebecca, “or that you’re a good and decent man, but haven’t you considered the possibility that I might not love you enough to want to spend the rest of my life with you?” Nat let go of her and looked into her eyes. “I asked Ralph what he would do if it turned out to be his child, and he agreed with me that I should have an abortion.” Rebecca placed the palm of her hand on Nat’s cheek. “Not many of us are good enough to live with Sebastian, and I’m certainly no Olivia.” She took her hand away and quickly left the room without another word.
Nat lay on her bed unaware of the darkness setting in. He couldn’t stop thinking about his love for Rebecca, and of his loathing for Elliot. He eventually fell asleep, and woke only when the telephone rang.
Nat listened to the familiar voice and congratulated his old friend when he heard the news.
13
When Nat went to pick up his mail from the student union, he was pleased to find he had three letters: a bumper crop. One of them bore the unmistakable hand of his mother. The second was postmarked New Haven, so he assumed it had to be from Tom. The third was a plain brown envelope containing his monthly scholarship check, which he would bank immediately as his funds were running low.
He walked across to McConaughy and grabbed a bowl of cornflakes and a couple of slices of toast, avoiding the powdered scrambled eggs. He took a vacant seat in the far corner of the room, and tore open his mother’s letter. He felt guilty that he hadn’t written to her for at least two weeks. There were only a few days to go before the Christmas vacation, so he hoped she would understand if he didn’t reply immediately. He’d had a long conversation with her on the phone the day after he had broken up with Rebecca. He hadn’t mentioned her being pregnant or given a particular reason for them breaking up.