Harold and Maude

by Colin Higgins

  “And so I thought, Father, that you, being a man of the cloth, might be able to speak to him. Frankly I’m at my wits’ end.”

  Harold, knocking on the door, came into the room.

  “Mother.”

  Mrs. Chasen waved him off. “No, Father. He will not be going into the Army just at present. Apparently his uncle thinks it is unwise at this time.”

  “Mother.”

  Mrs. Chasen covered the mouthpiece. “Not now, Harold, I’m talking to Father Finnegan.”

  Harold folded his arms.

  “Mother,” he said, “I’m going to get married.”

  “Father, I’ll call you back,” said Mrs. Chasen, and hung up.

  “What did you say?” she asked.

  “I’m getting married.”

  Mrs. Chasen looked at him carefully. “To whom?” she inquired.

  “To a girl,” said Harold, taking out his wallet. He flipped it open and handed it to his mother.

  Mrs. Chasen took one look at the photograph and closed her eyes. “I suppose you think this is very funny,” she said.

  “What?”

  Mrs. Chasen handed him back the wallet. “A picture of a sunflower.”

  “Oh, sorry,” said Harold, and flipped over to the photograph of Maude. “Here she is,” he said, and handed it back to his mother.

  This time Mrs. Chasen examined it closely. She looked up at him and then examined it again.

  “You can’t be serious?” she said faintly.

  Harold smiled.

  “HE’S SERIOUS,” SHE SAID to Dr. Harley, as she lay on his couch, looking up at the ceiling. “He’s actually serious.”

  “I’ll have a talk with him,” said the doctor. “Maybe I can do something.”

  “Oh, I hope so. I sincerely hope so. I’m sending him to you, his uncle, and to Father Finnegan. Surely someone can talk sense into him.”

  UNCLE VICTOR certainly gave it a try.

  “Harold,” he said to his nephew, seated in his office before him, “your mother has told me about your marriage idea, and though, normally, I have nothing against marriage, I don’t think this one is quite normal. Helen says your fiancée is eighty years old. Now, even to an untrained mind, this is not the customary relationship. In fact, dammit, it’s highly irregular. Now, I don’t want to remind you of the unpleasant incident that happened yesterday. I think it is best if we consider that forgotten. Nevertheless, knowing your peculiar bent, I think that it would be wisest for you not to leave the house or indulge in any kind of activity that would be newsworthy. This marriage would attract attention, and in my opinion, Harold, you don’t need a wife. You need a nurse.”

  The meeting with Dr. Harley was much cooler.

  “There’s no doubt, Harold,” said the doctor, leaning back in his chair, “that this impending marriage adds another chapter to an already fascinating case. But let us examine it, and I think you’ll realize there is a simple Freudian explanation for your romantic attachment to this older woman. It is known as the Oedipus complex, a very common syndrome, particularly in this society, whereby the male child subconsciously wishes to sleep with his mother. Of course, what puzzles me, Harold, is that you want to sleep with your grandmother.”

  The session with Father Finnegan never seemed to get off the ground. The little priest seemed overcome by the enormity of the problem.

  “Now, Harold,” he said, patiently. “The Church has nothing against the union of the old and the young. Each age has its own beauty. But a marital union is concerned with the conjugal rights. And the procreation of children. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not tell you that the idea of …”

  He swallowed.

  “… intercourse—the fact of your young, firm …”

  Lowering his eyes,

  “… body …”

  He stroked his forehead.

  “… co-mingling with the withered flesh, sagging breasts, and flabby buttocks of the mature female person— …”

  He rubbed his hand despairingly across his mouth.

  “… frankly and candidly, makes me want to vomit.”

  “BUT,” SAID HAROLD to all three of them when they had concluded their statements, “you didn’t ask me if I loved her.”

  And neither General Ball, nor Dr. Harley, nor Father Finnegan could find an answer for that.

  “LOVE!” CRIED MRS. CHASEN, throwing up her arms. “What do you mean ‘love’? Really, Harold, how can you talk of love when you know nothing at all about it?”

