The Graduate

by Charles Webb

  “Good night, Benjamin.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Well Mother?”

  “What.”

  “You believe me, don’t you.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t?”

  She shook her head.

  “But I want you to,” he said. “Please. Please will you believe me!”

  “Good night,” she said.

  As soon as she had left the room Benjamin sat down at his desk and pulled out a sheet of stationery to write a letter to Mrs. Robinson.

  Dear Mrs. Robinson,

  I cannot go on seeing you. It is ruining me and it is ruining my parents and I am a nervous wreck. My life is going quickly down the drain and right now at this moment I have got to do something. I don’t know what. I am in a complete tailspin. I am thoroughly despicable in everything I am doing with you. Please burn this letter as soon as you have read it.

  I am going to teach. I will see if they might possibly give me the award back and if not I will either work my way through graduate school somehow or accept a position at one of the colleges that made offers while I was still at school. That is the only possible choice I have other than being a filthy degenerate all my life. I hope you will understand that this decision in no way reflects upon yourself insofar as your desirability etc. are concerned but I can’t live with myself any longer as I am. When you and your husband were here tonight it was all I could do to keep from screaming and running out of the room. I don’t know why I should feel that way because I do not think what we are doing is of much consequence but for some reason it is making a nervous wreck of me which is something I don’t particularly want to be the rest of my life.

  The door of Benjamin’s room opened suddenly. His hand froze on the page.

  “Ben?” his father said.

  Benjamin looked quickly around the desk and then slid the stationery box over the letter and stood.

  “Ben,” his father said, “your mother tells me you’re a little worried about what our friends think of you.”

  “Oh,” Benjamin said. “Well. I hate—I hate for them to think I’m just loafing around.”

  “Well Ben, what’s happening is a problem. It’s a terribly serious problem. But don’t worry about our friends because they know you’re a wonderful person.”

  Benjamin nodded. “Well I feel—I feel a little uncomfortable with them sometimes.”

  “It’s Mrs. Robinson, isn’t it.”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. Robinson makes you feel a little uncomfortable, doesn’t she.”

  “Well no,” Benjamin said, suddenly shaking his head. “She’s—I mean I don’t—”

  “Ben, I’ve known that woman for nearly twenty years and I still don’t know her.”

  “What?”

  “She’s a funny one, Ben.”

  “Oh,” Benjamin said.

  “There’s something about her that makes anybody feel uncomfortable. I don’t know what. But don’t let it—don’t let it throw you.” Mr. Braddock folded his arms across his chest. “Ben,” he said, “I’m afraid they’re a pretty miserable couple.”

  “They are?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I think she gives him a pretty hard time. I’ve never spoken to him about it but I think he’s pretty disappointed with her.”

  “Oh,” Benjamin said. He sat back down in the chair.

  “You won’t let this go beyond you and me.”

  “Oh no.”

  “But she’s—she’s really not much of a person. She never says much. She never makes any effort socially or any other way.” He shook his head. “I’d be interested to know how they ever got together in the first place.”

  “Well,” Benjamin said. “She’s—I think she’s fairly good looking.”

  “She’s damn attractive,” his father said. He stood looking down at the rug a few moments. “But she’s not honest, Ben.”

  “She’s not.”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s devious. I don’t think she was ever taught the difference between right and wrong the way you and I were. It’s just a feeling I get about her. I couldn’t tell you why.” He looked up to smile. “So,” he said, “don’t let her throw you.”

  “I won’t.”

  “What are you doing there.”

  “What?”

  “Writing a letter?”

  “Oh yes. Yes I am. This boy I graduated with. We were going to keep in touch but we never did.”

  “Good,” his father said, grinning at him. “Keep up the old contacts. You never know when they’ll come in handy.” He turned and walked out the door.

  Benjamin waited till he was downstairs, then closed the door and locked it. He returned to his desk and slid the stationery box off the letter and continued.

  I don’t know if you were ever taught the difference between right and wrong or not, but since I was, I feel a certain obligation to it and cannot continue in as devious a fashion as I have been. Since we never exactly lose ourselves in conversation I’m not sure how you feel about things but obviously what we are doing can only lead to some kind of disaster if we go on, so I feel, and I hope you do, that this is a good place to stop. Please don’t think I haven’t enjoyed having an affair with an “older woman” as I have not only enjoyed it but consider it a worthwhile part of my general education. But it will be much better, I know, to remember it as it has been rather than as something it might become.

  Best wishes,

  Benjamin

  “I got your note,” Mrs. Robinson said, several evenings later over their drinks in the Verandah Room.

  “The note,” Benjamin said. “I’m afraid I got a little carried away there for a moment.”

  “Devious?” she said.

  “What?”

  “Do you really think I’m devious?”

