“When you think,” Gus went on, “I’ve got four years of college ahead. And I was going to say, I dunno—how long this will last. Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it. Maybe it’s better to consider it a short thing.”
“What will last?”
“The way I feel—or she feels.”
“Well, if you have any doubts,” Arthur said, his tone implying that to have any doubts nullified the whole thing.
“Can you expect a girl to hang on, I mean? They’re always flirting, playing the field. Veronica not so much, I think,” he added earnestly. “Or are you just supposed to change girls all the time—to be safe? That’s a lot of work.”
Arthur thought of asking if Gus had been to bed with Veronica, but thought that might invite the same question in regard to Maggie. “What does she say?”
“I think she likes me, but maybe because I like her. You see. But how long will it last for her?”
Arthur didn’t know what to reply, and what Gus had said depressed him, because it might apply to Maggie, too. How long would Maggie care about him? Then Arthur realized that Maggie had—definitely—liked him in bed. And also afterward. He had been over those fifteen or twenty minutes, in his memory, many times. If she hadn’t liked him then, she wouldn’t have made another date with him, wouldn’t have asked him to her house to meet her family. Everything got back to the fact of bed, Arthur thought. Or at least, that was quite important. Arthur forced himself to return to Gus’s situation. “Is Veronica going to college here?”
“Yep.”
“Well, that makes things a lot easier.”
“Why?”
“You can see her whenever you want to!” It seemed so obvious.
The cassette stopped.
Gus got up to put on another. “This is called ‘Lightning.’” When the cassette started, Gus stretched, and his fingertips just touched the ceiling. “Wish I was a good dancer. I’m not even a medium-good dancer.”
A girl’s voice sang:
. . . imagine the two of us,
just the two of us the-ere . . .
Gus lay on his bed, his head propped on one hand, and he stared at the floor. In the horizontal, he looked seven feet long. “I have to wear glasses all the time. Doesn’t make a very good impression on girls. I’m not as sure of myself as you are.”
Arthur smiled, loving his friend suddenly. “But you can fix a girl’s busted toilet!” Arthur laughed, and got a weak smile from Gus. Arthur’s throat closed, his eyes closed, for an instant. Was it the music? No. It was his father. Maybe he was in for another attack tonight. Maybe his father would repeat the no to Columbia, maybe no to any money at all for any college, which meant he’d be stuck at C.U. at best, and Maggie would be even farther away from him. And here was Gus moaning about—what? “You think I’m sure of myself?”
“Where’s Maggie going to college?”
“Radcliffe. Didn’t I tell you? Up by Harvard.”
“Yeah, well. Columbia’s not so far away, is it?”
“True, true,” Arthur said calmly. He wasn’t calm. On the other hand, Maggie liked him, wanted him to call her tomorrow afternoon, and wasn’t that everything? Didn’t that give courage? It was something he couldn’t give to Gus, because it was his own dream, in his head, intangible.
“See this?” Gus asked. He had opened a magazine. The page showed a color photograph of a powerful-looking motorcycle with two black leather seats, a Harley-Davidson, costing a couple of thousand dollars. “I don’t want it,” said Gus, a bit sadly.
Arthur gave a laugh. Then why had Gus shown him the picture? Why want a motorcycle when you had a car? Was Gus dreaming of being the type who danced well and raced through town on a motorcycle with a girl clinging to his waist? Gus was going to study agriculture at C.U., maybe become a farmer. Arthur drank the last drops of his beer, and asked in a stuffy tone, “Are you supplied with contraceptives, Gus?”
“Na-aw.—You mean in regard to Veronica? On two dates with her—so far?”
The music sounded suddenly like a mountain of tin cans falling, while the throbbing drumbeat went on.
“You equipped?” Gus asked.
“Why, yes.” Arthur jumped up and produced from a pocket the flat little box of Trojans.
Gus looked at it as if it were an atom bomb or something contraband. “Yeah, sure, I know.”
