The Temple of Gold (26 page)

“What is it?” she snapped.

“Let’s have a talk.”

“Busy,” she said, and disappeared.

I had the bell girl buzz again but this time there wasn’t any answer. So I put my thumb against the buzzer and pushed, holding it there, whistling away. A couple minutes later she came skipping down the stairs. I smiled at her. She zipped right past me, out the door, without so much as a look.

I banged through the door after her. She was already on the sidewalk heading toward Patriot’s Square. I almost caught up to her but then stopped, walking about two paces behind as she hurried along.

“Don’t look now,” I said, when we were inside the Square. “But I think you’re being followed.”

She whirled around. “Will you stop it?” she said. “Will you please stop it and leave me alone?”

“Sure thing,” I answered, but as soon as she started walking, I did too. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I want to stop. My brain says yes, but my feet have a mind of their own.”

She whirled again, tears in her eyes, almost yelling at me. “Dammit, Euripides. There’s nothing to say. And I’m busy. Now will you please stop it?”

“I’ve got to talk to you, Harriet,” I said.

“You’ve got a wife now,” she answered. “Go talk to her.”

At which point I lunged up and grabbed her, lifting her, walking over to a tree, setting her down. “This is my afternoon for picking up girls,” I said. She didn’t answer. “That’s a pun, Harriet. I thought you liked them.” I sat down beside her.

She still didn’t say anything.

“What’s the matter with you, Harriet?”

“What’s the matter with you?” she said.

“Me!” And I laughed. “Nothing’s the matter with me. I’ve never been better. You’ve got to believe that. I’m a new man, Harriet. I’m even going back to school. Only this time, I’m going to knock them dead. You’ll see. And right this second, Terry’s down working at the Red Cross.”

“By her own request, I’m sure.”

“No,” I said. “As a matter of fact I made her. But it’s the best thing for her. And she’ll like it, once she gets to know her way around.”

Harriet quieted then, relaxing some, taking a twig, holding it gently in her hands, as if it was alive. She stared at it a long time, then finally she put it down and looked at me. “Euripides,” she said. “Euripides. Why did you do it?”

“I had to get married, Harriet. I just had to.”

“But why to her? Why in the world to her?”

“Terry’s a good girl,” I said. “You’ll like her. She’s really a nice girl. Everyone likes Terry when they get to know her.”

“Why to her?” Harriet said again. “Why not me? Or somebody else? Anybody else?”

“Don’t you understand, Harriet? Don’t you? I thought sure you’d be the one to understand. Hell, there’s no point in marrying you. You’re there, Harriet. There’d be no point. But somebody like Terry. That makes sense. To make it with someone like her. That’s something.” I took her hands, held them, waiting for her to look at me. “It’s going to be something, Harriet,” I said then. “Don’t you see?”

She broke loose, threw her arms around me, holding me just as tight as she could. “I see, Euripides,” she whispered. “I think I do. I think I do.” We stayed that way awhile.

Finally, I stood up. “Do me a favor, Harriet,” I said then. “Will you give me a tour of the lit magazine?”

“
The Athenian
?” she asked. “What for?”

I laughed. “Because I’m going to be editor next year. That’s what for.”

She smiled at me, quickly. “I’m on my way there now,” she said. “To see the advisor.”

“What’s he?” I said, as we started walking.

“He’s in charge,” Harriet said. “He has the final say-so on everything.”

“I guess I better get to know him then.”

Harriet stopped, pointing to a little barnlike building, wooden and rotting, across the street.” That’s the office,” she told me. “And if you think it looks bad from here, wait until you see the inside.” We left the Square and approached the building. “Gets worse as you get closer, doesn’t it, Euripides?”

I ignored her. “Let me get this straight,” I said. “Is the advisor the guy who made you editor this year?”

“Yup.”

“Who is it?” I asked, opening the door to the building for her.

“Professor Janes,” she told me, stepping inside.

He was there, sitting down, waiting for us.

“Hi,” Harriet said, going over to him. I stood in the doorway. She was about to say something more but she stopped and stared at the two of us as we stared at each other. I suppose she guessed it right then. “Why don’t you wait outside,” she said to me. “Private conference and all that. It won’t take long.”

