The Brass Bed

12

The second week of August, which was the last week of the summer session at the college, was much cooler than is usual in August, and there was rain every day for five days. The mornings broke clear, but always before noon the thunderheads would boil up over the edge of the sky and come scudding across before a wind, and it would rain very hard. The gutters of the streets ran full, and after the rain was over, and sometimes before it was over, the kids in the block would be out racing stick boats on the swift water, and it was pretty good to sit in the window with the cool, rain-washed air coming in and watch them and listen to them and remember how it was when I was a kid myself.

Monday evening of that week Jolly called, and I hung up quietly as soon as I heard her voice, and Tuesday evening she called again, and I hung up again, and Wednesday evening she didn’t call. I sat at the window and watched the kids racing stick boats in the gutter and waited for the telephone to ring, but it didn’t. It seemed to me then that it was surely over between us, and I was very glad that the summer session was practically over too, and in a few days I would get out of town, and after a while, with the passing of a little time, life would perhaps be sensible and acceptable and all right again.

This feeling was abortive, however, because she called again Thursday evening, and the first thing she said after I’d said hello was, “Please don’t hang up, Felix,” and I was weak and didn’t. This weakness was not admirable, which I admit, but perhaps it was excusable by reasonable standards of behavior, because it is a rare man, I believe, who can be strong two times in succession without taking the third time out for a rest.

“All right,” I said.

“Are you willing to talk with me?” she said.

“Willing is not quite the word. Let’s say that I’m prepared.”

“Well, I dare say that’s more than I have a right to expect. I’m very grateful to you for not hanging up.”

“Please don’t mention it.”

“Have you been enjoying the cool rain?”

“Yes. The rain has been pleasant.”

“I think so too. Do you know what I’ve been wishing all week? I’ve been wishing that we could go for a walk in it.”

“In the rain?”

“Yes. Walking in the rain is very romantic, and I love to do it. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Honestly? Don’t you honestly like to walk in the rain?”

Lying through my teeth, I told her, “I honestly don’t. I detest it, in fact. When it rains, I prefer to sit inside and watch it through the window.”

“I enjoy it through the window too, so far as that goes, but not so much as walking in it.” She sounded unsure of herself.

“You are lucky to find so many things so enjoyable. It must make life exceedingly agreeable to you.”

“The truth is, in spite of the rain, I have not been finding life agreeable at all. Would you care to know why?”

“I don’t think so,” I lied again.

“It’s because of what you think of me and our not being together and all that. Have you been lonely for me by any chance?”

“Yes, I have.” No more lies.

“Would you like for me to come over and look through the window with you in case it rains again?”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Truly? It would be no imposition, I assure you. I would love to come.”

“I don’t want you to come, Jolly, rain or no rain, now or ever.”

“Is it that you have decided that you don’t love me?”

“On the contrary, I do love you,” I said evenly.

“In that case, I’ll come immediately.”

“In that case, you won’t.”

“You are beyond my power of understanding, Felix. It seems to me that you are constantly befuddled.”

“I know. We’ve been over it before. I’m befuddled and you’re a clear thinker, and neither of us can understand the other, and possibly it’s because I’m a heathen and you’re religious.”

I hung up and went back to the window and watched the kids racing stick boats along the gutter in the street below, and after a while it began to rain again, and the kids all ran for home and disappeared, and it rained all the rest of that day and into the night. The next day was the fifth or sixth day of the second week of August, depending on whether you counted from Sunday or Monday, and it was the last day of the summer session. When it was over I came home and packed a bag, and around six o’clock Harvey came along with six quarts of beer.

“Hello, old boy,” he said.

“Hello, Harvey,” I said.

He sat down on the bed and looked at the bag I’d packed. “Going away?” he said.

“Yes. Aren’t you?”

“I guess so. Tomorrow, I guess.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home. Back to the farm,” he told me — a little dismally, I thought.

“Do your folks live on a farm? I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, yes. In my family, we are all simple rustics, and I’m still a country boy at heart. Would you ever have guessed it?”

“I admit that I wouldn’t have. You certainly fooled me.”

“It’s the truth. I go back every summer, and some day I’m going back and stay and to hell with this God-damn picayune teaching racket.”

“You’re just feeling sour. It’s always like that at the end of a summer session.”

“Sure. And at the end of a fall and winter session, and at the end of a spring session, and at the end of any kind of God-damn session you care to mention. It’s a pick-penny profession, and you’ll have to admit it. Back on the farm, I’ll work a little around the place and swim in the cool creek when the work’s done, and in the evenings I’ll sit under a tree and eat cold watermelon that has been lying all day in the well.”

“You make it sound delightful, Harvey. Quiet and restful and really enchanting. I especially like that part about eating cold watermelon that has lain in the well. I read a story once about some people who sat around eating watermelon like that. As I recall, there didn’t seem to be anything to the story but that, just some people sitting around eating watermelon.”

