The Graduate

by Charles Webb

  One evening, an hour or so after dinner had been finished, Mr. Braddock came into the den where Benjamin was watching television. Benjamin glanced at him, then back at the screen. Mr. Braddock closed the door behind him and walked to the set to turn it off. Benjamin scowled at him. Mr. Braddock seated himself behind a desk in the room and looked for a long time without saying anything at an ash tray Benjamin had perched on the arm of his chair.

  “Ben?” he said finally, quietly. “What’s happening.”

  “What’s happening,” Benjamin said, grinding out a cigarette.

  “Yes.”

  “Well up until a minute ago I was watching TV.”

  Mr. Braddock shook his head. “Ben, I don’t know what to say to you.”

  “You don’t.”

  “No.”

  “Well what’s the problem then.”

  “You’re asking me what the problem is?”

  Benjamin shrugged and reached into the pocket of his shirt for a new cigarette. “I don’t see that there is one,” he said. “The only problem I see is that you came busting in here and turned off a program.”

  “Ben,” his father said, shaking his head. “Can’t you talk to me? Can’t you try and tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Look,” Benjamin said. “Nothing’s wrong at all. I mean you—you walk in here, you turn off the TV, you start wringing your hands and crying and asking me what’s the problem. Just what in the hell do you want.”

  “Have you just lost all hope?”

  “Oh my God,” Benjamin said. He lit his cigarette and dropped the match into the ash tray.

  “Well what is it then,” Mr. Braddock said, holding up his hands. “You sleep all day long. You drink and watch television all night. Sometimes you disappear after dinner and don’t come home till the next day. And you’re trying to tell me there’s no problem? Ben, you’re in a complete tailspin.”

  “I’m in a complete tailspin.”

  “Ben,” Mr. Braddock said, “we are your parents.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “We want to know what you’re doing. Ben, what do you do when you take off after dinner. Do you sit in bars? Do you go to the movies? Is there a girl you’re meeting somewhere?”

  “No.”

  “Well then what.”

  “I drive around.”

  “All that time?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mr. Braddock shook his head. “That’s rather hard to believe,” he said.

  “So don’t believe it.” Benjamin reached down for the can of beer on the rug beside his chair.

  “And what are your plans. Do you have any plans at all?”

  Benjamin swallowed some beer and returned the can to the rug. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Look,” he said. “I’m perfectly content. All summer long you nagged at me to have a good time. So now I’m having one. So why not leave well enough alone.”

  “This is what you call having a good time?”

  “This is what I call having a ball.”

  Benjamin finished his cigarette slowly. When he was done he ground it out in the ash tray and sat a few moments longer with his arms resting on the arms of the chair and staring ahead of him at the dark screen. Then he glanced up at his father. “Do I have your permission to turn on the television?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t.”

  “No.”

  Mr. Braddock stood and walked to the window of the den. He looked out into the dark back yard. “I want to talk about this,” he said.

  “Dad, we’ve got nothing to say to each other.”

  “But we’ve got to, Ben.”

  “We don’t.”

  “Ben I—I want to talk about values. Something.”

  “You want to talk about values,” Benjamin said.

  “Do you have any left?”

  Benjamin frowned. “Do I have any values,” he said. “Values. Values.” He shook his head. “I can’t think of any at the moment. No.”

  “How can you say that, son.”

  “Dad, I don’t see any value in anything I’ve ever done and I don’t see any value in anything I could possibly ever do. Now I think we’ve exhausted the topic. How about some TV”

  “You’re twenty-one years old,” his father said.

  “Come on, Dad.”

  “You have a wonderful mind and you’re a well-educated young man.”

  “Dad,” Benjamin said, reaching into his shirt pocket for another cigarette, “let’s not beat around the bush. If you’re trying to tell me you’re throwing me out of the house why not come out with it.”

  “I’m not, Ben.”

  “Excuse me then. It sounded like you might be leading up to something of that nature.”

  “I’m leading up to this, Ben. There are certain things you seem completely unaware of.”

  “Such as.”

  “Well,” Mr. Braddock said, “such as a few economic facts of life if you want to put it that way.”

  “Economics.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think I’m aware of them.”

  “Are you?”

  Benjamin nodded. “I seem to remember taking a course or two on that subject,” he said.

  “Well you don’t seem to have gotten much out of it.”

  “As I recall,” Benjamin said, lighting his cigarette, “I got the highest grade in the class.”

  Mr. Braddock remained standing with his back to his son, looking out the window. “Well Ben,” he said, “for all your intellectuality you don’t—”

  “I am not an intellectual!” Benjamin said. He dropped his match in the ash tray. “If you want to stand there and insult me I’d appreciate it if you’d stop short of that.”

  “For all your education, Ben, you seem rather naive about certain things. One of them is that someday you are going to have to earn a living.”

  “Am I?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you going broke or something? You can’t afford to feed me anymore?”

  Mr. Braddock turned around to face him.

