Letters To My Mother Page 5

  “What?”

  “Fix It Again, Tony!”

  “Have you ever been back to Italy since you were a child?”

  “Nope. I’d like to visit the tourist’s Italy, Rome, Venice, Pompeii, Florence, all those places. I suppose you toured Italy when you were in Europe?”

  “I went with my parents, but only for a week. What food! I’d love to return now that I’m older, especially to Venice.”

  “Geez, you’ve probably seen more of Italy than I have. You know where I’ve been? My own town and Naples, where we got on the ship for America. I’m like one of those guys you read about in New York who’s never gone across the East River. What time do you have to be back?”

  “At the residence hall? They serve dinner until seven.”

  “We’ve already drunk enough coffee to float a battleship, but let’s stop somewhere for one more cup. Not a drive-in, though. I want to get inside some place where it’s warm. Mickey Mouse’s heater doesn’t work.”

  “Mickey Mouse?”

  “The car. This is a Fiat 500; in Italy they’re called Topolinos, which is Italian for Mickey Mouse.” He shivered. “I should’ve brought extra clothes; I’m frozen stiff.”

  “I have another sweater in here,” I said, rummaging around in my backpack. “Would you like to put it on?”

  Frank looked askance at the pink mohair sweater I held up.

  “No thanks. Great color, but it’s not my size. Anyway, we’ve arrived.” He pointed to a small café.

  We sat down in a booth; the waitress brought us a couple of menus and left the table.

  “I’d like to invite you to join me for dinner,” Frank began with embarrassment, “but…”

  “That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting you to. My best friend’s a teaching assistant, so I realize your life isn’t exactly affluent. Besides, I’ve eaten so many cookies this afternoon that I’m stuffed.”

  Frank shot me a grateful glance; he ordered a bowl of soup for himself and two cups of coffee. The waitress returned with the soup and bent over slightly to place the bowl in front of him. She was young and full-breasted, wearing a uniform so tight that her buttons were pulled askew, and Frank ogled her until I thought his eyeballs would fall out.

  “Monumental,” he exclaimed after she left the table. “She reminds me of a nurse I met once when I was in the hospital.”

  “Do tell. A friend?”

  “Not exactly. I mean I didn’t really know her. I was recovering from an appendectomy a few years ago and this nurse came around to massage my back or change the sheets or some damn thing. She was built, I mean she was stacked.” Frank gestured with his hands. “Well, anyway, I had an erection right in front of her. I couldn’t help it, you know. She said ‘none of that,’ and snapped her fingers on my penis like this.” He snapped his finger hard against the salt shaker. Jesus, did that hurt!”

  I was speechless with embarrassment and Frank noticed my discomfort.

  “Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have told you that story.”

  “You don’t need to apologize; I’m just not used to hearing a man talk about his genitals. To tell the truth, it’s a refreshing change. People are usually so careful of their language around me. Someone will mention a woman’s boobs and then say as an aside, ‘that’s breasts to you Kate’. Like I’m five years old and don’t understand what the word means.” I made a face and Frank laughed.

  “Do you sail with Dr. Rosenau often?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Once a month or so; sometimes we just go to the boat to discuss work. I’m not as keen on sailing as he is. I mean I like it, but no one could be as passionate about sailing as David is. Today I think he was planning to invite you first and then he asked me to come as a chaperone.”

  “A chaperone! What do you mean?”

  “David probably thinks you’re the kind of girl who won’t go out with a married man unless someone else is along.” He looked at me archly. “Are you?”

  I barely heard what Frank said. A sudden chill went through me as it had in the afternoon when the sun passed behind the clouds. Of course I’d wondered if Dr. Rosenau was married; when had a day gone by that I hadn’t fretted over this question a hundred times? His sailing alone, the trip to Alaska, his friendliness toward me, none of these suggested he had a wife. I dropped my head to my hands.

  Frank stared at me with astonishment. “Oh, God, I’ve really put my foot in it, haven’t I? I mean you didn’t know? He never told you?”

