March 16
I picked up an old Latin textbook of Dad’s the other day. It really opened a whole new window in my mind.
I discovered the origins of so many English words. Like “agriculture,” for example, which comes from agricola, meaning farmer, and “decimal” from decimus, meaning ten.
I wondered what Dad’s reaction would be when he found out that I was spending some of my valuable time on a nonscientific subject. I was amazed when he told me I had terrific instincts. That not only was this so-called “dead language” a good exercise for keeping the mind sharp, but if I learned it well, I’d be able to “talk chemistry” in a single day—and immediately understand words as easy as “carbon” and “fermentation.”
For once he was pleased that I was doing something extracurricular, probably because it turned out to be “curricular” after all.
Good news—Peter has just made the junior varsity team. Yay!
Just after turning eleven, Isabel passed the final high school equivalency exams, theoretically making her eligible to go directly to college, depending of course on how well she scored on the Scholastic Aptitude Tests.
One rainy Saturday morning in October 1983, Ray and Muriel—who was struggling to maintain a role, however minor, in the drama of her daughter’s developing psyche—drove Isabel to the local high school. Here, alongside students five and even six years older than herself, she took the SATs that would evaluate her verbal and mathematical capacities. Then after a lunch break during which Ray fueled his daughter with brownies, she took three achievement tests: in physics, mathematics, and Latin.
On the first page of the questionnaire, she requested that her results be sent to the admissions departments of the University of California at San Diego and at Berkeley.
The second application, Ray explained, was just an exercise to see how she would be judged by the state’s finest university. Obviously there was no question of her being sent away at so early an age.
At the end of the afternoon, she walked out as fresh as she had been early that morning.
Her good humor proved justified when the results arrived. Isabel scored a perfect 1600 on the two aptitude tests, and had done so well in the achievement tests that—although it was the last thing in the world she needed—both schools offered her advanced standing.
Yet no conscientious, self-respecting admissions committee could avoid taking the applicant’s age into consideration. In fact, both directors wrote to the da Costas suggesting that Isabel wait a year or two—perhaps pick up a foreign language.
Undaunted, Ray even proposed driving all the way from San Diego to Berkeley for her interview.
“Isn’t that a little beyond the limits of an exercise?” Muriel objected. “I mean, there’s no point in going all that way when Isabel’s not going to accept the place.”
She looked into her husband’s eyes and immediately understood his entire game plan. She took a deep breath and said firmly, “No, Ray. This is where I draw the line. We’re not moving to Berkeley.”
And then he shook her. “I’ve never said we were.”
“Jesus,” she exploded. “I don’t think you’re in your right mind. Do you imagine any court in the state would grant you custody of a twelve-year-old girl?”
Ray maintained a serene calm. “Who said a word about custody? We’re not divorcing, Muriel. We’re just doing what’s best for our daughter.”
“Do you regard taking her away from her mother at that terribly crucial age in a girl’s life as best for her?”
“Intellectually, yes.”
“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Muriel demanded furiously. “Well, I’m not going to let you twist her personality any further. I’ll go to court and get an injunction.”
Ray smiled with an unmistakable touch of cruelty. “No, you won’t. Because if you meant what you said about wanting her to be happy, you know damn well that taking her away from me will have the opposite effect. Think about it, Muriel, think about it long and hard.”
He paused and then added, “Meanwhile, I’ll take Isabel to San Francisco.”
The Berkeley dean of admissions had in his portfolio not merely ecstatic letters of recommendation, but also two confidential and somewhat disturbing communications. The first was from a high school examiner who had questioned Isabel orally. The second came from the girl’s mother. Both warned in similar terms that there was “an unnaturally close relationship between the girl and her father.”
These unhappy predictions were borne out the minute Dean Kendall opened his door and beckoned Isabel inside. He pulled up short when he noticed that Raymond was tagging along after her. Faced with a diplomatic crisis, he addressed Raymond in an unmistakably chilly tone. “Mr. da Costa, if you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to your daughter alone.”
“But—” Raymond began to protest before he realized the awkwardness of the situation.
“I’m sorry,” the dean cut him off quietly. “But if she’s old enough to be going to college, she should certainly be able to have this chat on her own.”
“Uh, yes.” Raymond mumbled, ill at ease. “You’re quite right.” And then to his daughter, “I’ll be waiting right outside, darling.”
Alone with the girl, Dean Kendall exercised supreme delicacy. The child was extraordinarily gifted but there was clearly a problem here. He did not specifically mention Raymond, but in an offhand manner asked, “If we were to admit you, Isabel, do you think you could live in dormitories with other girls, some of them twice your age?”
“No,” she replied happily. “I’d be living with my father.”
