Wednesday night—”The Philological Affinities of the Primitive European Dialects to Modern Basque as Shown by Certain Alleged Entomological Ties with the Finno-Ugric Language System: That this Hypothesis Is Untenable.” Second in a series of five lectures.
Can’t you just see the crowds lining up for that one?
Thursday night—The Annual Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra Exchange Concert, featuring the works of Brahms
That’s it! She’ll love it!
And with that thought, Steve’s heart skipped a beat because the next step was no longer just preparatory. It was the actual thing. He now had to approach her and ask her out. Not tomorrow. Today! Right now! O my God!
Up until this very moment he had been borne along by the power of his vision, with no thought of how he would handle its practical side. Sitting on the big log yesterday and feeling her hand in his all afternoon had made it seem so easy, so natural. But now suddenly he was back down on terra firma. His legs felt like lead weights. He, little mouse-faced Stephan Pearson, now had to talk to the real Cecilia Endsrud and ask her to go out with him to this concert! His throat tightened up. He swallowed hard. Beautiful Cecilia with the silky golden hair, the heart-melting smile, the graceful form, the kindest eyes he’d ever seen. He took a deep breath, blinked hard, and headed back to the dorm.
It was 2:30 Sunday afternoon. It would not be proper for him to call her until at least an hour after supper, maybe even not until 7:30 or 8:00. Being Sunday, she would not be in the music hall at that time. Five hours, and what could he do with himself? Goodness, he was hungry!
He went up to the room. Ted wasn’t there, so he swiped a few crackers from his roommate’s larder and downed them hastily. Time to go for a walk! So he left the dorm and strolled around the campus aimlessly.
What an afternoon of highs and lows for Steve! It boiled down to this: When his mind was on her, his spirit soared; but when his mind was on himself, his spirit sank. Sometimes it seemed as though she was walking right next to him at that very moment, kicking through the leaves on the ground and humming a cheerful melody, as he’d seen her do so often on the way to and from the music hall. It had been so easy to talk to her when he was sitting on that big log. Would he get all tongue-tied now when she wasn’t present only in his imagination? He’d have to say something! If in his meanderings he happened to pass by a window, he’d sometimes glance into it to see if he was still as homely as he had been yesterday and the day before, and his heart would sink when he saw the answer. Imagine! Him! Steve Pearson the troll, having the gall to expect a princess like Cecilia to accompany him to a concert and the effrontery to expect that she might enjoy his company so much that she’d do it again, and again, and again, until….
Imagine!
At last suppertime came. Steve had no heart this evening to watch Tom play his little games with Cecilia, so he waited until the very last minute to duck into the cafeteria before it closed. On the way in he spotted Tom and Cecilia out of the corner of his eye getting up to leave. He turned his head the other way and shuddered. He hurried to get into the dinner line so they wouldn’t pass him on the way out, avoiding Tom’s cocky greeting and her awkward attention. All he could handle for supper was a bowl of soup and some crackers.
After supper he walked circuitously back to the dorm, fearfully, like a soldier approaching a beachhead. It was 6:30. The hour was almost upon him. Could he actually bring himself to do it? Would he buckle under the pressure? Back in his room he collapsed onto his bunk.
Out in the corridor the fellows were jabbering again, just when he needed a little peace and quiet. Why did it always have to be that way?
Now it was 7:15. Steve was no readier to call her now than he had been forty-five minutes earlier.
“Rats!” he mumbled, picturing handsome Tom leaning over lovely Cecilia as they exited the cafeteria.
“Rats!” he mumbled again, recalling what his reflection looked like in the windows.
“Oh,” he sighed, just thinking of her.
“I tell you, she loves me! She absolutely loves me!” Steve’s head cocked. It was Tom’s booming voice out in the corridor. He stiffened, aghast.
He’d never thought of that. What if she loves him? What if she really loves him?
“Don’t give me that bull.” It was Lute. “I’ll bet she’s just putting up with you and too polite to tell you.”
