The Tutor

by Peter Abrahams

  “For God’s sake, Ruby.” Linda smacked her hand on the table, immediately thought, Christ, don’t do that on her birthday.

  Immediately, but too late. “Forget it,” Ruby said. She dropped her bow right there on the floor and walked out of the kitchen.

  “Christ,” Linda said, this time aloud.

  Julian came in through the mudroom, her car keys in his hand.

  “Julian,” she said. “Can I ask you a big favor?”

  “The Skyway account’s driving her crazy,” Ruby said.

  Julian glanced over from behind the wheel of Mom’s car. He didn’t hunch over it like Mom, so stiff, but sat back, relaxed. Ruby felt safe right away, unlike the one time she’d been in Dewey’s car, for example, when she ended up getting carsick and puking out the window, mostly.

  “What’s the Skyway account?” Julian said.

  “They own the mall and now they’re putting up some houses. Mom has to come up with a name.”

  “For the development?”

  “Yeah. She likes the Meadows at West Mill the best.”

  “What are some of the others?”

  Ruby had gone over the list, lying on the kitchen table, over breakfast. “Riverbend, the Willows at West Mill, Something else at West Mill, that kind of thing.”

  “Have you got any ideas?”

  “Nope.” It was boring, right? But then she thought of a great one: Pooh Corner. She was thinking of trying it out on Julian when they pulled up behind the old practice field at West Mill High.

  Not many cars today, maybe because some of the parents thought there’d be no archery with snow on the ground. They didn’t know Jeanette. She already had the targets up, was drawing the shooting line in the snow with her boot.

  “Move it, let’s go,” she called to the kids getting out of their cars. “Run, Rubester.”

  Ruby ran.

  She shot great, maybe because of how bright the target colors were against all the snow, maybe because it was her birthday, maybe because she was getting better. Her final six: three reds, three golds, right up there with William Tell.

  “What’s Rubester been smoking?” said Jeanette, and all the kids laughed. “Don’t tell your parents I said that.” They laughed again. “Here’s something for next week.” The kids got quiet. “Practice watching the smallest thing you can see on any object.”

  Ruby took that in, held her breath. Right away she knew how important it was going to be, not just for archery but her whole life. Down deep in her mind archery and Sherlock Holmes locked together, a perfect fit.

  The kids pulled their arrows out of the targets. Jeanette drove up in the pickup, hoisted in the targets, shoved her skis and poles to the side, drove them all back to the waiting cars. “Hold on tight,” she called out the window, and fishtailed a little in the snow to give them a thrill.

  Jeanette stopped by each car for a kid to hop out. The Jeep was last. She parked beside it. Julian was standing outside, a snowball in his hand. He came over, took Ruby’s bow and quiver. She jumped down, noticed Jeanette looking at Julian. Mom said that Jeanette was gay, but nobody really knew, right?

  “Jeanette,” she said. “This is Julian. He’s going to get my brother into Harvard.”

  “Hi,” Jeanette said.

  “Hello,” said Julian.

  Their eyes met for a second. Ruby got the crazy idea that they didn’t like each other, dislike at first sight.

  “Keep ‘em sharp,” Jeanette said, and drove off.

  “You bet,” said Ruby.

  Julian watched the pickup till it rounded the corner by the gym and disappeared. He looked down at her. “You shot well,” he said.

  Ruby glanced back at where the targets had stood. “You could tell from here?” she said.

  He didn’t answer, was no longer looking at her, but up at the sky, where a big bird was circling.

  “Is that a hawk?” Ruby said.

  “Yes.” And then, so quick it was like one of those cuts in a movie and the next scene had already started, he’d dropped the snowball and drawn Ruby’s bow, aiming up at the hawk with one of Ruby’s blue-and-yellow feathered arrows.

  “Julian!” she said.

  He paused in the anchor position, his aiming eye colorless as the snow. Slowly he released the tension on the string, lowered the bow. He turned to her, eyes all back to normal. “Just practicing the aiming part,” he said.

  “Too bad the targets are down,” Ruby said. “You could have taken a shot.”

