And cookies after tonight's reading.
Up in the terrace lounge.
Upstairs above books store.
Our next reading will be one week from tonight, the 27th,
in the terrace lounge.
We have six students reading.
Two graduate students, Barbara Anderson, Michael Collier.
Four undergraduate students, Shane Parker, Cassius Thomas,
Judy Drash and Julie Wilson.
And that will be at 8:30 on the 27th.
This coming Sunday the 23rd, at 1 o'clock in the afternoon,
there will be a special benefit reading at the loft theater.
It's sponsored by the National Organization
for Women, to raise funds for--
[AUDIO OUT]
--those two evenings will begin at 7 o'clock
instead of 8:30 PM.
Unfortunately, we couldn't get any of Mr Rogers books
for sale tonight, but there will be some books of poetry
for sale at the reception.
Thomas Rogers was educated at Harvard College,
the University of Iowa.
Since 1961, he has been teaching at Pennsylvania State
University.
He's also taught at Iowa and at the University of Chicago.
His honors include a Guggenheim Fellowship, National Institute
of Arts and Letters, Rosenthal Foundation Award
for a work of considerable literary achievement.
His two novels, The Pursuit of Happiness,
which has been translated into French, German, and Japanese,
and made into a movie.
The Confession of a Child of the Century,
was widely published in such magazines as, Life, Commentary
and New Republic.
Those of us who have already read his work
know that we have a treat tonight in hearing
some work in progress.
Mr. Thomas Rogers.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you.
Cough medicine.
I get impatient when poets and novelists explain to you how,
why, when and where they wrote what
they're about to read to you.
If it's good, then it doesn't matter why they wrote it,
and if it's bad, it still doesn't matter.
So I will simply start.
This is a work in progress.
In order to give sort of a sequential reading
of the first episode, I'll skip some pages.
I hope the continuity holds up.
The book as a whole is called, The Desire and Pursuit
of the Whole.
And the first section, which I'm reading tonight,
the beginning of the book.
Coming of age in Indiana shore's, parenthesis (1948).
To come out of the lake after a long swim
and to fling himself onto the hot sand, that was a pleasure.
To feel the sand warm on his chest and the sun
warming his back, that was a pleasure.
And then, to sail his lightning on a bright summer day
sheet in one hand, tiller in the other, his brown legs braced
against the combing as he leaned out
to windward using his own weight as leverage to counteract
the press of wind against his sail.
All that was a pleasure too.
It was even a pleasure on windy days
to feel the boat tremble, to feel it slip in the water
before it went over.
And then, grinning in the wave torn lake,
it was somehow a pleasure to watch full force and sail
by in his own lightning, making the derisory sign at him
because he, Engels, had gone over again.
Or if the link were getting rough
instead of giving him the finger so he might call out,
you OK Jerry?
He always was, one could easily write those lightnings.
Minutes after going over he would be back aboard dripping
from his immersion.
Then with a wet sail flapping in the wind,
the wind chilling his wet body he would collect the boat
almost as one collected a horse, pushing down the dagger
board with his foot resetting the tiller,
gathering the sheet, and getting underway again.
All of that was a great pleasure,
but was it greater than the run along the beach,
either alone or with foursome?
In those days there was nothing but high dune grass covered,
tree crowns, and miles to the West.
After storms and the beach was wet and hard
one could run for miles seeing nothing but dune and lake,
except off to the Northwest where,
especially when North winds had cleared the sky one could
see the towers of Chicago, 30 miles away across the water.
To run, just to run, was a very great pleasure.
The goals that rested on the empty beach
beyond all the houses would start to move as he approached.
First, they rose to their feet, a dozen at a time,
they would begin to walk away from him
and then if he were coming fast their wings
would open as they too began to run,
and he would see white wings, go wings arched for flight as they
ran and then flapped upward into the air,
before tucking in their legs, and settling into a Gulf
flight that might take them in a wide circle out over the lake,
and back in to land behind him on the deserted beach, where
only his footprints disturb the wave marks on the sand.
You like to run alone.
He swam in the lake, sailed on it, and ran along its shores
as if he loved the lake more than he loved Rosalind,
and perhaps he did, one could love a lake.
