He took her hand and led her around behind the library where they sat on the steps and faced a pleasant little lawn with a green pelt of grass. She looked at him with tenderness as he continued to disclose the plans through which he hoped to win Cosima.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I could take her to the senior prom!” he exclaimed. “Who’s taking you?”
“I don’t know.”
The hopelessness in her tone aroused a feeling of pity in him. She’s like me, he thought, wondering exactly what he meant, looking at her now, really looking at her, for perhaps the first time. And then he suddenly realized that they were alone, but then took satisfaction in the fact that no one could see them, no one would talk. And if they did, what could they say? Everyone knew that Mary Ann was Cosima’s closest friend. In fact, it now occurred to him that she and Cosima were strikingly alike, only Cosima was bright and clear and sharp, like a photograph, and Mary Ann was dark and subdued, sort of like a negative. Thrilled by a sense of discovery, he continued to compare them. Mary Ann played the piano, too! Not as well as Cosima, of course, but well, very well, indeed, and she was a member of the same society, accepted by the same circle of friends. She was on the honor roll the same as Cosima, but Cosima would be valedictorian. This proximity to Cosima seemed to enshroud Mary Ann in a veil of mist. That is to say, he became acutely aware of her dark brown color, as though it were some sort of encumbrance, through which she must struggle before she could shine like Cosima, as though it had clogged her sensibility, dulled her reflexes just a hair, causing her to appear but a parody of Cosima. How pretty her face is! He didn’t dare say beautiful out of deference to Cosima. If it were not for — what? He contemplated the effect of touching her up, speculating as to just what alteration would transform her into that electrifying, magical, queenlike being who flitted over the horizon of his fondest dreams.
When they parted he gave her a note for Cosima. It contained the sonnet that he had not been able to read in class. On his way home he imagined her reading it in secret, feeling the passion with which he would have read it had his heart not overwhelmed his voice. She would place it under her pillow and listen to his words in the dark.
Even as he uttered them now, in the dark, from the depths of the red room. He turned on his side and discovered that the stars shone brightly. It seemed a good omen.
He was already awake when Rutherford called, and all along the way to school he plotted his campaign. He would concentrate on the yearbook, making a mental list of the districts he would canvass for ads. He would try to get the dances organized as soon as possible, so that he might get a chance to dance with her, to talk to her all the sooner. He suddenly realized that he had never talked to her, never had a real conversation with her. In fact, he had hardly heard her voice at all, except in class, only to answer a question, which answer was usually brief and always right. Reserved and shy, he reflected admiringly. A real lady! Yes, he must get the dances organized as soon as possible. To dance with her! Hey! hey! But dignified! None a that grindin’ and stuff. On the toes, Jack! In a graceful whirl on the toes! Round and round! The dance, that was it. And the honor roll? At this point the incorrigible doubt assailed him: a looooooooong chemistry equation deployed and encircled him, while history threatened his rear. “We realleh ccaun’t geo on like thissss!” he exclaimed aloud in an effort to cheer himself up, but anxiety made him cast a quick glance at the trees, at the sky in which the sun glared threateningly. He reflected that if he could only pluck it out of the sky and put it in the icebox, keep it cool, he might check the advance of spring, and he would have the chance to do all the things he wanted to do, all the things he hadn’t done in sixteen years, but which he must now attempt to do in three — not quite three — months!
By the end of March time had become a heavy weight that had insinuated itself into his blood, turning it into iron; his head was a heavy iron ball and his clothes were of mail, everything he touched seemed so heavy that he could not take hold.
The first dance had finally been arranged for the second week in April. He had wanted one every week, but the administration had objected because of the expenses. So the second week in April came and the dance was on. The orchestra played smooth and easy, like John Kirby said. Like Basie and Lunceford. The senior class turned out full force, but she didn’t come. He danced with Ruth, Helen, and Mary Ann. He did the boogie with pretty little June Williams. But not one dance with Cosima Thornton. She was not there.
“What happened, Mary Ann?”
“I don’t know.” She touched his arm consolingly.
“Did you give her the poem … eh … the note?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say? Did she read it?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. She probably did.” Her eyes darkened.
“Wanna dance?”
“If you want to.”
