“Kate, that’s not what I meant.” David looked at his watch and I sighed; we were always saying goodbye.
“If we leave immediately, I can just barely get you back to Blaine Hall by eleven.”
I sighed again. “All right, I’m ready.” I took the cloth from my pocket, found a dry edge, and daubed my nose, sniffing audibly.
“Dearest, please don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Yes you are. I can hear you sniffing.
“I am not crying. It’s so damn cold out here my nose is running.”
Taken aback by my unaccustomed profanity, David began to laugh.
“You really didn’t sign out at the residence hall?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you want to spend the night here? Alone,” he added hastily.
“I can take the bus back in the morning.”
“Then let’s go below and warm up.” He smiled. “I mean, I’ll make us some hot chocolate”
“Will you promise me something?”
“If I can. What is it?”
“That you won’t look at your watch. If you look at it just one more time I know I’ll scream.”
He removed his watch and slipped it in my pocket.
Down in the cabin David lit the trawler lamp, pumped up the kerosene tank, and turned on the stove. He set the flowerpot on one burner and the tea kettle on the other while I huddled under a blanket, waiting for the makeshift heater to take the chill out of the air.
David went forward and I heard him moving the chain. “You’ll need something besides those blankets if you’re going to spend the night on the boat. I have a sleeping bag up here somewhere.” One anchor banged against another. “Eureka!”
He returned carrying a sail bag, from which he pulled the sleeping bag itself, a voluminous down-filled creature that mushroomed out over the berth and on to the cabin sole.
“This will keep you good and warm; the bag’s rated at zero degrees Fahrenheit, an arctic bag. I used it last summer, and even in Alaska’s rigorous climate I nearly roasted. If you get too warm, just open the bottom zipper.”
I hugged the first three or four feet of the bag to me with a giggle. “Sleeping in it will remind me of you.”
David sniffed the other end. “God, I hope not; the bag hasn’t been washed in months.”
Together we pulled out the settee on the starboard side, converting it to a double berth, and stuffed a couple of blankets behind us to serve as a backrest. David made hot chocolate, poured the remaining hot water into a thermos bottle, took off his shoes and climbed into the bunk beside me, pulling the sleeping bag over us.
He put his right arm around my shoulder. “Let’s get one thing straight. When I said tonight wasn’t so great for me, or whatever I said, I wasn’t referring to you. I was angry with myself, at my lack of self-control. We’ve reached the sexual Rubicon, you know. I want to make love to you, Kate, but not the way we did this evening. I don’t mean the cold weather or the hard cockpit seat, though God knows they were bad enough. I mean if you decide … if you agree … that yours will be a rational decision, if such a thing is possible, and not because you’re carried away by some sex-starved professor who has one hand in your blouse and the other in your pants. I made a bad mistake once because I was too foolish to consider the consequences of my actions and I’ve been regretting that mistake for 23 years. I don’t want to ruin your life the same way. You’re still very young and you have the optimism of youth; believing every problem has a solution is practically an American axiom, like thinking it’s never too late to change, or there’s always a second chance. But, my dear, that’s simply not true. Sometimes we take actions which are irrevocable, actions which alter the course of our lives forever. In 23 years you’ll be 42. How will you remember me when you’re 42? Will you think of me fondly as the first man who ever loved you, or will I manage to destroy your happiness, as well as my own?”
“Can’t we be happy just for this moment? I don’t even want to worry about next year, let alone how I’m going to feel a whole lifetime away. Besides, when I’m 42 what makes you think I’ll ‘remember’ you? Can’t I love you then, too?”