  I shook my head. “Well, he doesn’t owe me his life’s story, does he? After all, I’m only his typist. What’s he supposed to say, ‘here’s this week’s manuscript and, by the way, I’m married’?”

  For once, Frank didn’t offer a rejoinder.

  “It’s a funny thing about your being a chaperone, though,” I continued. “I thought perhaps he invited the two of us so we could get better acquainted.”

  “David a matchmaker? Hardly. I’m engaged to be married; he knows that.”

  “Does he have any children?”

  “Two.”

  “How old?”

  “He’s got a couple of teenage kids, a boy eighteen and a girl sixteen. Something like that. Or maybe it’s the other way around.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “His daughter?”

  “No, his wife.”

  Frank considered his answer for a moment. “I’ve only seen her a few times and David never discusses his family. She’s about his age, tall, sort of matronly…”

  “Attractive?”

  Frank shrugged. “Not bad.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest suggestively. “Mrs. Rosenau’s what I’d call the clubwoman type; she’s involved in the faculty wives’ affairs, goes to meetings, plays bridge, all those kinds of activities. She’s really impressed with David, I can tell you. She never refers to him by his first name; it’s ‘Dr. Rosenau’ this and ‘Dr. Rosenau’ that. David’s a Phi Beta Kappa, which is something he never mentions, but she wears his key around her neck on a chain. It’s a wonder she doesn’t stick the thing through her nasal septum.”

  “Does she ever go sailing with him?”

  “David told me once, rather bitterly, the only time she’s been near the boat in ten years was the day she christened it. I gather his children don’t care for sailing either. They’re not a very close family.” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “That’s probably an understatement.”

  “Why do you think he married her if they have so little in common?”

  “God only knows and hell will freeze over before David tells me.” Frank shrugged again. “Maybe he got her pregnant and did the honorable thing.” He put down his coffee cup and looked at me earnestly.

  “Kate, I realize this isn’t any of my business, but you shouldn’t keep on going out with David.”

  “What do you mean going out with David? I don’t even call him David. There’s never been a single word between us I’d be ashamed to have the whole world hear.”

  My voice began to quiver. I was tired, upset, and close to tears, but Frank mistook my outburst for anger.

  “Now don’t get mad. I’m not accusing you of anything, but it’s obvious you’re crazy about him and he’s sure paying more attention to you than he does to any other girl. It’s an impossible situation. Why don’t you end your relationship right now before you get hurt? Let him find someone else to do the typing. I’m a Catholic and I believe adultery is morally wrong, but I’m not going to preach religion at you, just common sense.”

  “Adultery!” I sputtered. Now I was getting angry. “Frank, I barely know him. And what about Dr. Rosenau – I can’t refer to him as David – what makes you think he’s interested in me?”

  “Nothing specific. I can’t put my finger on it; call it a premonition. He’s a lot different around you. Happier.”

  “What’s so sinful about being happy? Is he another Dr. Jacobs?”

  “No, he’s not another Dr. Jacobs. For one thing, David keeps his pant
s zipped. To tell the truth, I’ve hardly seen him look twice at a woman – until you, that is. David’s kind of a cold fish until you get to know him, and even after two years I’ll be damned if I understand him. He’s so self-contained; it’s hard to imagine him needing anyone or anything. You know what I mean? David’s just aloof from everything; he’s on another planet.”

  “I hear you, but I don’t agree; he strikes me as a rather lonely person.” I suddenly remembered what I wanted to ask him. “Frank, who’s Helen?”

  “Helen who?”

  “I don’t know her last name. Dr. Rosenau said I reminded him of her, remember, the day we met?”

  “Oh, that Helen. She was a grad student here a couple of years ago; she moved back east shortly after I came, so I hardly knew her. David liked her a lot.”

  “What do you mean by a lot?"

  “Not what you think I mean. Listen, we’re a small department. You blow your nose and everyone hears it. If anything was going on between them I’d have known, believe me. She was married and had a kid. According to the rumors, she had some marital problems and David tried to help her out.” Something about Frank’s explanation didn’t entirely convince me, but I let the subject drop.

