Authors: Joyce Carol Oates
“Chandler! He’s much more intelligent than you, dear. You know that.”
“Do I?” Royall said coldly. “I’ve sure been told so.”
“You’ve always had trouble in school, from the start. You’re restless, and easily bored. You’re a physical type, not like poor Chandler.
Even Chandler’s eyes are weak.”
“Chandler’s eyes? Christ, Mom.”
“Even Juliet is more of a student than you, Royall. She’s dreamy and rebellious but she is smart. Whereas you—”
Royall laughed, rubbing Zarjo’s bony head harder. “Mom, you’re really encouraging. You have a lot of faith in me.”
“Royall, I had faith in you as a musician, once. Not that damned guitar of yours but the piano. There’s no instrument like the piano!
You were playing with such promise, when you were eight years old.
Then you turned against it, why? And you had a good, trainable baritone voice. But you couldn’t be bothered, always running around. You didn’t have the patience or the discipline. D’you think that ‘folk
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singing’ you did in high school is anything to be proud of ? Now your voice is raw, bad as that ridiculous Tom Dylan.”
“Bob Dylan.”
Ariah’s face crinkled in distaste. “Hideous! At least Elvis Presley had a voice.”
“Mom, you hated Presley, too.”
“I hated his music. ‘Rock and roll.’ It’s ignorant barbarism, the death of America. Eaten from within by America’s own children.”
Arian’s hand trembled, lifting her tea cup. Her knotted hair had begun to uncoil. Savagely she said, “And you!—suddenly wanting to go to college. The way you wanted, then did not want, to get married to that sweet innocent girl. Why, when you love working at the Gorge?”
Royall saw which way this was going, but damned if he could head Ariah off. Years ago he’d overheard Ariah maneuvering Chandler out of going to the University of Pennsylvania, where he had a scholarship, in favor of staying closer to home, attending Buffalo State.
You
know how strain upsets you. What if something terrible happened to you. So
far from home.
Sure enough, strain had affected Chandler, and would continue to affect him through four years of college, not in Philadelphia but in Buffalo. He’d had to commute to classes five days a week, live on Baltic Street with the family, and work at part-time jobs to pay for tuition and help with family expenses.
College
came to be synonymous with
selfishness, futility
. Ariah was on this subject now, speaking with eloquent disdain. “And where would you get the money for college?
It’s more than just tuition, it’s expenses. Hidden expenses. You’d have to take out a loan, and you’d be in debt for years. And if you never graduated, what then? All that money lost: down a rat hole.”
Rat hole! Royall had to smile. Hardly a day passed at 1703 Baltic without the evocation of the dreaded
rat hole
.
“What? This is amusing? Are you some sort of aristocrat in disguise, you’re an heir to a lost fortune? I have news for you, kid.”
Royall said, annoyed, “I can work. I’ve been working since thirteen. Come on, Mom!”
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with gold forever, mister. D’you think, the money you ‘donate’ to this household could begin to pay for food, shelter, twenty-four-hour maid service, in the real world? Only in this family, believe me. Your sister polishes your boots, and why? Your sister who resists anything her mother requests of her, she’ll spend dreamy hours polishing your ridiculous motorcycle boots, cowboy boots, and why? Don’t ask me why. She adores you, obviously. You can see how threadbare we are, the great expense of your mother’s life is having the piano tuned twice a year, otherwise we’d all be out on the street, begging for welfare. But you kids are all alike: you behave as if there’s money secreted away. That’s it!” Ariah paused, panting. This too was a theme of Ariah’s, the
secreted-away
treasure. For as long as Royall could remember, Ariah alluded to such riches as you might allude to something obscene, yet thrilling; thrilling, yet obscene. But Royall knew it was pointless to take up this lead, for Ariah would only speak of what she wished to speak. She was a dog whose leash was firmly in her own jaws, turning, feinting, cavorting.
Ariah was saying, firmly, “The Gorge—the Devil’s Hole—the tourist trade—is ideal for you. Tourists are all children wanting to be entertained, and you have that gift, Royall. And this ‘Captain Stu’
obviously favors you. And living at home here with your sister and me, and Zarjo who adores you, if you aren’t going to get married after all, makes sense, Royall.” Ariah was working up to a motherly sort of reproach. “We have been happy, Royall, haven’t we? You, and Chandler, and Juliet, and Zarjo, and me? You shouldn’t have said ‘so few things make me happy.’ Everything makes me happy, Royall.
