The Temple of Gold (11 page)

And if my memories of Athens do not center on Kissing Rock, a name I really hate, this is not to say that I don’t have my memories too. The greased pole I remember. And of course the two girls, Harriet and Annabelle. And most of all what happened that beautiful night on Half Day Bridge. But none of these have much to do with the college itself, which is as it ought to be, I suppose, for I was never much of a part of it.

I knew that, the first day of school, as I walked from my house to classes. I could almost feel myself moving from the one world, the town’s, to the other, ruled by the college. And as I walked I guess I realized that even though I was a member of both, I really didn’t belong to either of them.

But being the only town boy in the freshman class, as well as the son of a famous professor, I was something of a curiosity. Many were nice to me, out-of-their-way nice, for people, as I have already noted, like to show they are open-minded, particularly when such is not the case. So the first days went pleasantly enough, if you don’t count the classes, which I disliked, especially chemistry with Professor O’Brien, whose wife had helped me bury Baxter in the ravine that day years before.

The second week at Athens is officially known as Frosh-Soph Week. There is a good deal of harassing that goes on, one class against the other, all designed to forge school spirit, which is ridiculous. But naturally, during that week, I was outstanding. I managed to black the eye of the sophomore class president during a scuffle in Patriot’s Square; I threw three dozen firecrackers into the biggest sophomore dorm, not once getting caught and keeping most everyone awake all night long. And I climaxed it on Friday afternoon on the football field, during the climbing of the greased pole.

There were hundreds of people out there that day, faculty and students, sitting in the grandstand. Probably more than half the school, all of them cheering, waving banners. In the very center of the field was the greased pole, stuck solid in the ground. And ringed around it were about fifty sophomore boys wearing khakis or jeans and T shirts, waiting. We were in a bigger circle around them, also waiting, looking up every so often to the top of the pole where there was set a blue beanie, the object of it all. If a freshman got to that blue beanie, then they won; if the sophomores kept anyone from climbing, they carried the day. Old Man Higgins, the football coach, came out and gave us a brief talk on sportsmanship, by which he meant: “No eye-gouging, boys, and keep your knees where they ought to be.” Then he stepped back, took a last look around, and shouted: “Go get it!”

Everybody charged, and immediately there were fifty small fights going on, people scuffling, shoving, rolling on the ground, while those in the stands blew horns, whistled, and cheered like mad. Boys were getting thrown all over, this way and that, and I watched them, hanging back, waiting until I saw my chance.

Finally it came.

After about five minutes when they all were tired from the wrestling, the action began to ease up, like a camera suddenly switched to slow motion. Right then I saw it, a path, leading straight to the greased pole.

I tore along that path yelling like a maniac, spilling people right and left and then there I was, by the pole, alone. I jumped up as high as I could. It was slippery, but I held on, digging in with my fingers, kicking down at the hands trying to grab me. Then, after a second, I was safe, over their heads, with nothing left to do but just climb that pole right up to the top, up to that blue beanie.

Clamping my legs around the pole, holding tight, I scraped with my hands, going an inch at a time, making my way. The crowd hushed suddenly and when I looked out all I saw was hundreds of faces, tense with excitement, staring at me. One time I slipped and the people in the stands groaned, but I cursed, caught myself, held on for dear life. By then I was really tired, so I set to work, clawing away, using my legs as a brace. And at last, with one final push, I cupped my hand over the smooth rounded top of the pole, grabbed the blue beanie and waved it high over the crowd.

They all went wild. Shot, I slid down, holding onto that blue beanie for all I was worth, and when I got to the ground I was dazed. But still, I can’t say I minded when people began pounding me on the back, laughing like crazy. Because no one had climbed the greased pole in years, more than ten, until me. Then a bunch of boys hoisted me up atop their shoulders and carried me all the way back to the center of campus that way, shoulder high, as the poem says, with hundreds of others crowding around, waving flags, jingling cowbells, screaming. And I sat above them, covered with grease, smiling like a fool, that blue beanie perched on my head every step of the way.