  Frank finished his coffee and drove me back to the residence hall. Neither of us mentioned Dr. Rosenau for the rest of the trip.

  “I’ll say goodnight here,” I said getting out of his car. “Thanks a lot for driving me home. I can make it to the dorm by myself,” I added hastily as Frank started to open his door. “I’d really prefer to be alone; in fact I plan to skip dinner and go straight to bed.”

  “Wait a minute, Kate. Another thing, suppose you and David have an affair. Sooner or later, it'll come to an end, and who’s going to be interested in you then? You’ll be used goods. You’re a lovely girl now, but if you and he … well, what decent man would want to marry you?”

  Frank’s concern was genuine, but his words struck me as hilarious and I started to laugh. “I’m sorry Frank, I know you mean well, but you sound so hopelessly Italian. You’d make a great older brother. Goodnight.”

  My act was all bravado. Inside I was heartsick, disappointed with Dr. Rosenau and disgusted with myself. Surely my feelings were obvious to him – Frank had said as much. Why didn’t he have the decency to tell me the truth? And what about me? How could I be counting the days until next Friday knowing he had a wife and children? Had I become so selfish that I could remember his smile and the touch of his hand without a twinge of guilt? I knew I should take Frank’s advice; I also knew I wasn’t going to.

  I met Norma on the way to my room.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. “Change your clothes and let’s go to dinner. Yikes your hair! How was the sailing?”

  “It was … oh, Norma, it’s a long story. I was planning to go right to bed, but maybe I’ll eat after all. I need someone to talk to, someone sensible.”

  After dinner we carried our coffee to a window seat in a small alcove overlooking the garden. Since it was Saturday night, most of the girls were out for the evening and in their absence the living room, with its drab rugs and even drabber furniture, looked gloomier than usual; it had started to rain.

  I told Norma everything and, except for a nod or a “yes, go on,” she didn’t interrupt.

  “Well, what’s your opinion?” I asked her at last.

  “I think your friend Frank is worrying prematurely. Let’s say Dr. Rosenau is attracted to you – and I’m not convinced that’s the case – if he ever asks you for a date you’ll run so fast you’ll be in Canada before he even finishes the sentence.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s part of a pattern. You’ve told me about your crushes. You’re attracted to older men precisely because they’re inaccessible, like a teenager mooning over a movie star. A girl like that doesn’t pay attention to the real, live boy next door who might actually ask her out; then she’d be confronted with a situation she can’t handle. Fantasizing about a movie star – or a college professor – is safer.”

  “I thought girls were attracted to older men because of their relationships with their fathers; the father is too weak, or the girl is trying to find a father substitute, or something of the sort.”

  Norma laughed. “That was last year’s theory. Seriously though, isn’t there some truth in what I’m saying?”

  I thought back on my few infatuations. Yes, it was true; I‘d never been interested in boys my own age. Although I always told myself their immaturity bored me, in fact I was afraid. I remembered Tom, a handsome naval pilot stationed in Turkey, married to my mother’s best friend. I was thirteen, awkward and painfully shy. He gave me his fossil collection when he realized how much it interested me, visited me in school in Spain a few times and brought me souvenirs from his flights overseas. I recorded all our conversations, noted every scrap of biographical data which came my way, and wrote everything down in a padlocked diary I kept under my pillow. I worshiped Tom for three years, and when my father was transferred back to the United States, I thought my heart would break.

  Then there was Dr. Jensen, a brilliant anthropologist, who occupied my thoughts during my freshman year. He, at least, was divorced, but Dr. Jensen’s interest in me was purely professional.

  “You know what really gets me? I’ll probably be going to his office every Friday from now until June. And I’ll just knock myself out with those damn articles; I’ll be typing and retyping until I go blind, and he’ll tell me what a wonderful job I’m doing and maybe, just maybe, he’ll invite me out for coffee occasionally when he doesn’t have anything better to do. Then he’ll go home to his beautiful wife and his beautiful children and he won’t give me another thought until the following Friday. Maybe he’s amused to have this faithful little puppy at his beck and call. ‘Roll over, Kate,’ and I roll over. ‘Speak Kate,’ and I bark. What won’t I do for a handful of dog biscuits? Maybe he gets some kind of sadistic joy out of leading me on; maybe he’s going through male menopause and I’m soothing his ego. That’s what’s driving me crazy – I just wish I knew what’s going on inside his head.” I stopped and looked at Norma. “Am I making a mountain out of a molehill?”

