Rodin's Debutante

by Ward Just

  Yes, I do.

  I never got numbers. I never understood them and still don't. Magda looked up to see if Lee was listening. She pushed the whitefish here and there on her plate and took a nervous sip of iced tea. You were always good with explanations, Lee. Sometimes I felt you should be teaching the class. I always felt outside of things at our school, as if I was on probation. I didn't know what was expected of me. I felt shunned. My mother was always working so I came home to an empty house. My father had left us, God knows where. My mother thought he left for Puerto Rico with a woman but she never knew for sure. I still don't know if he's living or dead. Isn't that something?

  Magda, Lee said, I had no idea. I knew there was trouble at home—

  You knew? How did you know?

  People talked, Lee said.

  They talked about my family? she said.

  Everyone was upset, after, Lee said.

  After? she said.

  You were hurt, Lee said.

  I wasn't aware anyone cared, Magda said. She was silent then. The dining room had begun to empty but the bar business was brisk. The waiter took away their plates and asked if they wanted dessert, and Magda shook her head and said, Coffee, and Lee said, Two. When the waiter went away, Lee said, You didn't like your whitefish.

  I have no memory of that day, Magda said. None. I don't remember going to school in the morning and I don't remember my classes. I don't remember lunch. I don't remember where I was or what I was doing when I was—attacked. I don't remember him. I can remember a Christmas window of a department store on State Street when I was eight years old but I can't remember this. I have a friend who's told me it's better off gone, this memory, but I'm not so sure. I tried hypnosis without result, although I don't think the hypnotist was much good. Her specialty was more voodoo than hypnosis. My mother said I didn't speak for months. I think I slept most of the time. That whole period is a blur, including the weeks in the hospital, one operation after another, bright lights in my eyes. The masked faces of doctors. Pain. I was so ashamed.

  I understand, Lee said.

  No, Lee. You don't.

  I'm sorry, he said. Stupid of me.

  Tell me this. Have you ever been ashamed in your life?

  He thought a moment and shrugged. Then he said, Yes.

  Maybe men don't get ashamed, Magda said.

  The waiter arrived with coffee and the check, placed carelessly at Lee's elbow.

  I thought it was my fault, she said. I had done something, said something, I didn't know what. I had brought this terrible thing on myself, yet I had no memory of it. I knew what had happened to me because I looked at my own body. I was frightened. My mother told me later that no one came to see me in the hospital except a policeman who wanted to ask questions and when he saw I was unable to answer them, he went away and did not return. I wanted to die but was afraid I would. When you were cut, did it hurt badly?

  Yes, he said.

  Deep pain, she said.

  Yes, he said again.

  Magda nodded and was silent once again, sipping her coffee and staring off into the empty dining room. The bar crowd was gathered around the entrance, an expectant hush as they listened to a joke and when the punch line came, a blast of laughter. Magda dropped two lumps of sugar into her coffee, stirred the sugar, and waited.

  Magda, I'm so sorry. What an ordeal.

  I am trying to rid myself of a blank space. How do you do that?

  I don't know, Magda.

  You've never had one?

  No, I never have.

  That's why I came back to New Jesper. I had to talk to someone, and I chose you.

  Lee leaned across the table and said, I'm glad you did. I wish I could be of some help. He waited a moment, looking around the dining room, which now seemed to him unspeakably oppressive. All this time he had been remembering the meeting of the Committee, his father, Alfred Swan, the police chief and the banker and Walter Bing and the others, worried about the report in the newspaper. Worried, as he remembered so clearly, about the equilibrium of the town, its reputation. Lee said, I'm wondering if you'd like to take a walk. I've not been back to New Jesper in years. Would you like that?

  All right, she said. It's awfully hot, though.

  We can finish our coffee, Lee said.

  Magda seemed to blush and said, I don't want to meet anyone. I don't know what I'd say to them or they to me. Whatever it would be, I don't think I want to hear it. But everybody's probably forgotten. Do you suppose they have?

  Lee thought a moment and said, Not everybody.

