The Class (9 page)

"No, thanks," he answered sullenly. -

"Come on, Gilbert, you'll freeze to death walking back like

- that." -

- "Okay," he relented. -

During the short ride up Mount Auburn Street, the proctor tried to justify himself.

"Look," he rationalized, "this is what Harvard's all about- it's sink or swim."

- "Yeah," Jason mumbled half-aloud, "but you're supposed to be the lifeguard."

At the next red light he climbed out of Linden's car and slammed the door.

His anger again made him oblivious to the bitter cold.

He walked on toward the Square. At Elsie's he consumed two Roast-Beef Specials to replace the dinner he had missed, then went over to Cronin's, cruising by the wooden booths to

fInd a friendly face so he could sit down and get drunk. Jason was awakened rudely the next morning by a rapping on the door that made his headache even worse. It was only when

he started groggily toward it that he noticed he was still in last night's clothing. Anyway, his soul felt wrinkled. So

they matched. -

He opened the door.

A stocky, middle-aged woman, wearing a green floppy hat, was planted solidly outside.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded.

"Oh," Jason said quietly, "you must be David's mother."

'A real genius you are," she muttered. "I'm here to get his clothes."

:Pl,ease," Jason said, immediately ushering her in.

It s freezing on that landing, if you didn't notice," she remarked while entering the suite and glancing hawk-eyed into every corner. -

"Foo, it's a real pigsty. Who cleans up this place?"

"A student porter vacuums once a week and swabs the john,"

said Jason.

"Well, no wonder my poor boy's ill. Whose filthy clothes

are these all over everywhere? They carry germs, you know."

"They're David's," Jason answered softly.

"So how come you threw my David's clothes all over everywhere? Is that your rich boy's idea of a little fun?"

"Mrs. Davidson," Jason said patiently, "he dropped them

there himself." After which he quickly added, "Would you like to sit down? You must be very tired." -

"Tired? I'm exhausted. Do you know what that night train is like-especially for a woman my age? Anyway, I'll stand while you explain why it's not your fault."

Jason sighed. "Look, Mrs. Davidson, I don't know what they've told you down at the infirmary."

"They said that he was very sick and has to be transferred to some god-awful . . . hospital," she paused, and then she gasped, "a mental hospital." -

"I'm really sorry," Jason answered gently, "but the pressure here can be ferocious. To get grades, I mean." -

"My David always got good grades. He studied day and

night. Now suddenly he leaves my house and comes to live with you and he collapses like he had no yeast. Why did you

disturb him?"

"Believe me, Mrs. Davidson," Jason insisted, "I never bothered him. He-" Jason worked up the courage to complete his sentence "-sort of brought it on himself." -

Mrs. Davidson slowly absorbed this allegation.

"How?" she asked.

"For reasons that I simply cannot fathom, he just felt he had to be the best. I mean, the very best."

"What's wrong with that? I brought him up that way." Jason felt a surge of retrospective pity for his erstwhile

roommate. Obviously his mother rode him like a racehorse in a never-ending homestretch. He wouldn't have to be Humpty

Dumpty to crack under that kind of strain.

Then suddenly, without warning, she flopped onto their couch and began to sob.

"What did I do? Didn't I sacrifice my life for him? This isn't fair."

Jason touched her tentatively on the shoulder. "Look, Mrs. Davidson, if David's going to a hospital he'll need his clothes. Why don't I help you pack?"

She gazed up at him with a look of helplessness. Thank

you, young man. I'm sorry that I yelled, but I'm a bit upset, and I've been on the train all night."

She opened her purse, took Out a handkerchief already moist, and dabbed her eyes.

"Hey, look," Jason said softly. "Why don t you rest here. I can boil some coffee. Meanwhile, I'll pack his stuff, go get my car, and drive you to. . . wherever David is."

"A place called Massachusetts Mental Health, in Waltham, she replied, choking on nearly every syllable. --

In the bedroom, Jason grabbed a suitcase and tossed in garments he thought would be appropriate. Instinct told him that the hospital would not require ties and jackets.

"What about his books?" his mother called out.

"I don't think he'll need his school stuff right away, but

I'll hold on to it and bring him what he wants." -

"You're very kind," she said again. And blew her nose. One suitcase packed, Jason cast a quick eye around the

room to see if he'd missed anything essential. At that moment he caught sight of something lying on top of the desk. Even as he reached out, he had ominous forebodings of what it

would be.

Yes, he was right. It was the bluebook from D.D.'s Chem.

20 midterm. And his roommate's nightmare had turned out to be prophecy. He had received a mere B-minus. As casually as possible, he folded the exam and stuffed it in his back pocket. -

"Wait here, Mrs. Davidson. My car's a few blocks away. I'll run and get it."

"I must be keeping you from your classes," she said meekly.

"That's okay," he answered. "I'm just happy I can do something for David. I mean-he's a real nice guy." Mrs. Davidson looked into Jason Gilbert's eyes and

murmured, "You know, your parents should be extremely proud."

"Thank you," Jason Gilbert whispered. And ran off, a dull ache in his heart.

