Institute (3 page)

“Well? Didn’t he? Didn’t we all?”

“Oh, not
that
Ark. Noah’s if that what you mean. The other one, more important here in Maryland. The first settlers came in the
Ark
and the
Dove
and landed in St. Mary’s County—the next one down the line. He was always talking about how high-born she was.

“Then you were high-born, too?”

“I don’t do much about it. And neither did she.”

“Wait till Richard hears about
this.”

“But when my father died, she went to town with what he left her, and doubled it and tripled it and quadrupled it—”

“And quintupled it, I’ll bet.”

“At least. But she wasn’t tight with it. She would help anyone out.”

“Rich people are often like that. So is you-know-who.”

“Just the same, when money saw her come in the door, it would come over for a pat on the head before snuggling into her handbag.”

“The more you talk, the more I like her.”

“She left me very well off. I don’t have to work.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

Her eyes half closed on that, and suddenly I felt foolish. I had forgotten, just for that long, how rich she was. Suddenly she said: “The coat, where is it?”

“My bedroom, I’ll show you.”

“I’ll find it.”

She was gone a few minutes. I heard drawers being opened and shut. Then she was back, saying: “The coat’s fine and the dark-blue trousers are just right. But those light-blue puff-bosomed shirts are an inspiration. Lloyd, they’ll love you. You’ll look like just what you are, a high-born Maryland gentleman being gracious to his nouveau riche friends. I’ll be proud to present you. I can hardly wait.”

“You’re putting me on.”

“No, I’m not. Do you have a red tie?”

“Yes. Of course I have a red tie.”

“Just wanted to know. I forgot to look.”

She began making the rounds of the pictures, stopping at one of a little girl beside two oxen yoked to a cart. “Who is she?”

“My mother, when she was little. At that time, in St. Mary’s County, they used oxen all the time.”

“As I said, the more I know about her, the more I like her.”

In front of a picture of me with a pony, she let out a string of yelps. “Oh! Oh! Oh! I always wanted a pony and never had one! What was his name?”

“Brownie.”

“And look at his fuzzy forelock.”

“He didn’t like for it to be pulled. Try it, and he’d bite you, and bite you to mean it.”

“I would have patted his nose.”

“That he didn’t mind.”

She pointed at a football mounted on a rack. “What’s that about?”

“Touchdown I scored against Navy. They gave me the ball to keep.”

“Then you played?”

“That’s right. My senior year I was captain.”

“But not professionally?”

“It didn’t interest me that way. And to be realistic about it, in professional football, at 185, I’d have been a midget.”

“Yes, of course; you’re really quite tiny.”

She went on, moving sideways, while I stood behind her, watching the twitch of her bottom while trying not to. She admired pictures of me taking my bachelor’s degree, my master’s, and finally, my doctor’s, stepping in close to inspect that one and saying: “Just making sure they didn’t cheat you on that costume. It’s really a gold tassle.”

“Yes, they gave me the works.”

She moved on to me throwing a pass in some game. Then suddenly she sat down as though collapsed and began staring at me.

“Mrs. Garrett—Hortense! Is something wrong?” She didn’t answer me. “Are you ill?” I asked, shaking her.

She still didn’t answer. Then a lech that felt like a sea-nettle detached itself from the seat of my pants, moved to my rear, and started crawling up my backbone. I put one arm around her and the other under her knees and lifted. “No, no, no!” she moaned.

I started for the arch, and she kicked and twisted and struggled. One leg slipped clear and fell down. I hung onto the other one and marched on, through the arch, through the foyer and hall to the door of my room. She had closed it. I kicked it open and carried her in. I dumped her on the bed and started peeling her clothes off. I stripped off her coat, the pants of her pantsuit, the panties, bra, stockings, and shoes. When she was naked I picked them up and dropped them on a chair in a pile. She jumped up and darted for them. I grabbed her, held her, and began undressing myself. One-handed, it was a job, but it didn’t take long. When I was naked, too, I pulled the spread back. Then I rolled her in and climbed in beside her. At last, when I held her to me, her mouth found mine, and from there on in, it was volcanic.

