Rodin's Debutante

by Ward Just

  I did not.

  Laura said, I didn't know you had such feeling for New Jesper.

  Lee said, You never forget where you're from.

  Well, Laura began doubtfully.

  You certainly haven't.

  True enough, she said.

  And the price was right, Lee said.

  What do you mean by that?

  Bye-bye, White collection.

  LEE LOOKED AT HIS WATCH and saw that he was due to meet his father in ten minutes. Even so, he lingered a while longer, appraising the fortress atmosphere of Fifteen Hundred. He had never been inside such a building; surely no apartment would have fewer than eight rooms, one set aside for a maid sleep-over in the event the dinner party ran late. He wondered what moves you would have to make to acquire an apartment on Lake Shore Drive, the hoops you would have to jump through; and then at a specific moment you would own the hoops and the apartment both. He watched the doorman greet a slope-shouldered middle-aged man in a white Panama hat and step smartly to the curb to blow his whistle. In seconds a taxi pulled up under the porte-cochère, the driver alighting at once to attend to his passenger as the doorman returned to sentry duty. Lee did not move, watching slope-shoulders remove his Panama hat before sliding into the taxi. The hat in his hand seemed as handsome an accessory as spats on a parrot. Lee decided then that apartments on Lake Shore Drive would surely exact a kind of revenge, something unexpected. A messiah complex or altitude sickness or a preoccupation with hats. No doubt you would walk a little taller when you lived there and be pleased with yourself at the envelopes you distributed at Christmastime, each banknote mint-fresh and crisp as parchment—and that was Lee's sudden intimation that he had left New Jesper for keeps. Home was Hyde Park, Laura's apartment and his studio on the perimeter of the university and the work he did there. Lee turned to give one last look at the flat gray lake, recalling once again the aircraft carriers far offshore and the trainer planes maneuvering into position, from that distance scarcely larger than insects, their pilots no older than boys. The routine took some getting used to. Approaching the carrier deck, the pilot would be laden with emotion, fear and exhilaration both, no margin for error. Just one wrong move, a misjudgment of speed or of wind, the position of the sun, the angle of descent, any distraction—

  Adieu, Fifteen Hundred.

  ***

  JUDGE ERWIN GOODELL was seated at a table for two in the middle of the busy dining room, the waiter setting down an old-fashioned as Lee approached. The old man was dapper in a gray summer-weight suit and bow tie, his expression content. Lee ordered a martini and apologized for being late. His father said that was all right, he had only arrived minutes before, traffic on Skokie Highway. Isn't this a nice room? I've always liked the Drake, locally owned, good food, good service. Then he commenced an inventory of his ailments, chronic indigestion, shortness of breath, and a bad knee. For the first time in his life he was playing golf from a motorized cart, the latest thing at the club. His game was sour because of the knee. He was having trouble sleeping and now, the latest indignity, he was seeing a podiatrist to have his toenails clipped. Arthritis in his fingers made toenail-clipping a chore. He took a sip of his old-fashioned and sighed. My memory isn't worth a damn, either. What's new with wedding plans?

  It'll be a while, Lee said. We think July, after graduation next summer.

  In Hyde Park, his father said.

  Yes, indeed. And there's something else. Laura and her mother want you to officiate. In the university chapel. I like the idea too.

  Well, he said, I'm touched. Thank you. Your mother will want to know every detail.

  When we know them, Mom will have them. Lee thought now was not the time to mention the participation of the English professor James James, who had recently converted to Buddhism and intended to recite a sutra of his own devising. Professor James was an old family friend and Laura's godfather, and he would not be denied, especially since he promised to shave his head for the occasion.

  Have you lost weight? his father asked. It looks to me like you've lost weight.

  I don't think so, Lee said.

  I've gained ten pounds this year. I don't mind. Your mother minds.

  Lee said, Let me ask you a question. Have you ever been inside Fifteen Hundred?