  “Want me to take a shot?”

  “We’re only supposed to shoot at targets. That’s rule two.”

  “What’s rule one?”

  “Nobody in front of you.”

  “Very wise,” said Julian. He bent down, picked up the snowball, threw it in the air, amazingly far. Then, not even hurrying, he raised the bow, drew it, didn’t seem to anchor even, just let fly.

  The arrow was easy to follow against the pale sky, overcast but not much darker than the snow on the ground. It soared over the field, higher and higher, closing on the snowball, and just as the snowball reached the top of its arc, hanging there for an instant before the long fall, the arrow struck right into the fattest part of its middle. Then came a tiny white explosion and the snowball was gone.

  “Wow,” Ruby said.

  Julian didn’t hear. He was already partway across the field, on his way to get the arrow, hadn’t even stayed to watch. Ruby noticed that the hawk was gone.

  “Was William Tell real?” Ruby asked on the way home.

  “A legend.”

  “So the apple part was legend too?”

  He didn’t answer; probably a stupid question.

  “Some guys hunt with bow and arrow,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you?”

  There was a pause, a long one, like maybe he hadn’t heard. She was about to repeat it when he said, “No.”

  She was glad to hear that. It wiped out the whole hawk episode. They were back on the same page, archers of the target-shooting type. “I mean, how could you shoot a living thing?” she said.

  “You don’t see a living thing,” Julian said. “You see a gold circle inside a red one.”

  She hadn’t meant how that way, more like how on earth.

  They turned onto Robin Road. Dewey’s car was coming the other way, full of kids, smoke blowing out the windows. Brandon was one of the ones in the backseat, pushing and shoving in that supposedly playful way boys had. There wasn’t much space, especially with the beer keg, clearly visible. Ruby glanced at Julian. His eyes were on the road.

  They went in the kitchen. Mom was still at the table, her hands in her hair, crumpled papers all over the place, an ink smudge on her chin. She looked up, totally wired.

  “How about La Rivière?” Julian said.

  14

  La Rivière it was, and so fast: Linda called the marketing rep at Skyway, the marketing rep called Larry, Larry called his partner, and in fifteen minutes, start to finish, Linda’s boss was back on the phone, and in a very different mood.

  “Bull’s-eye, Linda. Exactly what we were looking for, quote unquote from Larry. And he’s not one for throwing compliments around, as you know.”

  Yes! she thought, and said something more restrained, forgotten at once.

  “How did you come up with it?” said her boss.

  Linda glanced at Julian, sitting at the opposite end of the table, staring out the window, a glass of water—he’d refused everything else—in front of him. “Hard to say,” she said.

  “Enough with the aw shucks,” said her boss. “It’s not you.”

  “Just kicked a few things around, that’s all,” Linda said, lowering her voice in spite of herself. Julian reached for his glass, sipped; every movement economical and hard to take your eyes off, for some reason.

  “Keep kicking, girl. See you Monday.”

  Linda hung up. “You’re a gem,” she said.

  “An acceptable idea, then?” said
Julian. Zippy trotted in, rubbed up against his leg.

  “Acceptable? They ate it up. I can’t thank you enough.” She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t she said: “Good things always happen fast, don’t they?”

  He looked at her with interest. “The corollary,” he began, “would be—”

  “Hey.” Ruby came in, pulling on her jacket. “We’re going to be late.” She’d done something new to her hair, three braids twisted together like a pyramid on top of her head. She really had no idea how to present herself, but Linda was in a good mood and let it go.

  “Have you picked a movie?”

  “That Thang Thing, vote of four to three. I broke the tie.”

  “Is it appropriate?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s all about these drug dealers who hide out at a yoga camp.”

  “Wonderful,” Linda said, turning one of those rueful kids-today smiles on Julian, but he wasn’t watching; his eyes were on that pyramid on Ruby’s head.

  They went outside. Julian got on his bike. “Thanks for everything today,” Linda said. “Make sure the bill reflects all the extra—”

  He held up his hand.