“I read the story myself. It’s by Erskine Caldwell. However, I must say that my folks are not exactly Caldwell characters. I wouldn’t want to lead you to expect too much, old boy.”

“Even so, it sounds wonderful. I envy you, Harvey.”

“It’s a nice life. Bucolic heaven. There’s only one thing wrong with it.”

“Yes? What’s wrong with it?”

“The simple truth is, it bores the hell out of you after a while.”

“Well, anyhow, it ought to be wonderful for about a month.”

“That’s true. For about a month it’s bucolic heaven. Would you care to come along with me this time? You’d be most welcome, old boy.”

“I’m truly sorry, Harvey, but I can’t. I’ve already made other arrangements.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right. I’m sure that you’d be bored before the month was up, anyhow. Do you object to telling me where you are going?”

“Not at all. I’ve rented a cabin down in the southern part of the state on the Blue River.”

“Really? Isn’t that rather expensive for a pick-penny teacher?”

“Not very. It’s just a simple place with a few cabins and things. Mostly it’s for people who want to fish in the river.”

“Are there trout in the river?”

“I don’t think so. Bass and channel cats, I think, but no trout.”

“Oh, well, bass and channel cats are as fine fish as anyone could want. In my opinion, they are definitely the equal of trout any day of the week.”

“I agree. However, I don’t think I’ll do much fishing myself. What I have in mind is to try to get going with the goliard.”

“Is that so? I admire you tremendously, old boy, for sacrificing your vacation to creative toil. Have you decided definitely to follow my advice regarding a lowly tavern wench and a lean tavern keeper as opposed to a fat one?”

“Yes, I have. I believe the advice is sound, and I intend to follow it.”

“That’s good. I don’t believe that you will regret it.”

He didn’t say anything more for a while, and neither did I, and he sat there on the bed looking down at the six cans of beer, and I could tell by the moisture on the outside that they had been chilled.

“I see you have brought a quantity of beer,” I said.

“Yes.” He looked up at me and down at the beer again. “As a matter of fact, old boy, I debated bringing it because of our recent unfortunate association with the noble brew. I hope I haven’t made a serious mistake.”

“Not at all. It will give me great pleasure to help you get rid of it.”

“You have not been turned against it, then? No psychological twist or anything like that?”

“None whatever.”

“I’m delighted to hear it, old boy. Delighted and relieved. And now that you have set my mind at rest on that score, I’m happy to turn these over to you for opening, and I suggest that we begin disposing of them immediately.”

It began to rain outside, and a breeze came up and through the window, and we sat there in the cool breeze drinking the cold beer. We drank most of it without speaking, and we were pretty well along with the last couple quarts when the rain stopped and the kids came out with their stick boats.

“I have been thinking,” Harvey said, “that a celebration would be in order.”

“Celebration? For what?”

“The closing of school. The sweet reprieve, old boy. What could be more worthy of celebration?”

“Now that you’ve called it to my attention, nothing. What kind of celebration do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking of something rather ripsnorting and hellraising. To tell the truth, I am in the mood for something exceptional. I am aware, however, that such deviations from the routine, even when conducted modestly, are apt to run high. Be honest with me, old boy. Do you have a bit laid by that you would be willing to squander in riotous living?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. My interest in this celebration is increasing, and I’m prepared to make an investment in it.”

“Good for you. It gives me pleasure to see you exhibit this fine spirit. How substantial an investment are you prepared to make?”

“I regret that it must be limited, but I am willing to go as high as twenty-five dollars if necessary.”

“Quite acceptable, old boy. The returns on an investment of that amount should be quite solid, especially if you are willing to drink simple highballs instead of fancier concoctions.” He spoke with fastidious enunciation.

“It’s agreed, then, that we will purchase a little loose living in the amount of twenty-five dollars apiece in celebration of being temporarily out of employment. Where shall we start?”

“I don’t want to dictate the program, so I suggest that we go down to Nick’s for a steak and come to an agreement at our leisure.”

“That’s a good idea, and I go along with it. As a matter of fact, the mention of steak reminds me that I’m hungry. My appetite, in spite of recent disasters, has picked up considerably the last few days. It’s because of the rain and cool air, I think.”

“I’ve noticed the same improvement in my own appetite, and you are almost certainly correct in your diagnosis. Rain and cool air will invariably work wonders,” Harvey said very solemnly.

We finished the last two cans of beer and went downstairs and stood on the sidewalk looking at our cars parked at the curb.

“We must decide which car we are going to take,” Harvey said.

“Which one would be less likely to break down, do you think?”

“I don’t want to malign your car, old boy, but mine has recently had a ring job and new spark plugs. Does yours have anything that would entitle it to equal consideration?”

“No, it doesn’t,” I said, perhaps a little thickly. “I concede that your car must be considered the more reliable.”

“That’s extremely honest of you, old boy. Fair’s fair, and I can always count on you to recognize it, and my car is the one we will go in.”