“I’ll be in the Square,” I said, and I left them, closing the door. I walked back across the street and lay down on the grass, my hands behind my head, looking up at that blue sky. I wasn’t thinking, not at all, but just lying there, muttering to myself “boy oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy,” with that sky, blue as blue, covering me.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but some time after, I heard footsteps and then Harriet was prodding me in the ribs.

“Hey, wake up,” she said. “No loitering.”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “Give me a tour now?”

She shook her head. “He wants to see you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Harriet said. “But inside there, he asked me who you were and I told him, and what you’d told me, about wanting to work on the magazine, and he said he’d like to have a talk with you.”

I nodded.

“Shall I wait?”

“This may take a while, Harriet. You better not.”

“Euripides,” she said, “he knows who you are. Doesn’t he?”

“We have mutual friends,” I said, and then I waved good-by, crossing the street to
The Athenian
, stopping in the doorway.

He was still sitting in the same chair, his chin balanced on the tips of his long, thin fingers. “Come in,” he said, not looking at me.

I closed the door and sat down on the other side of the desk, watching him. He was a handsome guy, Janes. Trim, dark-haired even though he must have been pushing fifty. With a soft, slow way of talking and an easy smile.

I sat there, nervous, my stomach beginning to tense, waiting for him to say something. He didn’t, so after a minute or two, I started. “Harriet told me you wanted to see me,” I said.

“Yes,” he answered quickly, smiling that way too. There were no windows open and the room was full of warm, dead air. I began to perspire.

“My name is Ray Trevitt,” I said.

“I knew your father,” he told me.

I nodded, waiting for him to continue, staring at him. I suppose it was then I first realized he was nervous too. I went on. “I met Harriet on the way down here and—”

“Charming girl,” he interrupted. “Do you know her well?”

“Pretty well,” I said. “I went out with her awhile before I—”

“Before you what?” he said, interrupting again.

“Flunked out,” I finished. He nodded.

“But I’m back in school now,” I told him. “I had a talk today with President Atkins. He okayed it. And—”

“What do you plan to major in, Mr. Trevitt?”

“English,” I told him, and he nodded again and asked me why and I told him that too. We went on for a couple of minutes, making chit-chat, hedging around as if we’d never met before, never known anything about each other; as if we were complete strangers. My stomach got worse as we talked, knotting so tight that finally I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I’ll tell you what I want from you. I want to be made editor next year.”

“Well, Mr. Trevitt,” he said. “Perhaps—”

“I want to be editor and I’ll work for it,” I said. “I just want you to know my hat’s in the ring. That’s all.”

“I was going to say that perhaps you’re making a mistake, Mr. Trevitt. A look at your previous record might indicate that what we do here is a bit, shall we say, out of your line. Perhaps some other extracurricular—”

“Please,” I said.

“Perhaps some other extracurricular activity would be better suited to your talents, Mr. Trevitt.” He was talking louder now, glaring across at me.

“Professor Janes,” I said. “I’m going to be editor next year. You might as well know that now.” He was about to talk, but I went on. “I’ll make it on my own, Professor Janes. So you don’t have to worry. Just a fair shake is—”

“Mr. Trevitt,” he said, leaning toward me, “there is no chance.”

“What’s over is over,” I said. “The slate’s clean as far as I’m concerned. You can relax. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Just relax and give me what I deserve. That’s all I want.”

“Mr. Trevitt,” he said, and both of us were close to yelling, our words shoving their way across through that dead air, “I don’t want you working around here. This is my magazine and I don’t want you near it. I know what happened in the cemetery, Mr. Trevitt. Does that make it all clear?”

“Sure,” I said, standing up. “That makes it all clear! But you listen to me anyway. Because I know what you did to Annabelle and I know why your wife’s a dipso, so you don’t rank too high on my list either. But just the same, when the time comes, I’m going to deserve to be made editor. You’re going to go right in to President Atkins and give him my name. Because I’m going to work my ass off down here. I’m going to work harder than anybody else and when spring comes, you’re going to have to make me editor. So you better get used to seeing my face, because I’m going to live here. I’m your boy, Professor Janes, and you better know it now.”

