“You’ve only got a couple of days before school starts,” the Professor said. “Is there anything you want to do? Go to Ocean City or anything?”
Jeff shook his head.
“Let’s get your suitcase. Did you have a good time?”
“It was OK,” Jeff said. They walked along with the throng, heading down the central aisle, then down the escalators to the baggage claim.
“I bet we’re going to have to get you a whole set of new clothes,” the Professor said. “You look like you’re filled out some and gotten taller.”
“Ummm,” Jeff said.
“So,” the Professor said, “what’s new?”
“Nothing.”
The Professor waited a long time before asking, “How’s your mother?”
Rage surged up against the outside of Jeff’s tower room, a tall, black wave. “She’s OK,” he said, holding the door safe. Inside the room lay miles of solitary beaches, a spacious, peaceful place. As long as he could go there Jeff would be safe. If the room were not there — he was afraid of what he might do, what he might say. If the room were not there, he would fall apart, disintegrate like music broken into individual melody lines, the lines turning into notes, the notes exploding into unconnected sounds, the sounds dissipating into space itself.
If the room were not there in his mind, Jeff thought, there would be just a sharp-stoned wall, and he would stand in front of it and whack his head against it. Until his head burst open like a pumpkin.
Protecting the room became the thing he did, the only thing, all of his days. He couldn’t play his guitar, and neither could he look too carefully at the Professor or the house they lived in together, because all those things distracted him from his watch over the tower door. Luckily, the Professor didn’t say much to him anyway; he was busy with his own life. At school, the classes of boys didn’t bother Jeff either. The teachers left him alone as long as he kept quiet in class, although when they called on him and discovered that he couldn’t answer questions, they looked at him in anger or suspicion or even pity. None of that made any difference to Jeff. He handed in his homework if he had done any, whether it was complete or not. He didn’t even notice the other boys in his classes.
The only thing Jeff could do, could really do outside of his tower room, he discovered by accident. One Saturday afternoon in October he found that he’d wandered to the amusement park. He had money in his pocket so he took a couple of rides, the roller coaster and the Octopus. The sheer physical sensations of speed and swooping were exciting in the same way that the island beach had been exciting. He rode the roller coaster time after time, alone in the car, soaring out on thin rails over the edge of the city, rising slowly up, up, up a steep grade until the train finally made its way over the top of the hill. And fell down, dizzying and uncontrollable.
The Octopus was inside, within a huge warehouselike building, which held also a carousel, a few rides small children could take, bumper cars, food concessions, and a bingo hall. The Octopus turned in circles, the round covered motor section at the center, eight metal arms spreading out from that, and at the end of each arm four round cars, like the suction cups on a starfish. The cars circled on their own axles within the large circling machine. They swung so close to each other it seemed they must collide, but they never did. While the arms turned and the cars turned, music played, and colored lights flashed overhead, pouring down over Jeff like fragments of sunlight. He sat back alone in his car, facing three empty seats, wearing sunglasses to make it impossible for anyone to see him, his arms spread along the back of the seat. If he relaxed, as the car swung around building up speed, if he concentrated on the rain of colors over him and the wind rushing by his ears, he could feel — almost — as if he were back on the beach.
It was like trying to recapture a dream, and Jeff never could precisely feel as he had. But it was the nearest he could come. That first day he stayed at the park for hours. He went back every weekend and gradually, when he learned it didn’t make any difference, during the weekdays too. As the weather got colder they closed down the outside rides; but Jeff only wanted to ride the Octopus anyway. The indoor rides stayed open all winter, so Jeff would be all right. The only times he could relax his vigilance at the door of his inner room was when his body swung with the movement of the Octopus, and calliope music drowned out human voices, and the shattered prism of color poured over him.
