THE office building was large and gray, in the Nineties off Park. I looked at the row of brass plates until I found the one I wanted: E. BRAINTREE, M.D.
It had taken me two weeks to work up the nerve to come. On the evening of the day Val had disappeared, Braintree had called Emma and told her that she had Val, that Val was safe and sound, and that she would keep her in custody, so to speak, until Val felt she was ready to leave. Emma had demanded to know where she was, and said she had no right to take her away from her home and schoolwork without the permission of her guardian. Braintree had replied that Val’s mental health was at stake and that if she was not allowed to be alone and think, she might have a breakdown. Emma asked where she was, and Braintree refused to tell her. When I talked to Emma the next day, I asked her why she didn’t go to Braintree and demand to have Val back; what right had she to keep Val a prisoner? And Emma had sighed, and said that perhaps Braintree was right. It was an acknowledgment of defeat, both of giving up Val and her own self-confidence as a psychiatrist, and it made me sad.
“Breakdowns are a result of an accumulation of things, often repressed, piling upon the nerves,” Emma had said. “I think this might be a wise move, even though I disapprove of Dr. Braintree’s methods. But then I always have.”
I thought of telling Wimpole and Boothy the whole story, but decided not to. They would only say that I should just sit around and wait, and if Val wanted to be friends with me again, well and good. They would probably say I had interfered enough by dragging Val after Henry, and causing a new crisis, and that I should learn to sit on my hands, so to speak. I knew this was right, but I had not learned; and as the days dragged by, and Val was nowhere to be seen at school or anywhere else, my curiosity grew overwhelming. Then came the conviction that if nobody else was going to bother, I should be the one to get Val out of the clutches of Dr. Braintree. I thought of her as an evil spirit, casting spells on Val; and it was with rather a missionary courage that I at last convinced myself to go and talk to her. The thought was certainly frightening. I still envisioned her in a policewoman’s uniform, giving Val the third degree, and thought she would probably do something hideous to my mind while I was there. I vacillated for several days, then reminded myself that if I didn’t do something fast, the Boyds would return; and then I would be defeated. I summoned up the courage to call Braintree and ask her if I might come. She sounded as though she had been expecting me, and gave me an appointment. I didn’t like the word at all, but had no other choice. So I invented a dentist excuse to leave school early on the designated afternoon—feeling as though I was following in Val’s footsteps—and went to Braintree’s office.
I wore a navy blue suit, stockings, black suede shoes, and a dreary-looking hat. I wanted to look grim, formidable, and undistracting, and so I undoubtedly did. I strode into the elevator, a young woman with purpose, and asked for the sixth floor.
I rang the bell, and a nurse took me into a waiting room and told me Dr. Braintree would be with me in five minutes. Five minutes, I thought, sitting on a black and prickly sofa. It will take just five minutes to get that last childhood experience out of Mrs. X, and then she’ll just have to muddle through till next time. I picked up a magazine and read about conditions in lunatic asylums, and then the nurse beckoned and I walked into Dr. Braintree’s office.
She sat behind the desk, writing something in a notebook, and she pointed wordlessly to a chair. I sat down and looked at her. She was much different from what I had expected. She was much smaller, for one thing. She had slick black hair in bangs, glasses, and she was rather fat. I had pictured her as tall, gaunt and forbidding, and I was somewhat unnerved by the difference. She didn’t look as mean as I had expected, and I couldn’t picture her as having a single evil power. Suppose I like her? I thought, panicked. Suppose she convinces me she’s right? Then I reminded myself of her odd professional methods, and her presumptuousness in hiding Val away. She can’t be right, I told myself. Even if she smiles and acts sweet as pie, she’s done wrong things and I’m going to tell her so.
She put down the pen, closed the notebook, and put it neatly on the desk. Then she looked at me and smiled slightly. She had a direct stare, and I found myself avoiding her eyes.
“Marian Gilbert,” she said, in a quick, cool voice. Was she asking me or telling me?
“That’s right,” I said.
