Part 13 (1/2)
One sees more devils than vast h.e.l.l can hold, That is the madman.
A Midsummer Night's Dream ”h.e.l.lo?”
”Young man, I've been calling all afternoon.”
”Hi, Unc. Where are you?”
”The Schloss. Where've you been?”
Pause. ”I took a walk.”
His pause. ”To Hyde Park?”
Giggle. ”No, not that far.”
”I'm having some trouble putting my affairs in order. I don't think I'll be back down until some time next week.”
”That's okay. I'll be fine.”
”Are you sure? You can come up here and miss some more school, if you'd like.”
”It sounds fun, Uncle, but I'm actually looking forward to going back to cla.s.s. It'll keep my mind busy.”
His second pause. ”I understand. You really like that university place, don't you?”
”Yeah, I do. A lot. I don't know why, though. They work us like we were serfs there!”
”Have you thought about just staying on there at the university itself?”
”Well, yeah, I did, for a while, until my Literature teacher breathed on me about it. He said I should go someplace totally foreign to me. A whole new world, he keeps saying. Sticking around wouldn't be much of a change for me. Besides, I think I'm ready for some new geography, now.”
Mutual silence.
”You're right. Pretty smart guy for being seventeen.”
”Sixteen, Unc.”
”What's a year or two between family?” We both giggle. ”I should set fire to this place for the insurance money.”
”Well? Why don't you?”
”That little rag would probably sue me for that, too.”
”Who?”
”Veronica. Or Sybll. I should call her Sybll to her face and see if any more hidden personalities fall out of her hair. Psychotic wench.”
I giggled again. ”Should I ask what she's suing you for, Uncle Alex?”
”Hah! The usual! 'Mental anguish' or some other twaddle!” I heard a wine bottle pop. ”I personally think she smelled some of that money you've come into, and flipped when I said no.”
”To my money?”
”No, nephew, to marrying her. What you do with the money is your affair.”
”A responsible adult would keep it their affair until I finished college, or started a career, or got married. Something like that.”
”Oh, yes! Now you sound like some of those mummies we're related to.” I laughed. Uncle Alex didn't. ”Have you even picked out a college, yet?”
”No.”
”What are you going to take up, besides s.p.a.ce, once you break down and pick one?”
”Writing, or poetry. Something like that.”
”Something like that. Fine. Something like that, someplace presumably in North America. Right?”
”Well, yeah, I guess.”
”You guess. You guess you'll take up writing or poetry or something like that at some college or university someplace in the Western Hemisphere.”
”Fine! I'm going to the University of Geneva! I'm going to major in French language, and minor in 16th Century English Literature! Is that okay, Unc?”
”I'd go to the Sorbonne myself. Paris nightlife rather puts anything in Switzerland to shame.” He took a short drink. ”The point, dear heart, is that you can't possibly be expected to have any idea about what you want the rest of your life to be, or where you want it to take place, or why you do, which is the only really important question you can ever ask yourself. Not at your age, despite that brain of yours. Even if the rest of your life begins next year, or whatever.”
Uncle Alex wasn't drunk, but it didn't sound like it was his first bottle of wine or champagne, either. The only time he became overly contemplative or philosophical was after a full bottle of wine. I loved him when he got like that. Unc talked about things no one else wanted to think about, much less talk about, and he did so in such a brutally common-sensical way that it drove anyone who tried to argue with him nuts.
”I think the rest of my life began a few days ago, Unc.”
I looked at the bits of flock that had fallen from the grate inside the bright and crackling fireplace, and suddenly thought of Brennan.
His third pause. ”You're a clever little b.u.g.g.e.r, aren't you?”
”I hope so, Unc. I can't do a whole lot else, except hit a baseball and write poetry n.o.body understands!”
”Send some of it up to me. I'll read it. If I don't get it, I'll hit a bottle of port. After that rot, I can figure out anything. Even a prenuptial agreement.”
”Really?”
”No, not at all. Can't stand the stuff. Just wanted to lead you along. Yes, of course, I mean it! Send them first thing the post office opens. And don't send anything you haven't copied.”
I realized Uncle Alex was the first relative to ask for some of my poetry to read, and it made me feel like I was Czar of the Russias. ”Okay. Thanks, Unc.”
”No problem. By the way, happy New Year. I'm getting drunk to bring in the new decade. You should, too. It'll make the old one look better.”