I watched Daddy the next few days. The only change I could notice was that he seemed much too intent on all of us having a good time. He followed Stanley or me or Asoka around the boat telling us he knew we were bored, he knew this hanging around, reading or sunbathing, or just looking at empty ocean could get awfully dull. Did we want to pull into some yacht club? Did we want to anchor and fish? Should we head for Newport right away? He tried to sunbathe with Beejee and drove her crazy, apologizing. “I just felt the need to get away from people,” he kept saying. “Not you . . . not my family. Just the mad chase.”
He didn’t even react when Beejee confessed about the party. When she told him his very special, two thousand dollar Greek vase had bit the dust, he just hugged her, called her “old girl,” and told her he didn’t blame her a bit. He would have done the same thing if he were a woman and had married Sam Grove.
The morning of the fourth day out, neither Daddy nor Beejee appeared for breakfast. Around noon Beejee came out on deck looking quite radiant. “I don’t know whether to cry or shout for joy,” she told me. “Your father made love to me most of the night. He was wonderfully gentle and affectionate. Then this morning he slept in my arms like a baby. I don’t dare ask him what has happened.” Beejee sighed. “In our twelve years of marriage, I’ve never known Sam could be like that. Pray for me, honey. Pray that it lasts.”
Poor Beejee. It didn’t last. The next night after dinner, even before the dishes were cleared away, Daddy started drinking heavily. Most of his meal had been liquid and he only dabbled with his steak. When all of us refused further drinks, telling him it was too soon after dinner, Daddy grinned and said hollowly, “It’s not too soon for me. It’s too late.” He slumped on one of the sofas and stared at us. “Sometime tonight I’m going to get drunk enough to walk down to the stern of this ship and consign what remains of Sam Grove to his maker.”
“Sam, please. I told you to go easy on the liquor,” Beejee said. “Let’s play gin rummy and stop talking crazy. I’m really quite fed up with drinking and all the stupidities that people say under the influence of alcohol.”
“You are right,” Daddy said grimly. He hurled the remains of his drink, glass and all, out the door of the lounge, and over the rail of the boat. “If I’m going to do it, and I must, then I’ll do it in full control of my senses.”
“What’s bothering you, Sam?” Stanley asked. “Has something gone wrong with Grove Oil?”
“Not Grove,” Daddy said. He was silent for a long time. “Not Grove. Just Sam Grove. The machinery is giving out. In less than three months Sam Grove will stop running. In four or five at the latest, he will be dead. I have incurable cancer in my stomach, and upper bowel. They opened me up in London to make sure. After taking a long look, they told me a colosotomy and wearing a bag of shit would get me nowhere, that I might as well prepare to meet my maker.”
Daddy poured himself another Scotch. “It’s true enough,” he said quietly. “I’m not the type that would make a joke out of death. I’m going to die. I have had two weeks to think about it, and I’m still not adjusted to it. I suppose we are all going to die, but I’ve been too busy to think about it before this.”
Desperate, we all started talking at once. There must be some hope. When did he first know about it? Why had he been so secretive? The doctors could be mistaken.
Beejee tried to tell him about a distant acquaintance who had had a colostomy. It was more than ten years ago. He was still living. She sat beside him and held his hand. “Sam, you musn’t give up.”
“It’s no use, Beejee,” he said. “I’ve explored every avenue of hope for several months now. I’m dying and I must face it. I’ve made thousands of decisions in my life. The only difference between all of you and me is that I know roughly, give or take a month or two, when I’m going to die. I also know that the final month or two will be a slow, agonizing process with me wanting to die, and the doctors morally obliged to fill me with morphine and keep me breathing. At that point I won’t be Sam Grove any longer but a shell with a heart that refuses to let go; beating feebly in a body that is already dead. I’ve had friends go that way. All that anyone could say was, “If only God would take him. If only he would die and get it over with.” That’s not going to happen to me. I am going to die with dignity. All I am asking you, the only people who really care one way or the other, is not to get maudlin about it. A year from now, the month or so longer that I might have lived isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference. Please, Beejee,” Daddy patted her hand “Stop whimpering and listen to me . . . you, too, Sheila.”