Jeff knew that somewhere outside of his tower room he was flunking courses; but the Professor didn’t know because Jeff had forged the Professor’s signature on his report card. He checked the mail before the Professor saw it, to throw out unopened any envelopes that came from the University School. Jeff didn’t ever know for sure what day of the week it was, so it wasn’t exactly as if he was cutting classes. Some days the park was more crowded, some days not. Fall turned into cold weather, and on Christmas Day, it was closed. Then it opened, and Jeff had someplace to go again.
It was on an afternoon in deep winter that Jeff sat in the round seat of the Octopus, alone, whirling under a waterfall of color. Inside himself, he was within the tower room. He could almost really taste the salt in the air, he could almost feel that what was pouring down over his skin was the sun. It was only almost, but almost promised so much and was so much better than nothing that he concentrated on losing himself into it.
When the ride stopped he rose carefully from his seat. If he moved slowly, he would not shatter his inner concentration, even when he went to give the man another ticket. So that when he heard someone call his name, it was as shocking as if somebody had slugged him in the face. He whipped around, frightened.
The Professor stood just beyond the gate. Brother Thomas, back from England, was with him. Jeff looked around for someplace to run. They couldn’t catch him. They were going to hurt him, he knew that, and he knew how easy he was to hurt. There was no way out, so he just stood still, inside the tower. He made them come to get him while he stayed safe.
Each man took one of his arms and led him out of the enclosure. Brother Thomas stood in front of him, staring into his eyes. Jeff lowered his eyelids. Brother Thomas pulled them up with gentle fingers. He looked worried, puzzled. “Are you on anything?” he asked.
Jeff shook his head.
The Professor’s hand was on his shoulder. “I was so afraid,” the Professor said.
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said.
They all went out to the Professor’s car. Jeff sat in the back, but they both turned around to stare at him. “You’re supposed to be in a math exam now,” the Professor said. “You missed English and geography yesterday. Exams, Jeff. I don’t understand. They called me, the principal did.” He knew everything.
“I’m sorry.”
The Professor looked at Brother Thomas. “Take him home, Horace,” Brother Thomas advised. “Take him home and feed him and make him talk to you. Your father,” he said to Jeff, “wanted to leave you be, since you wanted to be left alone. But you’re going to have to tell him. Whatever it is.”
Jeff didn’t say anything at all. He had an hour, anyway, for the drive back into the city, he had an hour for the sun-bleached stretch of beach, where waves broke and spread.
* * *
When they sat across from one another at the little Formica kitchen table and Jeff had finished his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and the Professor had brewed a mug of coffee, the Professor said, “I’m sorry, Jeff; you’re going to have to tell me about it. You’ve been different, and I don’t know what it is. I didn’t think it was drugs — I didn’t think you’d be that stupid — but people say it’s so hard to tell. . . . Look at me Jeff,” he said, making Jeff meet his eyes. “I don’t care about the schoolwork. I’m not angry, I’m frightened. Tell me what’s bothering you, and we’ll figure out the best way to handle it.”
“I’m OK,” Jeff told him. “There isn’t anything.”
“No, you’re not OK. I’m not much of a father, but I can see that. You’re not even really
here, are you? You act as if you’re a hundred miles away. Where are you?”
“I’m sorry,” Jeff said.
The Professor sat back in his chair. He looked at the coffee in his mug. He moved his glasses back up his nose. His voice, when he spoke, was expressionless. “I thought myself, the way you’ve been acting, that it was probably Melody. I thought it had to have something to do with her. Judging from my own experience, I’ve been assuming that she told you, somehow, the way only Melody can, that she didn’t love you. And you thought she did.”
Jeff saw his own hands clench up into fists. His stomach too, was clenched. He started to talk, fast. “I’ll tell you where I was. The last day, I went over to a beach. The last full day. An island, one of the sea islands, uninhabited. I had a boat, I bought it. I’d never explored that far before, and I spent the night there. And — it was so beautiful. Nobody but me was there. I spent all day and all night and half the next day too. I have a sand dollar I found; it’s upstairs, I can show you.” He looked down at his fists. “I can remember it; I can go there, inside.”