From that day on, I was the best-known freshman in the school, a distinction I maintained throughout the year. For I was the one who had done it, had climbed the greased pole, and so was a celebrity, at least as far as the students were concerned. But such, unfortunately, did not also apply to the teachers, and in a few days the glory faded and was forgotten in the rush of school work. At which, as I said, I did not excel. English was dull, history duller, and chemistry got so bad I didn’t bother going.

And one afternoon as I cut chem lab and started across Patriot’s Square on the way to town, a girl appeared from somewhere and began following me. I walked slowly and so did she, about ten feet behind me, right through the Square into town. When I reached Harold’s Drug Store on the corner, I turned.

“Are you following me?” I asked.

She stopped, several feet away. “Pardon?” she said.

“What are you following me for?”

She came right up then and stared me in the eye. “Because I think you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread,” she answered, after which she whipped on by me into Harold’s, where she was headed all the time.

A little flustered, I waited for her to come out. Finally, she did, carrying some pads of paper and eating an ice-cream cone. “Hey,” I called, but she didn’t stop, so I hurried up and walked along beside her.

“I guess you weren’t following me,” I said.

“Oh, you’re a bright one,” she came right back. “That’s plain to see.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her.

“No need,” she said, not looking at me but instead licking away at her ice-cream cone. “It was a simple error. One any moron might make.”

“Listen. I’m trying to apologize.”

“Keep at it,” she said. “It might do you some good.”

It went on like that all the way to her dorm. Every time I said something, she made an insult out of it. So pretty soon I stopped talking and watched her. She was little and dark and not very pretty. But she had a fine body for a small girl and a voice as deep as mine. Which was cute enough almost to make you forget that her nose was too big and her eyes too close together.

She was about to go into her dorm when I took her by the arm and spun her around. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” I said.

“Somehow I doubt it,” she said.

I ignored her. “Listen. Bring a bathing suit. Tomorrow. Three. I’ll pick you up. Right here. We’ll go swimming.” She didn’t say anything. “Please,” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she answered. “It is to laugh.” Then she dashed inside and I started walking away. I was already on the sidewalk when she stuck her head out of the parlor window.

“Make it four.” she veiled. “And my name is Harriet.”

“Raymond Euripides Trevitt,” I yelled back, bowing. “And the pleasure is mine.”

So the next afternoon we went to the beach. It was cool, but we went anyway, which was a good thing, since we were the only people down there. We chatted awhile, lying next to each other on the sand, Harriet apologizing for the way she looked, as she had to borrow the bathing suit and it was too big. I told her I wouldn’t hold it against her and she went zipping off into the water, horsing around at first, splashing, getting used to it, then swimming out. She was a good swimmer and she went on until her head was practically out of sight. Then she turned back.

“Come on,” she said, when she got to shore.

“Later,” I told her.

“Now,” she told me, starting to throw sand in my direction. Which got no results so she ran back in the Lake and kicked water at me, but she wasn’t too accurate. Finally, she bent over, scooping it out with her hands, me rolling around on the sand, laughing, trying to dodge. She bent all the way over, scooping the water, giggling, and right then her bathing suit slipped a little but enough, so that when she stood up, her twillies were showing.

“Hey,” I yelled, almost hysterical. “You’re cross-eyed.”

“What?” she said, not understanding, trying to smile.

I pointed. “You’re cross-eyed,” I said again.

At which she sort of looked down. And when she saw she gasped, blushed, threw her arms across herself, broke out crying, and tore off to hide behind a sand mound at the back of the beach.

I waited a couple of minutes, then sauntered up atop the sand mound and looked down at her.

“Hi, Harriet,” I said. “What’s new?”

“Go away,” she said.

I sat next to her. “Don’t be a baby,” I said. “And please. Don’t start crying again.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

“Why did you have to cry in the first place?”

She looked at me awhile. “Because I’m a lady, goddam it. That’s why.”

“I believe it,” I told her.

Shivering, she threw her arms around me. “And yesterday,” she whispered. “Yesterday. I was following you.”

“I believe that too,” I said, holding her tight.