“Yes, yes,” the dean murmured. “That would seem to make sense—at least for the first few years. But don’t you think that would—how can I put it–inhibit your social life?”
The little girl smiled serenely, “Oh no. Besides, I’m not old enough to have a social life.”
When they were gone, the dean had an inner argument with himself. She’s far too young. She’s immature. She should really go to a prep school till she’s old enough.
But, goddammit, if we don’t take her, those bastards at Harvard will.
Oscillating between guilt and avidity, he composed a letter of acceptance to Ms. Isabel da Costa, offering her a place in the freshman class of ’88 in order to pursue her studies for a bachelor’s degree in Physics.
In a pretense of fairness, Ray let Muriel have her say. She was barely able to control her anger.
“Ray, I hate your guts for what you’ve done to Isabel—and me. But you’re right, the only reason I won’t take you to court is because, unlike you, I genuinely care about what happens to her as a person. And also unlike you, I want her to grow up and be happy. I won’t allow her to be the mutilated prize in a parental tug-of-war.”
He listened silently, hoping that by fulminating, she would spend some of her rage. His tactics were successful, for in the end, Muriel had no alternative but to capitulate.
“Take her, if you must, but at least don’t shut me out of her life.”
He quickly accepted the terms of her truce—which were more like unconditional surrender. Suppressing his feelings of triumph, he responded softly, “Muriel, I swear, it’s what Isabel wants. You can ask her. Berkeley’s got one of the greatest Physics departments in the world. And we’ll be home for every vacation, I promise you.” He paused and asked, “Do we have a deal?”
“Yes,” she answered acidly. “What we don’t have is a marriage.”
When they finally drove away from the house Isabel asked, “Oh Daddy, are you sure you packed my violin?”
He turned on her sternly, “As a matter of fact, I didn’t—.”
“Well then, let’s go back right away.”
“Darling, I did it deliberately. You’re a college girl now and won’t have time for recreational activities.”
“But you know how much I love it …”
He did not reply. At last she spoke.
“Daddy, I know you think it somehow ties me to home. But I swear I want my fiddle for its own sake.”
“Sure, sure,” Raymond agreed all too quickly. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I’ll arrange to have it sent up.”
“Or Mom could bring it when she visits.”
Raymond’s expression was saturnine, but his voice held little conviction. “Yeah … sure.”
August 24
For the first part of our journey I was excited and happy, like someone starting on a trip to an exotic place. But the closer we got to Berkeley, the more I began to feel afraid.
I mean, it’s one thing to do college work with your father as the teacher. But it’s a whole other thing when—as I imagined—I’d be sitting in a classroom with kids twice my age and maybe twice as smart.
Dad did his best to reassure me, and we even spent a lot of time going over the Berkeley catalog (he drove, I read) to be sure we had chosen the right courses.
Except for “Introduction to World Literature,” which I insisted upon taking even though Dad swore that he could get me out of it, the rest of my subjects were from the upper division. We had to choose five units from physics courses like Quantum Mechanics, Electromagnetism and Optics, Particle or Solid State Physics.
We also planned on taking lots of Applied Math like Advanced Calculus, and Complex Variables.
I guess by restricting our conversation to academic subjects, we could somehow avoid confronting our feelings.
Anyway, by the time we reached Berkeley I was on the verge of panic. And when we got to this dinky little place Dad had rented on Piedmont Avenue, I was almost hysterical at the thought of having to move all the millions of books to the second floor.
Luckily there were three Berkeley jock types living on the ground floor, wearing sweatshirts that looked as if the sleeves had been cut off to show their biceps, and they helped us carry stuff up the stairs.
They acted embarrassed when Dad tried to tip them. All they really wanted was for us to join them for a beer(!)
Dad sort of promised that we might do it some other time. But as he whispered to me when they left, “They’re definitely unsuitable characters and we don’t want to set a precedent.”
Since to my knowledge there aren’t any other twelve-year-olds in the freshman class, that leaves the likelihood of my finding suitable friends pretty remote.
We unpacked—the books first, of course. Then Dad went out, bought a huge pizza, and we had the last meal before what he unreassuringly chose to call “the beginning of a whole new chapter” of my life.
I lay in bed a long time, tossing and turning.
Strangely enough, I wasn’t worried about doing the course work. But I was scared about confronting the people. And Dad had failed to mention the surprise that was in store for me the next morning.
Then finally I realized what was keeping me awake. And it had nothing to do with what was going to happen tomorrow.
I crept out of bed, went over to my canvas duffel bag and pulled out my best friend in the whole world.
And the moment I was back in bed with Teddy in my arms, I fell fast asleep.