“I suppose you’ve come to ask me where Val is,” she said. Her black eyes were penetrating, but her voice was not unkind. It was, in fact, rather noncommittal, which I found irritating; I was spoiling for a fight.
“That’s right,” 1 said again.
“I take it you’ve talked to Emma Hambler, and she’s explained why I’m keeping Val.” She folded her hands on the desk. “Don’t you think she’s safe in my hands?”
I was slightly taken aback. “Well, I didn’t mean that she wasn’t, but we all think it’s funny she’s being hidden away...I mean...” I looked at her pathetically. “I mean when Val didn’t come to school or anything, I was worried, and then I talked to Emma, and she was worried too, and then you called her and said Val had to be alone and think or she might have a nervous breakdown.”
“Well, that’s more or less right,” said Braintree, smiling slightly.
“Is she going to have one?” I blurted. “Or has she had one already?”
“I think it has been averted,” she said. She waited as though she expected me to say something, and when I didn’t, she went on. “Val is staying with a professional friend of mine who has accommodations for occasional cases of this sort. She has seen practically no one for the past two weeks, except her hostess, and me, of course.” I glanced up, and she tapped the pencil on the desk. Another psychiatrist, I thought. Can’t she ever get away from them? “You probably wonder why she came to me.”
“Well, yes. I do.”
“It’s quite simple. I’m the only one who hasn’t let her down.”
I stared at her. “How can you say that?” I demanded, for-getting to be tactful. “Emma Hambler hasn’t let her down! I haven’t! Neither have my mother and Boothy. We all love her. Val even said herself...”
“Just a moment,” she said. “Let’s go slowly, and try to be realistic. Emma Hambler, as you probably know, follows Val around with a notebook and then looks up her findings in Freud. This is very dangerous, Miss Gilbert—very. Psychiatrists are trained people, just as doctors are. An Emma Hambler practicing textbook psychiatry on someone—particularly someone like Val, particularly one of my cases is like a college math major trying to perform a heart operation. I have never liked it and have constantly instructed Val to ignore Emma’s advice. Besides, I gather that Emma is somewhat frustrated herself, compensating for her childless state by taking in children as boarders.”
“You don’t know Emma,” I said. “You’ve never met her. She’s kind and generous, and she loves Val, and she just happens to be interested in reading Freud. She can’t help it if she couldn’t have children...”
“Of course not, Miss Gilbert. I’m not blaming her for her physical incapability, nor am I doubting her good intentions. I am simply saying that I don’t regard her as the best influence for Val to have at this stage of her life.” She smiled, and I felt a wave of annoyance. I wished she’d say something I could really argue with, but she was being maddeningly logical, and I found myself agreeing with most of what she said. “Let me explain something to you, Miss Gilbert, You seem to think I’m a fiend, after listening to Val talk about me, and I’d like to state my side of the case.” I thought of Isabel, in her green satin pants, bitterly saying that her own daughter thought her a monster. “One of the greatest problems of any science is to keep the factors constant. If a chemist wants to produce a reaction between two substances, he must have the temperature and the quantity exactly right for accurate results. If a biologist wants to see what happens to a guinea pig if it doesn’t get Vitamin A, he must control its diet so that it never gets Vitamin A. Doctors constantly have trouble because their patients don’t follow their advice to the letter. The ideal science would be one in which the doctor or experimenter could have absolute and complete control over all the factors, which is not always possible. Mathematics is the nearest example of that, but in my field, it is very difficult to have ideal circumstances. If I could have my way, I would supervise Val’s life for several years, exactly as I am doing now. This is a great opportunity for me, and for her too.”
“But Val isn’t a guinea pig,” I protested.
“She is a case, Miss Gilbert. She is far from being cured.”
“All right,” I said angrily. “You’ve told me why Emma is so horrible. Now how about me?”
“Now, please, Miss Gilbert,” she said. “Let’s give each other a chance.”
“I’m sorry,” I said helplessly.