  I suppose not, she said. She toyed with her napkin, then threw it down. I wish he were dead. I want him dead. It's unfair that he's not, that he's walking around free like anyone else. And I'm the only one who could accuse him. Only me. And my memory is gone. I'm no help at all.

  Magda, Lee began, and her eyes widened and she seemed to shrink from the table. A voice behind him said, Lee? Lee Goodell? When he turned he saw Joel Dexter—that was his name, the lawyer's son, the boy who had movie dates with Magda when they were in school and the suspect who had been briefly detained by the police following the assault, though no one believed he had anything to do with it. The police chief refused even to speak his name. Joel looked now much as he did then, short of stature, overweight, heavy eyeglasses, and evidently still the class clown. He had been the one telling jokes. Lee rose and shook hands, and when Joel looked inquiringly at Magda, Lee turned to introduce them, as unnecessary as that would seem. But Magda spoke first.

  Hello, Joel.

  He was flustered and it was obvious he had not the least idea of who she was, this slender young woman dressed as if she had just come from an office somewhere. Magda was much changed since their schooldays.

  It's Magda, she said.

  My goodness, Joel said and took a step back. His hand flew to his mouth and the little fuzzy mustache, new-grown from the look of it. Joel said nothing more and Lee noticed a deep flush of—it was either fear or embarrassment, perhaps some of both, and something more besides. After a long moment, Joel said, I didn't recognize you. Gosh, let me catch my breath. What a surprise. You look very well, Magda.

  With a ghost of a smile, Magda said, You haven't changed a bit, Joel.

  Joel Dexter smiled crookedly, an attempt at charm. Lee had the idea he had drunk too much at lunch and that would be the normal thing for him, a martini before and one during and something to finish up. Joel said, How long have you been here, New Jesper? Are you back for good? It's been such a long time, you'll find our town's changed, and not for the better...

  I'm only here on a visit, Magda said.

  Dexter! someone called from the entrance. Get your ass in gear. We've got business at the office.

  My law partner, Joel said apologetically. I have to go. It's good seeing you again, Magda. I remember the good times we had before ... And he did not finish the sentence, embarrassed again. He said, And you too, Lee. I've heard you're living in Chicago. I saw your father the other day at Probate, he looked well, all business as usual ... Joel reached into a pocket for his wallet, extracted a business card, and handed it to Magda. If there's anything I can do, please call me ... And with that he was gone, hurrying from the room and through the double doors with his law partner.

  She watched him go with a tired smile. They're always like that, Magda said. Men, women too. If they know about the rape of me they're embarrassed, as if it's a disease they might catch. They stammer. They fumble for words. They make false smiles. They don't finish sentences and they don't look you in the eye. In some ways the women are the worst because I know exactly what they're thinking. And they can't wait to get away from me. Magda dropped another lump of sugar into her coffee cup and stirred. Poor Joel, she said. So—at a loss. He was a nice boy. She looked at the business card front and back and put it in the ashtray.

  They sat in silence. The waiter had gone away and they were alone in the big room, empty tables set with fresh linen and flatware. The
afternoon sun cast sharp yellow stripes on the walls and Lee felt a fugitive breeze from the open windows. Lee watched the old scow move away from the dock, the deckhand winding stern lines as the vessel made way from the harbor to open water, its chevron wake bubbling behind. Carl's scows had been at dockside for as long as he could remember. Lee lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl in the stillness.

  I've taken too much of your time, Magda said.

  No, you haven't, Lee replied.

  I haven't been to this restaurant ever, all the years I lived in New Jesper.

  As you can see, you haven't missed much.

  But there's one last thing, Magda said. I want to know what you think of this. My mother and I went to the library to find the files of the World. I thought if I read the account of the rape of me the memory of it might come back, some word or phrase might—rouse it. And then I would know the identity of the man and he would be arrested and punished. The search took us a while. And when we finally located the article we could hardly make sense of the words. "An incident," the story said, but never described the incident. The story was written in a strange sort of code, almost a stammer, fumbling for words. Do you remember it?

  I certainly do.

  Well, then, what was it about, Lee?