They danced. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. She really was not there. He looked at the side of Mary Ann’s face, at her mouth which was very close to his, taking secret pleasure in the thought that he might kiss her if he wanted to, if he dared, and enjoyed the virtuous feeling that resulted from rejecting this temptation out of deference to his Queen.
It was a nice dance, a pretty dance, but she had not come. A light shone in the upper windows when he passed her house on the way home that evening, but he couldn’t see anyone behind the curtain. Up and down Eighteenth Street people stood in groups talking about the war over in Europe, but he didn’t stop to listen. Something has happened, he thought, but just what it was he could not say. He walked distractedly home trying to figure out why she hadn’t come.
All through supper he stared blankly at the big black letters sprawled across the pages of Rutherford’s paper.
“Man-man!” said Rutherford, more to himself than to anyone in particular.
“What?” Viola asked.
He looked at his mother with deep affection, as though he were just returning after a long absence and was rediscovering her. She’s getting a little fat. He let his gaze rest upon her full face. She looked buoyant, as though she were slightly filled with air. Her hair was evenly streaked with gray. But she’s still nice looking, though.…
“What?” she was asking, and he observed his father. His hair was black, though they were the same age. But he’s getting a little fat, too.
“Boy — looka there!” he heard Viola teasing him. “You gittin’ faaaaaaat! Got a bay window like nobody’s business!”
“Aaaaah-ha!” he had exclaimed with some embarrassment, drawing in his stomach and sitting a little straighter in his chair.
He doesn’t have to go to war, Amerigo thought. Too old. He measured the time, counted the suns and moons, the raindrops and snowflakes, measured the volume of the wind: I’m sixteen … and he’s … they’re thirty-one … -two … because …
“Man-man!…” Rutherford was saying.
“What?”
“I see here where ever’body that ain’ called yet’s gonna either have to go or work in a defense plant. You know where I’m goin’!”
“It’s takin’ a war to blast you out a that hotel!” Viola exclaimed. “You might as well be makin’ some of that good money, too.”
“Things gittin’ tight,” Rutherford continued. “Ol’ Uncle Joe’s been bidin’ his time so far, but now the Russians an’ ever’body else’s gotta pee or git off the pot if we gonna git out a this mess, ’cause them Germans are terrible — you heah me?”
I’ll have to get up early in the morning, he thought. Rutherford’s words had merely reminded him that tomorrow was Saturday and that if he were not careful Jerry Evans would beat him out of the business manager’s post. Then, too, there was the commencement speech to write, just in case he was accepted by the honors committee. Miss Southern was the chairman, so the speech would have to be good. And if that was not enough to occupy his mind, final examinations were coming up soon. Looooooong division! a voice whispered, and he heard the poi
sonous hiss of chemistry, watched the steel-helmeted dates and isms that were history, climbing over the top. He should get the next dance arranged. So many people to call and all. And the choir was singing next Thursday at the synagogue.…
“I made it,” he exclaimed to Mary Ann the following afternoon at four o’clock.
“But the grades aren’t even out yet!” she exclaimed.
“Aw, I don’t mean that, I mean I sold the most ads for the yearbook. I’m the business manager.”
“That’s wonderful!” she cried, a bit too joyously, he thought. Her eyes shone as though they were wet under the long fringes of her eyelashes. He couldn’t avoid looking at them, and she, perceiving this, blushed deeply, which caused the dimples on either side of her mouth to make her face look pretty, even beautiful! he hazarded to think.
“Come on,” he said, taking her affectionately by the hand.
“Where?” she asked.
“I’ll show you.”
“Here,” he said at last. They stood before the gate of Aunt Rose’s yard. April had washed it clean. All the grasses and new flowers were shining, immaculate even behind the ears.
Clapclapclapclapclapclapclap! thundered the myriad invisible hands as they entered the yard.
Aunt Rose stood behind the screen, her body forming a huge bulky silhouette that filled the door.
“Why come on in —” she exclaimed before he had a chance to ring the bell, “come in!”
He opened the door and stepped back so that Mary Ann could enter first. And presently they were sitting at the big round table all decked out in Aunt Rose’s finest linen, with beautiful cups and saucers that he had only seen in the china cabinet, and bright polished spoons of real silver.