“I’m certainly not going to give a thumbnail sketch of your psyche, except as it affects Val. There’s nothing really wrong with you at all, as far as I can tell, except...your parents are divorced?”
“Yes, and I live on Third Avenue.”
She ignored this. “I think this might have had something to do with your encouraging this Orient nonsense of Val’s. Girls whose father-love is frustrated are likely to have highly explosive ids, particularly during adolescence.” Necking parties, I thought, and then what? I saw myself in long black stockings and a red blouse, ambling along Sixth Avenue. “Henry Orient is a dream-figure of a man, entirely unreal. You thought if you could keep Val’s interest in him, you could put off the inevitable—Val’s becoming interested in boys and taking you along with her. You tried to fall in love with him yourself, probably.”
“Well, I did,” I admitted. “But I couldn’t seem to work up to it.”
“Of course not. I should guess your id wouldn’t settle for any dream-figure. It wants something real.” I began to feel myself a seething mass of horrible desires. “For Val, however, Henry Orient was an escape figure. She has some of the same id problems as you do. But besides that, it was a desire to create a world of her own. The one she lives in is far from satisfying. She met you, and you became her friend, so the two of you decided to make your own world, ignoring the rest of the Norton girls and their activities.”
“But Val isn’t like the Norton girls, and neither am I! And neither of us was interested in going to all the necking parties that they...” I stopped, feeling guilty. According to her, I was dying to go to them. “Anyway,” I charged on, “I don’t see what was so terrible about Henry. We had fun, and we learned about music and went to concerts...”
“Miss Gilbert, you have no idea how very complicated and neurotic Val is. Val is supposed to be adjusting to her home and family, not chasing after musicians she’s never met. Look what’s happened. You had that escapade the other night, which ended in humiliation. She came to me utterly exhausted and embarrassed, with a fully realized desire to start again on the right track.”
I felt a little chill of fear. Had Braintree won, after all? “So you think she should live with her parents,” I said slowly. “I suppose she showed you the clipping she had from the newspaper. Do you still think she should live with Isabel?”
“Oh, that clipping. That was a good thing, in my mind. Whoever gave it to her is to be congratulated.” I looked at her incredulously, thinking of Lilian’s yellow face with the tears running down it. “That ended her fixation for Henry Orient quickly and neatly. It showed her the sharp contrast between the dream world and reality, and proved, in an admittedly abrupt fashion, the contrast between her age and experience and her mother’s. She is competing with her mother for her father’s love, of course. The clipping put her in her place, so to speak. A form of shock treatment.”
“But...” I began to feel bewildered. “If the clipping made her almost have a nervous breakdown...”
“But she didn’t. It brought things to a head, and put her in a mood where I could have some influence over her. Val has always been a difficult patient. She is full of duplicity, and she constantly hid things from me.” I sat looking at her wretchedly. “Miss Gilbert, Val needs a normal home life. I think her parents understand that now, and when they come back this time, they will make every effort to make one for her in New York. Mr. Boyd can undoubtedly arrange it.”
“But, Dr. Braintree, they don’t love her,” I said. “You’ve never met them. You don’t know what kind of people they are. Mr. Boyd doesn’t care about anything but making money, and Mrs. Boyd keeps doing things like going to Henry Orient’s apartment.” She said nothing. “Doesn’t it make any difference that Emma loves her, and I do, and my family?” I asked, rather agitatedly.
“Miss Gilbert, it is her family that she must adjust to. It is not an ideal situation, but it is the only one she has. I’m sure you and your family mean well, but after all, you have no father. Or, rather, you hardly ever see him. Val has both a mother and a father.” She folded her hands again. “You think me cruel, Miss Gilbert. I think this is the only way Val will ever become a normal person. She has been hiding from things and running away from things all her life. She has never faced responsibility. She has never been anywhere for very long. It is high time she settled down. If she can grow to understand her parents and be able to live with them, she’ll be a stronger person. She understands that now.”
