The Graduate (11 page)

On the days that he met her Benjamin would eat dinner with his parents as usual, watch television until nearly midnight, then dress in his suit and drive to the hotel. At the hotel he would buy Mrs.

Robinson a martini, then take a room for them. In the beginning he had gone up ahead to wait for her but after the first few weeks he waved at her from the entrance of the bar when he had gotten the room and they rode up together in the elevator. When they got in the room Benjamin always called down to the desk and left word that they were to call up to his room before dawn. When the call came Mrs.

Robinson would get up and dress and drive home to fix breakfast for Mr. Robinson. Benjamin usually would not wake up till late in the morning. Then he would take a shower, dress and pay for the room on his way out of the hotel.

They seldom spoke to each other after the first several times. Usually they sat at a table next to the window in the Verandah Room looking out the window at the grounds of the hotel.

“Mrs. Robinson?” Benjamin said one night when the drinks had been brought to the table.

“What.”

“I dont’t want to interrupt your thoughts, but do you think we might do a little talking?”

“What?”

“I say we don’t seem to have very lively conversations, do we.”

“No we don’t,” she said.

Benjamin nodded and turned to look at a palm tree outside in the grounds. He finished his drink without saying anything more, then stood. “I’ll get the room,” he said. He walked into the lobby and to the desk.

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“Give me a twelve-dollar single,” he said.

“Yes sir,” the clerk’ said. He pushed the register across the desk and Benjamin signed. “Any luggage tonight, Mr. Gladstone?” he said.

Benjamin shook his head and walked back into the Verandah Room and to the table and dangled the key in front of Mrs. Robinson’s face.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They rode up in the elevator without talking and walked quietly down the hall and Benjamin opened the door and they walked in and shut it, still without saying anything. Mrs. Robinson removed hercoat and dropped it on one of the chairs. Then she smiled at Benjamin and walked across the room to him and reached up to untie the knot of his tie.

“Wait a minute,” Benjamin said. He pushed her hand away. Sit down a minute,” he said.

Mrs. Robinson raised her eyebrows.

“Will you please sit down a minute,” Benjamin said, pointing at the bed.

Mrs. Robinson waited a moment, then turned around and walked to the bed. She seated herself on the end of it and reached down to remove one of her shoes.

“No,” Benjamin said.

“What?”

“Will you leave the shoe on for a minute. Please.”

She nodded and straightened up.

“Now,” Benjamin said. “Do you—do you think we could just say a few words to each other first this time?”

“If you want.”

“Good,” Benjamin said. He pushed her coat to the side of the chair and seated himself. Then for a long time he sat looking down at the rug in front of him. It was perfectly quiet. He glanced up at her, then back down at the carpet.

“I mean are we dead or something?” he said.

“Well I just don’t think we have much to say to each other.”

“But why not!”

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She shrugged her shoulders.

“I mean we’re not stupid people, are we?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well we aren’t,” he said. “But all we ever do is come up here and throw off the clothes and leap into bed together.”

“Are you tired of it?”

“I’m not. No. But do you think we could liven it up with a few words now and then?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Look,” Benjamin said, standing up. “Now there is something wrong with two human beings who know each other as intimately as we do who can’t even speak together.”

“Well what do you want to talk about, darling.”

“Anything,” he said, shaking his head. “Anything at all.”

“Do you want to tell me about some of your college experiences?”

“Oh my God.”

“Well?”

“Mrs. Robinson. If that’s the best we can do let’s just get the goddamn clothes off and—”

She reached down for her shoe.

“Leave it on!” Benjamin said. “Now we are going to do this thing. We are going to have a conversation. Think of another topic.”

“How about art.”

“Art,” Benjamin said. He nodded. “That’s a good subject. You start it off.”

“You start it off,” she said. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you?”

“Yes I do,” Benjamin said. “I know quite a bit about it.”

“Go ahead then.”

Benjamin nodded. “Art,” he said. “Well what do you want to know about it.”