“One lump or two, miss?” said Aunt Rose.
“Please call me Mary Ann.”
“All right, Mary Ann.”
“Two, please.”
“Lemon or cream?”
“Lemon, thank you.”
“How about you, Amerigo?”
“Huh? Eh — two. I mean three! Please.”
“Lemon? Cream?”
“Eh, no’m — neither … neitheh one, thanks.”
They sipped their tea and he felt like a sissy, drinking from that thin little cup that was so light that he could hardly feel the weight of it in his hand. Two gulps and the tea was gone. He stared at the biscuit in his other hand. He had intended to eat it as he drank the tea. Frustrated, he looked at Aunt Rose with a confused smile. She smiled back and they laughed, Mary Ann, too, they all laughed heartily. The ice was broken.
“So you’re goin’ to teacher’s college —” Aunt Rose was saying to Mary Ann. “That’s fine. I wish you all the success in the world. I knew my boy could pick ’um, all right —”
He looked anxiously at Mary Ann. He tried to interrupt Aunt Rose, but she was drifting through the mellow haze of a pleasant speculation. “Amerigo’s a lot different from the others, Mary Ann, he’s a dreamer … got his head in the clouds. Always did. Like his momma. Aaaaaalways did wanna be somebody. It does my heart good just to look at the two of you. How many kids you plannin’ on havin’?”
He blushed to the roots of his teeth while Mary Ann laughed as though his embarrassment were tickling her to death.
“She’s very nice,” said Mary Ann, as they left the house. She locked her arm in his and pressed her cheek against his shoulder as they walked, while he strained to control the uneasy feeling that her nearness gave him. He consoled himself that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t done it. Done what? He stopped abruptly and looked at her as though she were a stranger.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him in a tone that betrayed the fact that she knew, releasing the grip on his arm with an expression that once again obscured the beauty of her face and metamorphosed her into a negative of Cosima. He looked at her now as though he were trying to discover Cosima in her face. It’s no use, is it? her expression seemed to say. And once again he had the feeling that something had happened, and he knew that he knew.
“You got a date for the dance yet?” he asked her.
“No!” She turned away from him.
“I mean —”
“I know what you mean!”
“Has anybody asked her yet?”
“No! Nobody dares.”
“Will, will you ask her for me?”
“Why don’t you ask her yourself!”
“I never get a chance to see her alone. Always in class. And you know how everybody talks! Old lady Southern saw us coming in class together the other day and she called her and said something to her. I couldn’t hear it, but you know what she said, and I do, too! They don’t think I’m good enough for her. I —”
“I’ve asked her already,” said Mary Ann in a quiet even voice that was a little frightening.
“WHAAT?”
“I know you’re blind as a bat, Amerigo Jones, but are you deaf, too?” she shouted.
But he didn’t hear her, the bells of the world pealed in his ears, and he struggled to scream above the roar:
“W-h-a-t — d-i-d — s-h-e — s-a-y?”
“She said she’d see. Mrs. Thornton wouldn’t care so much, but it’s Mister Thornton — he’s the one you’ve got to —”
“All I want to do is take her to a dance!” he uttered painfully. “I’m not going to eat her!”
“Amerigo,” said Mary Ann, “that dance is two months away! There’s still time! Besides, the world won’t come to an end if —”
The pained expression on his face made her stop, as though she, too, heard the loud pealing of the bells, all the bells in the world.
“Amerigo! I made it! I made it!” Mary Ann shouted as she rushed up to him the following evening.
“Congratulations,” he said, forcing a bitter smile.
“Oh,” said Mary Ann, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to —”
“That’s all right. That’s … that’s all right.”
“But you can still read your speech!” she said consolingly. “You don’t have to be on the honor roll. The announcement came out today, the speeches are going to be judged on the basis of quality alone — and on how well you say it. You’ve still got a chance. Is it ready?”
“Ready? Oh — what’s the use!”
“What’s the use! A-merigo Jones!”
“What do you want me to do?” he screeched. “You know that if I’m not on that list, and everybody else who’s making a speech is — I don’t have a chance!”
“You can try!”
“You think I could?”