  “I said I got carried away. Now let’s forget about it.” The affair continued on into the fall. At first Mrs. Robinson had sent Benjamin a note in the mail whenever she wanted to see him and he had met her in the Verandah Room the next evening near midnight. During the first month the notes had arrived not more than once a week. Then they began to arrive more frequently and finally Benjamin asked her not to send them because his mother usually took in the mail before he got up and had asked him several times who was sending them. Instead it was arranged that Benjamin would call Mrs. Robinson each afternoon and she would tell him over the phone if she could be at the hotel that night. One week he met her five nights in a row.

  On the days that he met her Benjamin would eat dinner with his parents as usual, watch television until nearly midnight, then dress in his suit and drive to the hotel. At the hotel he would buy Mrs. Robinson a martini, then take a room for them. In the beginning he had gone up ahead to wait for her but after the first few weeks he waved at her from the entrance of the bar when he had gotten the room and they rode up together in the elevator. When they got in the room Benjamin always called down to the desk and left word that they were to call up to his room before dawn. When the call came Mrs. Robinson would get up and dress and drive home to fix breakfast for Mr. Robinson. Benjamin usually would not wake up till late in the morning. Then he would take a shower, dress and pay for the room on his way out of the hotel.

  They seldom spoke to each other after the first several times. Usually they sat at a table next to the window in the Verandah Room looking out the window at the grounds of the hotel.

  “Mrs. Robinson?” Benjamin said one night when the drinks had been brought to the table.

  “What.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt your thoughts, but do you think we might do a little talking?”

  “What?”

  “I say we don’t seem to have very lively conversations, do we.”

  “No we don’t,” she said.

  Benjamin nodded and turned to look at a palm tree outside in the grounds. He finished his drink without saying anything more
, then stood. “I’ll get the room,” he said. He walked into the lobby and to the desk.

  “Give me a twelve-dollar single,” he said.

  “Yes sir,” the clerk said. He pushed the register across the desk and Benjamin signed. “Any luggage tonight, Mr. Gladstone?” he said.

  Benjamin shook his head and walked back into the Verandah Room and to the table and dangled the key in front of Mrs. Robinson’s face. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They rode up in the elevator without talking and walked quietly down the hall and Benjamin opened the door and they walked in and shut it, still without saying anything. Mrs. Robinson removed her coat and dropped it on one of the chairs. Then she smiled at Benjamin and walked across the room to him and reached up to untie the knot of his tie.

  “Wait a minute,” Benjamin said. He pushed her hand away. “Sit down a minute,” he said.

  Mrs. Robinson raised her eyebrows.

  “Will you please sit down a minute,” Benjamin said, pointing at the bed.

  Mrs. Robinson waited a moment, then turned around and walked to the bed. She seated herself on the end of it and reached down to remove one of her shoes.

  “No,” Benjamin said.

  “What?”

  “Will you leave the shoe on for a minute. Please.”

  She nodded and straightened up.

  “Now,” Benjamin said. “Do you—do you think we could just say a few words to each other first this time?”

  “If you want.”

  “Good,” Benjamin said. He pushed her coat to the side of the chair and seated himself. Then for a long time he sat looking down at the rug in front of him. It was perfectly quiet. He glanced up at her, then back down at the carpet.

  “I mean are we dead or something?” he said.

  “Well I just don’t think we have much to say to each other.”

  “But why not!”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “I mean we’re not stupid people, are we?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well we aren’t,” he said. “But all we ever do is come up here and throw off the clothes and leap into bed together.”

  “Are you tired of it?”

  “I’m not. No. But do you think we could liven it up with a few words now and then?”

  She didn’t answer him.

  “Look,” Benjamin said, standing up. “Now there is something wrong with two human beings who know each other as intimately as we do who can’t even speak together.”

  “Well what do you want to talk about, darling.”

  “Anything,” he said, shaking his head. “Anything at all.”

  “Do you want to tell me about some of your college experiences?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Well?”

  “Mrs. Robinson. If that’s the best we can do let’s just get the goddamn clothes off and—” She reached down for her shoe.

  “Leave it on!” Benjamin said. “Now we are going to do this thing. We are going to have a conversation. Think of another topic.”

  “How about art.”

  “Art,” Benjamin said. He nodded. “That’s a good subject. You start it off.”

  “You start it off,” she said. “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes I do,” Benjamin said. “I know quite a bit about it.”

  “Go ahead then.”

  Benjamin nodded. “Art,” he said. “Well what do you want to know about it.” She shrugged.

  “Are you interested more in modern art or more in classical art.”

  “Neither,” she said.

  “You’re not interested in art?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t.”

  Benjamin nodded and looked back down at the rug. “Can I take off my clothes now?”

  “No. Think of another topic.”

  Mrs. Robinson looked up at the ceiling a moment. “Why don’t you tell me what you did today,” she said.

  Benjamin stood up and walked to one of the curtains. “Mrs. Robinson?” he said. “This is pathetic.”