  Benjamin stood. “Now look!” he said, waving his arm through the air. “I have been a goddamn—a goddamn ivy-covered status symbol around here for four years. And I think I’m entitled to—”

  “What did you say?”

  “What?”

  “A status symbol? Is that what you said?”

  Benjamin stared at him a moment, then looked down at the rug. “I didn’t mean that,” he said.

  “Is that how you feel, Ben?”

  “No.”

  “That your mother and I think of you as—”

  “No!”

  “Because—”

  “Be quiet a minute. Now Dad? I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’m grateful for the education. But let’s face it. It didn’t work out. It wasn’t worth a damn. Not one single damn thing was it worth.”

  Mr. Braddock returned slowly to the desk and seated himself. “I don’t know quite what to say,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean that about the ivy-covered—”‘

  “All right,” he said. “But Ben?”

  “What.”

  “Something has to be done. Maybe the education didn’t work out, as you put it. Maybe it wasn’t worth a damn. But you can’t go on like this.”

  “I try not to bother anyone.”

  “Well that’s hardly the point. Just the life you’re leading is taking it out of both your mother and me. I’m afraid your mother’s much more upset than she lets you know.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “And let’s be honest about this, Ben. Your mother and I are certainly as much to blame as you are for whatever is happening.”

  “No you aren’t.”

  “Well we are. We’ve raised you. We’ve tried to instill certain values into your thinking.”

  “Dad, I’m not blaming you.”

  “Well I’m blaming me then.”

  “Well y
ou shouldn’t.”

  “Ben,” Mr. Braddock said, “something is horribly wrong.”

  “Look Dad,” Benjamin said. “This is getting kind of melodramatic. Why don’t we—”

  “Just that?”

  “What?”

  “This is just melodrama to you?”

  “Dad, look,” he said. “The graduate comes home. He gets disillusioned. He gets bitter. He sits around home and goes to pot. His parents wring their hands and blame his failings on themselves. I mean—yes.” He nodded. “It has kind of a hearts and flowers ring to it.”

  Mr. Braddock was about to say something more when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. Mrs. Braddock opened it and looked into the room.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Robinson are here,” she said. “Will you come out and say hello?”

  Benjamin took a step backward toward the other door. “I’ll be in my room,” he said.

  “Ben?”

  “Mother, I don’t feel too well.”

  His father was frowning at him from the desk. “Ben?” he said.

  “What.”

  “What’s going on.”

  “I don’t know,” Benjamin said. “I get these cramps sometimes after dinner. It helps if I lie down.”

  Still frowning at him, his father rose from his chair. Benjamin glanced up at them a moment, then down at the floor. “There,” he said. “There. It’s better.” He nodded.

  “Will you come out and say hello to the Robinsons?”

  “Sure. I’d like to.”

  Mrs. Robinson was standing with her back to the fireplace, wearing the same brown suit she had worn the first night Benjamin had met her at the hotel.

  “Hi,” Benjamin said.

  “How are you.”

  “Fine thank you.”

  “Looks like you’ve been in for a swim,” Mr. Robinson said, holding out his hand.

  “Yes sir,” Benjamin said, shaking it. “This afternoon. I guess—I guess I haven’t gotten around to changing yet.”

  “Well,” Mr. Robinson said. “Have a seat. I haven’t seen you for a while.”

  Benjamin sat down on the sofa. Mr. Robinson sat beside him.

  “What’re you up to.”

  “Sir?”

  “What’re you doing with yourself these days.”

  “Oh,” Benjamin said. “Not too much. Taking it easy.”

  Mr. Robinson nodded. “That’s what I’d do if I could,” he said. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Yes sir. Thank you.”

  “So what are your plans,” Mr. Robinson said.

  “Indefinite,” Benjamin said.

  “I guess you’ve pretty well given up this teaching idea you had.”

  “Don’t speak too soon—” Mrs. Braddock said.

  “What?”

  “I still think Ben’s going to be a teacher someday.”

  “I might at that,” Benjamin said. “I guess I can’t—I guess it’s pretty hard to say at this stage of the game.”

  “Sure it is,” Mr. Robinson said. “You take it easy. How’s the girl situation.”

  “What?”

  “Have you dug up any of those old girls you used to go to high school with?”

  Benjamin shook his head. “I haven’t been doing much dating,” he said.

  “Well what’s wrong with you.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” Mr. Robinson said, winking at his mother. “You can’t tell me you don’t have somebody stashed away.”

  “Oh no. No. No.”

  “Where’s the old college spirit.”

  “No. I mean I don’t—I don’t—”

  “Excuse me,” Mrs. Robinson said. “I’ll find a glass of water.” She left the room.

  “Ben, you go help her,” Mrs. Braddock said.

  Benjamin stood up and hurried out to the kitchen with Mrs. Robinson. “The glasses are up here,” he said. He reached up and handed her one.

  “Benjamin?”

  “Be quiet,” he said.

  “Benjamin, I think you’d better go up to your room or something.”