  “I know what I feel.”

  “You think that’s love? That’s not love. That’s some geriatric obsession! How can you do this to me? I don’t understand it. I simply don’t understand it.”

  Mrs. Chasen went to the bar and poured herself a drink. In all the years he had known her, Harold had never seen her so distraught. It struck him as ironic, because all that didn’t matter any more.

  “Harold,” she said, sitting down beside him. “Listen to me. Why do you want to throw your life away?”

  “I’m just going to ask her to marry me.”

  “But what do you know about her? Where does she come from? Where did you meet her?”

  “At a funeral.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful.” Mrs. Chasen took a drink. “I not only get an eighty-year-old daughter-in-law. I get a pallbearer as well! Harold. Please. Be reasonable. Think what you’re doing. What will people say?”

  “I don’t care what people say.”

  Mrs. Chasen stood up. “You don’t care! ‘Senior Citizen Weds Teenage Arsonist in Funeral Chapel!’—And you don’t care!” She walked to the bar.

  Harold had had enough. He got up to go.

  “All I want is for you to marry a nice girl, have a nice wedding—what are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving,” said Harold. “You’re walking out?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “But, where are you going?”

  He turned in the doorway. “I’m going to marry the woman I love.”

  Mrs. Chasen stopped. “Harold,” she said very quietly. “This is insane.”

  Harold smiled. “Perhaps it is,” he said, and closed the door.

  THAT EVENING HAROLD opened the door of Maude’s cottage and led her in blindfolded.

  “Hold on to my hand,” he said, guiding her to the center of the room.

  “Oh, I love surprises,” she confessed gleefully. “They make me feel so—chiffon!”

  “Okay,” said Harold. “Stay there.” He took off her mask. “Da-dum!”

  Maude blinked and looked around. “Oh, Harold!” she said, joyfully clapping her hands. “They’re beautiful!”

  A hundred sunflowers filled the room—on the tables, the chairs, the mantelpiece—and over the fireplace was a banner saying “Happy Birthday Maude.”

  Maude walked around the room, dazzled and delighted. She laughed. “They’re so gorgeous. Where did you get them all? You must have planned this for days.”

  “I have,” said Harold, and turned on the Victrola. A Strauss waltz floated out across the room.

  “May I have this dance, sweet lady?” said Harold, making a courtly bow before her.

  Maude curtsied. “With all my heart, kind sir,” she replied.

  He took her in his arms, and they waltzed merrily till the record ended.

  “And now,” said Harold, drawing back the Japanese screens. “Supper for two.”

  “My, my!” cried Maude, totally enraptured. “Silver place settings! Where ever did you get them? And look at that.”

  Harold picked up the small silver vase with a single daisy in it and presented it to her. “From me to you,” he said. “An individual. Remember?”

  Maude took the daisy and held it gently in her hand. “Thank you,” she said. “I do.”

  “And now,” said Harold, dramatically flinging off the cover over the ice bucket.

  “Champagne!” cried Maude, delightedly. “Oh, you’ve thought of everything.”

  Haro
ld picked up the bottle and began to remove the cork. “It’s all right,” he said, imitating her accent. “It’s organic.”

  Maude laughed. “Oh, wait,” she said, and rushed into the bedroom. “I have a surprise for you, too.” She came back with a box. “Aren’t birthdays fun?” she said. “To me they always meant a new beginning, another year of adventure!”

  “Watch out,” cried Harold. The cork flew from the bottle and the champagne fizzed over the brim. He poured it quickly in her glass and filled up his own.

  “You can open this after dinner,” said Maude, putting her present on the mantelpiece.

  “After the concert,” said Harold, handing her a glass of champagne.

  “All right,” she said. “You make the toast.”

  Harold held up his glass. “To us,” he said.

  “To us.”

  They sipped their champagne and smiled.

  “Finally,” said Harold, “I have one more surprise.” He took from his pocket a tiny ring box, wrapped with a little red ribbon. “You can open it after my solo,” he said, putting it beside Maude’s gift on the mantelpiece.