“I told you it wouldn’t take him long to win her over. Who can resist a big handsome brute like him?” Ted put in, half serious, half teasing.
“Ha! I’ll bet it’s a long day before she goes out with you again!” Lute was right in there as usual, feeding Tom the old taunt.
“You wouldn’t want to place a bet on that now, would you? I’ve got every social function on campus that she’d be interested in plotted out for the next month.”
“I still say it’ll be a long day.”
“How would you like to make that long day one hour, say?”
“One hour! Listen to him. He thinks he’s already got her in his back pocket!”
“O shut up for once! I’ll bet you clod-hoppers don’t even know there’s going to be a first-class symphony concert here this Thursday. It’s just her thing.”
“She’ll be there, all right. But you won’t.”
“One hour, I say. One hour. Just to show you low-brows what a little culture can do, I think I’ll go over to the women’s dorm right now and sew this one up with her for Thursday. See you in an hour, chumps!”
With that he strode down the stairs in a huff.
Steve sat bolt upright. It was now or never! He hadn’t a moment to lose. Thank God for those new intercom phones they’d just installed to link the buildings on campus.
He stumbled out into the hall and grabbed the receiver. Then he slammed it down again. What was he thinking? He couldn’t have Lute and Ted listening in on this. Breaking into a sprint, he raced down the corridor to the phone at the far end. What would he say? Who cared! Just so he said something.
He seized the receiver and put it to his ear.
“What building would you like, please?” a sing-songy voice asked.
All out of breath he swallowed and stated as calmly as he could, “Put me through to the women’s dorm—the women’s dorm, please.”
“Women’s dorm,” sang out another voice a moment later.
“May I speak with Ce—Cecilia Endsrud?” he faltered.
“Just a moment, please. I’ll see if she’s in.”
If she’s in, if she’s in…, the words echoed in his head. Now he was panting! How would he ever be able to say anything to her? What would he say? What time did it start again? Was it 8:15? Yes, 8:15. All right, 8:15!
“Hello, sir. She’ll be here in a moment.”
In a moment, just a moment. He was shaking like a leaf. His mouth was dry. His brain was muddled. How dare an animal like him even speak to an angel like her?
“Hello.”
The voice was sweet and soft, with just a little lift of curiosity in it.
Steve’s heart was thumping like a jack hammer.
Pulling himself together he stammered, “Hel-Hello. My name is Steve Pearson. I … I…,” he faltered, the pit of his stomach caving in.
She didn’t let him flounder long.
“Steve Pearson? Sure! You’re the one who likes to study in the fresh air and has to put up with my blaring organ every night just because I like fresh air too. I’ve been wanting to apologize to you for some time.”
“Apologize? But I like your music very much. That is, it … it helps a person to study to music….”
He was still flustered, but it relaxed him a bit to know that somehow she knew who he was. (I admit I had told her.) And the sound of her gentle voice! She honestly seemed glad he had called her!
“Still, I should be more thoughtful of others.”
“You really like music, don’t you?” It was the first phrase to fall out of his mouth naturally.
“O
yes. I’ve never tried to explain it. Some things are too wonderful to put into words. How about you? Do you like music?”
“Yes. I don’t know much about it, but some music makes me very happy, like robins singing early in the morning, or like hearing you play the organ in the evening. It’s all so beautiful.”
She giggled. “I don’t try to vie with the robins. They’re in a league of their own.”
All at once it occurred to Steve that they were talking about music and he had called about a concert.
“Cecilia,” he said. “I found out today that the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra will be having a concert here on Thursday. I called to ask you if—you—would—go—with—me.”
He’d said it! The last five words barely made it out of his mouth. But he’d said it!
“Of course I would, Steve. Thank you for asking me.”
“O thank you, Cecilia,” he whispered through the huge lump in his throat. “It starts at 8:15. Can I call for you a little before eight?”
“Sure.”
