Orrie's Story (19 page)

Surely she would still be that way; it was he who had changed. When you reached a certain age, you couldn't go running to your mother, especially if you were already worried about your dad's low opinion of your manhood. And that your dad, at an older age than most, went off to fight in a war made your problem even greater. While his father was in combat, Orrie belonged to the high-school dramatic club (and in a one-act farce once played a girl in lipstick and rouge) and served on the debating team. But he would fight if pushed too far and once had an encounter with a boy who was so much larger than he that simply standing up to him brought more respect than anything Orrie had to that point accomplished in life, some of it coming from the bruiser himself, who afterwards called him a pal.

Despite the sentimental value of some of the stuff in the old room, he would have left much of it behind had the new tenant been anybody but Uncle Erie. The childhood books were especially cumbersome, for there were no shelves in the attic, and it did not seem right to move up the little bookcase itself and so denude one wall of its only furniture: Orrie could honor principle in such matters of order, but he would leave behind nothing of a personal nature, including the only decoration, an unframed charcoal drawing of the head of an Irish setter, done by himself in high-school art class, the only thing he had ever done that even distantly approached his own standards. It was Ellie, and not himself, who thought so highly of his talent—if this example could even be called art. The conception was not at all original: he had copied a photograph, though not in the sense of a tracing. He had used charcoal because he could not cope with water colors. Maybe he should give her the picture now.

But as it was his best, and given the likelihood that he would never again produce anything that could be called art, he really ought to present it to his mother, who furthermore was so partial to dogs. It was with her in mind, in fact, as he now remembered, he had undertaken the project, which was to be a gift at some bygone Christmas. But when he was done, back then, the drawing had just not seemed good enough for the purpose, though it was his best. He had always resisted taking advantage of a mother's natural partiality towards her child: he did not want an approval that was obligatory. By now, however, the quality of the drawing seemed to have improved considerably, he could not say why. He had not really looked at it in years and had little memory of doing it, apart from the banal recollection that your fingers got dirty using that medium and could mark up your face if like him you often touched your features while deliberating: others in the art room would stare at him and giggle. Maybe he cared too much about public opinion, but, given his family, he was often conscious of it, while telling himself it didn't matter, that what did matter in life was not what you came from but where you were headed.

He was all at once captive of a powerful emotion, one that was in effect anti-Ellie, but he could not help it; it was natural enough. He decided to go downstairs and give the drawing to his mother, after all these years, even though it was unframed. She would understand and be touched. It was a positive act on an otherwise negative day that had begun with a funeral. Nevertheless, he felt guilty as he prepared to pass Ellie's room, taking pains to keep the drawing on his far side, though it was too large to be concealed entirely. But his sister's door proved to be, uncharacteristically in daytime, closed so firmly as to give the impression it was locked.

When he was opposite the open door to his own room he saw Erie inside and was instantly almost asphyxiated with rage on the assumption that the bastard was already moved in.

Erie's face had shown a desolate expression in repose, but he assumed the usual smile when he recognized Orrie. “Hi, fella!” he said, waving though they were so near each other. “I just came looking for you.”

Orrie advanced on him by instinct, as if to protect the room against further pollution though he had already completed his personal removal and had neither obligation nor, technically speaking, current license to perform such duty.

“Look,” Erie said, “I understand from your mom you got the wrong idea about me coming to live in the house. I'm not going to take your room away from you, for gosh sakes!” Trying to be charming, he was at his most obnoxious. “I wouldn't ever try to do anything like that.”

Orrie at last managed to speak, but his throat was still constricted. “No, no!” He coughed. “It's all yours.”

“Why, I won't —”

Orrie shouted, “I've moved Out! If you don't want it, it will be empty!”

Erie continued to smile, but he was obviously under tension. “It's good news you've decided to go back to school. That's what we wanted. But you'll certainly need your room for when you come home weekends and holidays, which I sure hope you will, because I'm looking forward to us getting acquainted on a new kind of basis now. All these years we've known each other, and yet we really don't
know
each other, as I bet you too would agree.” The look in his eye that Orrie had always hated most—the one that was always begging for something was worse than the know-it-all—was now more exaggerated than ever. There was not anything about the man that he did not despise. He detested the eternal five-o'clock shadow, which looked worst of all when Erie's cheeks were newly shaven and powdered, the curve of his nose, his one crooked eyebrow, and the long simian upper lip.

“I'm
not
going back to school, at least not for a while, I can assure you of that. I'm staying here. I moved into the attic.”

Erie grinned at him. “Come on. Don't try to kid a kidder.” He looked as though he wanted to deliver a joking finger to the bellybutton, as had been his practice when Orrie was younger.

“I'm living up there for the moment,” he said levelly. “I'll be on hand.”

“Well, that's good news,” Erie said, with what seemed an effort at enthusiasm. “But maybe you'll reconsider after a day or so, before you get too far behind in your studies. That's all that concerns me. I mean, I really like you being close by. Maybe we can have some good long talks one of these days. I mean, with Augie gone —”

“The sheets are in the bathroom cupboard,” Orrie said, in a louder voice than necessary. He had stripped his own off the bed and transferred them to the attic, but left the blanket and spread.

“You know,” Erie said. “This is a good big room. Plenty of space over there by the window for an extra bed and even a bureau. Supposing I buy those pieces: we could share the room. I wouldn't be here much at all, and no matter what you say, I know you'll want to go back to college soon, you're too levelheaded to do otherwise. The last time I shared a room was with your dad, many years ago. Our grandpa—your great-grandfather—had a place down at the shore. Sometimes Augie and I would double up in one of the rooms for a week at a time. We got along all right. If one of us snored, it didn't bother the other!” He acted as if this was a funny comment and grinned smugly. “How about you? How're you getting along with that roommate? I wasn't fortunate enough to go to college myself. On the other hand, I guess I was lucky in not having to go into the service. Though Augie seemed to make a go of it there, didn't he, with those medals and all?”

