The Americans (14 page)

boy than a man. Gideon knew he and Julia had won out when Carter shrugged and said in a surprisingly mild tone: "San Francisco-well, maybe I can at least think it over." The Promise "WATCH OUT!" Carter crashed into Will, knocking him out of the path of the boneshaker-one of the newfangled bicycles that nearly shook a rider to pieces on a rough road. The embarrassed wheelman called an apology from his high seat. Then he realized he was out of control. While Carter helped his stepbrother to his feet, the bicycle careened down Beacon Street and tipped over right in front of the house belonging to Dolores Wertman. The wheelman took a terrific spill. Will stayed on the curbing in the hope the Wertmans would come outside. Sure enough, they did. First the choleric-looking father; then the mousy mother; and finally Dolores, a red-haired, full-bosomed girl of seventeen. Will had noticed Dolores as she practiced croquet on the Common the first warm weekend of spring. He'd hardly been able to think of anything else since. "Damn fool deserves a broken neck if he can't drive any better than that," Carter said. The wheelman was still lying motionless in the street. He got up groggily as Carter tugged out his silver pocket watch. "My train leaves in two hours, little brother. We'd better take our stroll." He tilted his straw hat so the brim shielded his eyes from the March sun. It was the last Saturday of the month, a beautiful afternoon, cloudless and unseasonably warm. Already the Common and the Public Garden were swarming with people who didn't have to work. Games of bowls and lawn tennis were in progress, but for every such game, there were five groups playing croquet. It was still the national craze. Carter turned and gazed across Beacon to the Kent hdmse. "I wanted one last look at it. All of a sudden, I think I'll miss-oh-ho!" He saw the object of Will's rapt stare. "I see what you're missing." He gave his stepbrother a nudge. "Don't worry, you'll get your share soon enough. But here's a tip. If you want a girl, you have to make her think you care for her more than anyone else in the world. You mustn't actually come out and say that, though. If anything happened-I mean if she got a little something in her belly later-she might hold you to it." From her front step, Dolores Wertman noticed Will watching her. He started to wave but didn't have the nerve. Dolores tossed her red hair, took her father's arm and vanished among the people who were either trying to assist the wrecked wheelman, or jeering at him. "Ah, Carter, I'll never get close enough to a girl to follow your advice. Besides, if you- if -" Blandly, Carter asked, "Are you trying to say fuck?" Will turned red and nodded. But he still couldn't repeat the word: "If you do that with a girl, you're duty-bound to marry her." The older boy looked thunderstruck. "Who says so?" "Ma, for one. That's one of the things she harped about." Up shot Carter's eyebrows. "She harped about that to you? How old were you?" "No, not to me-I was little. To Eleanor. I heard her give Eleanor a big long lecture about it in her room one day. Ma thought the door was closed, but it was open this much." He measured half an inch between thumb and index finger. "I listened outside." "I hate to say it, but it sounds like your mother spouted a lot of nonsense. You don't have to marry a girl just because you sleep with her. You'd better get rid of the notion that you do, or one of these days some woman will use it to trap you." The Greek woman's face flashed into Carter's thoughts just then. He had begun to think no woman could be trusted. "Sometimes, Will," he finished with a shake of his head, "I think you're just too decent for your own good."

