The Theban Mysteries (17 page)

What troubled Kate was whether or not the Theban or the Jablons would emerge from this investigation healthier than if it had never been undertaken. Indeed, could any institution or family or relationship survive the pressures of these difficult times? She remembered how, in earlier years, one returned to the educational
institutions from which one had graduated only occasionally, but then in the certainty of finding peace. One had always thought to oneself, If only I could come back here where everything is ordered and in proportion. But what such places were there now? Whatever had brought this body to the Theban, or the boy to the Theban before it, had shattered forever the mirage of the school as a place of peace. Dogs patrolled its rooms, and the dead and frightened were found upon its premises.

The Theban stood on one of those delicious side streets on the East Side which appear unchanged from earlier, more halcyon times. This is an illusion—since the town houses were almost all divided into apartments, or even into offices. The street was quiet, nonetheless, tree-lined and airy; there were no tall buildings in the immediate vicinity, the Theban itself, ten stories high, being the tallest. Was it a street on which anyone was likely to notice very much? Its busiest moment came in the afternoon, when the buses gathered to drive the younger students home. Only then did the demure, if institutional-looking building declare itself a school. For, like all elegant girls’ schools in New York, it bore no name, no sign, no plaque upon its entrance to announce itself. One either knew this was the Theban, or one had no business knowing.

Miss Tyringham greeted Kate with a kind of fatigued relief.

“You are all right, aren’t you?” Kate asked. “I’ve got so used to seeing people in positions of authority in academia grow tired, ill, and full of despair and foreboding
that perhaps I’ve become unduly alarmed. But you do look what the English call nervy.”

“Oh, it’s just one of those flu things I always seem to get at winter’s last gasp, nothing serious, what my mother used to call up-doings and down-doings. At least,” she added, “that does for an explanation. In fact, of course, I’m worried.”

“About the body?”

“Among much else. We don’t talk frankly about it, you know, but we’re running into a good bit of trouble—we, in that sentence, being the figures of authority at private schools. Oh, I don’t just mean pants, and Moratorium Days, or even the threat of drugs. A number of our girls don’t go to school at all, particularly the seniors. I think if the figure of how many middle- and upper-class youngsters in New York were simply not attending school at this moment were published—which heaven forbid—the Mr. Jablons would really begin to fret.”

“Is Angelica’s staying out part of all that, do you think?”

“Possibly, possibly not. She certainly had a hard time. She’s home now, but doesn’t want to consider school.”

“One of the things I wanted to ask you is if you have any objection to my going to see her. Of course, I’ll courteously ask her grandfather, but he’s hardly likely to refuse unless Angelica does. Do you mind if I talk to him too?”

“No, I think not. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this, if that’s possible in anything under a fifteen-year psychoanalysis.”

“Long private analysis is going out of style, I think. The new thing’s encounter groups, acting out and all that.”

“Is it, indeed? Well, to be frank, I never could muster up much faith in psychoanalysis, though we’ve had an extraordinary number of our students in therapy if not analysis over the years. There was a time when it seemed as de rigueur as orthodonture, and that, I’ve always suspected, was necessary in twenty percent of the cases, at a generous estimate.”

“Have you heard anything of encounter groups here?”

“Here at the Theban? No.” She looked at Kate. “Oh, dear,” she said, “you’re trying to tell me something, or if you’re not trying, I’m hearing it anyway. Never mind, I don’t want to know. I was right anyway about the
Antigone
, wasn’t I? Isn’t it still relevant?”

“I’m beginning to think extraordinarily so. For example, when Creon finally becomes convinced that he was wrong not to have buried Polynices and to have punished Antigone for doing so, he goes to release her from the cave where he’s had her interred. But he stops on the way to bury Polynices, and when he gets to the cave it’s too late. She’s dead, and so is everyone he cared for. Oh, don’t look so stricken, I’m not predicting any more bodies, merely suggesting that perhaps it is Angelica who should get our first attention—doubtless just a fancy, to bring my subject into the news, a common academic ploy.”

“Oh, dear. Go ahead and cope with the Jablons if you will be so good. What else have you on your agenda?”

“More dreary questions. Tell me a bit, in a rapid sort
of way, about the five other girls in the seminar. You advise the seniors, don’t you; consult about college, and all that?”