  They were embarrassed, Lee said.

  The man who wrote the story was embarrassed?

  Alfred Swan wrote the story. They did not want to embarrass the town.

  The town?

  They had many of the details, clinical details. Exactly what was done to you. Those were suppressed. They were afraid—

  Afraid of what?

  Afraid of alarming people. Afraid the town would be overrun with Chicago reporters. Afraid that the story was too lurid, too frightful, and that reputations would be ruined, yours included. They did not believe that publication of the whole truth would serve anyone's interest. And that was why the story was written as it was. Sanitized. Chaste, I would call it. Lee thought a moment before he added one last thought. He said, You. What happened to you was too heavy a burden.

  The man who raped me, was he a heavy burden also?

  They had no idea who it was, Lee said. They still don't. They had the crime but not the criminal. The victim had no memory of it. That was you. No witnesses, no evidence. They had nothing. No leads.

  Did they try?

  They did try, Lee said. They were frightened too. A maniac in their midst.

  You keep saying "they." Who's "they"?

  The people who run things in New Jesper, Lee said. The mayor, the banker, Walter Bing, Alfred Swan, a few others. My father.

  They decide, Magda said. What is known, what is not known.

  Not always, Lee said. In your case, yes. They see themselves as lawyers with the town as their client. It's pro bono work. No charge.

  I know what pro bono means, Lee.

  They sat in silence. Magda dropped another lump of sugar into her cup, a sharp clink. She said, Do you think we could get more coffee?

  Lee rose from the table and walked into the barroom, where the waiter was reading baseball scores in the sports section of the World. When he asked for coffee the waiter replied that the kitchen was closed. Open it, Lee said. It's closed, the waiter repeated and went back to the paper. Lee bent close to his ear, suddenly unreasonably angry. He said, Do your job. Get the lady a cup of coffee. Do it now. The waiter put the newspaper down and hurried off. Lee returned to the dining room, where he saw Magda standing at the window looking into the harbor, a few small sailboats resting at their moorings, motionless in the airless heat. In the sunlight the water was the color of mercury, oily white. Lee noticed a sweat stain on the back of Magda's white blouse.

  She said, I was such a terrible student and not only math. I thought of myself as stupid. But when my mother and I went away and my wounds healed my attitude changed. I began to take my studies seriously. I knew that I had to make my own way. We were in St. Louis, my mother and I. I went to parochial schools, taught by nuns. They were no-nonsense nuns. Mean, some of them. Very mean. But I was not rebellious, as I am sure you can understand. Rebellion was the furthest thing from my mind. I did well at school and later in the small Catholic college. I converted to the Church and it's become an important part of my life. Even so, you have to make your own way. As for this, all you have told me, I don't know what to think. Magda hesitated, and when she resumed her voice had acquired an unfamiliar tone, hard-edged and caustic. She said, I feel like a piece of merchandise. The stuff in the cut-rate bin at the Dry Goods that's been pawed by a hundred hands. Picked up. Put back. What were they thinking? No one was supposed to know but everyone knew. My story was not worth printing. And the man who did it went free. This awful thing has meant everything to me. I am two people, everything I was up to the age of fifteen and something else since. I am unable to connect the two. I am celibate, you know. I always will be. We teach forgiveness in my church but I am not forgiving. In my school I am not a popular teacher. My students find me strict. A disciplinarian. A tough grader. Unsympathetic. Every day of my life I have a ghost at my elbow. And I want him to go away. I want him dead, whoever he is. I would kill him myself. I'm trying to make sense of this, Lee. I had not thought of being a burden to New Jesper or to anybody. The idea of it I cannot grasp. It's New Jesper that's a burden to me. It was a mistake to come back.