and "Do you mean dumb?" With an affectionate chuckle, Carter replied, "I don't believe I'll answer that one." Will shrugged. "Doesn't make much difference what I am or how I act. Dolores Wertman would never be interested in me. She wouldn't let me within ten feet of her." Carter put his arm around Will's shoulder as they strolled along a sun-dappled path leading through the Common to Charles Street and the elaborate wrought-iron gates of the Public Garden beyond. "Wish I knew who made you feel so damn worthless, little brother. Was that your mother's doing, too?" Will studied the ground. "Doesn't matter." "It surely does. Someone did a job on you. Hold your head up, for God's sake! Otherwise you're absolutely right-that girl won't look at you." Ironic, Carter thought. He was encouraging his stepbrother to appreciate his own worth even when he felt worthless himself. He would never have let on to Will, but lately that feeling all but overwhelmed him. When he'd given his notice at the Northeast Fishery Company, no one had said they were sorry to see him go. And he'd thought it prudent to refrain from saying goodbye to Josie or Eben. He'd made a botch of everything in Boston. That was one reason he wasn't altogether sorry that note had fallen out of his pocket when he'd come reeling home one night. Despite his protests, he was secretly grateful to get away from Boston. Even now, he could smell the fishy odor of the knife with which Ortega had tormented him. Once, Carter had liked to eat fish. Since that night, he couldn't bring himself to touch it. The mere smell brought cold sweat to his palms and forehead. Yes, he was definitely glad to escape from Boston. He wanted no meeting with Ortega's brother. But he didn't know what he did want. He was determined not to let Will see his confusion, though. He resorted to a prop that always made him feel jaunty and self-assured-a cigar. As he stopped to light up, he got disapproving stares from three men standing in a small tent beside the path. On a counter in the tent were two dozen glasses and six large pitchers of clear liquid. Above the tent's front awning hung a neatly lettered sign: FREE! FREE! FREE! Greater Boston Businessmen's Association COLD WATER PAVILION "It's Never Too Late or Too Early for Temperance" Irked by the way the men eyed his cigar and his plaid jacket, Carter sauntered over and started to pour himself a glass of water. "Hope you gents don't mind if I help myself -" One of the businessmen snatched the glass from his hand. "This pavilion is for the encouragement of abstinence in slum children, not race-track loafers." Carter smiled. "Then why don't you set up shop in the slums? Don't bother to answer, I know why. The slum boys would run your fat asses out of their neighborhood in thirty seconds." He plucked the glass from the fingers of the outraged man, tossed off half the contents, then threw the glass away. Another man jumped and caught it, but he soaked his expensive waistcoat in the process. By then Carter was laughing and hurrying down the path, Will right behind. When they were safely out of sight of the cold-water soldiers, they slowed down. Will leaned against a tree, gasping with mirth: "Oh, Carter, you-you've got more nerve than any ten people." "That's right, little brother. Because I've got confidence in myself," he lied. They crossed Charles Street to the gates of the twenty- four-acre Public Garden. On the garden's four-acre pond, several of the swan boats designed and operated by the Pa- get family carried young couples in a leisurely fashion. The boats were barges with several rows of seats and a large wooden figure of a swan at the stern. From a seat inside this figure, a man operated pedals to propel the boat. In less than ten years, the swan boats had become an institution. "Remember how I marched you over to Central Park?" Carter went on. "How I told those roughnecks I was the nephew of the Grand Duke Whoozis, and that we were going to join their baseball game? They didn't fuss once, did they?" r "No." "I knew they wouldn't." "I'll never forget that. Before you came along, they always ran me off." "You didn't have any confidence in yourself. They spotted it. No matter what you said, the look on your face talked louder. With confidence, little brother, you can do anything." "Even get around Dolores Wertman?" Carter rested his foot on the rim of a wooden tub at the edge of the walk; palms would be set in the tubs for the summer months. Nearby were moist beds of black dirt in which pansies, dahlias, and cannas would soon grow to brighten the garden. "Will, my boy-was Carter puffed his cigar, and the smoke drifted away in the warm breeze. He had his stepbrother hanging on every word. Children chasing a cocker spaniel went noisily past on the path. Only when they were out of earshot did he continue: "comwith confidence, you can fuck Miss Wertman and as many others as your stamina permits. But you have to believe you can. You have to believe in yourself. That's what I've been trying to pound into your head for years." Will was humiliated by the emotion he felt then. He was supposed to be grown up. Almost a man. And yet he was ready to bawl. Carter noticed: "What the devil's wrong now?" "I hate to see you leave. You know everything." "Brace up. I'll write you a letter now and then. When I'm not busy getting in the bloomers of the belles of the Barbary Coast. I've been reading about San Francisco. They say it's the wickedest city on the face of the-hey! You've got to cut this out, little brother!" Ashamed, Will turned away. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the tears didn't show. He wanted to die on the spot. "I'm sorry, Carter," he said a moment later. "I just don't know how I'll get along without you." "Oh, you will. Very easily. You'll be surprised." "I don't think so." Carter's jet-black eyes softened. There was an edge in his voice as he said, "I surely do wish I could get my hands on whoever whipped the starch out of you. It wasn't Gideon, was it?" Will shook his head. "Let's not talk about it." Carter bucked him up with another punch on the shoulder. "Whatever you say. Just remember one thing. You're important. Not because you're Gideon Kent's son. Because you're you." Will didn't believe it. "And when you're my age," Carter went on, "you've got to do one more thing. You've got to let the world know you're somebody. You can be the richest man in creation, but if no one realizes it, every dollar you've got is only worth fifty cents." All at once, from the lesson he was trying to impart to Will, Carter drew strength of his own. So far he'd failed to follow the advice he dispensed so freely. In San Francisco, he'd change that. Start over. Use his talent and become the kind of person he told Will'to be- Maybe he'd try politics, as Willie Hearst had suggested. Two nights ago, Carter had overcome his embarrassment and gone to Cambridge to bid his friend goodbye. Willie was the only person outside his family who might miss him. Of course he hadn't said a word about his troubles at the Red Cod and the processing plant. It had been a grand evening, and Willie had written out a list of fine San Francisco restaurants and saloons he ought to visit. Carter was sure all of them would be well beyond his means, but he thanked Willie warmly and promised to go to every one. Willie was doing splendidly at Harvard in everything but his studies. He'd taken over the post of Lampoon business manager, had thought up a number of stunts which had generated a lot of new advertising, and had put the publication in the black within a very few months. He'd been elected to Hasty Pudding and played a role in the club's annual musical-another ambition fulfilled. But Willie still liked class work too little and pranks too much. He admitted that his fondness for practical jokes would probably get him tossed out of Harvard as Carter had been. But Carter had faith in his friend. He knew Willie's bent for the sensational would help him make a mark- "Carter?" "Oh." He smiled at W. "Guess my mind was wandering." "What were you thinking?" "That it's time I followed my own advice and amounted to something." "You will, I know it." "So will you, little brother. But to make sure, I want you to give me a promise." He faced W. Laid his hands on the younger boy's shoulders. Brothers enjoyed a special relationship a mother could never participate in, or fully understand. No matter what the facts of their births, he and Will Kent were brothers. He felt that as the two of them stood looking at one another in the spring sunshine. "Promise me you'll be somebody," Carter said. Will heard the voice then. You'll be a bungler all your life. Only with great effort was he able to whisper, "I promise." "And promise me you'll make sure everybody knows it. That's every bit as important. Maybe more." You'll never amount to anything. BUNGLER - "Will?" "I promise that too, Carter." Carter smiled. "Good enough." They started along the path again. Presently Carter had a last thought: "You'd better not break that promise, either. Not if you want me to stay your friend." So lightly, even carelessly said, those words. Carter never knew the force with which they struck Will Kent. Struck him, and marked him for life. " backslash ii That night, Will lay in his darkened room and listened to the dying echo of a great steamer's whistle from the harbor. It reminded him of the train Carter had boarded. The train would carry him to Cleveland, then Chicago. At Chicago he'd change to the westbound transcontinental cars. He was gone. The mournful sound reverberating over the midnight rooftops only emphasized that fact, that loss. Will kept seeing Carter's grin. And his dark eyes- shining as he extracted the promise: "Promise me you'll be somebody." I promise, Carter. "And promise you'll make sure everybody knows it." 1 PROMISE. He'd meant it. He knew he'd never made a more important pledge to anyone. The void created by Carter's departure would hurt for a long time. But in leaving, he'd given Will a new determination to try to overcome the worthless feeling Margaret had whipped into him. Carter had literally created that determination by extracting a promise Will didn't dare break. Not if you want me to stay your friend. m Although Will was restless; he soon drifted to sleep. He woke about an hour later. Moonlight was flooding through the window, and one part of his body was as stiff as a piece of steel. He reached down by his hip. The bedclothes were damp. He'd had a dream. The kind of dream whose aftermath had frightened him until Carter assured him it was perfectly normal for young men. Now, along with the lingering tumidity came shameful yet thoroughly enjoyable thoughts of Dolores Wertman. He imagined her in some featureless place where she could safely shed her clothes and romp naked without fear of observation or disapproval. He was there, too. He put his head back and let his imagination carry him into incredibly wicked acts involving a Dolores who liked him, and showed it with every response she made with her mouth, her hands, her round breasts, her- He awoke again, warmer than ever. He was humiliated to discover he'd had a second dream. Was he some kind of pervert? No, no. Carter-far away in the darkness to the west- Carter had taught him not to fear the natural responses his body made during its passage to adulthood. Carter had taught him that, and so much