It did not seem right that he used a father's first name when speaking to the son. But he was anyway babbling. There was really nothing to the man. Molesting young girls was his speed. “My dad was a hero,” Orrie said. “I wish he could have lived longer.” Tears might have come to him at this point, had he not refused to show any weakness to this inferior creature.

Erie's importunate look grew excruciating. “What's that you have there?” he asked, indicating the charcoal drawing, which Orrie had momentarily forgotten he still held. “Is it that terrific dog picture you did in school?”

Orrie felt outraged. “How do
you
know about that?”

“I sometimes glance in your room,” Erie said sheepishly. “I don't mean I'm snooping or anything. I'm always interested in how you're getting along. We're relatives, after all, and I've been close to your parents since before you were born.” He gestured at the drawing. “I want to buy that picture. There are people I'd like to show it to, people who are art collectors. Of course, we still think you should keep heading for medical school. But having artistic talent on the side can't hurt.”

Orrie simply could not listen to any more of that without reacting in some extreme fashion, so he made his exit. The idea of giving the drawing to his mother now had been ruined. He went into the bathroom, closed the door, tore the picture into bits small enough for the drain, and flushed them down the toilet.

He stopped at Ellie's door, tapped on it, and identified himself. She threw the bolt open and let him in.

“I need a pillow and blanket. It'll begin to get cold soon, even up there. I thought of Gena's.”

“Oh, sure,” said Ellie. “I'll bring them up and make your bed for you.”

“I'll do it.”

“You're a boy.”

“I'm sure Dad had to do it for himself in the Army.”

She lowered her eyes and began to take away what was probably four years of her junk from Gena's bedspread. The room was in another kind of mess than in her sister's day, when dirty underwear was always in evidence and the dressertop laden with cosmetics. Ellie's clutter was largely one of books and papers. He helped her now, transferring to the top of the desk several stout volumes, the uppermost of which was a work on the reptiles of North America.

“Since when are interested in snakes? I thought you were scared of them.”

“I am,” she said. “But I thought that might be only because I didn't know much about them. You know, there are only a very few types of poisonous reptiles in the country. They're the only ones to fear. The other types really do a lot of good for mankind in keeping down the rodent population.”

Ellie was certainly brainy, but that would never get her far with the boys—which however, in view of Gena's lamentable ways, might not be the worst fate. At least one of the zoology professors at college was a woman, and there was an instructor in English who was so young and attractive that at first he took her for a coed.

“So I've heard,” he said. “But I guess it takes a special sort of girl to think about that when she sees a snake.” He hoped she would take that as the approbation he intended it to be.

“You know what might make a lot of sense?” she asked brightly. “There isn't any good reason why we couldn't share this room. If you wanted your privacy we could hang a blanket on a rope from there to
there
. You'd have a real bed to sleep in and if I moved her clothes out of the closet and took them up to the attic, there'd be loads of room for your stuff.”

Orrie shook his head reprovingly. “Come on, Ellie, you know that wouldn't be right.”

“You mean just because of the ideas of other people,” she said with scorn. “So what do we care? We're nothing like other people anyway.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Do you know anyone else like our family?” she asked bitterly. “Everybody looks down on us as it is.”

“That's not true! Didn't the Terwillens just invite us to move in with them?”

“Because they pity us! That's not respect.”

He moved past her and, having peeled the bedspread off, claimed the underlying pink blanket and the caseless pillow in its striped ticking. After all these years Gena's scent could still be detected, though what as a younger boy he had found nauseating was no longer blatant.

“I'm not saying you're right,” he said, adjusting his armload of soft stuffs. “But let me tell you something: if you are, then the way to fight back is not to do anything weird, but to be as normal as possible, to do every single thing in the regular way approved by all. Not to throw away all standards and just do what you feel like! Can't you see that?”

“I suppose it's normal to sleep on the floor in the attic of your own home?”

He smiled in pride. “In certain circumstances, yes.” He might have added that she would understand such matters only when she was older, but was restrained by the thought that she might not. He was aware they had different approaches to life, but could not have said whether that was due to their opposing sexes or altogether to a natural variation in individuals even of the same blood.

He had not closed the door after Ellie had admitted him. Now their mother came into the doorway, though no farther.

She seemed to be speaking under a strain. As always, when he was in Ellie's company, she addressed him only. “Erie came back to take us all out to dinner. He wants to save me the labor of cooking on a day like this.” She made a little quick mechanical smile. “He wants you to name the restaurant.”

“I'm not hungry,” Orrie said. He expected Ellie to chime in with the same message, as she had always done in the past, but she remained silent.

“Well, I wish you'd do me the favor of going,” his mother said.

“I don't look at it that way.”

She took note of his burden. “I'm told you have moved up to the attic. That's really foolish of you. I don't want you up there. It embarrasses me.”

He sullenly avoided her eyes.

“He's not moving in right away!” She continued to stand in the doorway. Was what she was saying largely for the benefit of a listening Erie?

Ellie had sat down at her desk and opened the book about reptiles.

“He can move in whenever he wants,” Orrie said at high volume. “The house belongs to him, doesn't it?”

His mother winced. “You won't even honor my request that you come to dinner?”

“It's not the kind of thing you should be asking. There's no honor in it.” Orrie was immediately sorry he had added the final phrase, but was too proud to withdraw or even soften it.