Stanley had listened to Sam dry-eyed but fascinated. “Sam, why do you want to be so dramatic about it? Why prey on our emotions? Are you looking for pity? If I were deciding to kill myself, I’d just do it. I wouldn’t make a production out of it.”
I looked at Stanley horrified, believing that he had at last revealed an unsuspected cruelty in his character. “Do you have to be so cold blodded, Stanley?” I half-sobbed, half-screamed. “Daddy isn’t going to do anything crazy. Daddy needs love and sympathy. We’re not discussing the weather or politics.” Stanley told me later that he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Daddy’s dispassionate appraisal wasn’t real.... We all must be dreaming it.
Daddy shrugged. “Please let’s look at it calmly. If I killed myself in a conventional way, I could do it a la Hemingway, and blow my brains out. A very virile ending, and rather in character for a man who has lived like I have. But unfortunately it would have a disastrous repercussion on Grove Oil stock. All the stock holders would be looking for financial reasons. After giving it a good deal of thought it seemed to me that scattering my brains around a room and leaving my relatives to pick up the mess is not only pretty dramatic, but down right shocking. I could do it a la Hollywood, a painless exit, caused by an overdose of sleeping pills. But the truth is that I lack the courage for such a slow approach. I might even change my mind at the last minute and start yelling for a stomach pump. Now the way that I have decided has several advantages. First, it gives me the opportunity to discuss it with you as rational human beings. I can give you brief assurances that your financial security will be no problem for any of you. Second, I plan to do it very quickly. I never learned how to swim ... too busy making money. I have some trousers with lead weights sewn in....”
“Oh, my God, Sam!” Beejee gasped. “This is inhuman!”
Sam ignored her. “I’m not looking for an audience. A man dies better alone. I’m just telling you what I must do. The third point that I want to make is I am hoping that none of this discussion is ever reported to the press. When you all dock in Newport tomorrow, Stanley can call the police. Snowy will back him up. The crew will keep their mouths shut.” Sam grinned. “Money is useful sometimes. Here’s your story. We were out about thirty miles. Sam was in pretty high spirits ... pretty well oiled. Gotta keep oil in it somehow.” Daddy grinned and patted my shoulder. “Sam Grove must have fallen overboard. That’s all there is to it. Sam Grove drowned. Cut off before his time. It will only make enough news to last one edition. There will be no body to worry about. No mourners. No display of the last remains. No ugly burial. Come on have another drink with me. I think it is a damned fine idea. What’s your reaction, Asoka? You’ve been mighty silent.”
“I’m a Hindu, Sam,” she smiled. “Thanks to you I have learned some of the philosophy behind my religion. I believe there is no death. There is only ceaseless life that assumes many forms. The form called Sam Grove will disappear, but the essence of what creates the form will live forever.”
A bitter expression on her face, Beejee scowled at Asoka. “I’m a simple uneducated person,” she said dully. “I love you, Sam. I don’t even know why I love you. All I know is that I can’t sit here and calmly discuss you, dead. I want you to stay alive just as long as it is humanly possible. God, Sam ... Can’t you hope! There could be a miracle. Maybe you could live a much longer time than you think.”
“I’v
e been all through that,” Daddy said adamantly. “If I hang on too long I’ll lose the power of choice. I’ll be kept breathing as long as possible without regard to whether I am suffering. I’m not going to die that way. I could be bitter about the fact that I have to die, but I’m not. That’s the way the ball bounces for Sam Grove. I can’t really say that another twenty years of doing what I have been doing is anything special to look forward to one way or the other. I’ve done it all. The rest is repetition. Let’s stop talking about it. I want to talk about all of you.”
“Is it so bad to suffer?” Beejee demanded. “Maybe God expects that man should suffer. All your life you’ve tried to play God, Sam. Why can’t you die like a man?” Beejee said the words coldly. To me she seemed as shockingly cruel as Stanley had been.