She could tell he was all choked up, and so she got him off the hook by saying cheerfully, “So I’ll see you tomorrow evening on your bench?”
“You sure will. Good night, Cecilia.”
“Good night, Steve.”
Steve stumbled his way back to his room and fell on his bed. Everything inside him had turned to goo. A smile broke out on his face so broad that it nearly ripped his lips. His heart was filled to the bursting point. Stephan Pearson had just died and risen from the dead.
XXVI
A few minutes later Steve heard a disturbance in the hallway.
Lute and Ted were standing at the head of the staircase grinning curiously at Tom who was stomping up to the lounge. He brushed past them and made a beeline for his room, shaking his head and muttering, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, so help me, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle….”
Lute and Ted looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and sat down to wait for Tom to come out. In a few minutes he emerged from his room, still in a state of shock, and stumbled into the lounge, groping for a place to sit down. Lute shoved a chair under him and waited impatiently for his big friend to say something.
“I guess the bet’s off.”
Tom was too dead serious for Lute to crack a joke, so he waited for him to open up some more.
“I walk up to the reception desk as usual and ask for Cecilia Endsrud. The receptionist says she’s on the phone so I’ll have to wait a minute. I sit down. After a few minutes she comes in beaming like a full moon on an August night. We talk for a minute or two and then I ask her to the concert. She thanks me and says all bashful-like that someone has just asked her and she has said yes. I guess I just blurted out, ‘Who?’ without thinking. She says, ‘Your friend, Steve Pearson.’ I reckon my jaw must have dropped a good six inches. I was speechless. She stood there fidgeting, pretty as a picture. God, she never looked so beautiful. All I said was, ‘Well, have a good time.’ Then I excused myself and walked on out of there.”
The big fellow dropped his chin into his hands and stared blankly at the wall. Then, like Caesar crying out, “Et tu, Brute!” he moaned, “Steve!… Buddy!… Steve!…”
Lute and Ted were as shocked as Tom was. There was dead silence.
“Well,” Ted said at length in his slow drawl, “I reckon finally Steve has really done something.”
Two heads nodded up and down. Even Tom had to concede that at long last Steve had “really done something.”
XXVII
Steve was floating in heaven that week. For the first time in his life, there was actual substance to his longings, a merging of reality with his dreams. She was no longer his Spectre Maiden. She was his date for Thursday night.
His well-meaning professors could not fail to see the new glint in his eye and his unprecedented zest for life. They knew all about that glassy-eyed dizziness, that spurting response that has nothing to do with the question asked, that bubbly good-heartedness that rises above anything distasteful or disagreeable in anyone. They’d seen it many times before. It was unmistakable. It made you wonder what the world would be like if everyone were always in the first flush of love.
Monday morning they didn’t take their eyes off one another from the moment they caught sight of each other on the staircase between the second and the third storeys of Old Main. They didn’t say a word as they passed each other. They didn’t have to. The vibration between them said it all. That evening she stopped at his bench. He stood up and they shyly exchanged a few words with each other. On Tuesday evening she sat down for a moment or two. On Wednesday evening she sat down for several moments. They didn’t really say much to each other then, except through their eyes. Neither of them was embarrassed by the silence. They were just finding out what it was like to be near one another.
The music that came from that center window now seemed even fuller and sweeter to Steve. It bore his heart up with it into the treetops where it was floating. If it was doing this for him, he wondered, what must it be doing for her, its creator? For him, he supposed, it was all about her. But for her, doubtless, it was all about the music.
From where he sat he could not discern her frequent glances out the window to see if he was still there. It was just one of those things: she did it almost without thinking.
XXVIII
It was Thursday. All day long Steve walked around in a daze. The only thing on his mind was Cecilia and that he was going to be with her all evening. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he even passed her in front of the chapel without noticing her. She watched him go by deep in thought and then let out that cute little giggle of hers which used to erupt from her all by itself when something struck her as funny.