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She shrugged.

“Are you interested more in modern art or more in classical art.”

“Neither,” she said.

“You’re not interested in art?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t.”

Benjamin nodded and looked back down at the rug.

“Can I take off my clothes now?”

“No. Think of another topic.”

Mrs. Robinson looked up at the ceiling a moment. “Why don’t you tell me what you did today,” she said.

Benjamin stood up and walked to one of the curtains. “Mrs.

Robinson?” he said. “This is pathetic.”

“You don’t want to tell me about your day?”

“My day,” Benjamin said.

“Let’s go to bed.”

“I got up.”

“What?”

“I am telling you about my day, Mrs. Robinson.”

“Oh.”

“I got up in the morning. About twelve. I ate breakfast. After breakfast I had some beers. After the beers I went out to the pool. I blew air in the raft. I put the raft on the water. I got in the water myself. I floated on the raft.”

“What are you talking about,” Mrs. Robinson said.

“I have this raft I float on in the afternoons,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Then I ate dinner. After dinner I watched two quiz shows. Then I watched half a movie. Then I came here. Now. Tell me about your day.”

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“Do you want me to?”

“Yes I do.”

“I got up,” she said.

Benjamin began shaking his head.

“Do you want to hear it or not?”

“Yes,” Benjamin said. “But you might try and spice it up with a little originality.”

“I got up,” Mrs. Robinson said again. “I ate breakfast and went shopping. During the afternoon I read a novel.”

“What one.”

“What?”

“What novel did you read.”

“I don’t remember.”

Benjamin nodded.

“Then I fixed dinner for my husband and waited until—”

“There!” Benjamin said, whirling around and pointing at her.

“What?”

“Your husband! Mr. Robinson! There’s something we could have a conversation about.”

“Him?”

“I mean everything,” Benjamin said. “I don’t know anything about how you—how you work this. I don’t know how you get out of the house at night. I don’t know the risk involved.”

“There isn’t any,” she said.

“There’s no risk?”

She shook her head.

“But how do you work it. How do you get out of the house.”

“I walk out.”

“You walk right out the door?”

She nodded.

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“But your husband. What do you say to him.”

“He’s asleep.”

“Always?”

“Benjamin, this isn’t a very interesting topic.”

“Please,” Benjamin said. “Now tell me. How do you know he won’t wake up sometime and follow you.”

“Because he takes sleeping pills.”

“But what if he forgets.”

“What?”

“What if he forgets to take them. What if they don’t work one night.”

“He takes three sleeping pills every night at ten o’clock. Now why don’t we—”

“No wait,” Benjamin said. “I want to know these things. I mean I can think about them. At ten o’clock I can think about Mr. Robinsontaking his three pills.” He cleared his throat. “So,” he said. “He takes the pills.

But what about the noise from the car. What if—”

“The driveway’s on my side of the house.”

“We’re talking,” Benjamin said, smiling suddenly.

“What?”

“We’re talking, Mrs. Robinson. We’re talking!”

“Calm down, Benjamin.”

“Now let’s keep going here,” he said, seating himself again in the chair.

“Can I undress and talk at the same time?”

“Right.”

“Thank you.”

“Now,” Benjamin said. “You say the driveway’s on your side of the house.”

She nodded and began unbuttoning her blouse.

“So I guess you don’t sleep in the same room.”

“We don’t.”

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“So you don’t ... I mean I don’t like to seem like I’m prying but I guess you don’t sleep together or anything.”

“No we don’t,” she said, unbuttoning the final button.

“Well how long has this been going on.”

“What.”

“That you’ve been sleeping in different rooms. Different beds.”

Mrs. Robinson looked up at the ceiling a moment. “About five years,”

she said.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“You have not slept with your husband for five years?”

“Now and then,” she said, removing the blouse. “He gets drunk a few times a year.”

“How many times a year.”

“On New Year’s Eve,” she said. “Sometimes on his birthday.”

