Nat
disappeared back into his room without waiting to hear his mother’s reply. She
had taught him to immediately look up any word that he’d never heard before;
after all, it was a Connecticut man who had compiled the greatest lexicography
in the world.
Having
checked all three words in his Webster’s dictionary, Nat decided that his
mother was more egalitarian than his father, but that neither of them was a
patrician. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a patrician.
When
Nat had finished the chapter, he emerged from his room for a second time. The
atmosphere seemed to be more settled, so he decided to go downstairs and join
his parents.
“Perhaps
we should let Nat decide,” said his mother.
“I
already have,” said Nat, as he took a seat between them. “After all, you’ve
always taught me to listen to both sides of any argument before coming to a
conclusion.”
Both
parents were speechless as Nat nonchalantly unfolded the evening paper,
suddenly aware that he must have overheard their conversation.
“And
what decision have you come to?” his mother asked quietly.
“I
would like to go to Tail rather than Jefferson High,” Nat replied without
hesitation.
“And
may we know what helped you come to that conclusion?” asked his father.
Nat,
aware that he had a spellbound audience, didn’t hurry his
reply
...
“Moby-Dick,”
he finally announced, before turning to the sports page.
He
waited to see which of his parents would be the first to repeat his words.
“Moby-Dick?”
they pronounced together.
“Yes,”
he replied, “after all, the good folks of Connecticut considered the great
whale to be the patrician of the sea.”
“
every
inch A Hotchkiss man,” Miss Nichol said as she checked
Andrew’s appearance in the hall mirror.
White shirt, blue
blazer with tan corduroy trousers.
Miss Nichol straightened the boy’s
blue and white striped tie, removing a speck of dust from his shirt. “Every
inch,” she repeated. I’m only five foot
three,
Andrew
wanted to say as his father joined them in the hall.
Andrew
checked his watch, a present from his maternal grandfather-a man who still
sacked people for being late.
“I’ve
put your suitcases in the car,” his father said, touching his son on the
shoulder. Andrew turned cold when he heard his father’s words. The casual
remark only reminded him that he really was leaving home. “It’s less than three
months until Thanksgiving,” his father added. Three months is a quarter of a
year-a not insignificant percentage of your life when you’re only fourteen
years old, Andrew wanted to remind him.
Andrew
strode out of the front door and onto the gravel courtyard, determined not to
look back at the house he loved, and would not see again for a quarter of a
year. When he reached the car, he held the back door open for his mother. He
then shook hands with Miss Nichol as if she were an old friend, and said that
he looked forward to seeing her at Thanksgiving. He couldn’t be sure, but he
thought she had been crying.
He
looked away and waved to the housekeeper and cook, before he jumped into the
car.
As
they drove through the streets of Farmington, Andrew stared at the familiar
buildings he had considered until that moment to be the center of the whole
world.
“Now
make sure you write home every week,” his mother was saying. He ignored the
redundant comment, not least because Miss Nichol had issued the same
instruction at least twice a day for the past month.
“And
if you need any extra cash, don’t hesitate to give me a call,” his father
added.,.
, ,
Someone else who hadn’t read the rule-book.
Andrew
didn’t remind his father that boys in their first year at Hotchkiss were only
allowed ten dollars a term. It was spelled out on page seven, and had been
underlined in red by Miss Nichol.
No
one spoke again during the short journey to the station each anxious in his own
particular fashion. His father brought the car to a halt next to the station
and jumped out. Andrew remained seated, reluctant to leave the safety of the
car, until his mother opened the door on his side. Andrew quickly joined her,
determined not to let anyone know how nervous he was. She tried to take his
hand, but he quickly ran to the back of the car to help his father with the
cases
.,
A
blue cap arrived by their side pushing a trolley. Once the cases were loaded,
he led them onto the station platform and came to a halt at car eight. As the
porter lifted the cases onto the train, Andrew turned to say goodbye to his
father.
He
had insisted that only one parent
accompany
him on the
train journey to Lakeville, and as his father was a Tail man, his mother seemed
the obvious choice. He was already regretting his decision.
“Have
a good journey,” his father said, shaking his son outstretched hand. What silly
things parents say at stations, Andrew thought; surely it was more important
that he worked hard when he got there. “And don’t forget to write.”
Andrew
boarded the train with his mother and as the engine pulled out of the station
he didn’t once look back at his father, hoping it would make him appear more
grown up.
“Would
you like some breakfast?” his mother asked as the porter placed his cases on
the overhead rack.
“Yes,
please,” replied Andrew, cheering up for the first time that morning.
Another
uniformed man showed them to a table in the dining car. Andrew studied the menu
and wondered if his mother would allow him to have the full breakfast.
“Have
anything you like,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
Andrew
smiled when the waiter reappeared. “Double hash browns, two eggs, sunny side
up, bacon and tomatoes.” He only left out the mushrooms because he didn’t want
the waiter to think that his mother never fed him.
“And
you, ma’am?” inquired the waiter, turning his attention to the other side of
the table.
“Just coffee and toast, thank you.”
“The
boy’s first day?” asked the waiter.
Mrs.
Davenport smiled and nodded.
How
does he know?
wondered
Andrew.
Andrew
munched nervously through his breakfast, not sure if he would be fed again that
day. There had been no mention of meals in the handbook, and Grandpa had told
him that when he was at Hotchkiss, they were only fed once a day. His mother
kept telling him to put his knife and fork down while he was eating.