  “I hope,” he added, looking at her tenderly, “it will make you very happy.”

  “Oh, I am happy,” said Maude. “Ecstatically happy. I couldn’t imagine a lovelier farewell.”

  “Farewell?”

  “Why, yes. It’s my eightieth birthday.”

  “But you’re not going anywhere, are you?”

  “Oh, yes, dear. I took the pills an hour ago. I should be gone by midnight.”

  “But …” Harold stared at her.

  Maude smiled and sipped her champagne.

  He realized suddenly what she had done.

  He bolted to the phone.

  THE AMBULANCE RACED through the city streets, its red lights flashing and its siren wailing like a banshee in the night.

  Inside, Maude lay on the stretcher, covered with a blanket and happily holding the daisy in her hand. Her only concern was Harold, who knelt beside her, crying piteously.

  “Come on, Harold,” she said, “give us a smile. What a lot of fuss this is. So unnecessary.”

  “Maude. Please. Don’t die. I couldn’t bear it. Please, don’t die.”

  “But, Harold, we begin to die as soon as we are born. What is so strange about death? It’s no surprise. It’s part of life. It’s change.”

  “But why now?”

  “I made up my mind long ago that I’d pick the date. I thought eighty was a good round number.” She giggled, suddenly. “I feel giddy,” she said.

  “But, Maude, you don’t understand. I love you. Do you hear me? I’ve never said that to anyone in my life before. You’re the first. Maude. Please. Don’t leave me.”

  “Oh, Harold, don’t upset yourself so.”

  “It’s true. I can’t live without you.”

  Maude patted his hand. “‘And this too shall pass away.’”

  “Never! Never! I’ll never forget you. I wanted to marry you. I was going to ask you tonight. Don’t you understand? I love you. I love you.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful, Harold. Go—and love some more.”

  The ambulance drove up to the Emergency entrance of the hospital, and the attendants ran around and opened the back.

  “So unnecessary,” giggled Maude, as they slid her onto a gurney and wheeled her inside.

  Harold walked beside her. “Hold on,” he said. “Just hold on!”

  “Hold on? Hold on?” Maude giggled again. “Oh, Harold. How absurd!”

  The attendants wheeled her to the receiving desk and left to fill out their forms. An officious redheaded nurse stood behind the counter, explaining to a student nurse the hospital’s admitting procedures.

  Harold anxiously banged on the counter and a young intern with horn-rimmed glasses looked up from his book.

  “Please,” said Harold. “There’s been an accident, an overdose of pills. We’ve got to see a doctor. It’s an emergency.”

  “Very good,” said the head nurse. “Now, Julie, you go ahead and get all the particulars.”

  The student nurse took out her clipboard and picked up a pencil. “Ah, what’s your name?” she asked pleasantly in a slow Southern drawl.

  “It’s not me,” said Harold. “It’s her.”

  Maude stopped her humming and smiled. She waved “hello” with her daisy.

  “It’s better to begin,” said the head nurse, “by asking the last name first, then first name, then middle initial, if any. It saves time.”

  “Oh, right,” said the student nurse. She smiled at Maude. “What is your last name?”

  “Chardin. The Countess Mathilda. But you may call me Maude.”

  “Oh, thank you.”

  “Please!” cried Harold. “She has got to see a doctor right away.”

  “Young man,” said the head nurse, “perhaps you ought to wait in the waiting room.”

  The student nurse had written down Maude’s name. “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Eighty. It’s my birthday.”

  “Oh! Many happy returns.”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t understand,” cried Harold. “She’s taken an overdose of pills two hours ago. She hasn’t got much time.”

  The intern came from behind the counter with his clipboard and asked Maude for her signature. “It’s just a formality,” he explained.

  “Be delighted to,” said Maude, signing it with a flourish. “I like your hair so much,” she added.

  “Really,” said the intern. “I’m letting it grow long. Now, this form is just in case of a damage claim. You know, so the hospital won’t be responsible for … whatever.”