  Lee heard a noise behind them and turned to see the waiter with two fresh cups of coffee. He put them on the table and hurried away. Lee motioned to Magda, but Magda did not move from the window. An old man and a young boy perhaps six years old were standing in shade on the pier, fishing with bamboo poles. The old man was smoking a corncob pipe, the smoke from it hanging in the heavy air. When the boy moved to the edge of the pier in order to look closely at the water, the old man stepped sideways to stand protectively behind him, his hand on the boy's shoulder. Lee smiled at the physical similarity between them and the protectiveness of the old man, a moment that would make a sentimental cover for a magazine or a calendar. Summer, New Jesper. The old man and the boy stood motionless waiting for a fish, but there was hardly a ripple on the surface of the water and no birds either, and what fish there were in deep siesta.

  Magda said, I looked at the police reports. I went to the station house and spoke to the desk sergeant, who refused to let me see them. When I saw the name on his uniform I spoke to him in Spanish. He knew who I was all right and after a moment he went into another room. I heard him on the telephone. In a little while he came back with a folder and handed it to me and said I could read it there, in the waiting room. Then, after another moment, he said I could come with him and he would find a place for me to read in private. The reports are as you say. No evidence at all beyond me. I was evidence. No leads. I was surprised to find the attack occurred in a room off the gym. I didn't know there was a room off the gym. I had only been in the gym once or twice. So that was new. Fresh information, for whatever it's worth. When I returned the file to him, he said he was sorry. He said, I'm sorry for what happened to you. He wanted me to know that the case was still open. I thanked him and said I was happy to meet him. I was, too. He was simpatico.

  Lee said, Do you want your coffee?

  No, Magda said. I think I'll go now.

  Lee said, I'm glad you called me.

  It's good seeing you again, Lee.

  I'm afraid I wasn't much help.

  No, no, she said. I understand things I didn't understand before. I have more to think about now.

  I've told you what I know. I hope I haven't upset you.

  I'm always upset. It's how I live.

  I hope things work out for you, Magda.

  Tell me this, she said. Has your life worked out the way you thought it would?

  Lee hesitated and did not speak for a full minute. He hardly knew how to reply; his life had been so very fortunate. He had never been amnesiac and wondered now if his life would be different if he remembered nothing about the scar on his face. But it w
as only a scar, nothing resembling Magda's ordeal. A minor mystery. He said, I never imagined myself living in Hyde Park. My horizons did not extend to Hyde Park. I didn't know where Hyde Park was. When I was in school I thought that if things broke a certain way I could make a living at sculpture. Whether or not I could make a living at it, sculpture was what I intended to do. Maybe I would have to make a living at something else but I would always work at sculpture. I did know that much. It's where I find the truth of things, and once you know that you'll never give it up.

  Sculpture, Magda said with a smile. Has that held you back?

  Not so far, he said.

  THEY WERE ON THE SIDEWALK in the afternoon glare. The old man and his grandson were walking ahead of them, each with a bamboo pole on his shoulder. The boy was lagging behind. His grandfather said, Come along, Willy. The boy turned suddenly and smiled at Magda, announcing that they had caught no fish. Magda said, Maybe next time, all the fish you can eat. The boy said, I hope so. Magda said, Goodbye, Willy, and then added under her breath, You darling boy.

  Lee and Magda walked in the direction of the train station, but when they reached New Jesper Street Magda said she was going the other way. She kissed Lee shyly on the cheek and said she hoped they would meet again sometime, as unlikely as that was. She was returning to St. Louis in the morning. As Magda spoke she watched the old man and his grandson cross the street hand in hand, Willy chattering on about fishing, wondering if they needed new bamboo poles or different bait. The old man nodded but did not answer, unless his chuckle was a kind of answer.

  Maybe I can be a third person, Magda said suddenly. I have the before and the after but who knows if there's another waiting in the wings, a year or so from now. A later-still Magda. Later-still will be my new life. Wouldn't that be something? Wouldn't that be a gift?

  That's a good thought, Magda. Keep it.

  I will, she said. It's out of reach now.

  Do you think, Magda, Lee said, giving voice at last to the thought that had been with him all afternoon, from the moment she asked him where he got his scar. Do you think it's possible that you're fortunate having no memory of what was done to you? You're living with an unknown and have done for all these years. As you said to my father, your memory is asleep. It may never wake up. And so your imagination has taken charge, and yours is vivid. I know that without being told.