Part 18 (1/2)

'What?' Egg said.

Frank didn't dare say 'Sorrow' with Father in the restaurant, and none of us would allow Egg to be bullied; Egg was safe, and he knew it. Egg was wearing his infantry combat uniform; Franny had told me that she thought Frank probably wished he had a uniform like that, and that it made Frank mad every time Egg wore a uniform - and Egg had several. If Frank's love of uniforms seemed odd, it seemed natural enough for Egg to love them; no doubt Frank resented this.

Then I asked Franny how Junior Jones's sister was going to get back to Philadelphia once New Year's was over and the Dairy School started again. Franny looked puzzled, and I explained that I didn't think Junior was going to drive his sister all the way back to Philadelphia, and then come right back to Dairy for school, and he wouldn't be allowed to keep a car at Dairy. That was against school rules.

'She'll drive herself back, I suppose,' Franny said. 'I mean, it's her car - or I think it is.'

Then it dawned on me that Junior Jones's sister, since they were bringing her her car, had to be old enough to drive. 'She's got to be at least sixteen!' I said to Franny. car, had to be old enough to drive. 'She's got to be at least sixteen!' I said to Franny.

'Don't be frightened,' Franny said. 'How old do you guess Ronda is?' she whispered.

But the thought of an older girl was intimidating enough without imagining a huge huge older girl: a bigger, older, once-raped girl. older girl: a bigger, older, once-raped girl.

'It's reasonable to a.s.sume that she'll be black, too,' Franny said to me. 'Or didn't that occur to you, either?'

'That doesn't bother me,' I said.

'Oh, everything everything bothers you,' Franny said. 't.i.tsie Tuck is eighteen and she bothers the h.e.l.l out of you, and she'll be here, too.' bothers you,' Franny said. 't.i.tsie Tuck is eighteen and she bothers the h.e.l.l out of you, and she'll be here, too.'

That was true: t.i.tsie Tuck referred to me, publicly, as 'cute' - in her rich, rather condescending way. But I don't mean that; she was nice - she just never regarded me at all, unless it was to joke with me; she was intimidating to me in the way someone who never remembers your name can be intimidating. 'In this world,' Franny once observed, 'just when you're trying to think of yourself as memorable, there is always someone who forgets that they've met you.'

It was an up-and-down day at the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, getting ready for New Year's Eve: I remember that something more p.r.o.nounced than even the usual weave of silliness and sadness seemed to hang over us all, as if we'd be conscious, from time to time, of hardly mourning for Iowa Bob at all - and conscious, at other times, that our most necessary responsibility (not just in spite of but because of because of Iowa Bob) was to have fun. It was perhaps our first test of a dictum pa.s.sed down to my father from old Iowa Bob himself; it was a dictum Father preached to us, over and over again. It was so familiar to us, we wouldn't dream of not behaving as if we believed it, although we probably never knew - until much later - whether we believed it or not. Iowa Bob) was to have fun. It was perhaps our first test of a dictum pa.s.sed down to my father from old Iowa Bob himself; it was a dictum Father preached to us, over and over again. It was so familiar to us, we wouldn't dream of not behaving as if we believed it, although we probably never knew - until much later - whether we believed it or not.

The dictum was connected with Iowa Bob's theory that we were all on a big s.h.i.+p - 'on a big cruise, across the world.' And in spite of the danger of being swept away, at any time, or perhaps because of the danger, we were not allowed allowed to be depressed or unhappy. The way the world worked was not cause for some sort of blanket cynicism or soph.o.m.oric despair; according to my father and Iowa Bob, the way the world worked - which was badly - was just a strong incentive to live purposefully, and to be determined about living well. to be depressed or unhappy. The way the world worked was not cause for some sort of blanket cynicism or soph.o.m.oric despair; according to my father and Iowa Bob, the way the world worked - which was badly - was just a strong incentive to live purposefully, and to be determined about living well.

'Happy fatalism,' Frank would speak of their philosophy, later; Frank, as a troubled youth, was not a believer.

And one night, when we were watching a wretched melodrama on the TV above the bar in the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re, my mother said, 'I don't want to see the end of this. I like happy endings.'

And Father said, 'There are no happy endings.'

'Right!' cried Iowa Bob - an odd mixture of exuberance and stoicism in his cracked voice. 'Death is horrible, final, and frequently premature,' Coach Bob declared.

'So what?' my father said.

'Right!' cried Iowa Bob. 'That's the point: So what?'

Thus the family maxim was that an unhappy ending did not undermine a rich and energetic life. This was based on the belief that there were were no happy endings. Mother resisted this, and Frank was morose about it, and Franny and I were probably believers of this religion - or if, at times, we doubted Iowa Bob, the world would always come up with something that seemed to prove the old lineman right. We never knew what Lilly's religion was (no doubt it was a small idea, kept to herself), and Egg would be the retriever of Sorrow, in more than one sense. Retrieving Sorrow is a kind of religion, too. no happy endings. Mother resisted this, and Frank was morose about it, and Franny and I were probably believers of this religion - or if, at times, we doubted Iowa Bob, the world would always come up with something that seemed to prove the old lineman right. We never knew what Lilly's religion was (no doubt it was a small idea, kept to herself), and Egg would be the retriever of Sorrow, in more than one sense. Retrieving Sorrow is a kind of religion, too.