“Oh, yes. I also hold a class in ethics, a Theban tradition, if you can believe it—but of course you must remember.”

“Certainly I do. What in God’s name does ethics mean these days?”

“Well may you ask. I’ve ended up doing what everyone in the academic world does do now, I let the girls decide what they want to discuss, hoping to heaven it isn’t sex, because of course, no matter what people say, that really can’t be handled by the school except scientifically and in a factual sort of way—our science teachers take turns at it, with a frankness that astounds me. But my unmarried state happily protected me from the fate of discussing sex—they were afraid of startling me, I suppose. What they did want to discuss was their parents, which was almost worse than sex. However, I managed to turn
that
into a more or less organized combination of questionnaire and sociological study. We asked all the students in the last two years of the upper school what they most objected to in the behavior of their parents and then—this was where I thought I was rather clever—we asked the parents of the two first years in the upper school (because we didn’t want people actually comparing notes) what they most objected to in the behavior of their children. It all turned out to be fascinating, and if we want to call it ethics, who’s to stop us? Which seems a remarkably long-winded way of saying, yes, I do know something about the seniors.”

“Did all the parents and all the students agree, more
or less, on what they couldn’t stand in the other group?” Kate asked, fascinated.

“Oh, yes, it was really quite unanimous. The students objected to the fact that their parents were dishonest and pressuring about their values. That is, they might
say
they wouldn’t put pressure on the girl to get good marks and go to a good college, but it was perfectly clear to the girls that that’s just what the parents were doing. They
said
they didn’t care about material things, but did, and so forth. The girl’s hairdo mattered more than her ideas. Hypocrisy, in a word. The parents, on the other hand, objected that they could never do anything right. That no matter how they tried to get on with their adolescent children, and meet them halfway, everything,
everything
they did was always wrong, even if they did exactly opposite things on two days running. The discussion cleared the air, and we all concluded that, while parents could stand corrected, children were bound to find their parents lacking, and there was nothing for it but to bear parenthood with what fortitude God gives.”

“Or avoid it.”

“Well, rather late in the day for that in the case of Theban parents. Being a parent
is
rather harder these days; there are so many more things to say ‘no’ to where the society isn’t helping you at all, and the dangers, such as drugs, syphilis, and car accidents and rapes are even more frightening than ever they were. So much for ethics. What else do you want to know?”

“Just give me a bit about the family backgrounds, where they live, values, all that.”

“Freemond Oliver is absolutely top drawer, though if you quote me I shall deny ever having used the phrase.
We’ve had four Olivers at the Theban, and there are a couple of boys besides. They live in a duplex on lower Park Avenue and Freemond …”

“O.K. Betsy Stark I know best of the girls, but not what sort of family she comes from.”

“I take it money is what you want to hear about.”

“Not to put too fine a point on it, yes; that and any indications of excessive, or excessively limited, freedom.”

“The Starks have money from the mother’s side of the family. The grandmother pays for the children’s education. The family lives on East Seventy-something, I forget just where, one of those big, spacious, prewar apartments which went co-op.”

“And the mother is homely but vivacious and bright, and she thinks her husband married her for her money, and so does Betsy.”

“You seem to know more about them than I do.”

“I don’t know anything. I’m surmising and I’m probably wrong. Isn’t it funny how people with money are never certain they’re loved for themselves, but people with beauty are always sure of it?”

“That’s either very profound or doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Like most of my remarks. And Alice Kirkland?”

“Ah, a problem that one. It’s always so annoying when rebelliousness takes the form of pure rudeness. The youngest of the family, and at home with parents who indulge her ridiculously, not even requiring the bare modicum of courtesy. We recommended boarding school
very
strongly, but Alice wasn’t having any. Of course, we never insist. Money. Oh, lots. Mr. Kirkland recently gave us a check for fifty thousand dollars. He
said he had made it in a phone call that took thirty seconds, and he was anxious not to be a philistine.”

“Did you take it?”

“Naturally, my dear, though not without pointing to the story of the plumber who charged fifty dollars and fifty cents for fixing the furnace: fifty cents for tapping, and fifty dollars for knowing where to tap. Who else have you got?”

