The Rebellion of Yale Marratt

by Robert H. Rimmer

  But Cynthia wasn't there. Cynthia very definitely wasn't there. She was in Sarah Cohen's bed with a temperature of 102. He prayed that she was better, then shook his head worriedly. Instead of seeing her pitifully small beneath the white sheets while the Doctor whom Harry Cohen had called examined her . . . instead of remembering her as she shuddered with feverish chills . . . the thought of her stretched out on his cot, naked, kept recurring to him. It was the first time he had been alone with a naked woman. He had been surprised at the tenderness that welled up in him when he had patted Cynthia's poor, bruised body with his damp towel. What had caused the feeling? Was it because she was a woman and hence unlike him? Was it strictly a sexual impulse? No, it was more than that. Over and beyond any characteristics of Cynthia as a sexual object he had found her body, bruised and swollen though it was, to be beautiful. It was trite. It was certainly not good theology. But it was true, nonetheless, that seeing Cynthia's body had been a definite religious experience for him. Woman really was an incarnation of God. Something to lead a man not only to sexual fulfillment but to inspire him with the awe and inexpressible feeling that woman was not evil but a lovely, nourishing receptacle of life. Mat grinned to himself. He was really writing a sermon to contradict the idea of the Fall.

  His thoughts returned to last night. Using Doctor Tangle's telephone he had called a taxi and then carried Cynthia down to the street. The cooler night air had revived her and she looked at him in consternation. He explained that he knew a family where he thought she could stay.

  "I've got to call my father," she said. Paying no attention to his worry about her fever, she made him stop at a drugstore. He had watched her in the telephone booth talking frantically. Finally she came out. Her face was dripping with perspiration. The clerk in the drugstore was watching them curiously. Back in the taxi, tears in her eyes, she said, "He was leaving with Aunt Adar tomorrow at seven. That's the worst thing I have ever done. But, God, he couldn't come and see me like this. Oh, Daddy, forgive me -- forgive me." She sobbed against Mat's shoulder.

  "What did you tell him?" Mat asked.

  "I told him . . ." Cynthia paused. "I told him that I had met a man I had fallen in love with . . . not Yale . . . I told him we met two months ago. Oh God, I told him I was pregnant . . . that I was running away tonight to be married. Oh, Mat, he didn't believe me. I just kept talking, saying crazy things . . . I told him I would call him in a few days, that I would be home in a few weeks with my new husband. You see, he couldn't come here . . . he just couldn't come here tomorrow. Do you understand?"

  "No, I don't see, and I don't understand."

  Cynthia closed her eyes and turned away from him. "I can't tell you any more than that . . . please don't ask me.

  Mat held her hand. It was hot. He touched her forehead and urged the cab driver to hurry.

  Harry Cohen peered through his front door, opening it but an inch in answer to Mat's impatient knock.

  "For God's sake, let me in, Harry! It's Mat Chilling." Harry opened the door, Mat looked at him disgustedly. "It seems to me, Harry, it's too damned much trouble to go around naked if you have to be so infernally cautious."

  Harry grinned. "You're using rather violent language for a minister, aren't you?"

  Sarah Cohen, naked also, had seen Cynthia. Sarah ran to her. "Mat, what have you done to this poor girl? You poor thing." Sarah's arms went out to Cynthia. She held Cynthia's head against her breasts. Mat knew they must feel cool to Cynthia's feverish face.

  Mat stayed with the Cohens until one-thirty in the morning. They helped Cynthia upstairs into Sarah's bed. Mat had been embarrassed at the doctor's questions. He knew that the doctor had not believed him when he told him he knew nothing, not even how Cynthia had got into this condition. Cynthia refused to talk.

  "She's had a bad shock, I would guess," the doctor said. "Keep her in bed for a few days." He gave Sarah a prescription for a sedative and an ointment to soothe her bruises. As they were leaving, Cynthia grabbed Mat's arm. "You must tell Yale I've gone home. Promise me, Mat. You helped me get on a bus to New Jersey. That's the way it must be."

  Mat could never remember telling a deliberate lie. When he got back to the campus, Yale was sitting despondently on the front porch of Doctor Tangle's house. He demanded to know where Cynthia was, and looked at Mat incredulously when Mat told him that Cynthia insisted on going home. "She wouldn't go home looking like that," Yale had said.