“Knives
and forks are not airplanes and shouldn’t remain in midair longer than is
necessary,” she reminded him. He had no way of knowing that she was almost as
nervous as he was.
Whenever
another boy, dressed in the same smart uniform, passed by their table, Andrew
looked out of the window, hoping they wouldn’t notice him, because none of
their uniforms were as new as his. His mother was on her third cup of coffee
when the train pulled into the station.
“We’ve
arrived,” she announced, unnecessarily.
Andrew
sat staring at the sign for Lakeville as several boys leaped off the train,
greeting each other with “Hi
there,
how was your
vacation? And good to see you again,” followed by much shaking of hands. He
finally glanced across at his mother, and wished she would disappear in a cloud
of smoke. Mothers were just another announcement that it was his first day.
Two
tall boys dressed in double-breasted blue blazers and gray slacks began
shepherding the new boys onto a waiting bus. Andrew prayed that parents were
banned from the
bus,
otherwise everyone would realize
he was a new boy.
“Name?”
said one of the young men in a blue blazer as Andrew stepped off the train.
“Davenport,
sir,” said Andrew, staring up at him. Would he ever be that tall?
The
young man smiled, almost a grin. “You don’t call me
sir,
I’m not a master, just a senior proctor.” Andrew’s head dropped. The first
words he’d
uttered,
and he’d made a fool of himself.
“Has
your luggage been placed on the bus, Fletcher?”
Fletcher?
thought
Andrew. Of course, Fletcher Andrew Davenport; he
didn’t correct the tall young man for fear of making another mistake.
“Yes,”
Andrew replied.
The
god turned his attention to Andrew’s mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Davenport,” he
said, checking his list, “I hope you have a pleasant journey back to
Farmington. Fletcher will be just fine,” he added kindly.
Andrew
thrust out his hand, determined to stop his mother cuddling him. If only
mothers could read thoughts. He shuddered as she threw her arms around him. But
then he couldn’t begin to understand what she was going through. When his
mother finally released him, Andrew quickly joined the flow of boys who were
jumping onto the waiting bus. He spotted a boy, even smaller than himself, who
was sitting on his own looking out the window. He quickly sat down beside him.
“I’m
Fletcher,” he said, reverting to the name bestowed on him by the god. “What’s
yours?”
“James,”
he replied, “but my friends call me Jimmy.”
“Are
you a new boy?” asked Fletcher.
“Yes,”
said Jimmy quietly, still not looking around.
“Me
too,” replied Fletcher.
Jimmy
took out a handkerchief and pretended to blow his nose, before he finally
turned to face his new companion.
“Where
are you from” he asked.
“Farmington.”
“Where’s
that?”
“Not
far from West Hartford.”
“My
dad works in Hartford,” said Jimmy, “he’s in the government. What does your dad
do?”
“He
sells drugs,” said Fletcher.
“Do
you like football?” asked Jimmy.
“Yes,”
said Fletcher, but only because he knew Hotchkiss had an unbeaten record for
the past four years, something else Miss Nichol had underlined in the handbook.
The
rest of the conversation consisted of a series of unrelated questions to which
the other rarely knew the answer. It was a strange beginning for what was to
become a lifelong friendship.
“
spotless
,” said his father as he checked the boy’s uniform
the hall mirror. Michael Cartwright straightened his sons blue tie, and removed
a hair from his jacket. “Spotless,” he repeated Five dollars for a pair of
corduroys was all Nathaniel could think about even if his father had said they
were worth every cent.
“Hurry
up, Susan, or we’ll be late,” his father called, glancing up toward the
landing.
But
Michael still found time to pack the case in the trunk and move the car out of
the driveway before Susan finally appeared to wish her son luck on his first
day. She gave Nathaniel a big hug, and he was only grateful that there wasn’t
another Tail man in sight to witness the event. He hoped that his mother had
got over her disappointment that he hadn’t chosen Jefferson High, because he
was already having second thoughts. After all, if he’d gone to Jefferson High
he could have gone home every night.
He
took the seat next to his father in the front of the car and checked the clock
on the dashboard. It was nearly seven
Of
clock. “Let’s
get going, Dad,” he said, desperate not to be late on his first day and to be
remembered for all the wrong reasons.
Once
they reached the highway, his father moved across to the outside lane and put
the speedometer up to sixty-five, five miles an hour over the limit,
calculating that the odds of being pulled over at that time in the morning were
in his favor. Although Nathaniel had visited Tail to be interviewed, it was
still a terrifying moment when his father drove their old Studebaker through
the vast iron gates and slowly up the mile-long drive. He was relieved to see
two or three other cars filing in behind them, though he doubted if they were
new boys.
His
father followed a line of
Cadillacs
and Buicks into a
parking lot, not altogether sure where he should park; after all, he was a new
father. Nathaniel jumped out of the car, even before his father had pulled on
the hand brake. But then he hesitated. Did he follow the stream of boys heading
toward Tail Hall, or were new boys expected to go somewhere else?
His
father didn’t hesitate in joining the throng, and only came to a halt when a
tall, self-assured young man carrying a clipboard looked down at Nathaniel and
asked, “Are you a new boy?”
Nathaniel
didn’t speak, so his father said, “Yes.”
The
young man’s gaze was not averted. “Name?” he said.
“Cartwright,
sir,” Nathaniel replied.
“Ah
yes, a lower mid; you’ve been assigned to Mr. Haskins, so you must be clever.
All the bright ones start off with Mr. Haskins.”