I saw very clearly that she had had a far greater influence on Val than I ever understood, and I remembered the stockings, the fawning attitude, the unreasonable willingness to please Isabel—to the point of allowing Isabel to keep her delusion about herself and Henry—and it was all from Braintree. I felt a surge of useless anger. Was there nothing, then, that I could do? She looked at me, and there was a certain sympathy in her face.
“Miss Gilbert, please understand that I am doing what I honestly believe to be right. Don’t you think it is my business to try and make people happy? Often the cure is painful. If I allow myself to feel sympathy, I’m not a very good doctor. Would you have any respect for a dentist who allowed all your teeth to rot away, because he couldn’t bring himself to use the drill? Can you see this?”
“I suppose so,” I mumbled. “But isn’t it different when it has to do with someone’s feelings?”
“No, it isn’t,” said Braintree kindly. “That was the first thing I learned as a psychiatrist.” She looked at me for a moment. “Would you like to see Val?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, surprised.
She took a piece of paper and wrote an address on it.
“Val is quite ready to see you. I don’t think you’ll find her in a very friendly mood, however. She is feeling a little rebellious toward you. I hope you won’t be angry with her.” She gave me the slip of paper. “You realize that your friendship with her must change. Val will eventually want to see you again, but not as frequently as before. She is rapidly outgrowing the age of such close attachments to other girls. She must make more friends at Talbott.”
“Talbott!” I exclaimed. Val wearing stockings to school every single day of the year! “Is that where she’s going?”
“Her mother has it in mind, and I certainly approve. It puts more emphasis on manners than Norton does.”
At last I was wounded enough to cry out. Val and I were being forcibly separated! I had thought that as long as we saw each other every day, I would have a chance at her again, and might be able to win her back to me; but now, clearly, I was beaten. All my feelings of kindness to Braintree disappeared, and I started to talk, hardly aware of what I was saying.
“You don’t have any sympathy. You’re trying to make Val something she isn’t. She’s special, and you’re trying to make her like everybody else. She’ll just get worse...you sit in your office all day, and you never think how people act outside. You never...”
“My job, Miss Gilbert, deals exclusively with trying to help people live in the world outside.”
“But you send her to Isabel, who wants to make a debutante out of her, and who won’t let her be a concert pianist! You’ve forgotten all about her music!” In the heat of the moment, I entirely forgot that Val herself had said she would never be a concert pianist. “She should study and get to know musicians, not all the little snot-nosed Talbott...”
“Please, Miss Gilbert! I thought I made myself clear to you. Have you thought about what you would do in Val’s position? What else is possible for her? She’s only thirteen years old. She can’t buck everything she has. Don’t you see that?”
I did see it, and it made me more furious than ever; not at Braintree any more, but at the world.
“Don’t you understand?” I shouted. “Don’t you understand anything? You’re going to ruin her! The world is going to ruin her!”
And I turned and ran out the door, leaving her standing there behind her desk; and her face was almost helpless, as though she knew underneath that her way for Val wasn’t the right one either.
I took the bus down to Sixty-eighth Street, where Val was staying. Before I went up, I stopped in a drugstore and had a cup of tea. I sat at the counter, full of anger and unhappiness. I knew I was defeated, and seeing Val would only prove it. But as I sat there, grimly raking over the interview, I understood the frightening truth in what she had said. There was no place for Val, save with her parents. Run off to another city, Wimpole said. How? How could she do anything at her age? How could she do anything for years, when it would be too late? For the first time I saw her not only up against her family, but up against a world that apparently could not accommodate her, a world that tried to make her adjust, when the whole keynote of her being was not adjusting to anything. Her mind—as full of color and imagination as a forest of tropical birds—had to be shaken down and shaped to fit the only kind of life that was possible for her; and it would, undoubtedly, become grayed and dull in the process. In a way, I felt appallingly ignorant about her. She still had facets I had never seen, and there were portions of her life I knew nothing about. Braintree’s diagnosis of her would undoubtedly be bewildering. My knowledge of her came from intuition and sympathy, a child’s knowledge. But since I felt, rather than really understood, her tragedy, being so young myself and dimly knowing how precious this time was, I had knowledge of her that went deeper than any theory of Braintree’s, or of any other adult’s. I shared her fate; it was my world as well as hers, we would grow up into it at the same time, and it was shocking to see how it was already treating another of my generation.
