On Friday, they take the IRT up the West Side and get out at 116th. William charges up the steps, leaving Bea and Gerald behind. Here it is, he calls back, the entrance is right here. They turn onto the campus of Columbia, budding trees lining a brick walkway. The campus opens up around them, buildings on every side. William spins in a circle, his arms out wide. This is where he wants to be. Just look at this, he says. It’s like an oasis in the middle of the city. Students rush past them, on their way to class, bicycles carried up and down the great stone steps. It seems wonderfully crowded to William, even as he knows many are overseas. That’s the new library, William says, pointing at the grand structure to the south. Isn’t it magnificent? Magnificent, Bea says, with a tone in her voice. My, what a vocabulary you have. What’s happened to you, William Gregory? William makes a face at her. The campus is even more beautiful than he had imagined. He has always loved New York. The museums. The people. The life.
But, Willie, you’re going to Harvard, Gerald says. That’s where we go. That could be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, William replies. But it’s Harvard, Gerald says. Father went there. His father went there. All the men in Mother’s family have gone there. It’s practically our school. William doesn’t respond but instead runs up the steps of Low Library, taking two at a time, and turning around at the top to wave down at them. That litany that Gerald just spouted off, that legacy? That’s exactly why he doesn’t want to go there. He’s desperate to break away, to start something new. Two more years of living at home. He can’t wait to leave. If the war’s still on, he’s signing up on his birthday, August 20. If not, well, then he’s going to start college. And certainly not at Harvard.
Let’s look around back here, he says, calling down to them. And then we’ll go across the street and look at Barnard. You know, for Bea. The other two run up the stairs and follow him down a path that cuts around the library, other tall buildings on the reverse side, manicured bushes lining the walk. I’m not going to college, Bea says to him when she catches up. Mother had taken her to get her hair cut earlier in the week, and they curled it or something. He’s not used to the way it looks yet. She looks older, somehow, more like the girls in his class at school.
What do you mean, he says, stopping short to face her. Of course you’re going to college. You’re the smartest one of us all. She laughs in his face. No, I’m not. You do know this war is going to end, right? I’m going back to London when that happens. We don’t know when that’s going to be, he says, realizing that he never thinks about that, he never thinks about her leaving. He did, at the beginning. Couldn’t you just stay for college, though? No, she says. My parents didn’t go to university. That’s not in my future. I’ll go home, finish school, and then I’ll get a job.
Gerald’s been standing to the side, listening to the two of them, his head cocked to one side. I agree with William, he says, for probably the first and last time in my life. If anyone should go to college, it should be you. You’re loads smarter than I am. Oh, G, she says, you’re the sweetest but, really, you’re both wrong. College isn’t in the cards for me. The war will end. Then I’ll go home to my mother.
As they walk around campus, William knows that Bea is right. Somehow he hadn’t truly understood that she would leave. He hadn’t realized that leaving is something she’s thinking about, perhaps even something she’s looking forward to. This is all temporary to her. Years from now, she’ll look back and this time will simply be a story to tell her children. When I was your age, she might say, I went and lived in America for a few years. I lived with this nice family outside Boston. Two boys, they had. One older and one younger. What will she say about him?
Later, they find a diner on the corner of 116th Street and Broadway. Chock Full o’Nuts, Gerald says, looking up at the sign. William, they named the place after you. They order date nut bread and cream cheese sandwiches, along with mugs of dark coffee. Gerald pours half the cream pitcher into his, along with three sugar cubes. You’re ruining it, William says. He can see himself here, coming after class for a coffee, meeting a friend to study for an exam. He hadn’t realized until today that he had assumed that friend would be Bea.