David smiled sadly and shook his head. “Dearest, when you’re 42 I’ll be 70; you’ll be in the prime of life and I’ll be an old man. One of these days you’re going to meet someone your own age and you’ll forget all about me. Don’t look at me so reproachfully; that’s the way it ought to be, and if I weren’t so selfish, it’s what I’d wish for you. But I’ll be honest with you Kate, I’ll be devastated when that happens, utterly devastated. I’m not asking you to make any promises you can’t keep. What can I offer you in return? Suppose, on the other hand, you don’t meet someone else. You’ll still wake up some morning full of regret because you’ve wasted so many years of your life on me. Do you remember telling me about your dream of being on a raft? Well, I’ve been on a raft too, just drifting along, not heeding where I’m going. Oh, occasionally I glance up and see the shoals ahead and I stick a feeble twig in the water to change course, but the current carries me on, inexorably. After Mateo’s letter … his death… I started thinking about us, where we’re heading. It’s rather obvious where we’re heading, and if we’re going together, at least I want a rudder, a compass, and some charts. And, most important, I want you aware of the dangers ahead, all the uncertainties. That’s the reason I asked you out here tonight, what I wanted to say to you, Kate, before we got lost up there in the stars. I can offer you nothing, not a name, not a home, not a child, not a future, absolutely nothing, and I’m suggesting … oh, I don’t know, I just don’t know.”
I laid down the cup of chocolate and put my arms around him. “You have everything to offer me, all the things I’ve never had before – friendship, affection, understanding. I love you, David. This is the first time I’ve ever said those words to anyone. I love you so much that nothing else matters. I don’t care about tomorrow or next week or next year. I want to be happy now.” Neither of us said anything for a while. “David?”
“Yes, dear.”
My curiosity finally overcame my shame. “I’m awfully embarrassed to ask you this, but there’s something I simply have to know.”
“What is it?”
I buried my face in his shoulder. “After what we did … am I still a virgin?”
David was trying hard not to laugh. He smiled and shook his head slowly with disbelief. "Who but you could ask a question like that? I’m not making fun of you. If you were a virgin before, you still are.”
“Well I was… am.”
“I never doubted it for a moment.” David’s eyes were laughing. “What makes you ask me, anyway, couldn’t you tell?”
“I don’t know how … intercourse is supposed to feel and besides … what was that liquid? I thought it was my own blood.”
“Kate,” he said softly, “I never penetrated you. I ejaculated outside your vagina. That liquid was semen.”
“So much?”
“It’s been two weeks.”
I didn’t understand his answer. David continued. “I suppose there’s a remote – infinitesimally remote - chance you could become pregnant. When was your last period?”
My face turned crimson; I’d never even discussed menstruation with a doctor, let alone anyone else. “A few days ago.”
He sighed. “I wish I’d known that earlier. No, this way is better; at least you don’t have any regrets.”
“But if it’s how you said, then why am I … so wet inside?”
“Because, dearest, you’re sexually aroused. That’s nature’s way of giving pleasure to both of us and making it easier for me – when the time comes.”
“One more thing.”
“Mmmm?” David was nuzzling the nape of my neck.
“When we were in the cockpit and I reached under the blanket … I didn’t mean to … I thought that was your flashlight pushing against my thigh.”
David chuckled. “No of
fense taken. I think it would be safer to change the subject.”
“Ah.” I threw my leg over him playfully and nibbled his ear. We kissed again and the old feelings of desire welled up once more. He looked at me speculatively. “David,” I whispered, “can we…”
He leaped off the bunk, laughing, and sat down opposite me on the other side of the cabin.
“Yes, my little temptress, we probably could, but we’re not going to. I’m getting out of here before you rape me.” He put on his shoes. “Seriously, Kate, I need to leave now. I’m turning off the stove. I put plenty of water in the thermos and it should still be hot in the morning.”
David opened the valve and the pressure escaped from the kerosene tank with sharp hiss. He put on his jacket and I sat up, sighing.
“I’ll leave the padlock down here, just be sure you lock the boat when you go. Here’s the marina key so you can use the toilet. Do you know how to extinguish the trawler lamp, or shall I do it now?” We were saying goodbye again and I was starting to get depressed.
“I know how. I have some more typing ready for you. I’ll bring it tomorrow at three.”