  “No, really,” Linda said. How nice he was; she felt a little guilty about taking the credit for La Rivière. But what good could the credit have done Julian? “If you’re not doing anything tonight,” she said at the last minute, “why not come over for birthday cake? Say around seven.”

  “What can I bring?”

  “Just yourself.”

  He rode off but they soon passed him, pedaling fast, gaze straight ahead. The streets were bare but it was cold for bicycling.

  “Why does he ride a bike all the time?” Ruby said.

  “Maybe he can’t afford a car,” Linda said.

  “He doesn’t look poor to me.”

  “Maybe he likes the exercise. In Europe there’d be nothing unusual at all.”

  “We’re not in Europe, Mom.”

  “He did lecture at Oxford.”

  “So?”

  Perhaps they’d get along better as Ruby got older, Linda thought. She’d read about mother-daughter relationships like that.

  Mom turned off the lights and Dad lit the candles on the cake. Then they sang “Happy Birthday,” five of them around the dining room table, which was where birthdays happened: Mom at her end, Dad at his, Julian on one side, Brandon next to her, the birthday girl. She sang too, Happy birthday to me, because she liked singing, and handled that harmony thing at the end by herself.

  “Make a wish,” Mom said.

  Ruby gazed at the burning candles and thought. Across the table, Julian was gazing at them too: the reflections of the flames flickered in his eyes. Of all Ruby’s birthday wishes, the only one she could remember was for a dog, years ago, and that had come true; she could feel her wish-come-true sniffing around for scraps under the table. While she was thinking, one of the candles, the good-luck one in the middle, went out.

  “Jesus Christ,” Brandon said. Saturday night and he was itching to go; his foot was tapping, a soft impatient beat that vibrated up the legs of her chair.

  Dad relit the candle. When one of the yoga guys in the movie was helping one of the drug guys find his inner kundalini or whatever it was, he’d said: “The essence of the presence is in the glow of the flow.” The look on the face of the drug guy when he heard that! Ruby started laughing.

  Dad was watching her, looked like he might start laughing too, even though he couldn’t have a clue what it was about. He was a great dad.

  “What’s so funny?” Mom said.

  “Make a goddamn wish,” Brandon said.

  How about pimples, all over your face? But then it came to her, kazam and presto, what she wanted more than anything: X-ray vision. Ruby made her wish, said to herself, Give me X-ray vision. To be able to see not just the smallest detail, like Jeanette said, but right inside: that was what she wanted. Ruby took a huge breath and blew out all eleven candles plus the good-luck one in a single mighty gust.

  Julian clapped softly. “What did you wish for?” he said.

  “If I tell you,” Ruby said, “it won’t come true.” She fixed him with a look, tried to turn on the X-ray vision. Not hooked up yet.

  “Don’t look at Julian like that,” Mom said. “It’s rude.”

  “Sorry,” Ruby said.

  “My fault,” said Julian. “I thought you might give it away, Ruby.”

  “Was I born yesterday?” Ruby said. Everybody laughed at that, even Bran. Because Julian’s laugh was so different—surprisingly like a crow, surprising because his speaking voice was so nice, like one of those English actors—Ruby noticed how similar the laughs of the family members sounded. Lots of quick little musical sounds, real happy. All in all, a great birthday. Mom cut the cake, chocolate inside and out, and Ruby ate two pieces.

  Bran got up. “See you later,” he said.

  “Twelve-thirty curfew,” Mom said.

  “One-thirty,” said Bran.

  Mom and Dad looked at each other. “One,” Dad said.

  Mom sighed. “Where are you going?”

  “Just hanging out,” said Brandon.

  “With Dewey?”

  “He might show up.”

  Mom got that vertical line on her forehead, but not deep and smoothing over fast. She looked pretty happy, probably about Skyway. And it was her daughter’s birthday too, for God’s sake, Ruby thought; couldn’t that be part of it?

  Brandon left. Ruby burped, but real subtle, no one could possibly have heard. “Thanks, todo el mundo,” she said, and went upstairs to her presents, figuring to start with the GameCube first. Todo el mundo—she’d picked that up from the drug guys.