  “You don’t want to tell me about your day?”

  “My day,” Benjamin said.

  “Let’s go to bed.”

  “I got up.”

  “What?”

  “I am telling you about my day, Mrs. Robinson.”

  “Oh.”

  “I got up in the morning. About twelve. I ate breakfast. After breakfast I had some beers. After the beers I went out to the pool. I blew air in the raft. I put the raft on the water. I got in the water myself. I floated on the raft.”

  “What are you talking about,” Mrs. Robinson said. “I have this raft I float on in the afternoons,” he said. “Oh.”

  “Then I ate dinner. After dinner I watched two quiz shows. Then I watched half a movie. Then I came here. Now. Tell me about your day.”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “I got up,” she said.

  Benjamin began shaking his head.

  “Do you want to hear it or not?”

  “Yes,” Benjamin said. “But you might try and spice it up with a little originality.”

  “I got up,” Mrs. Robinson said again. “I ate breakfast and went shopping. During the afternoon I read a novel.”

  “What one.”

  “What?”

  “What novel did you read.”

  “I don’t remember.” Benjamin nodded.

  “Then I fixed dinner for my husband and waited until—”

  “There!” Benjamin said, whirling around and pointing at her. “What?”

  “Your husband! Mr. Robinson! There’s something we could have a conversation about.”

  “Him?”

  “I mean everything,” Benjamin said. “I don’t know anything about how you—how you work this. I don’t know how you get out of the house at night. I don’t know the risk involved.”

  “There isn’t any,” she said. “There’s no risk?” She shook her head.

  “But how do you work it. How do you get out of the house.”

  “I walk out.”

  “You walk right out the door?” She nodded.

  “But your husband. What do you say to him.”

  “He’s asleep.”

  “Always?”

  “Benjamin, this isn’t a very interesting topic.”

  “Please,” Benjamin said, “Now tell me. How do you know he won’t wake up sometime and follow you.”

  “Because he takes sleeping pills.”

  “But what if he forgets.”

  “What?”

  “What if he forgets to take them. What if they don’t work one night.”

  “He takes three sleeping pills every night at ten o’clock. Now why don’t we—”

  “No wait,” Benjamin said. “I want to know these things. I mean I can think about them. At ten o’clock I can think about Mr. Robinson taking his three pills.” He cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “He takes the pills. But what about the noise from the car. What if—”

  “The driveway’s on my side of the house.”

  “We’re talking,” Benjamin said, smiling suddenly.

  “What?”

  “We’re talking, Mrs. Robinson. We’re talking!”

  “Calm down, Benjamin.”

  “Now let’s keep going here,” he said, seating himself again in the chair.

  “Can I undress and talk at the same time?”

  “Right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now,” Benjamin said. “You say the driveway’s on your side of the house.”

  She nodded and began unbuttoning her blouse.

  “So I guess you don’t sleep in the same room.”

  “We don’t.”

  “So you don’t … I mean I don’t like to seem like I’m prying but I guess you don’t sleep together or anything.”r />
  “No we don’t,” she said, unbuttoning the final button.

  “Well how long has this been going on.”

  “What.”

  “That you’ve been sleeping in different rooms. Different beds.” Mrs. Robinson looked up at the ceiling a moment. “About five years,” she said. “Oh no.”

  “What?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “You have not slept with your husband for five years?”

  “Now and then,” she said, removing the blouse. “He gets drunk a few times a year.”

  “How many times a year.”

  “On New Year’s Eve,” she said. “Sometimes on his birthday.” Benjamin shook his head. “Man, is this interesting,” he said. “Is it?”

  “So you don’t love him. You wouldn’t say you—”

  “We’ve talked enough, Benjamin.”

  “Wait a minute. So you wouldn’t say you loved him.”

  “Not exactly,” she said, slipping out of her skirt and putting it on the hanger.

  “But you don’t hate him,” Benjamin said.

  “No Benjamin, I don’t hate him. Undo my bra.” She backed up to the chair.

  “You don’t hate him and you don’t love him,” Benjamin said, reaching up to unfasten the two straps of her bra. “That’s right.”

  “Well how do you feel about him then.”

  “I don’t,” she said She dropped the bra on the bureau. “Well that’s kind of a bad situation then, isn’t it.”

  “Is it?”

  “I mean it doesn’t sound like it could be much worse. If you hated him at least you’d hate him.” She nodded and removed her slip. “Well you loved him once, I assume,” Benjamin said. “What?”

  “I say I assume you loved your husband once. When you first knew him.”

  “No,” she said. “What?”

  “I never did, Benjamin. Now let’s—”

  “Well wait a minute,” he said. “You married him.”

  She nodded.

  “Why did you do that.”

  “See if you can guess,” she said. She unfastened her stockings from their clasps and began peeling them down over her legs. “Well I can’t,” Benjamin said. “Try.”

  “Because of his money?”