The minute I got home I sat down and dashed off a note to Zock. “Have found a nice girl and am settling down,” it said. That was all.

A week later I got his answer, which is the only letter I ever received from him. It went like this:

Euripides:

Harvard is a wonderful place. I use wonderful in the old sense. Let me explain. Everyone here is smart and a number are more than that. As you walk to class, you can almost feel all those minds generating full blast behind all those horn-rimmed glasses. Perhaps we should have our I.Q.’s tattooed on our foreheads. Then, instead of saying, “Good morning,” we could just point and say, “162. What’s yours?” It would relieve a lot of tension.

Courses thus far are bearable, but Bunny is already behind, so I have time to myself. Most of it has been spent touring the streets of Boston, which is a strange city, full of age and tradition almost thick enough to eat.

My roommate is named Clarence. I am not certain yet if he is human or otherwise, for at the age of 18, he has written three epic poems, one of which I glanced at. It won’t make Homer worry, but still, to have written three epic poems while still a virgin (he confides in me) is a trifle frightening. As to your letter, it took me several hours to read it all, but I feel it was time well spent. You were a trifle skimpy on specifics concerning Her, but I assume she has large Twillies, the wisdom of Solomon, and the patience of Job. Those, I think, are the minimum requirements. I advise you to hang on tight, for such people are rare.

And so to bed. Toodle-oo.

Zock

And if Harriet wasn’t all that Zock said, she didn’t miss by much, being without doubt the finest girl with whom I have ever come in contact. Much smarter than I was, she tried not to show it, which was considerate, but impossible. Like Zock, she had been the best student in her high-school class, and why she chose to come to Athens, I’ll never know. She had a million interests, being president of her dorm and already having made a big splash at
The Athenian
, the college literary magazine. Also, she was an actress, a good one, as I later found out. But while we went together she threw all that away in the hope of bringing me in line. She forced me into going back to chemistry, which I did, although it was useless and I knew it at the time. She dragged me off to the library every day to study, which I also did, although that was useless too, and we both knew it. She was wonderful, Harriet was, sweet, gentle, and kind, with, to quote Mrs. Crowe, a heart as big as all outdoors. We went together that semester and for the first month or so of the next. Zock came back at Christmas, but they never met, since she was home in Rhode Island visiting her father who sold insurance and I guess did all right. I was sorry for that, because the two of them would have got on so well, Harriet and Zock.

At the end of the first semester, Professor O’Brien flunked me in chemistry, something for which I bear no grudge, as I well deserved it. The rest of my grades being less than average, I was put on probation, which was also fair and which I expected from the first day of school. This humiliated my father, I suppose, assuming that he cared enough, which I doubt, for he never once mentioned it to me.

Right after the start of the second semester, Harriet tried out for a big part in the spring play, a sad one called
Uncle Vanya
by Chekhov. Naturally, she won it and soon was spending much time in rehearsal. To this day she probably thinks that had a lot to do with our breaking up. But it didn’t. We actually broke up the first time I ever laid eyes on Annabelle, who had transferred into Athens from some junior college up East. Because once I saw her, then everything else just had to follow.

It is very hard to describe Annabelle. As far as looks are concerned, she ranked right up at the top of the list, having long black hair, slanting green eyes, and without a doubt the greatest body in the world. She always wore make-up, but she wore it well. She never laughed much and her smile was slight, being just a quick turn up at the edges of her mouth.

Another thing that should be mentioned about Annabelle is this: she was crazy. I don’t mean strange and I don’t mean troubled. I mean crazy. Nuts. She had a nervous breakdown at the age of fourteen, which is pretty fast work in anyone’s league. For two years after that she saw a psychiatrist three times a week, and why she stopped, I’ll never know. Because if ever a girl needed one, it was her. As a kid, she was afraid to call up her own house when she was out, for fear that she might answer. She sort of smiled when she told me that, as if it was all a thing of the past and now she was Miss-Stability-in-the-Flesh. But later, when I thought about it, I realized I’d never seen her once use the phone.