W
E LAY CLOSE FOR
a long time in each other’s arms, mingling breath. Sometimes she kissed my throat but in an odd way, as though there was something special about it. In between, little by little, my mind came out of the fog. Thoughts began to run through it again. I remembered my sulk, the resentment toward her for blocking me off from her husband and his support of my institute. I wondered what had become of it. All I felt now was reverence, or something like it, for the lift she’d given me, up so high I thought I was in the clouds. I tried to think about it. Then I was inhaling the scent of her hair—so warm, clean, fragrant.

She opened her eyes and whispered: “Why did you do that to me?”

“Do what to you?”

“I would call it rape.”

“Then who am I to argue?”

“I did my best to stop you. You can’t say I didn’t. But no, you had to go on by main force, by brute force. You’re very strong, you know.”

“Yes, so I’ve been told.”

“Well? I asked you something.”

“Why I raped you—?”

“I wish you’d tell me.”

“My first answer to why is, why not? Why wouldn’t I rape you? The way your bottom twitched there in the living room as you looked at my pictures—first a step to the left, then another step, and for each and every step, a twitch.”

“You rape every twitchy bottom?”

“I never saw one before.”

“That’s not a very good answer.”

“You want a better one?”

“I wish you’d give me the real one.”

“You wanted me to, that’s why.”

She wilted and closed her eyes. After a long time, she whispered: “Yes—I wanted you to. I may as well admit it. I fought you off, did everything I knew. And yet I was praying, not that it wouldn’t happen, but that it would. Think of that, Lloyd; I actually
prayed.
I tried to get God on the side of that monstrous thing! I’ve never done that before! With anyone! Except as my vows permitted, except in marriage, I mean! Do you understand what I’m saying? Do you believe me?”

“I knew it without your telling me.”

“Lloyd, it’s the truth.”

“Speaking of God—”

“You believe in Him, don’t you?”

“Yes ... You know who invented what we did?”

“What do you mean,
invented!
”

“
He
did.”

“That’s a strange idea.”

“Well? Who else? Who else could have? The greatest invention in the history of the world. Or maybe you know a better one?”

“Just the same, it was wrong.”

“Are you sure?”

“It was invented partly to test us.”

“How do you know it was?”

“That’s the terrible part. It seemed so
right!
”

“Can we get on, Hortense?”

“On? To what?”

“The nitty-gritty.”

“Which is?”

“I was hit by a truck. What were you hit by?”

“... a truck.”

With that, we stopped talking. We held each other close again, then pulled back and looked at each other. After awhile she whispered: “The biggest truck in the world, so big it frightens me. But because it was big, we must do what it says we must. We have to be true to it, Lloyd. We must know it was a truck, not just a motorbike.”

“What are you getting at?”

“It must never happen again.”

“I don’t get the connection.”

“If it was that big, it had to mean something. And if it did, we dare not besmirch it. If it was just desire, then it was cheap and meaningless. But you say you were hit by a truck, and I certainly was. So it was big. So it took us, without any warning. But now we
are
warned. We know what can happen. We’re no longer caught by surprise. So, all right, about what happened, life is like that. Perhaps God will forgive us. But it cannot—must not—ever happen again.”

I’m trying to remember what she said, but even now it blurs for me. One thing doesn’t necessarily lead to another. But at the time, I didn’t argue. I just said: “That’s how you want it?”

“It’s how it has to be.”

“O.K., then, so be it. Kiss me.”

She kissed me in a happy, carefree way, whispering: “That’s one thing about you, Lloyd, that I could feel from the moment I laid eyes on you. You’re decent.”

“Climb on.”

“On? Where?”

“My stomach.”

“Do you mean what I think you mean?”

“I have impulses.”

“But you just promised that it would not happen again.”

“I promised that you wouldn’t be raped, and you won’t be. So climb on. Girl on top can’t be raped. All she need do is slide off.”

“Dear God, please don’t let me.”

“Suppose He’s pulling for me?”

“Lloyd, please don’t make me!”

“I’m inviting you, that’s all. I can have it engraved, if you like, but it takes a little time and—”

“You’re tempting me!”