  "She did," Mat said softly. "She told me to tell you that I helped her get on the bus. Yale, I think I should know why she did this to herself."

  "I don't know. Honestly, Mat, I don't know. It had something to do with her being Jewish and my being God-knows-what . . . certainly not a Gentile. We discussed religion hundreds of times. She must know that I have no infantile prejudices."

  Mat felt very hypocritical when Yale thanked him. He began to worry when Yale said he would call Cynthia tomorrow. Suddenly Mat remembered that Cynthia had told her father that she was eloping with another man. What was Yale going to think when he discovered what had really happened?

  Listening to Doctor Twidell make his concluding remarks, Mat wondered if Yale would accost him after the ceremonies. If Yale had called Cynthia's home, he would know the truth. Would Yale make a scene? He wondered what had happened to him in the past twenty-four hours. From almost getting drunk, to asking a colored girl for a date, to getting involved in what might be a sex tragedy, was too much for him to encompass.

  Doctor Tangle's voice boomed into Mat's reverie. Like a signal from the master, the rain turned into a downpour, and throbbed against the arched roof of the chapel. Mat was bored with the ceremony. He found the phrases trite. There was complete inability on the part of the speakers to link the graduating class into the chaotic world. Gone were the hopeful speeches of 1936 when he had received his bachelor's degree. Now there was bewilderment and groping. The speeches had the same tinge of bright hopefulness . . . but in the long distant future if the country avoided European entanglements. What was going to happen for the graduating class, tomorrow, next week or next year, no speaker cared to dwell upon.

  The rain was trickling through one of the leaded glass windows and down the cheek of a red and blue saint when Cynthia's name was called up for her degree.

  Cynthia was Phi Beta Kappa. Three names separated her in the top grouping from Yale's name. Mat noticed that one of the faculty members took Cynthia's diploma. It made him feel sad. This should have been her day -- with her parents beaming proudly and Yale to receive her outside the chapel with a happy hug and a kiss. Instead there was this terrible furtiveness.

  Sarah Cohen had called him on Doctor Tangle's phone at eight-thirty. He met her at Joe Pepperelli's. Cynthia was all right. She had had a terrible experience. "Really terrible, Mat. It's an awful shame."

  "Yes," she admitted finally in answer to Mat's prodding. "I know what happened. But I promised to tell no one. It wouldn't do you any good to know, Mat. If only this affair with Yale Marratt hadn't lasted so long. If only she had broken with him years ago. Whether the way she has done it now is right or not is none of my business or yours, Mat." Sarah looked at Mat intently. "I can tell you one thing -- not because she is Jewish either -- but that girl is a fine person."

  Sarah told him that she was going to the college and get Cynthia's clothes. "I called the Dean of Women this morning. I told her I was Cynthia's sister -- that Cynthia hadn't been feeling well and had come home -- that I would get her things and collect her diploma. I finally had to talk with your friend Doctor Tangle. He believed me. See -- you never would have thought I could tell such a story. Doctor Tangle praised Cynthia highly. He told me he would talk with me after the graduation."

  Before the ceremonies, Sarah met Mat standing outside the chapel in his doctoral robes. "This is a big day for you, Mat. I am happy for you, and wish that you have your degree always in good health." She nudged Mat and asked him to point out Patrick Marratt. Mat looked through the crowd and spotted P
at in a group of parents and faculty members. "So that's Mr. Marratt." Sarah turned away. "I wish I could spit on him."

  Mat laughed. "Has Harry convinced you that he's that bad?"

  "Not bad . . . just very, very stupid!" Sarah went inside to find a seat.

  The interminable ceremony finally ended. Mat, holding his degree, walked through the family groups gathered on the lawn in front of the chapel. He kept praying that he could slip through without encountering Yale. One thing was a relief. He had no relatives proudly smiling at him.