The board that Frank had found with the paw prints on it and the Sorrow holes in it, looking like the abandoned crucifix of a four-footed Christ, seemed ominous to me. I talked Franny into a bed check, although she said Frank and I were nuts - Egg, she said, had probably wanted to keep the board board and had thrown the and had thrown the dog dog away. Of course the intercom revealed nothing, since Sorrow - whether he was thrown away or hidden - was no longer breathing. There was a strange blowing sound, like the rus.h.i.+ng of air, from 4A - at the opposite end of the hall from Max Urick's static - but Franny said there was probably a window open: Ronda Ray had made up that bed for Bitty Tuck, and the room had probably been stuffy. away. Of course the intercom revealed nothing, since Sorrow - whether he was thrown away or hidden - was no longer breathing. There was a strange blowing sound, like the rus.h.i.+ng of air, from 4A - at the opposite end of the hall from Max Urick's static - but Franny said there was probably a window open: Ronda Ray had made up that bed for Bitty Tuck, and the room had probably been stuffy.

'Why are we putting Bitty way up on the fourth floor?' I asked.

'Because Mother thought she'd be here with Nasty,' Franny said, 'and that way - stuck up on the fourth floor - they could have some privacy from you kids.'

'From us us kids, you mean,' I said. 'Where's Junior sleeping?' kids, you mean,' I said. 'Where's Junior sleeping?'

'Not with me,' Franny said crisply. 'Junior and Sabrina have their own rooms on the second floor.'

'Sa-bree-na?' I said.

'That's it,' Franny said.

Sabrina Jones! I thought, and experienced a catacylsmic closing of the throat. Seventeen and six-foot-six, I imagined; goes about 185, stripped and towel-dried - and she can bench-press 200 pounds.

'They're here,' Lilly came and told us at the switchboard, in her wispy voice. The sight of the size of Junior Jones always took Lilly's breath away.

'How big is she?' I asked Lilly, but of course everyone looked enormous to Lilly; I would have to see Sabrina Jones for myself.

Frank, indulging in a moment of overt self-consciousness, had dressed himself in his bus driver's uniform and was playing doorman at the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re. He was carrying Bitty Tuck's luggage into the lobby; Bitty Tuck was the kind of girl who had luggage. She wore a sort of man's suit, but it had been tailored for a woman, and even a sort of man's dress s.h.i.+rt, with a b.u.t.ton-down collar and tie, and everything - except the b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which were extraordinary, as Junior Jones had observed: they were impossible to conceal even in the most mannish costume. She flounced into the lobby behind Frank, who was sweating with her luggage.

'Hi, John-John!' she said.

'Hi, t.i.tsie,' I said, not meaning to let her nickname slip out, because only Junior and Franny could call her t.i.tsie and not receive her scorn. She looked at me scornfully and rushed past me, embracing Franny with the strange shrieks her kind of girl seems to have been born making.

'The bags go to 4A, Frank,' I said.

'Jesus, not now they don't,' Frank said, collapsing with Bitty's luggage in the lobby. 'It will take a team effort,' he said. 'Maybe some of you fools will get excited enough to actually have fun fun doing it, during the party.' doing it, during the party.'

Junior Jones loomed in the lobby, looking capable of hurling hurling Bitty Tuck's luggage up four floors - including Frank with the bags, I thought. Bitty Tuck's luggage up four floors - including Frank with the bags, I thought.

'Hey, the fun is here,' said Junior Jones. 'Here's the fun, man.'

I tried to see past him, or around him, to the doorway. For a terrified second I actually looked above above him, as if his sister, Sabrina, might be towering there. him, as if his sister, Sabrina, might be towering there.

'Hey, Sabrina,' said Junior Jones. 'Here's your weight lifter.'

In the doorway was a slender Negress, about my height; her high, floppy-brimmed hat perhaps made her appear a little taller - and she wore heels. Her suit - a woman's suit - was every ounce as fas.h.i.+onable as Bitty Tuck's attire; she wore a cream-coloured silky blouse with a wide collar, and it was open down her long throat to just a glimpse of the red lace of her bra; she wore rings on every finger, and bracelets, and she was a wondrous bitter-chocolate color, with wide bright eyes and a wide mouth smiling, full of strange but handsome teeth; she smelled so nice, and from so far away, that even Bitty Tuck's shrieks were diminished by the scent of Sabrina Jones. She was, I guessed, about twenty-eight or thirty, and she looked a little surprised to be introduced to me. Junior Jones, who was awfully quick for his size, moved far away from us fast.

'You're the weight lifter?' said Sabrina Jones. the weight lifter?' said Sabrina Jones.

'I'm only fifteen years old,' I lied; I would be fifteen very soon, after all.

'Holy cow,' said Sabrina Jones; she was so pretty I couldn't look at her. 'Junior!' she yelled, but Junior Jones was hiding from her - all the many pounds of him.

He had obviously needed a ride from Philadelphia, and not wanting to disappoint Franny by not showing up for New Year's Eve, he had acquired his older older sister, and his sister's car, under the pretense of getting her a date with me. sister, and his sister's car, under the pretense of getting her a date with me.

'He told me Franny had an older older brother,' Sabrina said, sorrowfully. I suppose Junior might have been thinking of Frank. Sabrina Jones was a secretary in a law firm in Philadelphia; she was twenty-nine. brother,' Sabrina said, sorrowfully. I suppose Junior might have been thinking of Frank. Sabrina Jones was a secretary in a law firm in Philadelphia; she was twenty-nine.

'Fifteen,' she whistled through her teeth, which were not the bright white of her brother's gleaming mouth; Sabrina's teeth were perfectly sized and very straight, but they had a pearly, oyster hue to them. They were not unattractive teeth, but they were the only visibly flawed part of her. In my insecurity, I needed to notice them. I felt cloddish - full of bananas, as Frank would say.

There's going to be a live band,' I said, and regretted saying so, immediately.

'Hot dog,' said Sabrina Jones, but she was nice; she smiled. 'Do you dance?' she asked.

'No,' I admitted.

'Oh well,' she said; she was really trying to be a good sport. 'You do do lift weights?' she asked. lift weights?' she asked.

'Not as much as Junior,' I said.