“Damn it, get on!”

“Oh!... Oh!... Ohhh!”

It lasted longer that time, but then we were quiet and she lay in my arms again. I said: “Suppose I told you that I loved you? Would you laugh at me?”

“I’d bat you one if you didn’t.”

“O.K., then, that’s settled.”

“Swak.”

“Could I have that again?”

“S-W-A-K. Sealed With A Kiss. You love me, and that makes me happy.”

“O.K., that covers me. How about you?”

“Lloyd, don’t make me say it.”

“Why me and not you?”

“I’m married. That’s why not me.”

“Let’s go into that.”

“Please. I don’t want to.”

“We have to.”

“Then all right, let’s. But there’s nothing to say. I’m married. If I was so stupid, so utterly without sense, as to forget it for that long and then forget it once again—I’m still married. That’s the beginning of it, and the end. There’s nothing more to say.”

“How tight?”

“What do you mean, ‘how tight’?”

“Does he do it to you or not?”

She moaned and broke into sobs. I popped her bottom and said: “Yes or no?”

At last she moaned: “No!”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. But it calls for explaining—kind of. Why doesn’t he? Did you have a fight? Is there another woman? Or what?”

“We didn’t have any fight and there’s no other woman that I know of. We weren’t in love at all. It didn’t figure in our prenuptial companionship, if that’s what it’s called. We met at a party my uncle gave—his big annual stinkaroo, his pay-back bash for the dinners he’d been invited to during the year. He was my father’s brother, and we weren’t rich, but he was. And my mother, who’s a Chapman from Chester, studied nursing when she was young and married just after getting her cap. But she looked after Uncle Allen, especially at his parties, so his blood pressure wouldn’t shoot up. But this time she came down with a case of shingles, and I had to take charge. I remembered names, got them all right—also steered things, especially the caterer’s end, which wasn’t done very well. Richard was there, admiring me—my computer mind, he called it, which he ascribed to social training I really didn’t have. I was brought up well enough, but keeping the names straight—which was what impressed him so—had nothing to do with it. My last year at Delaware, I was a teaching assistant—you know, the Simonette Legree who marks examination papers—and a favorite indoor sport she has to watch out for is where one student takes the course and another, the examination. So she acquires a considerable skill at telling which name goes with which face. As for the steering, which also impressed Richard, I ran the Rodney Dining Hall one year—and there, believe me, you’d
better
learn how to steer.”

“Where did the names and steering come in?”

“I told you—as social graces. Richard began to picture me as his hostess, up under the sky at his apartment in Wilmington.”

“Now I get it. Go on.”

“So I was excited. Who wouldn’t be? After all, he was Richard Garrett. He got a hostess and I got a big financier. But he didn’t get any wife and I didn’t get any husband. A marriage is made in bed, which, I think, can be heaven if two people love each other; but ours was a flop. I don’t know what the trouble was. He tried and I tried, and we both tried and tried and tried—telling ourselves that when we got used to each other, it would be all right. But it never was all right. We never were suited for marriage. All the trying in the world wouldn’t have been any help. I began having dreams, horrible dreams I’d rather not talk about. Then when I had a miscarriage, it all came to a head, and I knew I couldn’t go on. When I got home from the hospital, though, I found that he felt the same way. So we slept in separate rooms. It helped that while I was gone, our Swedish housekeeper, who had lived in, had gotten some kind of cable from Stockholm and had to go home. So no embarrassment was involved. I made the beds, and when Karen came in the morning, there was nothing for her to notice. At last we were happy. I loved entertaining his friends; and believe me, I do it well. He’s nice, perfectly wonderful, to
my
friends, except that he has this notion that we ought to move to Washington. What he really means is that
I
ought to move to Washington. Now, does that explain it better? Why I can’t get mixed up with your institute?”

“Yes, at last it makes sense.” But then I remembered. “Except for one thing,” I said. “Why did you do it at all? We agree, I think, that I am overwhelmingly irresistible and all that. But you were underwhelmed plenty until you came to that picture of me heaving a pass in a football game. Where did that come in? What did it have to do with football?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have all day ... all night.”