ANDREW ELIOT'S DIARY

November 3, 1954 -

One of the great joys of living away from home and not at prep school is being able to stay up all night. Now and then it's actually for something serious like finish-

ing a paper that's due the next day.

Mike Wigglesworth is an expert at this technique. He sits

down at his typewriter at around- seven in the evening with a few notes and a half-dozen Budweisers. -He pecks out a first draft before midnight and then spends the wee small hours mixing in an appropriate quantity of bulishit. For the latter process he stokes up with coffee. Then he goes to breakfast, eats a dozen eggs and bacon (he's a crew star, after all),

and drops off his paper. Then he goes to sleep until the afternoon, when he gets up to go down to the Boathouse. But last night all three of us had a respectable reason for staying up. To hear the outcome of the national elections. Not that any of us really gives a damn for

politics. It's just a nice excuse for getting gently plowed. Typical of that provincial rag, this morning's Crimson

focused on the quantity of Harvard men who'd been elected. No fewer than thirty-five of the new congressmen went to our humble college, not to mention four of the new senators. Now, when the nation's problems get too heavy for them, they can join Jack Kennedy in the Senate men's room and all sing Harvard football songs. As I sat at breakfast reading through the Crime, a sudden notion struck me. Maybe that unprepossessing guy at the next table eating Wheaties will someday be a senator. Or even President. The thing is that

you never know who's going to make it. Dad once told me that

FDR was pretty kooky as an undergraduate. So much

so, he was blackballed by the Final Club that took his cousin Teddy.

The Harvard freshmen are still sort of formless caterpillars. It really takes some time to find out who II become -the rarest butterfly of all.

The only thing I'm certain of is that I'll remain a caterpillar all my life. - - -

From the Harvard Crimson of January 12, 1955:

GILBERT TO LEAD YARDLING SQUASH TEAM Jason Gilbert '58 of Straus Hall and Syosset, Long Island, has been elected Captain of the Freshman Squash-Team. Gilbert, who attended

Hawkins-Atwell, where he captained both the squash and tennis teams, is undefeated at the number-one slot thus far this season. He is also seeded seventh in the Eastern States

Junior Tennis rankings. -

C C ilbert, you deserve a medal," Dennis Linden re marked. "If you hadn't thought so quickly, that

little nerd D. D. might actually have killed himself."

The proctor had called him in not merely to commend Jason for his paramedical heroics, but to share with him a fresh dilemma. In other words, to impart some dubiously good news.

"We've got another roommate for you," Dennis announced. "I personally chose him at a meeting of the proctors-because I really feel you could be a stabilizing influence on him."

"Hey, this isn't fair," Jason protested. "Do I have to be a nursemaid again? Can't I just have someone normal?" Nobody -at Harvard is normal," Linden philosophically replied. -

"All right, Dennis," Jason answered, with a sigh of resignation. 'What's this guy's problem?"

"Well,' the proctor started nonchalantly, "he's a teeny bit aggressive."

"Well, that's okay. I've taken boxing lessons."

Linden coughed. "The problem is-he fights with swords."

"What is he, some foreign student from the Middle Ages?"

"Very witty." Linden smiled. "No, actually he's a hotshot

on the fencing team. His name's been in the Crimson now and then-Bernie Ackerman. He's terrific with a saber.

"Oh great. Who's he tried to kill so far?"

"Well, not exactly kill. He's living in Holworthy with a very sensitive Chinese fellow. And every time they have the slightest argument, this Ackerman gets out his sword and waves it at the little guy. The kid is now so petrified, the Health Department had to give him pills to sleep. So, clearly, we've just got to separate them." -

"Why the hell can't you give me the ChinamanP" Jason

complained. "He sounds like a sweet guy."

"No. He gets along okay with roommate number three-a music type. So the proctors figured we'd let well enough alone. Besides, I had the notion that a guy like you could teach that character a lesson." -

"Dennis, I'm here to take courses, not teach manners to

Ivy League hoodlums."

"Come on, Jason," the proctor cajoled, "you'll turn this

guy into a pussycat. And you can count on getting something positive put on your record."

"Dennis," Jason said in valediction, "you're all heart."

ANDREW ELIOT'S DIARY

- January 16, 1955

Jason Gilbert had us all in stitches yesterday at our pre-midyear blast. We recruited some carefully selected lovelies from the local junior colleges with the best

reputation for their students' promiscuity. (NewalJ claims he scored as he drove one of them back to Pine Manor, but we

only have his word for it. Really clever guys can bring back evidence.)

Old Gilbert has a way of taking charge of every party. First of all, he's so damn handsome we have trouble keeping our own dates' attention. And then when he starts

telling stories, we're all rolling on- the floor. Apparently, he's just gotten a new roommate (he won't say what happened to the other one), and the guy's a sort of maniac.

As soon as Jason tries to go to sleep, this nut pulls out a sword and jumps around the living room like Errol

Flynn.

Anyway, by the first week the guy'd already slashed their sofa practically to shreds. What was even worse was the noise. It seems every time he scored, which was no problem since the couch could not fight back, he'd yell out, "Kill!"