  He was in luck. Yale was standing on College Avenue with Pat Marratt and several families near a new Ford convertible. Mat heard someone say, "Boy, you are a lucky dog, Yale! What a present!" Mat realized that the new car was a graduation gift. He could see Yale looking over the heads of the people gathered around the car, a distraught look on his face. He's looking for me, Mat thought. Had Yale telephoned New Jersey? It would be embarrassing to be caught in a bare-faced lie. Mat hurried away from the campus. At least, he reflected, Yale has an extraordinary graduation gift -- a new car -- to take his mind off Cynthia. He wondered what it would be like to receive such a present. Probably, no feeling at all, if you had lost a person you loved. Probably, no feeling anyway. Yale was a rich man's son and the wealthy took such gifts casually.

  Mat stopped on the corner of College Avenue. He slid out of his graduation gown. Folding it in a clumsy roll, he walked toward his room. It was still raining and he was wearing his only good suit. The same brown suit in which he had received his A. B. degree in 1936. Someday he must buy a new one.

  The greyness of the day, the dripping of the wet chestnut and elm trees lining the walks of the college pleased him. The world looked washed. The rain had cleansed the heat from the air, leaving a damp earthy smell that was invigorating with its stir of new life taking root. Everything seemed in sharp focus. Looking down College Avenue be noticed, as he had every summer, that the approaches to the college, ordinarily made through a section of dreary old houses that had seen better days, had now receded behind a foreground of spring loveliness. A leafy arch of elms bending from either side of the street to touch in the middle canopied the street. Old cobblestones still remaining in the center of the street, between two unused street car tracks, glistened like wet cakes of naphtha soap. Tiny rivulets of water trickled along the gutter, seeming for a moment to have a gay permanence. The world seemed to have its arm around Mat's shoulder, whispering happily in his ear.

  He dropped his cap and gown in his room and wrote a note for Doctor Tangle. "I'm going home for awhile. Please hold my room. I plan to work at Latham's starting in July for a few months. I'll talk with you when I return."

  He packed a small cloth suit case. If his luck continued, he could still avoid meeting Yale. Harry Cohen would let him sleep out in his yard. The nights would be warm enough. Without caring why he had the thought, he knew that he wanted to stay near Cynthia. She needed help, and in some way not unpleasing to Mat, had involved herself in his life.

  15

  Yale wished that he could cry -- wished that like some figure from a Greek tragedy he could claw his eyes and moan his grief to the heavens. There must be some way to relieve the dull despair that left him sitting in his room, hearing but not feeling the gaiety of the orchestra that played on the grounds below. "This is your sister's wedding reception," Liz had said. "Please, tonight of all nights don't mope. You can't sit up here alone. Everyone in Midhaven who counts is here. Your father would like it if you were among the guests.

  Yes, Pat would like it. And Liz would like it. And Barbara would like it. But what did they care about him? Liz had been astonished when he said, "I've lost the only person in my life who ever loved me."

  "You mean that Jewish girl! Yale, you know we couldn't invite her to the wedding. There are no Jews here tonight. Can't you appreciate, Yale, that this is a family affair? Tom's mother and father wouldn't understand anything like that -- or any of Pat's friends for that matter."

  Yale looked at her bitterly. "Leave me alone, Liz. If you call five hundred or more people out there on the lawn, dancing in those tents, getting sloppily drunk, a family affair, that's your business. How much did this family affair set Pat back anyway? Nothing under ten thousand dollars I'll bet."

  "You are a very unappreciative boy, Yale Marratt. Pat gave you a brand new car today that cost him more than a thousand dollars. This is your only sister's wedding. In an hour she'll be gone on her honeymoon. You can see your girl friend anytime. I'm sure she would realize that she is not one of our friends or your sister's friends. If you had any decency you would come downstairs. Pat is very proud of you. Now that this last terrible year has been forgotten, you should do everything possible to make up with him."

  Yale wanted to say to her: Liz, you're my mother, can't you understand? Can't you believe I have loved Cindar as much and more, perhaps, than Barbara loves this fellow Tom? Can't you realize that a wedding ceremony doesn't make a marriage -- that I am married to Cindar for a lifetime? He said nothing because this would only be the "ravings of puppy love" to Liz.

  There was no hope. That afternoon after graduation he had telephoned Dave Carnell. Cynthia's father had been crying. He could tell by his husky voice.

  "Yale. is that you? Oh, my God, Yale what has happened?" Carnell's voice broke. Yale could hear him trying to clear his throat. "Tell me it isn't true, Yale! To Cynthia, how could this happen?"