  Benjamin shook his head and walked quickly out of the kitchen and back into the living room. Mrs. Robinson filled her glass and followed him.

  “Hey Ben,” Mr. Robinson said.

  “Yes?”

  “Come on back and sit down a minute.”

  Benjamin returned to the sofa.

  “Elaine’s coming down for a few days at Thanksgiving. I want you to call her up this time.”

  “I will.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know,” Benjamin said. “I know you do.”

  “Because I just think you two would hit it off real well together.”

  Benjamin nodded. “When—I mean when does she get down,” he said.

  “I’m not sure of the exact date,” Mr. Robinson said. “I’ll let your father know when I find out.”

  For a long time it was quiet. Benjamin sat looking down at the rug. Once he glanced up at his mother, who was sitting in her chair watching him, then he looked for a moment at his father’s shoes and quickly back at the rug in front of him. His mother cleared her throat. Mr. Robinson moved slightly on the couch beside him. Then it was perfectly quiet again.

  “What—what’s wrong,” Benjamin said.

  “I know what I wanted to ask you,” Mrs. Robinson said, walking across the room. “Where did you find this lamp.”

  Everyone turned to watch her bend over and look at a lamp on the table in the corner of the room.

  “Where did that come from,” Mrs. Braddock said. “Wasn’t that given to us?”

  Mr. Braddock nodded. “It was a gift,” he said. “We’ve had it for years.”

  “I was looking for one this size last week,” she said. “But I don’t think they make them any more.”

  “I’ll keep my eye open,” Mrs. Braddock said.

  “Would you?”

  “Surely.”

  Mrs. Robinson smiled at her, then turned to her husband and raised her eyebrows. “We really should run,” she said.

  ***

  Later in the evening Benjamin was standing in his room at the window when his mother opened the door and stepped inside. “Can I talk to you a minute?” she said. “What? Sure.”

  She closed the door behind her. “Benjamin?” she said. “Can I ask you what’s on your mind?” He frowned at her.

  “There’s something on your mind,” she said. “Can you tell me what it is?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. “Is it something to do with the Robinsons?”

  “What?”

  “You seemed—you seemed awfully uncomfortable downstairs with the Robinsons.”

  Benjamin nodded. “I was,” he said. “Well is—is something wrong?”

  He nodded again and walked to the window. “Mother,” he said, “I feel guilty.”

  “What?”

  “I feel guilty sitting around home like this. I’m afraid your friends think I’m just a bum.”

  “Oh no, Ben.”

  “Well I get that feeling,” Benjamin said. “I got it the other night when the Terhunes were here. Then I got it tonight when the Robinsons came over.”

  “Ben, they think the world of you.”

  “They think I should be out working. They think I should be at school.”

  “Oh no, Ben,” she said. She walked across the room to him and took his hand. He pulled it away and shook his head.

  “I feel worthless, Mother. I feel rotten about what I’m doing.”

  “You’ll get over this, Ben,” she said. “It’s just a stage you’re in. You’ll get over it.”

  “Well I hope so.”

  “You will,” she said. “So don’t worry about it. Our friends think you’re one of the finest people they know.”

  Benjamin nodded. His mother turned around and walked back toward the door, then stopped. “Benjamin?”

  “What.”

  “I’m going to ask you
something but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

  “What,” he said.

  “Well I’m going to ask you what you do when you go off at night.”

  “When I go off?”

  She nodded.

  Benjamin frowned down at the rug and began shaking his head.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.”

  “No, I do,” he said. “I want to tell you.” It was quiet for several moments. “I drive around,” he said. “What else.”

  “Nothing else.”

  “Well you don’t drive around from midnight till noon the next day, Benjamin.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Then what do you do. Do you meet someone?”

  “Meet someone?”

  She nodded.

  “Why did you say that.”

  “Well this is your business, Benjamin,” she said, turning back toward the door. “If you—”

  “No wait. Wait.” She stopped.

  “I don’t meet anyone, Mother, but why did you say that.” She shook her head. “Because I can’t imagine what else you’d do.”

  “But what do you mean by ‘meet someone.’ “

  “Let’s forget it.”

  “No.”

  “Benjamin, I’m not going to pry into your affairs,” she said, “but I’d rather you didn’t say anything at all than be dishonest.”

  “What?”

  “Good night, Benjamin.”

  “Well wait.”

  She frowned at him.

  “You think I’m being dishonest?”

  She nodded.

  “Well why do you—why do you think that.”

  “Because I know you don’t drive around for twelve hours.”

  “Oh,” Benjamin said. “Well I don’t. Shall I tell you what I do?”

  “Not if you don’t want.”

  “I do.”

  “But I don’t want you to make up something.”

  “I’m not,” Benjamin said. “But I’m—I’m not very proud of what I do. I usually get kind of drunk. I usually drive over to Los Angeles and go to some bars and get kind of drunk. Then I take a hotel room. So I won’t have to drive home on the freeway. I mean it kind of scares me to drive home after—”