out, “Get back in time for swim meet Monday. I think you’ll make the
team, Mitch. No kidding.”
“Teams!” Lucifer said as he took her arm and led her out of the room.
“Teams at a time like this!”
When he left her at the entrance to Main Dorm, he asked her to go out
with him on Saturday. “We’ll go to a movie,” he said. “After all, it’s
our honeymoon. We might as well splurge.”
Mitch agreed. She pushed the door open and walked through the lobby of
the dorm toward the stairs. The small girl at the reception desk called
out her name. Mitch stopped and turned around. “Dean Paterson said to
call her at the office,” the girl told her. “You can use the phone on
this floor if you want. To your left.”
* * * * *
“I’ll drive you over after dinner,” Dean Paterson told Mitch over the
phone. “Now, keep your chin up and don’t worry about it. I’ll pick you
up at seven.”
Mitch hung up. She stayed there in the booth and looked dumbly at the
four walls, marked with penciled phone numbers, red lipstick prints
where someone had kissed one of the walls, pictures of rabbits and
girls’ heads, the sign that said, “Others are waiting,” and the one that
said, “Well! Don’t take all day!” She pulled the door back and walked
slowly toward the stairs. A girl ran out of her room and brushed up
against Mitch, saying, “I’m sorry,” and hurrying on, with her coat
flying in the wind she made as she ran.
What kind of reunion would it be there in the hospital, Mitch wondered?
What would they say to each other?
* * * * *
The headlights blinded Mitch as she walked toward the car. Dr. Peters
got out and let her move in so that she was sitting between them.
“It won’t take long,” Dean Paterson said, “but it’s very important.”
“How—is Leda?” Even the name was hard to say. Again a favorite slogan of
her father’s ran through her mind: “Every good pencil has an eraser.”
She wanted desperately to erase Leda from her mind.
“She’s still in serious condition,” Dr. Peters answered, “but we’re
hopeful. She asked to see you. Two of her sorority sisters were over
this morning. I asked them to do something for me and they did it very
well. Now I’m going to ask you, Susan.”
“What?”
Dr. Peters explained that Leda still thought Mitch was going to be
expelled.
“She feels guilty,” he said, “and it’s preventing her from wanting to
get better. And yet we can’t let her know that you’re not being
expelled, because then she’d realize that we know all about her, and she
couldn’t take that. You’ve got to try to make her feel as though
everything’s all right. Make her think you’re happy and that you’ve
forgiven her. You’ll be alone with her, Susan, but we’ll be close by. If
she gets emotional, try to be calm yourself. Say things that will ease
her mind about you. All right?”
Dean Paterson stopped for the light and reached over to touch Mitch’s
hand. “It won’t be easy for you, Susan,” she said, “but try very hard,
dear. Don’t tell her you’re at the dorm. Tell her you’re staying with me
until you go home.”
Tell her, don’t tell her, say, don’t say, all jumbled up and crazy in
her mind. Mitch watched the lights from other cars and tried to remember
what Leda’s face was like. She couldn’t remember. And her voice. She
couldn’t recall what Leda’s voice was like. High or low? Dr. Peters and
Dean Paterson kept talking, and Mitch could only think that she did not
even know Leda, or them, or why she was there. The car swung into the
spacious parking lot behind the hospital, and the night air felt cold on
Mitch’s face as she stepped out of the car and followed them into the
building.
Some students sat in the chairs at the right of the entrance, and a
telephone operator pulled out colored cords from her board and kept
repeating, “University Hospital, one mo-ment” in a singsong tone. There
was a strange silence in the halls as they walked, and the elevator
seemed crowded, though there were just the three of them, and Dr. Peters
pushed the buttons himself.
The door moved back automatically, and they walked along until they came
to the door with the screen in front of it. Mitch went in and they
waited outside. Dr. Peters pushed the screen back when the nurse came
out, and Mitch could hear the door close behind her. Slowly she walked
toward the bed. When she saw Leda’s face in the dim light, she knew why
she was there.
She said, “Leda?”
Leda opened her eyes. She looked at Mitch without smiling. She didn’t
say anything, and Mitch moved closer.
“Hello, Leda,” Mitch said.
Almost instantly Leda seemed to regain her energy. She smiled and tried
to move up farther on the big pillow behind her head. “Hi, kid,” she
said.
“How do you feel?”