  Lake Shore Drive? Sure, years ago. Some judicial conference at the Blackstone and one of the federal judges gave a cocktail party. The apartment was enormous. There must have been a hundred guests, plenty of space left over in the living room and the dining room next to it, drinks, a buffet, fully catered. Beautiful view of our lake. Why do you ask?

  Invited to a party. Declined.

  You should go. You should broaden your horizons, Lee. Chicago's got a lot more to it than Hyde Park. There are fine people on the North Side, professional people, lawyers and such. Then the waiter was at the table, and after giving their orders the old man lost his train of thought. Instead, he began to speak of his days at law school, the excitement of the law, its challenge, its essential virtue. You put aside bias and followed the law until it was seen that the law itself was unjust and then you overturned it, like the Dred Scott matter, and then it was not a decision by an appellate court but by the people themselves in ratifying the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States. I suppose you've given no further thought to law school, he said.

  Lee had never given any thought to law school but he did not say that. He said, I don't think so, Dad. I have another interest.

  And what interest would that be?

  Sculpture, Lee said. That's what I've been working on.

  The waiter arrived with steak broiled rare and fresh drinks for Lee and his father, asked if anything else was wanted, was told no, and departed.

  Did you say sculpture?

  Yes, marble sculptures.

  You probably don't know it but I was responsible for commissioning our statue of Lincoln and causing it to be put on the courthouse lawn. Carrara marble from Italy. That was twenty years ago. It's been judged one of the finest Lincoln statues in all of Illinois, and there are plenty of them. Is that the kind of sculpture you have in mind?

  Not exactly, Lee said.

  That seemed to put the conversation in a cul-de-sac.

  His father said, I always hoped you'd go to law school, preferably the University of Illinois but any of the good ones would do. Michigan, even Chicago, if that's what you wanted. As you know, I worry about the politics of the University of Chicago, all those German émigrés. They come with baggage, long on theory, short on the practicalities. They have a collectivist mentality.

  Well, Dad, not really.

  But his father was not listening. He continued, Your grandfather was a lawyer and a judge and that's what I am and I hoped you'd be one too. The Goodell name means something in northern Illinois and I hoped you'd carry it on, and your son, if you're lucky enough to have one. I count myself lucky in that regard. You've never been a disappointment to me, son. The old man paused to cut his steak and Lee noticed that his fingers trembled. He was aware suddenly that his father was mortal, aging before his eyes. He realized once again that his father was nearly old enough to be his grandfather and that accounted for their friendship. So many of his friends had a rivalry with their fathers, and mutual wariness and always a struggle for dominance. Reconciliation, if it came, arrived on the deathbed. Lee hated to distress the old man and he knew to the syllable what was coming next. His father chewed thoughtfully and then he said, Have you sold any yet?

  They're not for sale, Lee said.

  Well, what does Laura think? The old man smiled brightly, a last roll of his dice. She's a sensible girl. I knew that the first time I set eyes on her. And now I understand she's going into the philosophy department to work alongside her father. He must be tremendously pleased. He must be delighted. You should talk seriously to Laura about this sculpture business. She has a good head. She's down to earth, a practical girl like your mother.

  Laura agrees with
me, Lee said. And her father's an economist.

  Same church, different pew.

  I'm sorry about the law, Lee said.

  It's all right, son, his father said. That was my dream, not your dream.

  Same thing'll happen to me, you know. I'll want my boy to go into the sculpture business and he'll say, Not on your life. I want to be a judge like my grandfather.

  Wouldn't that be something, the old man said.

  Count on it, Lee said, amused at the idea, pure fantasy. His sculpture was private and he had no interest in sharing it with anyone or making a legacy of it. But his father chortled at the idea. They sat for a moment in companionable silence.

  Alfred Swan helped me out, his father said. The Lincoln statue. Alfred wrote an editorial a week for six months. Put their feet to the fire, the county board. Bullied them into it. They didn't want to spend the money even though it was well known that President Lincoln visited the courthouse once and slept the night in New Jesper. So there was a proud history, you see. Alfred was standup when you needed him. He had his faults but he was standup too.