“It wasn’t the worst time when Melody left me,” the Professor said. “The worst time was the years before. Because I didn’t know I could hate anybody that much, I didn’t know I could be that angry, I didn’t know what to do except concentrate on my work. I didn’t know anybody could hurt anybody else that much; it was like she’d stuck a sword into me, one of those Japanese samurai swords, do you know the kind I mean? Heavy and razor sharp — and curved — and she’d stuck it in me and then she was . . . pushing it around.” His hand rested on his stomach, remembering. “I couldn’t get free from the feelings. I didn’t know how frightened I could be, all the time. But whenever we had to go out together, she’d smile at me and talk to me and listen and look at me the way she did — and I wanted to hit her,” he said, his voice low and ashamed.
Jeff let his head down to rest his face on his fists.
“When I found out how many lies she was telling me, I finally realized that she had always lied to me. About my lectures. About boyfriends; and even after she knew I knew, she’d still lie about it. I hated her. Or the bills she ran up, without asking, without telling; then she’d say she’d taken care of them but she just — ignored them. I know I looked all right to other people — maybe more of a dry old stick than usual, maybe even more boring than usual — but inside I was knotted up, all the time, because I hated her so much, and I hated myself, and I was scared.”
Jeff looked up at his father.
“I didn’t think she’d do that to you, Jeff,” the Professor said. “But she did, didn’t she.”
Jeff nodded. He knew he was crying, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Neither did the Professor. He just sat and waited, until Jeff got up to blow his nose.
“It was the lies,” the Professor said. “They were what really scared me. Even now, if I think about her — and the kinds of things she says. . . . I don’t know what she told you, but I never was sorry I’d married her or loved her because of you. You always made a difference, made a real difference, from the very beginning. I always knew that, inside me, but I didn’t bother to learn how to show you. I’m sorry, Jeff, I should have taken the trouble.”
Jeff didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know what to think. He could see, as if it were familiar, his father during those early times. And see too what his father had seen: his son, unchanged by Melody’s leaving, everything going on the same, although never the same because Melody had left, taking her own light with her. He could see what the Professor’s days had looked like to him: long, empty, to be endured until he could get used to things, day after day of waiting to get accustomed. And he could see the Professor now, too; what the Professor was seeing now — his father was frightened and worried about Jeff. Jeff knew that; suddenly, he knew it as clearly as if the Professor had said it aloud. He could receive the feelings, like some musical instrument, whether he wanted to or not. He could see what the Professor saw as the Professor saw it.
“Jeff, please, say something,” the Professor asked him.
“She told me she wanted a girl, she told me if I’d been a girl she would have taken me with her.”
At that, the Professor laughed. It was shaky, but it was a laugh. “She’s still a liar,” he said. “Besides, I wouldn’t have let her.”
“Really?”
“Really. I may be a dry old stick, but I’m not a fool,” the Professor told him. He got up from the table, spooned coffee from the can into the top of the coffeepot, and poured the boiling water through. Jeff washed his plate and poured a glass of milk.
“What was that about a boat? How could you get a boat?” The Professor asked in a normal voice.
“I had the money you were sending. It wasn’t much of a boat, it only cost fifteen dollars. Plus five to tie it up at the dock. It was only a dinghy, not even painted.” Jeff remembered how it felt, once he’d learned how to handle it. He remembered going a little farther each day. “It took me time to get used to it, to be not as frightened. I explored the island the same way. There was a lot to see. And the day I left, I saw this great blue heron — have you seen one?” The Professor hadn’t. “They’re so beautiful and ugly — awkward — it flew over my head, right over. Because I’d disturbed it, but it landed not very far up at all, and it stayed there when I rowed away. It didn’t mind me.”
“Where is the boat now?”
Jeff looked at his father: “I sank it.”
“You what?”