“God, I feel lousy.”
“I’m sorry, Leda. Terribly sorry.”
She was sorry, too. She knew it when she said it and looked at the girl.
She was plain sorry.
“You shouldn’t be sorry for me. I guess I ought to be sorry myself,
Mitch.”
“No,” Mitch said. “Everything turned out O.K. for me. You did best,
Leda.”
“You think so? You really believe that?”
“Well, all I know is, I think it’s best the way you did it.”
“_You_ would,” Leda laughed. “You _would_, Mitch. You know something?”
“What, Leda?” Mitch had never seen a face like that. It looked old and
lined with fear and worry. But it was Leda’s face, Mitch realized, and
there was something there in the look that was not too strange.
Familiar.
“If I ever do anything good, I don’t know when I’m doing it. You know
what I mean? I just do it, and then sometimes it turns out good. Do you
know?”
“Yes, I know, Leda.”
“If it turned out good for you, kid, I’m glad.”
“It did, Leda. It turned out good.”
“I was worried,” Leda said, reaching over for her cigarettes. “Hand me
one, will you, kid? Dr. Peters said I could smoke if I wanted today, but
I didn’t feel like it till now.”
Mitch gave her the cigarette and lit it for her with the small,
blue-covered matchbox that said, “Clean-Rite Cleaners” on the top, and
“You get it dirty—we’ll get it clean.”
“I was worried,” Leda continued. “I thought you’d be sore at me. I
wouldn’t have blamed you, either. I’m sorry about the letter. Nessy
found it, you know. There wasn’t much I could do.”
“I know,” Mitch said. “Let’s not talk about it, Leda. I’m glad you
feel—”
“Wait a minute. Why _not_ talk about it? Why not? You don’t believe that
Nessy found that letter, do you, Mitch? Come on, Mitch. Even _you_ don’t
believe that!”
“Leda, please. Let’s forget it.”
“Forget it! My God, forget it! You know what it’s like to lie here in
this goddamn bed and think about everything? Some circus, this is! Some
big circus!”
She laughed and she stopped laughing abruptly. For a moment the look of
peace and ease came back to her face and she smiled. “I do feel better,”
she said. “Marsha and Kitten were here this morning. I haven’t seen Jake
yet.”
“Maybe you’ll see him tomorrow,” Mitch said.
“Hell, who am I kidding? I’m not kidding you, am I, Mitch? I don’t care
if I ever see him again.” Leda blew the smoke out and tried to sit up
farther. Mitch moved over to help her with the pillow. Leda’s eyes met
Mitch’s then under the light. They seemed to lose some of their green
color, and there were lines around the sockets under them.
“I’m not kidding you, am I, Mitch?”
Leda caught Mitch’s hand when she brought it back from the pillow. “You
know I don’t give a damn about Jake, don’t you?”
Mitch felt the coldness of Leda’s skin. The same skin that used to feel
warm and send chills through her and excite her. A momentary physical
memory came back, but the warmth was fleeting and then dead when she
looked back at Leda’s face. She tried to pull her hand away but Leda
held it tightly.
“I told you the other night. I told you right that night, Mitch.
Remember that. No matter what happens after I get out of here, don’t
forget I told you right. I probably won’t see you again, anyway.” Her
voice seemed to break on the last sentence. She said, “Going home,
Mitch? Back to Seedmore or Sneedmore or wherever it is?”
“I suppose,” Mitch said. She saw the tears in the corners of Leda’s
eyes.
“You know I don’t want to be without you, don’t you?” Her fingers
fastened more strongly on Mitch’s and Mitch could feel her crushing
them. She could feel her own eyes fill. It wasn’t because of Leda. It
was _for_ Leda that she wanted to cry. She wanted to cry a long time for
Leda.
She said, “Yes, I know that, Leda. Don’t think about it.”
“It’s hard not to think about it. God! God! God!” Leda let Mitch’s hand
go and moved her head back and forth on the pillow, clasping her own
hands together and saying, “God, oh, God!” Then she did not move, but
stared straight ahead and talked slowly. “You know something, Mitch?
It’s going to be all right. I’ve just got a feeling that it’s going to
be all right. I mean, maybe I didn’t do too bad by you. Hell, there are
plenty of colleges and sororities. You wouldn’t have to go far away. I
could still see you.”