Daddy simply guffawed. “That’s better, Beejee. No damned pussy-footing around. You may be right. The truth is, I am probably a coward. For the first time in my life I’m in a jam and I can’t buy my way out of it. I only have one answer. I’m afraid to die like a man. To be blunt, I think dying like a man is just plain horseshit. I personally don’t like the way a large majority of men have to die; blubbering tunes of glory.
The conversation suddenly stopped. Daddy had closed his business deal, and with one flat statement wrapped it up. Beejee was still crying. Although all of us were obviously shaken, no one seemed to have any words left to say.
“All right, Daddy,” I said finally. I tried to keep my voice from trembling. “You said you wanted to talk about us. I want to talk about me. Did you ever really give a damn that most of my life I never really had very much love or affection from you or mother. I suppose I really should be the most shocked one here. I do love you. But not as a father. As a man, yes. A person who has obviously been nice to me. Why was it this way? Can you tell me why? If I really knew, maybe I could feel something more than I feeL More than the shock I would feel about anyone’s death. Oh, God,” I said unable to stop crying. “Please, Daddy, I don’t know what I am saying. Do you know? Do you understand?”
He stared at me a long time, and then he said, “I guess I know what you mean, She. It comes to this. Why in hell can’t people give each other the love they need in this world! I don’t know what to tell you. I am what I am. Maybe it would have been different if your mother could have gone along with me. We met in high school. Both of us came from poor families. My old man drove an oil truck. I have two brothers. They’ve come a little further up the income scale. One of them operates a couple of Grove Oil filling stations. The other is a manager of a chain store. They have never liked me. I let them sweat out their own living. I’m leaving them a half million dollars each.” Daddy grinned. “It’s no favor. The money will rock the boat of their nice middle class lives. They’ll gorge themselves with cars and boats and trips around the world, and eventually drink themselves to death. Daddy paused. He looked thoughtfully at all of us. I had the feeling he wasn’t even seeing us. ”I suppose you think I’m a pretty cold-blooded bastard. I guess I am. The desire to be something more than a truck driver helped me discover the world was for the tough and ruthless. Five years after I married your mother, I was the sole distributor for Standard Oil in the state of Connecticut. You were two years old, She. I had done it. I was a successful man. Not a millionaire, but rich enough. But somehow I had lost your mother along the way. I guess we never really understood each other. She wanted a husband who was a part of the social life of our town. To me the clubs, the bridges, the teas, the cocktail parties, charity balls ... all the little people trying to prove their superiority with new fifty-thousand dollar homes, trips to Europe, the latest cars, were a collossal bore. I had met some really wealthy men, powerful men. One of them lived in twenty-thousand dollar house and drove a car that was ten years old. He was a millionaire. Money to him was simply a big power game. He spoke my language. This was exciting. The getting was a hell of a lot more interesting than the idle spending. Without telling your mother (she wouldn’t have been interested, anyway), I put most of our money into oil leases. Suddenly, I had made my first million dollars. All I wanted in the whole damned world was someone to tell me how good I was. I wanted your mother to grab me and hug me and say: “Sam, you’re wonderful. I love you.” Of course, I wasn’t wonderful. I was a damned surly bastard to live with. I was generally, by most standards, somewhat anti-social. I knew it. But I didn’t need daily confirmation of it from your mother.” Daddy grinned flittingly. He shrugged. “All I’ve needed all my life is to have someone love me enough to understand.”
“Understand what?” Beejee demanded. “You never gave me the impression you wanted to be understood or be too dose to anyone.”
“Christ, I could never give a long tearful explanation of my behavior.” Daddy said. “All I needed was tacit, sympathetic realization that I was driven, that I couldn’t help it ... that I was my own worst enemy. I was like a hamster in a cage, whirling on the wheel not because he wants to, but because he has to. My drives ... where they came from weren’t important . . . maybe if I went to a psychiatrist, he would say that I was sexually frustrated . . .”
Beejee scowled and shook her head. “Now I’ve heard everything!”