“I didn’t want anyone else to — have it. I won’t be going back there.”
The Professor, calmer now, thought. “You haven’t played your guitar since you’ve been back. Have you?” It wasn’t easy for the Professor to think about how to say to Jeff what he wanted to say. Not like it was easy for Jeff to see. But the Professor was doing it, trying as hard as he could, making himself. Because Jeff mattered to him, and Jeff saw that now, too, and saw that he could count on that. He could feel himself relaxing.
A memory that had been blocked away somewhere with other things Jeff didn’t want to remember at all struck him like an unexpected wave. “You told me you sold a book.”
Now the Professor looked surprised.
“You did, in one of your notes, the last one. What happened to it?”
The Professor didn’t know what to say. Jeff could see that. He didn’t understand, now that he had remembered, why the Professor had had nothing further to say about the book since Jeff’s return.
“Tell me,” Jeff asked. “Unless you don’t want to.” Unless whatever the deal was had fallen through?
“No, I do want to; it’s just — I thought you weren’t interested, I thought — ”
“I’m sorry. I just forgot. You mean . . . you wrote a book — to be published?”
The Professor nodded.
Why did he look embarrassed, Jeff wondered.
“What kind of book is it?”
“It’s a sort of history book, biography; it’s due to come out next fall. I’m finishing up revisions now.”
“Is the university press going to publish it?”
“Actually” — the Professor looked even more uncomfortable — “it’s not one of the academic presses, it’s a regular publisher.”
“Is that . . . does that make a difference?”
“Evidently. It will be . . . more available to the general public.”
“It must be good,” Jeff said. “What’s it about?”
“It’s a series of short biographies. Just some people who have — caught my attention.”
“Can I read it?”
“I thought about that. I’d like you to wait until you’re fifteen. I think — then you’ll be old enough. Will you promise me that?”
“Sure. I promise. What’s it called?”
“Earth’s Honored Guests. Not a very scholarly title. I don’t know, I can’t tell — the scholarship in the book is solid. I think they’re afraid it’ll be too scholarly.
I don’t know who would want to read it, but that’s their business. I mean, they bought it — which means we have some extra money, and more when I get the revisions done and the second half of the advance. It gives us some leeway. Brother Thomas says.”
“Leeway for what? Aren’t you proud?”
“I am proud, yes. Well, sometimes I am. It’s pretty foreign country for me, Jeff. Leeway about you. About school. About what we’re going to do about school. You can’t possibly pass the year, they told me that. So we have to decide what to do.”
Jeff began to feel frightened again. “It doesn’t make any difference,” he said.
“And you sank the boat?” the Professor asked. “How do you sink a boat?”
“It was old. I pounded the oar on the floorboards; it wasn’t strong at all, really. Then I swam to the dock.”
“I’ll try to make it all right, Jeff,” the Professor said. “Whatever we decide to do.”
While January turned to February, and a week of warm weather was followed by sharp, sporadic storms of snow and sleet, the Professor didn’t do anything about Jeff. Jeff stayed home and played on his guitar. Brother Thomas came around frequently, but if he had anything to say about Jeff, he kept it for the Professor. He brought Jeff a thick volume of songs, collected in England by a man named Childs. Jeff put the volume aside for later and went back to relearning the songs he had once been able to play well.
In mid-February, the Professor took Jeff for an appointment with the principal of the University School. Jeff sat silent while the two men talked — he had worn the gray flannels and blazer — and stared unseeing at the toes of his polished shoes. The Professor wanted to withdraw Jeff from the school, and the Principal agreed that that might be all for the best. He talked about academic pressures on a student of less than average ability, and he didn’t look at Jeff. He suggested testing, to get a precise fix on just what the limits were, he suggested therapy because “socialization was well below norm.” The Professor didn’t disagree. When they finally walked out of the office, down the hall, and out onto the icy brick front steps, Jeff said, “I’m sorry.”
A Solitary Blue Page 12