  The room began to empty, tables of well-dressed women side by side with tables of men in business suits, women looking into their purses and men consulting their wristwatches, an atmosphere of well-being, everyone mildly hilarious after such a fine lunch. A few of the men played dollar poker for the honor of picking up the check while the women meticulously counted out dollar bills and change, even-steven to the last penny. Lee thought there was a lesson to be found there somewhere. His father had introduced him to the dining room of the Drake when he was seven or eight years old, his birthday, dressed in short pants and a white shirt and jacket. Then as now his father had done most of the talking. The room had not changed over the years and his father had not changed either, except for deep lines in his face and the tremor in his fingers and his newfound enthusiasm for non sequiturs. The tables continued to empty and soon Lee and his father were alone but for two tables of men talking business, consulting documents, every few moments writing something in the margins. Their voices were inaudible and conspiratorial, though to anyone up from Hyde Park the North Side was conspiratorial as a matter of course. Hotel dining rooms were the Finland Stations of capitalist conspiracy. Lee watched this Kabuki with amusement until he heard his father clear his throat importantly.

  That's what I wanted to talk to you about, his father said. This peculiar business I mentioned over the phone. Alfred Swan's part of it. He paused, evidently gathering his thoughts, and then he lowered his voice and said, Magda Serra's back in New Jesper. She arrived two weeks ago with her mother, apparently staying with friends. People have seen them here and there around town. One of the places they went to was the library, where they read old issues of the World, and you can guess which date they wanted. And when they found it they copied the article by hand. They were seen near the high school. They spoke to no one. Then, on Friday, Magda's mother called Alfred Swan and asked for an appointment. Alfred wasn't there—he and some friends had gone to Florida to play golf. The mother rung off without another word. And then she called me.

  Lee had lit a cigarette and was listening hard.

  Of course I told them to come over at once, my chambers. They wanted to know if there had been any progress on the case. I said I didn't think so, and if there had been I would have known. As you know, Chief Grosza died a few years ago. The high school principal moved to Decatur. Funny, it's not that long ago, really, but there's hardly anyone around from that time. Walter Bing, Alfred. The bank's been sold, you know, to a syndicate from Aurora. So there's a—I suppose you could say—loss of memory of that time.

  Lee said, Who did the talking?

  Mrs. Serra, the mother.

  Not Magda?

  A word here and there. But she was alert and certainly understood everything that was said. But she never smiled, not once, and sat quietly while her mother and I talked. Mrs. Serra was suspicious that Alfred was not in town. He seemed to have left the same time Mrs. Serra and her daughter arrived. I did assure her that Alfred was an avid golfer and was often away to play courses around the country. He spends more time on his golf game than he does his newspaper. His son's the publisher now, in name only. Alfred doesn't trust the boy. He thinks Alfred Jr. is unsound. He's right, too.

  Did she believe you about the golf?

  I don't know. I think so. It's the truth.

  What else did Magda say?

  I asked her if she remembered the events of that day, the—assault. The questioning by the police. The time she spent in the hospital. She took the longest time to answer, as if my questions were unfamiliar to her. I was sorry I brought the matter up. But she said finally that, no, she remembered nothing. She had amnesia for some time. And slowly she recovered her health and began to talk again and remembered her schooldays in New Jesper, the house she lived in, her friends. But of that day and the days following, nothing.

  Lee was himself back in those days, a clear recollection of Magda and the classroom they shared, the various teachers. Lee said, Did Mrs. Serra say what she and Magda were doing in New Jesper?

  I didn't want to pry, his father said. I didn't want it to appear as an interrogation. But it was the obvious question and when I asked it, Magda said her mother thought that if she returned to the scene of the assault she might remember something. She might remember who assaulted her and the circumstances, at least an idea of who it might have been. But the memory was locked away. Magda used an interesting phrase. She said her memory was asleep and would not awaken no matter what she did or what she saw or how hard she tried and she tried very, very hard. I remember you telling me she was a plump girl, always laughing, a mediocre student. But when I saw her she was slender. A pretty girl but she looked undernourished. She never smiled, and as they were leaving she said she had completed her studies and intended to become a teacher. She was working toward certification, grade school level.