By evening he was in a nervous trance. As he went about the clumsy business of preparing himself for the date, he mumbled various admonitions to himself. If he could only keep himself under control, everything would be all right. Just so he didn’t do anything foolish. Just so he acted natural and normal. Just so….
“Well, you can start by putting the right shoe on the right foot!” he exclaimed as he pulled his left foot out of his right shoe.
Getting into his suit was a challenge. It had been so long since he’d worn it that he’d almost forgotten what went where. By 7:00 p.m., however, he was all ready to go, freshly showered, hair combed back, shoes polished, everything as shipshape as a sailor taking his first shore leave.
He was glad to be ready early. But now he had fifty minutes on his hands. He couldn’t go for a walk. He’d feel foolish all duded up like this. He couldn’t go to the women’s dorm without being conspicuously early. Then he had an idea.
“Why not drop in on Paul?” (I had moved downstairs that year.) “Maybe he can give me a few hints.”
So he came down to my room and knocked on my door. I was beginning to think about getting ready for my own date to the concert.
“Come on in,” I called.
Steve walked in self-consciously and said, “Evening, Paul.”
“Boy, don’t you look sharp tonight! I know one young lady who’s going to be mighty pleased when she sees you.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I have a little extra time here. Thought I’d see if you’d … well, maybe sort of….” He fumbled around with his hands in his pockets.
“Give you a few suggestions?”
“Something like that.”
Regarding him more closely, I was thankful he’d come to see me before heading over to the women’s dorm.
“Well, to begin with,” I said gravely, “do you always wear your necktie inside out?”
Incredulous, he stepped in front of the mirror. Sure enough! Big as a billboard, there was the label facing outward, and there were the frayed tucked-under edges of the cloth running up and down the center. When he saw this, his eyes popped. Then a broad grin wrinkled up his face.
“That would have been plenty hard to explain!”
“O, my friend. She would
just have giggled and patted you on the cheek.”
This time he took care to tie it looking into the mirror. A dark frown flitted across his brow. I knew he was comparing his plainness with Cecilia’s beauty. I could see him thinking to himself, Fancy clothes don’t make a homely guy like me handsome. Won’t we look ridiculous, her and me strolling down the lane? Me and my pointed nose.
When he had finished retying the knot, I remarked, “Don’t let Hollywood see you.”
A pained smile met me as he turned around.
“She must have told you about our date.”
“Of course. And about the one you rescued her from.”
“Really?”
Silence.
Then, “I’m so grateful.”
He collapsed into my easy chair.
“Mind if I just sit here for a few minutes?”
“Be my guest. I’ll just get ready for my date.”
Ten minutes later he rose to go.
“Thank you, Paul,” he said as he disappeared through the door.
A moment later he reappeared in the doorway.
“Thank you,” he said again.
XXIX
It was twenty minutes to eight when Steve mounted the steps to the main lobby of the women’s dormitory. He was early after all, but not too early. He’d just sit and wait in the lobby for ten minutes or so. A funny flighty feeling curled up his stomach as he sank into a large overstuffed chair. He felt somehow out of place watching the men come in, give their dates’ names to the receptionist, and casually stand around in the waiting area until their girls arrived and signed out.
“So that’s how it’s done,” he noted.
The big hand on the clock above the entrance crept toward the ten. The closer it got, the more glued he felt to the chair. His stomach was definitely acting up now. Was he going to be sick? Not if he could help it! Now the hand had undeniably reached the ten. The moment had arrived.
Trying to imitate the well-practiced men, he sauntered up to the desk, asked for Cecilia Endsrud, went over to one of the big pillars, and leaned against it for support. Remember, act natural. But nothing felt natural to him! No matter where he put his hands, they seemed out of place. In his pockets, dangling free, by his side, folded, one in a pocket and the other dangling free, nothing felt natural. She’d be coming down any second now. He had to settle down, get himself under control. He had to quit freezing every time he heard a girl’s footfall on the stairs. Just think clearly. Keep your balance.
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