you … if you don’t mind staying. Caroline’s better. The doc gave her some sort of something.” He smiled shyly. “I know something about shock.”
Danny’s instinct was to be direct. “Well now, Henry, I think I can remember that all right. How many days did you go without talking to anybody? Eh? But you know something, Henry, if somebody is so sick they can’t
endure
life, maybe it’s good it goes the other way? Maybe she was suffering a lot and you and Caroline didn’t know it. Did Dr. Coley tell you?”
Henry looked at Danny inquiringly, as if he had never quite thought about it that way. In fact he hadn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about it. “We should start thinking about having something to eat.”
Danny said he would go out and get some food and bring it in.
“You don’t know where to go.”
“I’ll figure it out. You stay with Caroline. Where’s a beer-can opener?”
Henry led him to the kitchen and opened a drawer. Danny took the opener and walked out to his car. He was about to press the starter button, but then stopped, took out a can of beer from the box in the backseat, opened it, perched it on the floor of the car and, descending from the car, reached again into the backseat. Under one arm he carried the carton from the liquor store,in his right index finger he dangled one of the gallon jugs of cider. He went back into the house and returned to the car with empty hands. The policeman was still at the driveway entrance. Danny asked him where to go to buy some food.
At ten that night, Caroline was asleep in her room. Danny got up from the chair in the living room and told Henry it would make sense to go for a swim, “especially since we’re both loaded.” Henry said the water would be pretty cold by now, but sure. He ducked into his bedroom and came back with two towels. He turned the lights in the house out, and passed through the door into the moonlight.
The two undergraduates, trim veterans of a bloody military campaign in Italy, walked the twenty steps to the lakefront, dropped their clothes, and plunged into the cold, pure water.
Everything about this place is perfect
, Danny thought, except that Mrs. Chafee—
Prudence Chafee! What a name she was saddled with
—got sick and popped off! Shit. Life is pretty sticky. Some people’s lives. His life was pretty good, thanks; no complaints. He swam on his back looking up at the sky. Then he bit his lip. Was all this booze-thought? Was he on a sentimental high? Four beers and a bottle of wine were threatening to make a philosopher out of him. Oh well, so why not? He smiled back at the moon.
But the water did feel fine, and he thought he caught a little regenerative smile on Henry’s face. Can’t hide from a full moon, no sir, shouldn’t even try.
Six
C OMPLETING his junior year, Henry Chafee was busy. Like other students he was taking five courses, and like many of his classmates he was doing a divisional major—in his case, history, economics and political science. And then Henry was active in extracurricular activities. He spent one afternoon every week as duty editor at the
Yale Daily News
, where he was now a senior editor. Three afternoons every week in the spring he spent at the gymnasium, boxing. As when playing football or hockey, his fall and winter sports, Henry had a reputation among his teammates for exposing himself mercilessly to punishment. He would block and tackle with a zest almost singular, and on the ice was all but ferocious in going after the puck. When boxing, his aggressiveness was as marked as his defense was nonchalant. Earlier in themonth he had been knocked out—“I’m not sure I was actually unconscious,” he said to the coach apologetically, lifting himself off the mat.
“You deserve to have been unconscious,” the coach snarled at him. “I don’t get it, your right glove was halfway down to your gut and—here, wipe the blood off your lip.”
At hockey he was skilled, in
Danny’s instinct was to be direct. “Well now, Henry, I think I can remember that all right. How many days did you go without talking to anybody? Eh? But you know something, Henry, if somebody is so sick they can’t
endure
life, maybe it’s good it goes the other way? Maybe she was suffering a lot and you and Caroline didn’t know it. Did Dr. Coley tell you?”
Henry looked at Danny inquiringly, as if he had never quite thought about it that way. In fact he hadn’t. He didn’t really want to talk about it. “We should start thinking about having something to eat.”
Danny said he would go out and get some food and bring it in.
“You don’t know where to go.”
“I’ll figure it out. You stay with Caroline. Where’s a beer-can opener?”
Henry led him to the kitchen and opened a drawer. Danny took the opener and walked out to his car. He was about to press the starter button, but then stopped, took out a can of beer from the box in the backseat, opened it, perched it on the floor of the car and, descending from the car, reached again into the backseat. Under one arm he carried the carton from the liquor store,in his right index finger he dangled one of the gallon jugs of cider. He went back into the house and returned to the car with empty hands. The policeman was still at the driveway entrance. Danny asked him where to go to buy some food.
At ten that night, Caroline was asleep in her room. Danny got up from the chair in the living room and told Henry it would make sense to go for a swim, “especially since we’re both loaded.” Henry said the water would be pretty cold by now, but sure. He ducked into his bedroom and came back with two towels. He turned the lights in the house out, and passed through the door into the moonlight.
The two undergraduates, trim veterans of a bloody military campaign in Italy, walked the twenty steps to the lakefront, dropped their clothes, and plunged into the cold, pure water.
Everything about this place is perfect
, Danny thought, except that Mrs. Chafee—
Prudence Chafee! What a name she was saddled with
—got sick and popped off! Shit. Life is pretty sticky. Some people’s lives. His life was pretty good, thanks; no complaints. He swam on his back looking up at the sky. Then he bit his lip. Was all this booze-thought? Was he on a sentimental high? Four beers and a bottle of wine were threatening to make a philosopher out of him. Oh well, so why not? He smiled back at the moon.
But the water did feel fine, and he thought he caught a little regenerative smile on Henry’s face. Can’t hide from a full moon, no sir, shouldn’t even try.
Six
C OMPLETING his junior year, Henry Chafee was busy. Like other students he was taking five courses, and like many of his classmates he was doing a divisional major—in his case, history, economics and political science. And then Henry was active in extracurricular activities. He spent one afternoon every week as duty editor at the
Yale Daily News
, where he was now a senior editor. Three afternoons every week in the spring he spent at the gymnasium, boxing. As when playing football or hockey, his fall and winter sports, Henry had a reputation among his teammates for exposing himself mercilessly to punishment. He would block and tackle with a zest almost singular, and on the ice was all but ferocious in going after the puck. When boxing, his aggressiveness was as marked as his defense was nonchalant. Earlier in themonth he had been knocked out—“I’m not sure I was actually unconscious,” he said to the coach apologetically, lifting himself off the mat.
“You deserve to have been unconscious,” the coach snarled at him. “I don’t get it, your right glove was halfway down to your gut and—here, wipe the blood off your lip.”
At hockey he was skilled, in
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