“Whatever you wish, Mr. Trevitt,” he said, smiling at me. “Whatever you wish.”

I ripped the door open and ran.

I tore across Patriot’s Square. Then all of a sudden I sagged, making it over to a tree, falling against it, my eyes closed. “Why does it have to be so hard?” I said, right out loud. “Why does everything have to be so hard?”

Finally, I snapped out of it and headed for home, my leg aching and my head, my stomach worse than ever. I walked inside and went to the kitchen, holding my head under the faucet, letting the cold water spray over me. It didn’t help much so I climbed up the stairs to lie down and wait for Terry.

But she was there already.

Sprawled on the bed, sniffling, a wet handkerchief in her hands. “Hi, baby,” I said. “What are you doing here?” At which she really started to cry. “I guess it didn’t go so well for you either, huh, baby?” She managed a nod. I took her in my arms, cradling her, kissing her swollen eyes as soft as I could. “Don’t you worry, baby,” I told her, lying back, pulling her down against me. “You can cry, but don’t you worry.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because, baby,” I whispered, squeezing her, holding her tight. “Because we got no place to go but up. ...”

Which was the way we went—up. From that day on, at least for a while, things got better. But we worked for it.

I was carrying a full load at the college and then some, seeing as I’d talked them into letting me have an extra course to speed things along. So in the morning, I’d get dressed, grab a cup of coffee and then off to the library, my arms practically breaking with books. I took English and history and a lot more, including a goddam geology course that I really hated. I studied at the library, went to classes, then came home and studied some more, reading and remembering, reading and remembering, day after day, week after week. With only
The Athenian
serving to break up the routine.

We had our first meeting at the start of October. Harriet put a notice in the college newspaper that anyone interested in working for the literary magazine should report to the old barn at four the next afternoon. Naturally, I was there.

Arriving early, pulling up short by the door. Because Janes was inside, talking with Harriet. I watched them until Harriet waved to come on in. Janes smiled at her, turned to me.

“Nice seeing you, Mr. Trevitt,” he said. Then he left us. I went over and sat down by Harriet’s desk, waiting for the others to show.

They came, one by one, straggling in. Maybe twenty-five in all. And an uglier bunch of people I never saw. Mostly girls. Sporting ponytails. And blue jeans and dirty sweaters. All of them smoking away a mile a minute, jabbering on about Proust, who I’ll never forget; and what did Yeats mean there; and how about roses in Eliot? There were some boys, too, mostly with horn-rimmed glasses, standing around smirking, as if they’d found the handle but left it outside so as not to get it dirty. Tall, short, thin, fat, they all had one thing in common: pimples. Millions of them. And why some skin doctor didn’t set up shop next door, I’ll never know.

Anyway, Harriet fiddled at her desk until it got quiet, after which she stood up and gave a little talk. About how this was the office of
The Athenian
and
The Athenian
was the literary magazine of Athens College. And how there were four issues per year, in November, January, April, and June. And how glad she was to see everyone because she could use all the help she could get, and if you’ve written anything, submit it, please, stories, poems, essays, anything, because we need it. Then she stopped, took our names, and asked if there were any questions. There were a few, scattered here and there, and then this girl raised her hand, a freshman if ever there was one, straight from some progressive school, without a doubt.

“What sort of thing do you publish?” she asked.

Harriet laughed. “It depends on what’s submitted.”

“Well,” the girl went on, “I think we should publish good stuff.”

“I agree,” Harriet said.

“Well, I’ve written a story and I think you ought to print it.”

“Fine,” Harriet said. “If you’ll just submit it, we’ll be—”

“I spent last summer in Greenwich Village,” Good Stuff cut in. “And I wrote a story about two college girls who go to Greenwich Village. They meet there. They come from good families but they find themselves irresistibly attracted to each other. Irresistibly. Lesbians, you might say, except really, they’re not. Really, they’re both nice girls who are attracted to one another.”

“Irresistibly,” Harriet said.

“Yes.” The girl nodded.

“Do they get married?” I asked.