“I mean it,” Daddy said. “I guess it started with your mother, She. In bed we were a couple of people with a job to do. We did it, and that was that. Neither of us could get close to the other. We couldn’t break through to the little sacred people that lived inside of us. We simply ignored each other’s emotional needs. I don’t mean sexual needs. Hell, I don’t know what I mean, maybe just the need to say a million words to each other while we both listened and did our best to understand.”
“Have you ever managed that with any woman?” Beejee asked.
“Occasionally,” Daddy grinned. “Not with you, Beejee. When I was younger sometimes I took the complete plunge. Dropped my defenses. Then I suddenly discovered that no woman I ever met really wanted to know the real Sam Grove. Hell, I don’t even know the real Sam Grove anymore. He lived in another time ... in another world. If I met him today I’d think he was a pretty sad character. It’s too late. I’ve worn the mask so long, there’s no face underneath it. I’m sorry, She. There is no answer. Maybe you wouldn’t have become a Phi Beta Kappa, if you had the love and affection you missed. Maybe you would only be a richer version of your mother. And the joke is maybe you wouldn’t be one whit happier. You could ask me why you were born. I could tell you that a contraceptive failed. Your mother was shocked, but douches and ergot couldn’t stop your rush for life. I was glad. I guess eventually so was she. But it didn’t give you what you needed . . . love. Who in this world ever really has it, anyway?”
“Everyone has it, Sam,” Asoka said. “The trouble is, most of us don’t ever learn to give it. We think if we give love and don’t get it in return somehow or other our supply dwindles.”
Daddy smiled. “That will never change. It’s the nature of the beast. For God’s sake let’s not talk anymore. I just want to sit out on the rear deck and look at the stars.”
Beejee grabbed Sam and hugged him. “I love you, Sam. Please . . . Please don’t . . .”
Asoka and I clutched his arms. Neither of us could speak. Daddy looked at us with tears in his eyes. He kissed my forehead and patted Asoka’s head. “Look,” he muttered. “I talk a hell of a lot braver than I really am. I’m glad I got it off my chest. I might think about it ... but I really haven’t got the nerve. The next few days we’ll watch the Cup races. When they’re over I’ll check into Mass. General Hospital. Maybe they’ve got some new miracle cure.” He hugged Beejee. “Honest, I promise. All I want to do is get some dean salt air in my lungs.”
We watched him through the portholes. He waved at us, and then sat down on a canvas deck chair facing the stem.
“God,” Beejee, sobbed. “What should I do?”
We tried to talk to each other . . . to comfort each other, and at the same time keep a watch on Daddy. Stanley went out on deck and sat down be
side him for a while.
“He’s all right, I think,” Stanley tried to reassure us. “He just wants to be alone.”
At midnight he was still there.
Somehow, exhausted, our nerves shattered, we must have stopped watching.
At ten minutes past twelve, Beejee looked out. “Oh, my God. My God! My God!” she screamed. “He’s gone!”
When we started searching the boat, Snowy came down from the bridge. “It’s no use,” he said quietly. “I saw him go overboard.”
Stanley held his arms around Beejee and me. “When I went out to talk with him he told me to tell you that he loved you both. No one could stop him, She. He said if you were going to cry . . . to cry for the living.”
During the past six weeks the thought keeps recurring to me, how very much alone each person is in the world. Not one of his three wives ever understood Daddy, and I guess he never was close to any of them. Will Stanley and I do better? I pray that we will. And that’s funny. Pray to whom? “You don’t have to pray,” Stanley told me. “All our lives we will work at one goal ... being each other. What we achieve between us we can multiply. In many areas we’ve already multiplied it by six. It’s more than being your brother’s keeper. It’s being your brother.”
When Beth and I first decided we would be married in our senior year at Harrad, we knew a church wedding couldn’t possibly be right for us. Whatever beliefs we individually had in God, a Supreme Power, call it what you will; the beliefs didn’t function in the framework of any religious theologies. On the other hand, a civil ceremony performed perfunctorily by a city clerk or a justice of the peace seemed inadequate, quick . . . without meaning. Valerie got into our discussions because she and Jack had decided to get married too. The boys just listened, amused by our desire for some kind of ritualistic marriage ceremony.
The Harrad Experiment Page 23