  “It’s hard to say since I’ve never met your Dr. Rosenau. Let’s examine the evidence: first of all, he doesn’t sound like the type to get involved with a student, and Frank said the same thing himself. So he took you and Frank sailing. Big deal! Has he asked you out or hinted that the two of you should see each other alone? No. Has he touched you inappropriately? Not that you’ve mentioned to me. You know how it is when you’re infatuated with someone; you start reading things into a relationship that aren’t there. Remember what Freud said: ‘sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.’ Rosenau’s probably just a nice guy who enjoys taking his students sailing. So what if he didn’t mention his wife? Why should he?”

  Somehow the phrase “nice guy” didn’t fit Dr. Rosenau. He was nice, very nice indeed, but the genial bonhomie implied in that expression was totally lacking in his personality. Nevertheless, Norma’s judgment restored my sense of balance and I began to wonder if she was right.

  Chapter 4

  Blaine Hall, Room B102

  University of Washington, Seattle

  Sept. 17, 1956

  Dear Mother and Daddy,

  Saturday was the best day of my entire life! As I wrote you Friday,

  I went sailing with Frank and Dr. Rosenau on Sturmvogel (it means

  “storm bird,” by the way). At first there wasn’t any wind, but before

  noon we finally got a good breeze. I can’t begin to tell you how

  glorious it was – Dr. R. even let me steer the boat for a while. He’s

  kind and very patient. I’m so hooked on sailing now that I plan to

  join the university sailing club…

  Norma’s argument was persuasive, but I kept remembering the touch of Dr. Rosenau’s hand when we said goodbye on the boat and his smile when he loo
ked at me. Or had I merely imagined he’d held my hand longer than etiquette dictated and was his smile the same one he bestowed on everyone? Surely he felt something more than paternal interest and would call me before Friday. Nevertheless, the week dragged by without a word from him, and my disappointment grew with every passing day. I had the scenario all planned: he’d telephone me on the pretext of inquiring about the typing and I’d tell him I couldn’t decipher a couple of words. That wasn’t true, of course. Since Dr. Rosenau had started printing, his handwriting was completely legible, but I was sure I could come up with one or two dubious examples, and this would be his cue to suggest we go over the text together. In my more optimistic moments I pictured us at dinner, sharing a cheese fondue in some candlelit Swiss restaurant, but even the prospect of a coffee date at the HUB would have sent me into transports of delight.

  Dr. Rosenau was constantly in my thoughts. When the pressure of studies demanded total concentration, I could dismiss him from my mind for a while, but he was always present, lurking just below the threshold of consciousness, ready to resurface, unbidden, like a nagging pain; the term “heart ache” is aptly named. In my leisure I courted his image. I replayed all our conversations, analyzed every nuance in his voice, every arch of his eyebrow. I constructed imaginary dialogues with him in which I was the epitome of sophistication, and I fretted over the things I’d really said.

  When he didn’t call Monday night, I wasn’t dismayed. He didn’t want to appear overanxious. On Tuesday he was probably busy. Wednesday I thought perhaps he’d phoned when I wasn’t in my room. By Thursday I was forced to admit what I’d known all along: David Rosenau, Ph.D., had no intention of getting involved with any student, much less me, and if I believed there was something in his manner beyond ordinary kindness, I was living in a world of fantasy.

  I had mixed emotions when I went to his office the following afternoon. I was almost hoping he’d cut the meeting short, take the completed work with one hand, give me the new work with the other, and usher me to the door. At least that would be definitive, and I could go back to being the way I was before we met. But Dr. Rosenau greeted me with a warm smile, took the typing I handed him, and spread the pages out on the top of his desk. He stood for a minute or two perusing the work, and then glanced up.