I paid for my tea and walked slowly across the street, my gloves and hat crumpled in my hand. I felt as though I were going through the motions of a pantomime, when everybody knew what the ending was going to be anyway. But I had a last shred of hope that I could salvage something, however little, from what we had. In the past hour I had lost such ground that I demanded little; just the privilege of occasionally hearing what she was doing, and perhaps seeing her every few years. I wanted to see what she would turn into, and speculate on what she was thinking and feeling. Perhaps something might leak through to me, and make a difference sometime.
The door was open slightly, and I walked in. She was sitting at a small upright piano in the far corner of the room, playing a bit from this and a bit from that. When she saw me she gave a little smile.
“Hi, Gilbert,” she said nonchalantly. “Braintree just called and said you were on your way over.” She turned back to finish the phrase of Bach she had been playing, and I felt a wave of irritation. Up to the last she must pretend that nothing matters to her, that this scrap of music emanating from her magnificent brain is vastly more important than the likes of me, and that the whole thing must be staged very conspicuously. I took off my jacket and threw it on a chair, along with the dreary hat. No one seemed to be around, and the room was dreadful—orange walls and brown curtains.
“Val,” I said, “stop that hammering and sit down. I’ve come here to talk.”
“I thought you liked me to play,” she said.
“I can’t stand Bach.”
She closed a book of music that she had not been using, then came slowly over and sat down on the sofa.
“How do you like it here?” I asked, sitting opposite her.
“I wouldn’t go for the color scheme,” she said, “but the food isn’t bad.”
“Where’s Dr. What’s-her-name?”
“Out jouncing somebody’s gray matter.”
“Does she jounce yours?”
“Mildly. About like Emma.” She looked straight at me, then offered me a cigarette. She seemed to have become a nicotine addict. I wondered what to say to her; her manner was defensive.
“Since you came here to talk,” she said, “we might as well start. I’ll start, since you look fogged. Why didn’t you tell me about Isabel?”
I felt as though I had been immersed in a cold bath. Her face was hard, and it frightened me. I can’t fight back, I thought helplessly. I have no strength left. I’ll just be honest, and grovel, and see what happens. If I’m down she can’t hit me very hard.
“I didn’t have the nerve,” I said.
“It would have made everything much simpler.”
“How did you find out? That she was at the apartment, I mean?”
“I guessed. When I saw the clipping and remembered your green face when you came down the stairs, it all made sense.” She mashed out the cigarette. “Why didn’t you tell, when we got back to the Melt? You missed a swell opportunity. Isabel was being bitchy, and it would have been a fine way to slap back at her.” Her voice was a little agitated. “I thought you hated her enough to poison anything good I thought about her. If you didn’t have the nerve to tell her to her face, why didn’t you tell me? It would have had the same effect. As it was, I had to find out in the school lobby—from Lilian Kafritz.”
I looked at her wretchedly. “I wanted to save you from knowing, Val. I didn’t want you to know, if I had to be buried with the secret. I want you to be happy more than I hate Isabel. I thought you’d be happier not knowing the truth.” She watched me, not at all disarmed. “Lilian didn’t know it was your mother in the clipping,” I said. “She feels terrible about it.”
“So you told her. That’s fine. Now she’ll blab it all over.”
“She won’t! Of course I told her! It was the only way to knock some sense into her. She started to cry and got all repentant. What do you care?” I asked nastily. “You’re going to Talbott, aren’t you?”
“So what?” Both of us were backing into our corners, preparing to charge. I was getting off the ground, and I meant to stay there.
