Love story 5

I love Ray Stratton.
Maybe he isn’t very smart, or a great football player (he was always rather slo
w on the field). But he was a great fellow to share a room with. And now poor ol
d Ray suffered, all through most of our last year at Harvard. He had to go all r
ound the dorm looking for somewhere to sleep whenever Jenny and I needed the roo
m.
‘My God, Barrett, are you two doing it or not?’ he used to ask.
‘Raymond, as a friend I’m asking you not to ask.’
‘The whole situation is unhealthy, Oliver. I mean, it was never like this befor
e. I mean, this complete absence of information. I mean, this is unnatural. Unhe
alty. My God, what does she do that’s so different?’
‘Look, Ray, when two adults are in love…’
‘Love?’
‘Don’t say it like that. You make it sound like a dirty word.’
‘Love? At your age? Love? My God, I fear for you, old friend. I really do.’
‘Fear for what? For the balance of my mind?
‘Your freedom, Oliver. Your life!’
Poor Ray. He really meant every word he said.
‘You’re afraid that you’re losing a friend, are you, Ray?’
‘My God, in a way I feel I’ve found one, she spends so much time here.’
I was dressing to go out, so this conversation had to end soon.
‘Don’t worry, Raymond, old friend.
‘Don’t tell me not to worry, Barrett, That girl’s got you.’
‘It’s all under control,’ I replied. ‘Don’t worry.’ I was straightening my
tie and going towards the door. But Ray Stratton was still not sure.
‘Hey, Ollie?’
‘Yes?’
‘You are doing it, aren’t you?’
‘Dammit, Stratton, it’s none of your business!’
That night I was not taking Jenny out; I was going to watch her play in public.
The Bach Society was playing, and Jenny was at the piano. I had heard her play m
any times, of course, but never with a group or in public. She didn’t make any
mistakes that I could notice.
‘You were absolutely great,’ I said to her afterwards.
‘That shows what you know about music, Preppie.’ We were in the yard outside t
he hall where they had played. It was one of those April afternoons when you bel
ieve that spring is coming at last.
We crossed the street to walk along the river.
‘Barrett, would you please listen to me?’ said Jenny. ‘I play O. K. Not great
. Not ever“First Eleven”. Just O.K…O.K.?’
How could I argue?
‘All right, you play O.K. I just mean, you should always go on playing.’
‘Who said I wasn’t going to go on playing? I’m going to study with Nadia Boul
anger, aren’t I?
What was she talking about? From the way she immediately shut up. I felt that th
is was a thing which she had not meant to mention.
‘Who?’ I asked.
‘Nadia Boulanger. A famous music teacher. In Paris.’
‘In Paris?’ I asked, rather slowly.’
‘She takes very few American pupils. I was lucky. I got a good scholarship too.
’
‘Jenny---you are going to Paris?’
‘I’ve never seen Europe. I can hardly wait.’
I took her by the shoulders. Maybe I was too rough, I don’t know.
‘Hey—how long have you known this?’
For once in her life, Jenny couldn’t look straight into my eyes.
‘Ollie,’ she said. ‘Don’s be stupid. It’s unavoidable.’
‘What’s unavoidable?’
‘We finish college and then we go our separate ways. You’ll go to law shool--’
‘Wait a minute! What are you talking about?’
Now she looked straight into my eyes. And her face was sad.
‘Ollie, you’re a preppie millionaire, and I’m a social zero.’
I was still holding on to her shoulders. ‘What does that have to do with separa
te ways? We’re together now. We’re happy.’
‘Ollie, don’t be stupid,’ she repeated. ‘Harvard is like Father Christmas’s
big bag. You can put any kind of toy into it. But when the holiday’s over, the
y shake you out….’ She stopped for a moment, ‘…and you’re got to go back wh
ere you belong.’
‘You mean you’re going to bake cakes at Cranston, Rhode Island? Don’t leave m
e, Jenny. Please.’
‘What about my scholarship? What about Paris? I’ve never seen Paris in my whol
e life!’
‘What about our marriage?’
I was the one who spoke these words, although for a moment I wasn’t sure that I
really had. I seemed to be listening to someone else saying them, in my voice.
‘Who said anything about marriage?’ demanded Jenny.
‘Me. I’m saying it now.’
‘You want to marry me?’
She lifted her head. She did not smile, but simply asked, ‘Why?’
I looked straight into her eyes.
‘Because,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ She said, ‘That’s a very good reason.’
She took my arm and we walked along the river. There was nothing more to say, re
ally.