  “How about a drink?” Linda said, surprising herself a little. She hardly ever drank, and felt the urge even less often.

  “Good idea,” Scott said. “What’ll it be?”

  “Have we got vodka?”

  “Sure.”

  “Vodka and tonic, then.”

  Scott rose. “Julian? I’ve got some nice single malts. There’s also wine, beer, you name it.”

  “A nice single malt will be fine.”

  “Glenfarclas? Glenmorangie? Glenlivet?”

  “Have you got any without Glen in them?”

  Pretty funny, especially with that straight-faced delivery. Linda laughed, and Scott joined in after a second or two.

  “Highland Park,” he said.

  “Perfect,” said Julian.

  Scott went downstairs to the wet bar by the entertainment center. Linda picked at the cake left on her plate. She’d cut herself a very small piece, eaten half, plus the icing flake she now put in her mouth.

  “I can’t thank you enough for your suggestion,” she said.

  “Suggestion?” said Julian.

  “La Rivière.”

  “No thanks necessary.”

  “Not true. How did you come up with it?”

  “Hard to say,” Julian said.

  The very words she’d said to her boss in answer to the same question. Was Julian making fun of her? No sign of it in his expression: he looked thoughtful, as he often did, she realized.

  “You must be the creative type,” Linda said.

  Julian’s face, normally quite pale, flushed a little. She understood something else about him: he was modest. Was he one of those enormously able people hobbled by shyness? There were still many such women around, but she’d never come across the male equivalent.

  “What do you mean by creative?” Julian said.

  “What everyone else does, I guess. Dreaming up La Rivière out of the blue.”

  “Isn’t that begging the question?” Julian said.

  Was that what begging the question meant? It didn’t mean inviting the question? She’d been misusing it for years. Linda caught herself frowning, knew that damned vertical line was showing on her forehead—she’d glimpsed it unexpectedly often enough in store windows and the lenses of other people’s sunglasses.

>   “No offense,” Julian added, maybe misinterpreting her frown.

  Scott came in with drinks on a tray. “No offense about what?” he said.

  “We were discussing creativity,” Linda said.

  “Linda’s a great one for intellectual discussions,” Scott said, handing out the drinks. She noticed he’d used the Waterford glasses, the three that were left from their wedding service, all the rest broken over the years and replaced with something practical from Williams-Sonoma.

  Julian raised his glass. “To Ruby.”

  “That’s sweet,” Linda said. “To Ruby.”

  “To Ruby,” said Scott. He shook his head. “What a kid. You know she plays the sax?”

  “I didn’t,” Julian said.

  “Not on a level where it’s going to be useful,” Linda said.

  “Useful?” said Julian.

  “In terms of her future.” Linda had been thinking of her boss’s daughter, a year younger than Ruby, who’d already played the violin—a much more sensible instrument to begin with—at a specially arranged audition with a Juilliard professor. The same girl was also seeing a math tutor once a week, had started algebra. “She doesn’t even know her times tables yet.”

  “Whoa,” said Scott. “Where did that come from?”

  “I believe there’s a correlation between musical and mathematical abilities,” Julian said.

  “Exactly,” Linda said, although it was news to her.

  “I’m sure you know the story about Einstein and Heifetz,” Julian said.

  “Who’s Heifetz?” said Scott.

  “A famous violinist,” Linda said; her father had played his recordings, especially the Beethoven concerto, and more especially the cadenza at the end of the first movement, over and over.

  “Now I know,” said Scott, taking a big drink.

  Julian told the story, a funny story with Yiddish accents Linda didn’t find the least bit offensive, ending with Heifetz’s exasperated “Can’t you count, Einstein? Vun two three, vun two three.”

  Linda laughed. Scott said: “Because he’s a scientist, right?”

  Right, Linda thought, and sipped her drink. She realized she’d forgotten to specify diet tonic. Julian was so lean compared to the two of them. “What do you think of the idea of math tutoring for Ruby?” she asked him.