“So I’ll miss you, that’s all,” I said abruptly, and felt tears coming into my eyes. It was worse than I had ever expected, and I didn’t know what to do about it. In desperation, I began to babble. “I didn’t come here to try and make you change anything you’re going to do,” I said. “I know I can’t do anything about it. I just didn’t...didn’t want you to think I was awful, or anything. You’re the best friend I have...the only friend, as a matter of fact. When you live with Isabel, she probably won’t let us ever see each other, and...well, I just want to see you sometimes. Just occasionally, to see how you like school and stuff. If I was wrong in not telling you about Isabel, I’m sorry, but I just didn’t know what to do. We never should have gone out that evening anyhow. We never should have...”
“Gilbert, listen.” Her voice had an unexpected gentleness, something I had never really heard in it before. “All sorts of things have happened, and you know about most of them. You’ve got to understand why everything has to change. Before, everything seemed so simple. You and Wimpole! Any problems can be solved by walking through the Park or whipping up some beef Stroganoff. And for you they can, or partly, anyway. I envy you, because I’m not that way. But I thought everything was simple too. I didn’t take stock of myself. You almost had me convinced that Braintree was for the birds, and that I could throw my emotions every which way about Henry, even though she didn’t approve. You were always talking about her as though she was a demon, and Isabel too, and making Henry out to be the ideal of everything.”
“Don’t forget,” I said slowly, “that you were the one who fell in love with Henry, and you made up the code and wrote the Bible, and you talked about Braintree and Isabel as though they were spooks. You were always the one who led, and I followed. I was the one sitting in a fog in the third row, and you were the one who pulled me out of it.”
“Oh, I know, Gilbert. But you get carried away, once somebody gives you a shove. Once it got started, who’s to say who was pushing and who was being dragged along? We both went into the whole business whole hog. The point is, you had nothing to lose, but I did.” I started to say something, but she went on. “I’m not blaming you, except that you happened to be sitting there by the river that morning. But when you came along, eating your sundaes and looking around with that dazed smile, I thought I could just forget myself. So I decided that I’d consider myself normal. It worked, for a while, then it didn’t anymore. I knew I was doing something wrong, and I felt guilty. Then when Isabel came to town, and I knew I should be sticking with her, I was all torn. And I’d see you around Norton looking at me as though I’d sprouted two heads. Look, Gilbert...I’m neurotic. I almost had a nervous breakdown. Can you understand that?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m undergoing psychoanalysis. I’m learning all sorts of awful things about myself, things that would surprise you.”
“I know, your id,” I said wearily. “My id is a mess too.”
“Did Braintree tell you that?”
“Who else?”
She grinned, and I smiled wanly. “That’s only the beginning,” she said. “I’m overattached to Arthur, believe it or not. I hardly ever see him. Then there are all sorts of things about expressing myself and emotional blocks, and believing myself to be a genius” (she didn’t contradict this) “and escapism and stuff. But the old id is at the bottom of it all. Since I have a frustrated father instinct, I’m looking for a father in other ways.”
“So am I,” I said, “but I’m hoping to marry off Wimpole.”
“There are plans for me,” she said. “Would you like a Coke or anything? This dame doesn’t keep any beer.”
“Sure, a Coke.”
She went into the kitchen and rattled around, then came back with two bottles. “I have to go to Talbott, Gilbert. Isabel is getting an apartment, and we’re all moving in.”
“How jolly. Parties every Christmas Eve.” I was having a hard time being agreeable. “And Freddie will baby-sit while Isabel goes out and paints the town.” To my relief, she giggled; I hadn’t really meant to say it, it just popped out.
“You’re really getting funny,” she said appraisingly. Then her face grew serious. “I know Isabel isn’t any ideal mother, or anything. She has her problems. Her id...”
“Is purple with orange stripes.”
“Anyway,” she went on patiently, as though she was explaining a math problem to a six-year-old, “Isabel has been a little jostled by all this too. She wants to make a home. No, this time she really does,” she added, looking at my skeptical face. “This is the first time I’ve believed her when she said that.” Her voice was impressive, as though she was giving unshakable evidence. “Arthur doesn’t know about the Henry business, and he isn’t going to find out.” She looked at me intently. “Gilbert, she’s the only mother I have.”