We kissed goodnight and David climbed into the cockpit, letting in a blast of cold air as he opened the hatch. Sturmvogel rocked gently when David stepped on the dock. I pressed my face to a porthole and watched him as he walked toward the marina gate; he didn’t look back.
For the first time I was alone on Sturmvogel; without David the cabin was cheerless, and the varnished wood and gleaming lanterns on which he lavished such care only reminded me of their absent owner. I put my arms around the mast and pressed my ear against its surface. The hollow spar was like a sounding board, magnifying the creaks and groans of the hull, and from high in the rigging it carried the lonely sigh of the wind. I blew out the lamp, slipped into the down bag, and fell asleep. I never did see Aldebaran.
Chapter 9
Blaine Hall, Room B102
University of Washington, Seattle
Dec. 15, 1956
Dear Mother and Daddy,
I know it’s been a long time since I’ve mentioned sailing. You must
be thinking (and hoping) that I do nothing but study. Finals begin
next week, but I’m caught up, so when Dr. Rosenau and Frank
suggested going for a sail Thursday evening, I decided to go with
them. It was divine – there was no moon and the stars were like
diamonds in the sky…
The chimes were ringing three o’clock the following afternoon when I ran up to David’s office in the Health Sciences Building but, instead of finding the lights on behind the glass door and hearing the sound of music from twenty feet down the hall, his room was dark and a piece of paper was taped to the door:
P.P.M. Meeting 3 - 5
Inquire at office for messages
I read the note several times. What was a P.P.M. meeting? Why hadn’t David called me? I could just as easily have come at a different time. A cold hand clutched my heart as I began to wonder if he was avoiding me. “Inquire at office for messages,” had to mean the typing. I continued down the hall to the departmental office where Iris Williams was bending over a typewriter; she glanced up at me without breaking the rhythm of her fingers on the keys.
“With you in a minute,” she said, returning her gaze to the note pad at her side. Iris’ unwashed hair was falling in front of her eyes and across her forehead, reminding me of a sheepdog. She finished the page, pushed her hair to one side, and looked up.
“What can I do for you?”
“I work for Dr. Rosenau. Did he leave anything for me?”
“Oh, you’re Kate Collins, aren’t you?” A light bulb of recognition flashed on over Iris’ head and we stared at each other for a moment. I felt infamous; she Knew Who I Was.
“Yeah, he asked me to give you this.” Iris took a heavy manila envelope from the corner of her desk and handed the package to me. “He’s very nice, isn’t he?”
“Who?” I said stupidly, and then recovered myself. “Dav… Dr. Rosenau, yes he is.”
Feeling foolish, I turned and left the office. Frank was waiting for me outside the door and fell into step beside me.
“Frank, what’s a P.P.M. meeting?”
“That meeting of David’s? Geez, I don’t know. I think it’s got something to do with the premedical curriculum. I wouldn’t wait for him if I were you. He probably won’t be out much before five. Don’t the two of you usually go over to the HUB about around now?”
I nodded.
“How about joining me for a cup of coffee, instead.”
Frank was too full of Christmas spirit to notice my lack of enthusiasm, and he managed to keep the conversation going with a minimum of input from me. He told me he was driving to Spokane the following week to spend Christmas with his fiancée. Frank had never talked much about her, but that afternoon, encouraged no doubt by the prospect of seeing Kathleen after an absence of several months, he related the complete history of their courtship. They’d met in high school as cheerleaders, which I couldn’t picture – Kathleen sounded too shy and Frank was fresh off the boat from Italy.
After meeting Frank, Kathleen had converted to Catholicism and, as sometimes happens with converts, she became more Catholic than Frank himself, going so far as to spend two years in a convent before deciding to marry him. They’d been engaged for three years, and while Frank completed the work on his Ph.D., Kathleen was studying for her teaching credential at a Catholic women’s college. When I asked if their long separation was physically difficult for them, Frank looked at me aghast; he babbled something about the wife’s being the vase of chastity of the family and how he’d never done more than kiss Kathleen and hardly any of that.