Arthur stuck the box back in his pocket. He had not wanted to leave them at home, not even in the back of one of his top drawers. It occurred to Arthur that Gus’s family was much more religious than his own. The Warylskys were nearly Catholic, Arthur thought, though he had never asked. He knew Gus’s parents went to church every Sunday, whereas Arthur’s family had just found religion or the church in a completely different way. Maybe Gus had never been in bed with a girl, simply because it was taboo before marriage, according to his family. Suddenly Arthur felt that his father’s attitude was all the more bogus because it was new. The Warylskys spoke little, but practiced their religion.
“You use ’em?” Gus asked casually.
“Yes, sure. Otherwise why would I have ’em?”
Gus gave him a lingering, sidewise glance. “With Maggie?”
Arthur hesitated a second. “No-o. She doesn’t sleep around.” He felt pleased with the answer which both protected Maggie and implied that he had some opportunity with other girls, if he so chose. He dropped his beer can into Gus’s wastebasket.
“Another beer, old pal?”
“Thanks, I’d better get moving.” Arthur felt on a crest of confidence just then and thought he had better use it to face his father in the next minutes.
Gus went downstairs with him, and Arthur picked up his bike from the front porch. Someone was still in the living room, watching TV, and in fact it was a only a little past 10.
As Arthur entered the kitchen from the garage of his house, his father came in from the living room, dressed but in house-slippers, walking like a slow bear. And just then, Arthur heard a snort from the living room, the sound Robbie made sometimes when he slept, and at once his father turned and said:
“Robbie? Awake, boy? Come and join us.—I want Robbie to hear this, because he’s old enough.”
Arthur stood with his back to the refrigerator, hands on his hips. Robbie came in blinking, sleepy-eyed, in pajamas. The house was as silent as if his mother and grandmother were listening from somewhere, but Arthur had the feeling they were in their separate rooms.
“I’ve had a talk with your mother,” his father began softly, “and with your brother, too.—Let’s all go in and sit down.”
Now his father shepherded them to the living room.
“Those who go against the Lord,” his father said, still softly, “will pay the price. I’m not so good this evening—after a night of fruitless prayer—last night—at saying to you what I want to, but I’m sure the words will come, just as they come—at our family table when I say blessing.” Now a pause.
Arthur was wondering if his father had tried again to speak with the Brewsters? Maggie’s father just might be home by himself this evening. This possibility made Arthur flinch, and he rubbed his palm across his forehead.
“I could have forgiven an adolescent mishap—but for your attitude. You did nothing to prevent what happened today—this morning. I consider it worse than a disgrace to the family. It’s a cardinal sin.” His eyes rested sadly on Robbie. “Robbie thinks so, too. And your mother.”
His father lived in another world, Arthur reminded himself. Arthur tried deliberately to feel miles away from it. “You talked to my mother? She thinks—”
“You are not being financed by me to go to Columbia or anywhere else.”
“Yes, I think you said that,” said Arthur.
“Well, now you have it again,” said his father with a grim nod.
/> A faint chill ran up Arthur’s spine. Robbie sat tensely on the sofa gazing at him as if he were someone on trial and guilty. The corners of Robbie’s mouth turned down a little. His father hadn’t finished college, because his family had gone broke just then, Arthur knew. Then his mother hadn’t finished, because she had met his father and they had got married. Pity my mother married a small-minded nobody like you, Arthur wanted to say. His father had insulted Maggie by talking to people like Eddie Howell, and Arthur was inspired to insult his father in return.
“Nothing to say for yourself,” said his father, as if it were obvious that he hadn’t.
Cool it, Arthur told himself. His father was simply in another world. Arthur kept cool outwardly, with his fingers folded on his abdomen, as he slumped in his chair, but his heart thumped as if he were fighting.
“Nothing,” his father repeated.
“What adult,” Arthur said, “told the story in that yackety church? Did the Reverend tell you who it was?”
“Don’t speak in that manner, Arthur.”