A tear came down Mitch’s cheek. God help her, she thought. Oh, God help
Leda. She needs help now.
Leda saw the tear. She smiled, and her voice rose. “You crazy kid!
You’re crying! You’re crying!” Her own tears came forward. “You got me
crying too,” she said. “You crazy kid!”
Leda reached for the ash tray and put the cigarette in it. The smoke
spiraled up. Her face was wet, and she began to talk faster with the
tears coming too. “Maybe you can see me again before you go. When are
you going, Mitch?”
“I don’t know,” Mitch said. “I’m not sure. It’s up to the Dean.”
“You—you didn’t tell her about me? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I
want to know, though. Did you, Mitch?” The edge of her white cloth
hospital gown was wet and the tears did not stop.
“No,” Mitch said, “I didn’t tell her.” Please, God, she thought, forgive
me for lying to her. There are enough lies.
“I wouldn’t blame you, Mitch. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated my guts.
You do, don’t you?”
She began to laugh then, and to cry and sob, her shoulders shaking and
her hands covering the wild expression of hysteria. Mitch kept saying,
“I don’t hate you, Leda. No, I don’t hate you at all.”
The thick sound from Leda cut into Mitch’s words and rang through the
room, persistent and hammering. Mitch backed away, her heart throbbing,
afraid to go near Leda while it kept up and Leda writhed in the sheets.
Momentarily Leda’s hand left her face and she stared ahead, quietly,
unmoving, but this lasted only a quick second and she lapsed back again,
laughing and weeping, her whole body convulsed.
Fear ran through Mitch, and when the nurse opened the door and took the
needle over to Leda, Mitch looked back once more, and left the room
remembering Leda like that.
Dean Paterson was waiting outside, and her arm went around Mitch’s waist
as they walked along the hall. Mitch could see the thin figure of Dr.
Peters waiting at the end of the corridor, and she could smell the tangy
odor of his tobacco.
Chapter Twelve
There was a warm sun that morning, and the air was so cold that the
messenger boy could see his breath as he walked up the steps. He pushed
the button and shuffled his feet and clapped his hands together after he
laid the package beside him on the porch and waited for someone to
answer the door.
He could hear an alarm go off somewhere in the house. It was early in
Greek Town, eight o’clock, and across the street at the Delta Pi house,
the windows on the second and third floors were half open and the shades
were down.
A girl in a blue wool robe answered the door and signed for the package.
The boy could see other girls through the door, filing lazily into a
large dining room, wearing robes like the one this girl had on. He could
smell bacon and eggs and hot coffee while he stood there waiting for her
to put her signature on his pad. She handed it back to him, and he
picked up the package and gave it to her. Then he hurried down the steps
to his bicycle, and took off at a good speed.
Bebe Duncan rapped on the door to Nessy’s suite.
“It’s a package,” she said, “from Kansas City.”
Inside, Nessy put the final touch to her dress, the small square-shaped
pearl brooch. She was proud of the fact that she _never_ ate breakfast
in a robe, that she was always dressed for the day by eight o’clock in
the morning at the latest. She fluffed her hair and gave one last jab to
her nose with the powder puff.
“Coming,” she said, sliding the lock back and emerging from the room,
her lilac perfume filling the hall where Bebe stood with the package.
“We’ll bring it into the breakfast room.” She smiled, walking stanchly
ahead and leaving Bebe to follow with it.
There was a noisy scraping of chairs as the Tri Eps stood up when Mother
Nesselbush entered beaming and walked regally to the head table, where
she pushed her fat hips into the chair. They all sat down again, and
watched Bebe bring the package and Nessy take a knife to the string.
“I think,” she said, “that I know what this is.” She looked very secret,
with her lips puckered in a cryptic expression of pleasure.
The brown paper fell from the box and Nessy reached into it and pulled
out rumpled sheets of white tissue and another box, a red one. She set
it on the table and lifted the cover. The Tri Eps gasped and sighed. The
silverware looked beautiful and brilliant against the red velvet
background.
“Gee,” Bebe Duncan said. “With Mitch gone, they might take it back now.”
“No,” Nessy said, her eyes dazzled with the silver pieces, her mind
filled with vivid pictures of intimate gatherings in her suite with the
other housemothers, and the way they too would gasp and sigh when they
saw it. “After all, we did what was asked. We pledged the girl and gave
her a chance.”