She had said it before, but when she said it this time, something struck. I looked at her for a moment, then drew a deep breath.
“Okay, Val,” I said, “I give up. Braintree’s won, and Isabel’s won. I won’t try to say anything else.”
She looked at me quickly. “Do you understand? Do you understand that if I ever want to be adjusted I have to give myself over to Braintree, and do whatever she...”
“I understand everything.” I got up. “Call me up sometime when you’re adjusted again. We’ll have lunch.” I felt my lip tremble. Gilbert, you’re a slob, I told myself. Why don’t you stop alternately being nasty and starting to cry? Nothing I’ve said is right. Nothing...She looked over at me.
“Try hard to understand,” she said. “And stop looking so rattled. You have to grow up too, you know. You’re out of your fog, now. You have to go back to Norton, all alone, and make some friends. Get to know Sylvia. She’s a good egg. Why not join Mrs. Leopold’s dancing classes? I’m going to.”
I hesitated. “I might. I’ll think about it.”
“Maybe we’ll get to know some boys and go out some time.”
“Maybe.” I looked at her wonderingly. There was a calmness about her I had never seen before, a certain gentleness; I had thought that today she would be the excited one, but it wasn’t so. Was it going to be all right, after all? Who could say? The calmness was new, and probably more pleasing to adults, but to me it was a poor substitute for the Val who ran up streets, splitsed little boys on tricycles, and who fell passionately in love at a concert. It was the way the crisis had been resolved, that was all; it was the way she had to face what was coming. It was time to leave, but I looked lingeringly around the room. There in the corner was the piano, brown and tidy.
“What about that?” I asked.
“I’ll still take lessons, probably.”
“But you aren’t going to be a great pianist.”
“I’ve always told you I’m not good enough.” She was looking at me searchingly, waiting for some sort of approval.
“You don’t know unless you try,” I said, a little savagely.
“I know. If it’s a choice between being happy and being a great musician, I’d rather be happy.”
“Is that the way you see it? I’d say you’ll never be happy without it.”
“It’s all or nothing. If I did do it I’d have to be great. If I turned out not to be, I’d probably cut my throat. So why take the chance?” She was still watching me. “Gilbert,” she said quickly, “say you don’t think I’m a complete jerk.”
“Val...let’s make a pact in blood, right now. I don’t think you’re a jerk, or not completely, anyway. Let’s make a pact that we’ll meet ten years from today and talk things over.”
“My God,” Val said. “We’ll be twenty-three.”
“We might even be married, or something. Let’s meet at the drugstore on Fifty-seventh at five o’clock.”
“Okay. I’ll get a pin.” She pranced out of the room and returned with a pin, a large sheet of paper, and a pen.
Boyd and Gilbert solemnly swear, she wrote, that ten years from this day January 28, in the year of our Henry, they will meet at sacred drugstore for a powwow. They will then be the venerable age of twenty-three and probably will have more sense than they do now, but then again maybe they won’t.
“Fine,” I said, and we both signed it. “Okay, give me your finger.” I jabbed it with the pin, then my own, and we put two small spots of blood underneath the signatures. Val looked up and grinned.
“You keep it,” she said. “I never know where I’m going to be living.”
“I’ll put it in the basement under a stone.” I looked at her, at her mischievous, lonesome face, and I threw my arms around her and hugged her. “Val,” I said, “I’ll never forget you, no matter what awful things you do.”
She smiled, her face full of wistfulness—longing for more childhood, which she had been so abruptly denied. I looked at her, trying to memorize everything about her face. If I saw her again—before the ten years were up—it might be across the floor at Mrs. Leopold’s, or at the end of the sofa at a necking party. As she had been, she never would be again; and I turned and walked quickly out of the room, closing the door behind me, and trying to ignore the sting of tears in my eyes.