Benjamin shook his head. “Man, is this interesting,” he said.

“Is it?”

“So you don’t love him. You wouldn’t say you—”

“We’ve talked enough, Benjamin.”

“Wait a minute. So you wouldn’t say you loved him.”

“Not exactly,” she said, slipping out of her skirt and putting it on the hanger.

“But you don’t hate him,” Benjamin said.

“No Benjamin, I don’t hate him. Undo my bra.” She backed up to the chair.

“You don’t hate him and you don’t love him,” Benjamin said, reaching up to unfasten the two straps of her bra.

“That’s right.”

“Well how do you feel about him then.”

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“I don’t,” she said. She dropped the bra on the bureau.

“Well that’s kind of a bad situation then, isn’t it.”

“Is it?”

“I mean it doesn’t sound like it could be much worse. If you hated him at least you’d hate him.”

She nodded and removed her slip.

“Well you loved him once, I assume,” Benjamin said.

“What?”

“I say I assume you loved your husband once. When you first knew him.”

“No,” she said.

“What?”

“I never did, Benjamin. Now let’s—”

“Well wait a minute,” he said. “You married him.”

She nodded.

“Why did you do that.”

“See if you can guess,” she said. She unfastened her stockings from their clasps and began peeling them down over her legs.

“Well I can’t,” Benjamin said.

“Try.”

“Because of his money?”

“Try again,” she said. She began forcing the girdle down around her legs.

“You were just lonely or something?”

“No.”

Benjamin frowned. “For his looks?” he said. “He’s a pretty handsome guy, I guess.”

“Think real hard, Benjamin.”

Benjamin frowned down at one of her feet, then shook his head. “I can’t see why you did,” he said, “unless . . . you didn’t
have
to marry him or anything, did you?”

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“Don’t tell Elaine,” Mrs. Robinson said.

“Oh no.”

She nodded.

“You had to marry him because you got pregnant?”

“Are you shocked?”

“Well,” Benjamin said, “I never thought of you and Mr. Robinson as the kind of people who . . .” He shook his head.

“All right,” she said. “Now let’s go to bed.”

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. So how did it happen.”

“What?”

“I mean do you feel like telling me what were the circumstances?”

“Not particularly.”

“I mean what was the setup. Was he a law student at the time?”

She nodded.

“And you were a student also.”

“Yes.”

“At college.”

“Yes.”

“What was your major.”

She frowned at him. “Why are you asking me all this.”

“Because I’m interested, Mrs. Robinson. Now what was your major subject at college.”

“Art.”

“Art?”

She nodded.

“But I thought you—I guess you kind of lost interest in it over the years then.”

“Kind of.”

“So,” Benjamin said. “You were an art major and he was a law student.

And you met him. How did you meet him. At a party or at a dance or—”

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“I don’t remember, Benjamin,” she said, removing her bobby pins and shaking her head to let the hair fall down around her shoulders, “and I am getting pretty tired of this conversation.”

“Well how did it happen. How did you get pregnant.”

“How do you think.”

“I mean did he take you up to his room with him? Did you go to a hotel?”

“Benjamin, what does it possibly matter.”

“I’m curious.”

“We’d go to his car,” she said.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“In the car you did it?”

“I don’t think we were the first.”

“Well no,” Benjamin said. “But it’s—it’s kind of hard to conceive of you and Mr. Robinson going at it in the car.” He sat down in the chair again and began to smile. “In the car?” he said. “You and him?”

“Me and him.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “So that’s where old Elaine—” He looked up. “What kind of car was it.”

“What?”

“Do you remember the make of car?”

“Oh my God.”

“Really,” Benjamin said. “I want to know.”

“It was a Ford, Benjamin.”

“A Ford!” he said, jumping up from the chair. “A Ford!” He laughed aloud. “Goddammit, a Ford! That’s great!”

“That’s enough.”

He shook his head and smiled down at the rug. “So old Elaine Robinson got started in a Ford.”