  Did she say where she was studying?

  She did not.

  Lee said, I remember those days as if they were yesterday. I remember the math teacher, Mr. Salmon, and the civics teacher, Mrs. Wool. The walls of the classroom were painted light green. Mrs. Wool had a world globe on her desk, lit from the inside. Magda sat next to me in Mrs. Wool's class. Always giggling, Magda.

  You were listening to our meeting, weren't you?

  Some of it. Most of it, I guess.

  We were doing what we thought best for the town.

  Yes, that was evident.

  You shouldn't have eavesdropped.

  Lee smiled and said, I'm afraid it was irresistible.

  Listening to the grown-ups.

  Being on the inside of things, Lee said.

  I knew you were there, his father said. I could hear the floorboards creak, and as you'll discover one day, you always know when your own flesh and blood is nearby. It's almost a sixth sense. I thought of raising hell with you and decided not to. What was the point? Your introduction to the real world, I suppose. His father shrugged and pushed his chair back from the table. The dining room was empty now, the time past three o'clock. The waiter was hovering with the check, and when he saw the old man's chair move he placed the check on the table and stepped back. The judge nodded but did not otherwise acknowledge the waiter.

  The judge steepled his fingers and stared off into the vast silence of the dining room of the Drake Hotel. He did not speak for a full minute, his demeanor reminiscent of the courtroom. He said at last, I guess that's a fortunate thing, your good recall of those days. You've always had a good memory, Lee, and now you can put it to account. Magda wants to see you and my guess is that she wants to go over that ground, her school days in New Jesper. Magda remembers you in a fond way. She says you helped her in her studies, homework and the like. She says you were kind to her and not everyone was. Magda sends her best wishes and said she'd be in touch.

  Part Four

  THE WEDDING WAS POSTPONED indefinitely owing to June Nieman
's pneumonia, a virulent strain that kept her in the hospital for a month with another two months at home in bed. She very nearly died. Laura was inconsolable for much of that time, spending part of every day at the hospital, though her mother was in quarantine and unable to see any visitors, even her family. Laura and her father played chess in the waiting room, suspending the game every half hour or so to appear at June's door to assure her they were there and looking after her. June was usually unconscious and motionless in her bed. Laura came home in the afternoon in tears, saying how small her mother looked in the bed, small and so thin she looked weightless. The lightest breeze could carry her away. Most evenings Laura would return to the hospital to sit in the waiting room and look in on her mother, believing that her mere presence would make some difference, of reassurance or confidence. As often as not her father would be there too, and they would resume their games of chess. Once she came across her father praying, his hands folded at his chin, his eyes closed. Laura had never seen him pray; they were not a religious family. The sight of her father at prayer unnerved her.

  After her second week in the hospital June was awake but her fever was still high and she was hallucinating, one day conversing with circus acrobats, the next a much-loved aunt who had been dead for years. One afternoon June insisted Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. was in the room, advising her on a case she had been researching before her illness. The doctors assured Laura and her father that hallucinations were a common side effect of pneumonia and its high fever but Laura was not convinced; she thought her mother was slipping into another world altogether, a world from which she might not be retrieved. When the hallucinations passed, June was apathetic, eating poorly, and barely able to muster a smile when Harold and Laura made their visits, Harold passing on amusing university gossip. One of the history instructors had taken up with a sophomore, and why not, since his specialty was the medieval papacy. One of the assistant deans had defected to Harvard, and it served him right. June took all this in listlessly. Her doctor said her morale was rock-bottom and no wonder. She had no defenses and seemed unable to imagine a future for herself and her family. This will take time, the doctor said. Have patience. Be of good cheer. Laura later told Lee that her mother's illness changed her outlook on life. The disease struck with no warning whatever, and would this always be the way of things? She was terrified during the worst of her mother's ordeal, never having been in the presence of serious illness. An arrested pregnancy was not an illness.