One by one the Tri Eps came by the table to touch the silver and run
their fingers along the magnificent crest. They left their breakfast and
hung around the table where the box lay.
“We’ll use it for the exchange with Delta Pi next week,” Jane Bell said,
holding a fork so that it caught the light and gleamed.
“Lord, let’s not wait till then. How about Sunday dinner, tomorrow?”
“It isn’t even out of the box yet.”
“Look at the demitasse spoons!”
“Now all we need is cups.”
It was not long after she had opened the box that Mother Nesselbush was
called to the phone. She left the girls in the dining room, exclaiming,
fondling each piece, planning for its use, Marsha by that time advising
all of them that they had better vote on whether to save it for special
occasions or to use it every day. When Nessy entered the small phone
booth outside the dining room, Marsha was asking for a show of hands.
Mother Nesselbush’s face was strangely animated when she reappeared and
stood in the entrance. There was a look of grimness, oddly striped with
fascination and a secret pleasure at the thought of the shock she was
about to introduce to Epsilon Epsilon Epsilon.
“Girls,” she said. “Please—everybody.”
They turned and faced her and she waited. She looked down at the
tablecloth and the rows of dishes filled with cold eggs and curled
pieces of bacon. It was very quiet. She said, “Dr. Peters just called
from the University Hospital. Leda Taylor has had a complete nervous
breakdown. Her mother arrived late last night, and Leda is completely
out of control. Absolutely broken!”
There was silence, and then the noise of the sudden rush of voices, and
the fork that fell from Marsha’s hand and clattered to the floor. Mother
Nesselbush held her hand up for silence. “We are to pack her things. I
suggest that Marsha and Kitten come into my apartment immediately to
make plans for this.”
The three of them left the dining room, and left behind them the gabble
of high voices and the low buzz of awed exclamations and the repetition
of her name, “Leda!”
Nessy shut the doors to her apartment and leaned forward, whispering as
though her words could be heard through the walls. “I saw it coming,”
she said. “When I talked to Dean Paterson yesterday I could feel it
coming. She’ll have to go to an institution.”
“Gee,” Kitten said. “Leda!”
“I could just read into everything the doctor said when he called. I
just know she’s a wild woman over there in that hospital. A wild woman!”
“I wonder where she’ll be sent?” Marsha said.
Nessy’s face was bubbling, and her eyes were shining as though she had
fever. “She won’t have a thing to do with her mother. There’s only one
place she could go. An _asylum_.” She said the word “asylum” with a
heavy tone of dread, and a note of finality for Leda, almost as though
she had said “the grave.”
“Lord,” Kitten said. “Leda in a nut house. Lord!”
Marsha looked away from them and toward the window and the leaves
running along the front of the house. She said, “As Tri Epsilons we must
do everything we can for her. I wonder,” she said dramatically, pausing,
her brow wrinkled, “I wonder if—if insane people can read mail.”
* * * * *
Dr. Peters lingered in the hall near the door as Susan Mitchell buttoned
her coat and put her scarf around her head. “Then I’ll see you on
Tuesday,” he said, taking her hand in a friendly good-by, “and have a
nice week end, Susan. Any big plans?”
“I’m going on a hay ride tonight. Robin and Tom and Lucifer and me.
That’s about all I’ve planned.”
He let her hand go and smiled as he held the door open. “Sounds like
fun,” he answered. “By, Susan.”
It was cold and there was a warning of snow in the fresh sweep of the
breeze as Mitch walked along the path from the hospital. She had a clean
feeling that was there whenever she finished talking with Dr. Peters,
and she knew she was whole now. The tower bell struck five times, and
distant figures of students carrying books hurried along the far walks,
their breaths frosting faintly in the cold air. When she went by the
auditorium, she could hear the university choir rehearsing for the
Christmas pageant, and the nostalgic strains drifted out to her. Dusk
was dressing the campus, and as Mitch walked with the music in her
heart, she thought of Leda—hazily, as though she were someone she had
known a long, long time ago.
She knew that if it had been any other way—if Leda Taylor could have
been helped, and could have at that moment walked there too and known
the peace in the twilight and the first hints of frost on the grass and
bushes surrounding Cranston—Mitch would have wanted that. Because it was
true what she had told Leda yesterday. She didn’t hate her. She didn’t
hate her at all, and she knew then that she had never really loved her.
The End
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