“She’s very pure, you know; she’s with those nuns all day long.”
I was several years younger than either of them, but I suddenly felt old, very old.
“Are you still typing those articles for David?” Frank asked, glancing at the envelope on the table.
“Yes, we haven’t finished yet. He thinks we’ll be done in a couple of months.”
“Can I see what he gave you?”
“Sure, go ahead, but everything’s in Spanish. You may be a biochemist and fluent in Italian, but I don’t think you’ll understand it. I read Spanish as well as I do English and even I don’t know what half of what I’m typing.”
Frank removed a sheaf of papers and thumbed through them as I finished my coffee. He stopped at one page, read it, and looked at me with a frown. “You’re right; I don’t understand.” Frank replaced the manuscript in the envelope, bent the metal tabs carefully in place, and handed me the package.
When I reached the dormitory, I hurried along the hall leading to my room, key in hand, hoping the telephone would be ringing, but the room was silent. I sat down to study with one eye on the clock. By 5:45 I knew the meeting must be over and David still hadn’t called, but I didn’t dare leave the phone, even though I needed to go to the bathroom. I thought of calling the biochemistry department and dismissed the idea. David wasn’t likely to be in his office so late and if, for some reason, he was avoiding me, I had too much pride to let him know I was hurt. At six Norma knocked on my door to ask if I was going to dinner; I threw a final glance at the clock, another at the telephone, and left the room.
After dinner we sat for a long time in a small alcove overlooking the garden while Norma told me about her hunt for a cheap apartment in the university district. The residence hall restrictions disgusted her and, being over 21, she could live where she pleased. With enthusiasm, Norma described the place she’d found, a converted sun porch, large and airy, within walking distance of the campus, if two miles could be called “walking distance” and cheap, because the apartment was perched on the top of a steep hill. Norma wasn’t deterred, however; she was a great walker and big on views. I tried to share her excitement but, in truth, I was going to miss her. Norma wouldn’t understand, of course, for she was to
o self-sufficient to need anyone, just as I’d been before allowing myself to become so dependent on David. The problem of David was weighing on me. I was depressed Norma was moving out and even Frank’s engagement seemed like a sort of defection. I was wallowing in self-pity.
“Norma, do you think it’s true a man loses respect for a girl if she allows him to be too intimate with her?”
Norma lifted her eyebrows in surprise at the unexpected turn in the conversation. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had an opportunity to test that theory. I suppose it depends on the people involved.”
“You know how you read in advice to the lovelorn columns something like ‘I’ve been going with this boy for six months. He’s pestering me to prove my love to him, but I want to save myself for marriage. I’m afraid if I give in he’ll lose all respect for me…’ and so on.”
“Yeah, I’ve read those letters. I’m dying to see one that goes ‘Dear Ann Landers, you’re all wet. I’ve been screwing with my boyfriend every day for six months and we just got married. He said if we had sex first and he still wanted to marry me, that was proof he was interested in more than my body. Signed: Glad I did it.’”
I laughed in spite of myself.
“Judging from the conversations I’ve overheard around here, this dilemma seems to be fairly common. Something tells me your interest in the topic is more than academic.”
A group of girls sat down near us and we left the table to go to my room.
“You’re right,” I said as I unlocked the door. “David and I went sailing last night. I didn’t come back here; I slept on his boat.”
“With David?”
“No, he left around midnight. When I went to his office this afternoon to pick up the typing, there was on his door saying he’d gone to a meeting. He could have called me, but he hasn’t.”
Norma was sitting on my bed with her back against the wall; she stuffed a pillow behind her. “Hey, wait a minute, that’s a non sequitur. What does David’s going to a meeting have to do with your spending the night on the boat? What happened last night?”
Letters To My Mother Page 13