  Yale couldn't grasp his meaning. Mat Chilling had told him that Cynthia had gone home. Was her father referring to her condition? Yale thought of the cruel gash on her face and shuddered.

  "Dave. Mr. Carnell, I don't know why she did it. I love her very much. Please, Mr. Carnell, let me talk to her."

  "Talk to her? Talk to her? She isn't here! 'Where is she? Do you know? Who did she marry? How is it possible? Only last week, she writes Adar all about you."

  "Marry? Mr. Carnell, marry! What do you mean? She's going to marry me!"

  He heard Dave Carnell groan. "Oh, my poor boy. You didn't know. She didn't tell you, either! She's run away with some man. She's only known him for two months. She called me last night. My heart should break. She sounded so cold. Adar and I were ready to come for graduation. Today -- we have looked forward to -- for so long. My only daughter. What could have made this happen?"

  Piecing together the information he had from Dave, Yale knew that there was only one answer. Mat Chilling was involved. Mat was hiding Cynthia. Crazy with anger, Yale had gone to Doctor Tangle's house demanding to know where Mat was.

  "I didn't know you were friends with Mat," Doctor Tangle answered. "He's gone home to Maine." Doctor Tangle handed Yale Mat's note. "I can't understand what's come over Mat in the past few months. Something has disturbed his religious thinking." Doctor Tangle beamed at Yale. "Well, most of us in the cloth pass through that at one time or another. Mat has character. He'll come through. Why don't you come in for a cup of tea? It's a custom with us on graduation day. Quite a few of our compatriots are in the living room."

  Yale declined. He asked Doctor Tangle if he knew Mat's home address. It was Bridgeton or Lisbon Falls . . . or was it Presque Isle? Doctor Tangle wasn't positive. He would look it up for him Monday. As Yale was leaving, Doctor Tangle promised to see him. later at Barbara's wedding. "Quite a day for the Marratts," he chuckled. "A Phi Beta Kappa graduate and a wealthy son-in-law all in one day. Pat must be very happy."

  Where could Mat and Cynthia have gone? They had no car. Could they have taken a bus? Was it true? Was it true that Cynthia had run away with Mat Chilling? It simply couldn't be true. But what had come over her yesterday? After three years of knowing her and loving her, could he have suspected that she could have changed character so Completely? He remembered her naked, bloody, her hair disheveled, screaming, "Go ahead -- rape me!" That wasn't any Cynthia he had known. It was as if a tiny, soft kitten had suddenly metamorphosed into a snarling tigress. Did everyone have within him a Mr. Hyde aspect, he wondered? Even
he had not recognized himself saying "I'll fuck you." A word he had never used before, or even thought in relation to the act of love.

  Oh, God, what a confused, miserable day this had been. Every minute he had been trapped by events, balked in his search for Cynthia.

  It had started last night. Had he known that Mat had been lying, he could have forced an answer then. He should never have left Cynthia. But he had had no choice. Cynthia had forced him to leave. It had seemed logical that Cynthia would go home. Certainly, he had no refuge to offer her. Knowing her pride, knowing that she wouldn't want a barrage of questions from the girls in the dormitory, it had seemed plausible that she would return to the shelter of her family.

  Staying awake half the night, Yale had planned, immediately after Barbara's wedding, to drive to New Jersey. When he found Cynthia he would make her confess to him what he had done. Why she had acted so crazily? But now he knew the mistake he had made was not to have called New Jersey in the morning. If he had done that he would have known. He could have cornered Mat at graduation and found where Cynthia was. She must have stayed with Mat all night in his room. The thought of what might have happened made Yale blush with anger. Could she have done that? Would they have made love? No -- God, no! Cynthia wasn't promiscuous. But she had stayed somewhere and Mat was at the graduation. . . .

  He had planned to talk with Mat right after the ceremony. But it had been impossible. There was Pat, happy, grinning like a kid, waiting for him. Yale had felt a sudden remorse over his behavior of the past year. Pat was a tyrant, that was for sure, but today he had tried to be human. He had put his hand out to shake hands and then, overcome with emotion, had pulled Yale into his arms and hugged him. "I'm damned proud of you, son. Never thought I would have a son graduate Phi Beta Kappa. By God, I knew you had something locked up in that skull of yours. Shall we let bygones be bygones?"