Arthur looked at his brother. “What do you think of that, Robbie? The church people are the gossips—like old women hanging over the back fence.”
“Yackers when they spoke the truth. Gossips,” said his father with a little smile.
Robbie said nothing. His father had already brainwashed Robbie, of course. Robbie believed he was even someone special, Arthur supposed, whom God had chosen to save, in contrast to others God had not chosen to save that particular day or night. Arthur blinked and tried to put on an unangry face. “You’re not telling me my mother thinks the same way you do, are you, Dad? Or my grandmother either?”
“You just ask them,” said his father on a conclusive note.
Was that it? The end of the dusting off for tonight? Arthur stood up and nodded brusquely as if to say, “I’ll do that.” He went off to his room.
14
Arthur was able to talk to his grandmother the next morning, after his father had left for work. His mother had gone off to drive a little girl to the doctor’s, because the little girl’s mother had no car.
“Dad talked with you and Mom again last night, it seems.”
His grandmother sat on the sofa, sewing small brass rings into a curtain. “Yes.” She glanced up at Arthur. “He’s overtired—and upset, too.”
Arthur was standing in the middle of the living room. “I tried to explain—there’s nothing to be upset about.” He spoke softly, because Robbie was still asleep, or at least had not put in an appearance as yet. His grandmother’s seconds of silence surprised Arthur. Wasn’t she on his side? “He’s not giving me anything toward college fees, so maybe that’ll give him satisfaction. I frankly don’t know what he wants.”
His grandmother twisted a thread around her finger and broke the thread. “He wants you to say you’re sorry.”
“Oh!” Arthur smiled. “I’ve said that. I am sorry.”
“He thinks you’re not sorry enough—as you see.” Now his grandmother sounded more like herself. She threaded her needle and resumed her work.
“Well—am I supposed to crawl around on the floor?”
“No, no, Arthur.—Sit down.”
Arthur didn’t want to sit down but he did, on a straight chair rather opposite the sofa.
“I’d lend you the money for college or give it to you, probably,” she went on, “but that would be flying right in Richard’s face.”
Arthur suddenly understood. His grandmother had to “keep the peace,” too. He was shocked for a moment. Was she going to take his father’s side, even see his father’s side, his grandmother whom he loved even more than his mother, he realized? She had been on his side when he was thirteen and said he was bored with games at school and couldn’t a person be just as healthy without them? She had given him wonderful books all his life, usually books for grown-ups, and she had told him to look up every word he didn’t know—a rule he had more or less kept.
“Your father thinks you’ve broken a law of God’s—or the church’s. That’s the way he puts it, Arthur.”
Arthur knew. “I don’t know what’s come over him. This is all recent.—Gosh, just a year ago Dad and I went on a camping trip. Two nights sleeping in a tent up north of here. Really fun!—Hard to believe now.” His father now was a different person. Camping out overnight would be a waste of time. “He’s earning a lot more lately. You’d think money would cheer a person up, wouldn’t you? If that’s their aim in life. You’d think it’d make them less religious—since they say Christ wasn’t famous for caring about money.”
Head bent over her work, his grandmother said, “The church has always been able to reconcile money and religion.”
And politics, maybe. Suddenly he smiled. “Dad told me he crosses people off his list of clients, if they don’t go to church—some church. Or if he thinks they’re too liberal. He’s gone very Republican. Used to be a Democrat when I was little.—What does Mom say to you?”
“Well—she said Richard was very shocked. So he’s reacting. And your mother believes in keeping the peace, as you know.” His grandmother gave him a quick glance. “Your father—What’s he now, forty-three? He’s trying to make something of himself before it’s too late. It’s bound to be with his job and the church and the townspeople, that’s true. So he’s hammering especially hard at you. Hard to take, I know, Arthur. Just be patient—for a time.” Now she stood up, holding the curtain high to get as much off the floor as possible. “Now you’re strong, Arthur—I think.” She extended her free arm.