When my family is safe.” Ariah wiped at her eyes, for emphasis.
The ceiling creaked overhead. Footsteps, sounding hesitant.
Juliet? Her room was directly above the kitchen. Royall guessed that Ariah had sent Juliet upstairs, wanting no interference.
Did Juliet adore him? Royall swallowed hard.
His sister had been very upset by Royall’s news. For some reason, she’d been eager for Royall to get married. At first, typically for Juliet, she declared she would not attend the wedding: she hated
“phony, fussy” ceremonies. Anyway, no one wanted
her
. She disliked
“dressing UP”—“fixing her hair.” She was “so ugly, anyway.” But
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Ariah had appealed to Juliet, and eventually she’d changed her mind; lately she’d been anticipating the wedding with almost too much excitement. Instead of being a “colossal drag,” her brother getting married now was a source of deep happiness. A “new sister” was exactly what Juliet wanted, she’d said. Suddenly it had turned out that Juliet had “always wanted” a sister. “And maybe I’ll be an aunt, soon. I bet!”
Juliet teased Royall, who blushed fiercely.
But now, Juliet was devastated. When Royall spoke with her the other evening she’d ended up screaming at him, and slammed down the receiver.
How could you! Oh, Royall! Damn your soul to hell.
How determined they all were, Royall thought, not to lose one another. Not to surrender an inch.
Ariah was watching Royall closely. She’d leaned over to stroke Zarjo’s back, as Royall continued to stroke the dog’s head. Soothed by the two people he loved most, Zarjo was becoming less agitated.
Ariah said, “We’re having meat loaf for supper tonight, with onions and peppers. That thick tomato crust you like. And mashed potatoes, of course.”
Royall’s favorite meal. He had to wonder if this was by chance.
“O.K., Mom. That sounds good.”
“Unless you have other plans.”
Royall said nothing. Again, he heard the upstairs floorboards creak. Juliet would forgive him, too. In time. Royall, who’d come back home. Royall, who’d never left home.
“I left word at his school, that Chandler should join us. He’s been so mysteriously busy, we haven’t seen him for days. Is he still involved with that ‘woman friend’ of his, Royall? The one who—”
The young woman’s name was Melinda. She was married, but not to Chandler who was in love with her. Royall felt sorry for his older brother who seemed always to be taking care of others, including Royall.
Why do you put up with such crap from Mom?
Royall once asked Chandler, who’d stared at him in astonishment.
Crap? What? Royall,
what?
Chandler hadn’t a clue what Royall was talking about.
“Royall, tell me: did Chandler know about you and Candace?”
“Know what?”
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“That you were going to break off the engagement.”
“No. He did not.”
“But you confide in him, don’t you?”
“Sometimes. But not this time.”
Ariah’s chin trembled. “If I learn that Chandler knew! That Chandler advised you . . .”
“Well, Chandler didn’t.” Royall wanted to add,
Why’d I ask
Chandler anything about love, marriage, sex?
Royall guessed that Chandler had never made love to any woman. Poor bastard, he was more his mother’s son than Royall had ever been.
Ariah had finished her tea. Her pale cheeks were suffused with warmth. With girlish enthusiasm she said, “Well. We’ll have a cozy supper, just the four of us. I had a premonition you might be back. I prepared the meat loaf this morning, before my first student came . . . But if you’re going to eat with us, Royall, please bathe! You look as if you’ve been sleeping outdoors. You smell as if you’ve been with the pigs.”
Royall laughed. He didn’t mind being teased in such a way, he was used to Ariah’s swift change of moods.
But Ariah couldn’t smell the woman in black on him, that had happened days ago.
In fact, Royall had fled the city to stay with a high school friend who now lived in Lackawana. In disgrace at home, he’d surfaced in the smoky industrial town south of Buffalo where no one knew him except this friend. On Saturday night they’d gone drinking. On Sunday afternoon they’d gone to the Fort Erie race track to distract Royall from guilty thoughts. There, it was Royall’s unexpected luck to win $62 on his first bet, which was the first bet of Royall’s life; to lose $78
on his second bet; to win $230 on his third bet; and, against his friend’s advice, recklessly betting most of his track earnings on a horse named Black Beauty II, an underdog at 8–1 odds, to win $1,312.