  “I think, Julie,” said the head nurse, “it’s better to use a ballpoint pen. They’re more efficient.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Purely a legal safeguard,” continued the intern, checking over the signature. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

  “Don’t you all realize?” cried Harold. “She’s dying.”

  “Well, not dying, actually,” Maude explained. “I’m changing. You know, like from winter to spring. Of course, it is a big step to take.”

  “Perhaps, then, Julie, you’d better skip the preliminaries and get to the important section.”

  “Oh, right,” said the student nurse, and conscientiously turned over the page. “What is your Social Security number?”

  “No,” said the head nurse. “Ask about the insurance. The hospital insurance.”

  “Oh, right. Do you have any insurance? Blue Cross? Blue Shield?”

  “Insurance against what?”

  “No insurance,” said the student nurse. She turned sadly to her superior.

  “Well, write it down.”

  “This is madness!” shouted Harold.

  “I’m sorry,” said the head nurse, giving Harold an icy stare, “but the psychiatrist won’t be in till morning.”

  “What’s the trouble here?” asked a doctor, coming through the swinging doors.

  “An overdose of drugs, doctor,” said the head nurse.

  Harold went up to the doctor while the student nurse leaned over and asked Maude solicitously, “Do you have a welfare plan at your place of employment?”

  “I’m retired,” said Maude.

  “Doctor, please,” said Harold. “She’s swallowed these pills. You’ve got to do something.”

  “All right, take her in there.”

  The intern began wheeling her away. “It was nothing personal,” he said.

  “Who’s the next of kin?” cried the student nurse, her ballpoint pen ready.

  “Humanity,” Maude shouted back cheerily as she went through the swinging doors.

  “Farewell, Harold,” she cried, waving the daisy. “I’m off for the new experience.” The doors swung shut behind her.

  Harold stood and watched till the doors had stopped swinging completely.

  IT WAS ELEVEN O’CLOCK on the waiting
room clock. Harold noticed the sweep second hand was broken.

  He sat in the corner. A black woman sat across from him, staring stoically at the darkness out the window. Her little boy slept beside her on the couch.

  At eleven thirty her elder son came out through the swinging doors, his head and arm in bandages. She said nothing to him. She woke up the little boy and took him by the hand. All three left without saying a word.

  Harold sat in the room alone. He glanced at the torn magazines on the table. He rubbed his face. He leaned forward in his chair and stared at the swinging doors.

  At midnight the new nursing shift came on.

  At one o’clock the intern closed his book and left.

  Around three an expectant father and his pregnant wife arrived at the emergency room by mistake. They were given directions for the maternity ward. The father kept apologizing. The wife just smiled. They left. Harold stood up and walked up and down the hall.

  At four the janitor came by and emptied the ashtrays.

  By five Harold had returned to the waiting room. He sat on the couch and stared at the torn magazines on the table.

  By six the night sky had lightened. Harold could make out the shapes of the cars in the parking lot.

  At seven twelve the doctor came in to tell him that Maude had died.

  He received the news very calmly. His face showed no sign of emotion. He thanked the doctor mechanically and walked away down the hospital corridor.

  MAUDE’S LIVING ROOM looked different with the morning sun streaming through the window. The remains of the party were everywhere—the sunflowers, some of them already beginning to droop; the champagne bottle standing half empty in a bucket full of water.

  Harold walked to the window. Outside the birds sang and pecked at the birdseed. Idly he flipped the handle of the feeding trolley, remembering the first day he had seen it work. His eyes began to fill with tears. He blinked them away and walked to the fireplace.

  Catching sight of the “Happy Birthday” sign, he violently ripped it off the wall. The sunflower pots and everything on the mantelpiece crashed to the floor—including the little ring box, with the red ribbon around it.

  Immediately ashamed of himself, he picked it up and saw beside it Maude’s present to him from the night before. He put it on the table and opened it up. It contained her ring of car keys, the collection she had received from Sweeney. He looked at it, displaying no emotion, and at the floridly handwritten note attached. “Dearest Harold,” it read. “Pass it on—With love, From Maude.”