Arthur put his arm around his grandmother’s waist and kissed her cheek, because that was what she expected.
“Hold this side up. You’re tall. See what—”
“No, I’m not.”
“See what you think. Won’t these be pretty? There’ll be two of them of course.”
They held the red-and-brown curtain as high as their arms could reach. It did look pretty.
“I’m sure, yes,” Arthur said.
At 3, an hour Arthur felt for some reason to be lucky in regard to Maggie, he telephoned the Brewster house. The telephone rang a long time, and Arthur supposed Maggie and her mother were not back yet from Indi, and then Maggie answered.
“How’re you feeling?” Arthur asked.
“Fine. Really. I was downstairs and I came up to get the phone here. I thought it was you. A neighbor’s visiting downstairs.” She sounded as if she were smiling.
“Any chance I can see you today? Six-thirty or so?”
Maggie said 6:30 would be fine. Arthur had brought the scarf box to Shoe Repair, hoping for a date after work.
Maggie opened the door for him. She wore the rust-colored slacks that he remembered so well, a white shirt, no makeup, and she looked as if she had just stepped out of a bath. Her eyes were shining.
“Brought you this,” he said, extending the white plastic bag.
She closed the door. “Can I open it now?”
“Why not?” Arthur wanted to embrace her, to kiss her cheek at least, but somehow didn’t dare. And mightn’t somebody be in the living room?
There was no one in the living room, only the orange and white cat called Jasper in his usual sleeping spot at the end of the sofa. Maggie opened the box carefully.
“Oh, how pretty! I love it, Arthur.” She held it up as his grandmother had held the curtain that morning, then swung it round her neck and looked at herself in a mirror. “Maybe my favorite colors.”
Arthur did not take his eyes from her. He felt in awe of her. Had she changed? She must have changed, somehow. “Maggie, you’re not sad?” He spoke softly. “Feeling funny?”
She glanced shyly at the floor for a second. “No. Not yet, anyway. My mother asked me that.—I was more depressed before.” She beckoned him into the kitchen. “To celebrate,?
?? she said, “let’s have a gin and tonic—each.”
Arthur smiled, watching her make them, wearing the new scarf which she had lightly tied and which hung over her shirt collar. His smile became a grin.
Maggie was aware of his staring at her and didn’t seem to mind it. She even gave him a mischievous smile. “And what’s your news?” she asked, handing him his drink. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.—My news is that—it looks like I can’t go to Columbia. My dad’s not contributing a cent.”
“What? Even with the grant you can’t go?”
Arthur explained. His father was livid and had cut the purse strings and for sure. Maybe he could afford C.U., sleeping home. “Horrible prospect—sleeping home.”
“My gosh, I’m sorry, Arthur. Can’t your grandma do something? Persuade him?”
Arthur explained that, too. His grandmother didn’t want to antagonize his father. They were now in the living room, and before they had sat down anywhere, Maggie’s mother came down the stairs.
“Hello, Arthur,” she said. “And how are you?”
Mrs. Brewster appeared pleasant, but was that only politeness? She wouldn’t sit down.
“Again, I’m sorry about my family annoying you on Sunday, Mrs. Brewster. It’s only my father, not my mother.”
“Oh,” she replied with a shrug. “People have their views. And Maggie said your father’s not a Catholic.”
“Definitely not! That’s why I was so—”
“No more talk about it,” Mrs. Brewster interrupted. “See you folks later, maybe.” She went on to the kitchen.
What was he to make of that? Did she detest him? Arthur took a gulp of his drink.
“Your mother. It’s a little different from my family.”
“Sit down.”
Arthur sat.
“Want to stay for dinner? My mother said you’re welcome to. My dad’s not here, by the way.”
Arthur had meant to pay a short visit. He had thought Maggie would be tired or sad or distant, and she was none of these things. He was uncertain about her mother’s attitude, however, and this made him uncomfortable. “Better not, thanks.” He swallowed the rest of his drink. Suddenly he felt awkward. “I better be going.”