One thousand three hundred twelve dollars! Beginner’s luck, Royall’s friend had marveled. Royall’s first adventure at any race track.
Royall said, “Not pigs, Mom. Horses.” To Ariah’s surprise, he took out his wallet which was thick with bills, and began to count out money on the kitchen table. In an instant his manner had become
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swaggering, boastful. Royall could feel himself skidding, like a car on icy pavement. Six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred dollars . . .
Ariah was shocked. “Royall! Where did you get so much money?”
“Told you, Mom. Horses.”
“Horses? The race track?”
Now Ariah was staring at Royall as if she’d never seen him before.
“After what has happened in your life, Royall, how could you do such a thing? The ‘race track.’ At such a time . . .”
Royall reconsidered, and took back one of the hundred-dollar bills. This left six hundred in his wallet for Candace. And the rent on the apartment was paid for three months, Candace would remain there. Candace would resume her job at King’s Dairy where she was the most popular waitress. As Ariah predicted, within a year or two Candace would be engaged again, and this time married.
Ariah was saying urgently, “Royall, don’t you hear me? What’s wrong with you suddenly? Have you been drinking, too?”
“No, ma’am.” Royall frowned, pushing the bills toward Ariah.
He did feel drunk, suddenly. Having trouble choosing the right words. As a young child he’d often been confused by printed words, the logic of their positioning on a page, that other children seemed to accept without question. (Or were their eyes different from Royall’s?) Sometimes he’d turned a book upside down, or tried to read sentences from the side, vertically. Other children, and his teacher, had thought that Royall was being amusing, eager to make them laugh. An affable sunny child, with fair flaxen hair and vivid blue eyes, that happy smile? No wonder, little Royall Burnaby had been everyone’s favorite.
“Ariah. Can I ask you something?”
It was rare for Royall to call his mother “Ariah.” She stiffened at the sound. She said:
“I dread to think what it might be. When you’ve so clearly been drinking.”
“Why did you name me ‘Royall’?”
Ariah hadn’t expected this question. Clearly, she was taken by surprise.
“ ‘Royall.’ ” Ariah passed her hand over her eyes as if trying to re-328 W
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call. She drew a deep breath, as if she’d been waiting for a very long time to be asked this question, and had prepared the answer. “I think—it must have been because—you were ‘royal’ to me. My
‘royal’ first-born son.”
“Mom, Chandler was the first-born.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean that. But you, dear, you seemed to me my ‘royal’ son. Your father—” Ariah paused, stricken. But her poise was such, her hand didn’t tremble, lowered from her eyes. Her clouded green gaze never wavered, fixed on Royall’s face.
Royall said casually, “At Fort Erie, somebody told me there was once a ‘Royall Mansion,’ a famous horse. In the 1940’s.”
Ariah laughed nervously. “Well. I wouldn’t know about that. I don’t know anything about horses, or racing.”
Royall said, “Hell, I wouldn’t mind being named for a horse, if it was a special horse. There are worse things.”
Royall was behaving now as if he were about to leave. This was strange, for he’d only just come home. He said:
“The money is for you, Mom. For wedding expenses. You paid out money of your own, a lot.”
Ariah said quickly, “No. I can’t accept your money. Not from the race track.”
“From my regular job, then. I owe you. O.K.?”
“Royall, no.”
Ariah was on her feet. Her authority had been challenged, her sov-ereignty in this kitchen was at stake. She gazed hungrily at her opponent like one who has been attacked in her sleep, off-guard. She pushed at the hundred-dollar bills, and Royall stepped away. One of the bills fluttered to the floor. Royall kept the table between them.
Zarjo eyed them both, haunches quivering.
“It’s tainted money. I can’t touch it.”
“Mom, it’s just money. And I sure do owe you.”
Ariah had saved out dollars, quarters, dimes from her piano lessons over the years. If there was a secret fund, it was Ariah’s painstakingly acquired fund, kept in a savings account to earn a meager quarterly interest, or, Royall thought, hidden away in a dresser
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