“Elizabeth McCarthy and Irene Rexton.”

“Ah, yes. Elizabeth was at school with the Mesdames, of course, until this year. We don’t usually take girls for the last year, but her school recommendations were impeccable, and she came with letters not only from three sets of Theban parents, but from the Cardinal himself.”

“I see. And Irene? Lovely to look at, delightful to know, as Reed would say.”

“And heaven to kiss, I’m sure all the men would agree. She’s the adopted child of a pair of Columbia anthropologists—both dark as the natives they are always wandering off to live among, and with views toward adolescent independence that would do credit to the Samoans. She was the only student with no complaints to make about her parents.”

“She’s such a shatteringly conventional child, always defending Ismene and simple womanhood.”

“I know. The bringing-up of children is a total enigma. Though perhaps if one looks like that, one must be conventional or die.”

“They live around Columbia, I suppose?”

“Yes, I think so, let me check.” Miss Tyringham leafed through a loose-leaf notebook. “Here we are,
Morningside Drive. That’s the lot, including the Jablons, whom I gather you know all about.”

“Or will do my best to find out about.”

“You must tell me someday what all this is in aid of.”

“I promise to tell you, even if it turns out, as it probably will, not to be in aid of anything. I’ll just jot down the addresses, and ask one more question, though a sticky one. No, I’ve two more. Do you mind if Mr. Jablon knows that Reed discovered the dogs unlikely to have missed Miss Jablon, had she been there? He’s mighty anxious for the information, and I’d like to find out why.”

“I can’t see why he shouldn’t know. At the moment I’ve adopted the policy of straightforwardness, which causes a lot less trouble in the end and anyhow comes to me naturally.”

“Well, try to be straightforward about this. Suppose one of the faculty at the Theban, or one of the parents, was in any way involved with Mrs. Jablon’s death and presence here—I don’t mean killed her, of course; she wasn’t killed, as you know. Would you be inclined to be tolerant about it?”

“It would depend. No, I’m not fudging, it would. A parent is hardly my business. A teacher is. The whole question would be whether in the light of this new information I still considered her able to do her work properly.”

“Which is not very straightforward.”

“No it’s not. But then, neither is your question. You’re asking me whether or not you are free to tell me the name of a teacher who is involved, since if I am likely to fire her, you are not free. It is only possible to
find straightforward answers to straightforward questions, if then.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, it’s only the merest suspicion, so don’t worry about it. I’m also wondering if I should stop right here, but somehow I know I mustn’t. Not if we want to get to the cave in time.”

“The cave?”

“Where Angelica is. The cave of guilt, perhaps.”

“Oh dear, oh dear.”

“I’m also interested in Grandpa, oddly enough. And in the Theban. Will you keep on the dogs regardless?”

“Oh, yes. They’re still the cheapest and best protection we could have, and now that they’re so famous, they’ll be even better.
And
since their infallibility has been so decisively proved.”

“I wonder, though, at your hiring such a misogynist to protect a girls’ school.”

“My dear, it is always those who fear women who are most assiduous to protect them for their own good, provided of course they aren’t sexual maniacs, and Mr. O’Hara is not only past it, he comes with the best recommendations from the Pentagon on down.”

“Guaranteed above reproach.”

“And beneath contempt, you suggest. He’s an excellent watchman all the same. I’m old enough to prefer that to his agreeing to every opinion I hold. Rose and Lily, fortunately, have no opinions whatever.”

“Are you answering my sticky question? Yes, oh dear, I see that you are,” Kate said, and came away.

She stopped in the lobby and imposed upon Miss Strikeland long enough to call Mr. Jablon. Kate was aware that Reed had managed to call her on the previous
evening from a nearby phone booth, but not even this knowledge could alter her conviction that no telephone in New York City was in operating condition. Usually their receivers hung straight down in a forlorn state of impotence—if one was lucky, that is. Otherwise, one dropped dimes in to be rewarded neither by a dial tone nor the return of one’s money. Like most people who continue not only to survive in New York but to love the city, Kate had learned to avoid the most obvious sources of frustration and anger: taxis at rush hour, phone booths at any time. Miss Strikeland connected her with commendable efficiency.