Again her eyes shone as though they were wet, as though they would extinguish the ravaging fires that consumed the world.
“I know you can!” she declared.
Her gaze was steady, her smile full of hope. Their faces grew close.
“Maybe I could,” he whispered. “Aaaaaaaaaw —”
“Now what?” she asked impatiently.
“I’ve hardly even started it. And it has to be ready day after tomorrow. And there’s the dance! That’s not even half ready!”
“Oh!” cried Mary Ann, “I almost forgot.…”
“What?”
“She’s coming. She asked Mrs. Thornton and she said yes before her father had time to object, only she has to be home by six o’clock.”
All the next day he struggled under a mountain of cares, while his classmates flitted in and out of sunny rooms, sporting their blue and gold ribbons that furled in the freshets of spring air bursting from bellowing lungs, from windows thrown open, from slamming doors, as though March was still pursuing April who was stuck on May!
All day long the torturous bliss inspired by the knowledge that she would come was rendered less bearable by the insinuating bells:
Rrrrrrrring!
A veil of light fell from the sky and caught the twelve o’clock sun blushing in its nakedness. And then May shivered sensuously into the afternoon.
Rrrrrrrrring!
He took a quic
k peep into the gym to see if the stand for the orchestra was set up. The janitor hadn’t started yet. On his way to find him he remembered his speech and ducked into the auditorium to have a look at it. As he unfolded the crumpled sheet of paper a feeling of futility came over him. He stared dumbly at the hasty lines scrawled on the paper, and suddenly felt the woman’s gaze upon him while he stood at the foot of the bed, trembling with indignation:
Now?
Rrrrrrring!
He dashed into the choir room filled with her.
“It’s our last farewell, dear No — or — th High.…” they sang. The principal’s son had written it. He was lying in a sanatorium, dying of tuberculosis.
Ssssssh!
“and how proud we are to say good-bye. What the future holds, has not yet been told, but you’ve shaped us in a way to make us b-o-l-d! To say we’ll w-i-n … our battles ever, and …”
She’s coming! he thought, feeling the shock anew, as though Mary Ann had just said it.
“W-h-a-t — d-i-d — s-h-e — s-a-y!”
Rrrrrrrring!
Gentle airs wafted through May’s hair and the sun blushed with impotent rage and, though it was only four o’clock, the moon was already making a faint trace in the sky. The Allies were on the offensive as the orchestra tuned up. One could hear the fragments of sound up and down the halls, dashing in and out of empty rooms, as though they were in search of a chord and a sequence and a rhythm that would convert them into a song.
Everybody was there, but he didn’t see her at first, though he knew she was there. The fury of the sound screaming in his ears told him that she was there. He raced futilely about, attending to this and that nothing-in-particular. And once, from the corner of his eye, he saw her just as plain as day, sitting there with Mary Ann, just like anybody else. But he didn’t know it. Even when the music started. They were playing “Stairway to the Stars.” Ella’s tune, he observed curiously, realizing all the while that he had seen her and didn’t know it.
Now? a voice whispered, cutting the threads of his sensibility like a razor, and suddenly he became conscious of her.… She’s right behind me!… In his confusion he began looking into all the places where she was not — on the ceiling in the sheen of light reflected by the metal rim of the bass drum, in the drum, between the skins! The music stopped. He crossed the hall and waited for the music to start. It started. He turned and stared at the musicians. In the Mood, it was “In the Mood” that they were playing. He turned around to stare at the dancers, but saw only her face, her eyes, not looking at him, but skirting the periphery of his gaze. Another face, dark, wet, sadly smiling, near her face. Somebody said something but he didn’t know who it was, there was so much noise. Why are they making so much NOISE!… I … I … can’t hear! He stumbled forward for some reason, some utterance had escaped his lips. His arm was sliding lightly around her waist, not too tightly, lest he break her, or get her pretty yellow dress dirty. He thought he held her hand, but it was hard to tell, it was so small, so light, like Aunt Rose’s teacups. I must not touch her! he kept thinking. G-r-a-c-e-f-u-l! Swing into the turn — now! From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of her face. Her nose was close to his. So close! Under the nose the lips. The lips!
Such Sweet Thunder Page 53