Certainly he loved that lake, Lake Michigan
that England ocean of freshwater,
Michigan meant fresh water.
And that lay stretched out to the northern horizon,
the faintest pale blue and summer mornings
as he sat with his arms around his knees
beside the pine tree on top of the ridge,
waiting for foursome to join him for their morning swim.
First, he would come down the path from his house, a beach
towel over one shoulder, and then one
to go down the dune sometimes without even saying,
good morning.
Why should they?
It was obviously a good morning with the sun
just up in the lake awaiting them, pale blue in the calm
mornings, cloud darkened in the afternoons, wind roughened
and white cap during storms the lake was always awaiting him.
He could never remember summer day
when he had not wanted to be in the lake.
He'd swam in the rain near the wind, the wind driven
waves crashed like ocean surf and ran up
the beach undercutting low beach dunes.
Those were almost the best swimming
days, though one couldn't swim in those waves.
When he rowed them, go through them,
and fought with them as the sandbars underfoot developed
unexpected pockets, one minute he
was waist deep, the next he was up to his armpits with a wave
coming down over his head.
They could catch you if you didn't catch them.
Trying to ride waves into the beach he'd gone over the top,
had waves break on him, hold him down, and drag him
along the fine sand bottom until he was out of breath.
And that was almost as good as catching a ray of just right
and coming into the shallows head first in a sea of foam
riding the wave just right, but it
was good to be tumbled by a wave to be dragged on the bottom,
even to have one skin scraped a little, why not?
It was part of the whole experience.
But lake could be rough, let it be rough with you,
because finally it would never really hurt you.
That was what he had always felt about the lake,
even before he was a good swimmer, when he was simply
a little boy playing in the water between beach and sandbar
while his mother, and Mrs. Person and Mrs. Hyatt
sat a few yards away under their beach umbrellas
keeping watch as he and Anne and Phil
and Linda and Shirley played in the water.
Inner tubes and water rings where their toys there not
lightning.
But even in those days when a one foot wave could knock him
down, he's still never felt the lake could ever
really hurt him.
There was nothing there to be alarmed about,
no rocks, no icky seaweed, no crabs or flounders
nothing but fresh water, and sand,
and silver minnows, and shore between bar and beach.
He could remember floating face down eyes open, mouth open,
doing the dead man's float while beneath him a school of minnows
moved slowly through the clear water
or again, years later when they had the heavy cypress
rowboat that was so hard to get into the water,
and so hard to pull up on the beach again,
he could remember rowing in it 30 yards offshore,
looking down to the sunlit bottom
where a turtle was slowly walking out towards deep water.
It was the only turtle he had ever seen in all the summers,
he was not even a snapper.
So how could you feel afraid of a sunlit lake that
had only minnows and silver perch
and a single solemn turtle trudging North?
How could you fear a lake like that
even if it was a lake 400 miles long?
Imagine a lake so big the Jerry Engels who had grown up
at its southern tip had never even seen
the Straits of Mackinac where Huron and Michigan meet
though he had seen every summer the Chicago
to Mackinac to Michigan City race?
On an August afternoon someone of them raised the cry,
the boats are coming.
And everyone would rush to the porch
to look North where the blue water normally empty
was now flecked with white sails as the big yachts appeared one
after another, racing down from Mackinac on the last fastest
leg of the race Spinnaker set and bellied in the wind
as they headed in towards the harbor at Michigan City, 12
miles to the East.
This was a lake, which you could have 1,000 mile
race in big boats, a lake on which
violent storms far to the North could break up the lumberships
and the oil freighters, because waves to pound ashore hundreds
of miles to the South where there might be no wind at all
those in fact, were the best waves for riding,
because there were heavier and more regular than the wind whip
waves of local storms.
Ships sank and people did drown in this lake,
how could you have a body of water
that large in which no one had ever drowned?
But this was a lake not the sea and though it might take lives,
it never tortured men with thirst.
One could drink the waters in which one drowned,
death would come quickly or not at all
for though it was a big lake, one could not
float for days or weeks helpless on a raft or bit of wreckage
suffering from sun and thirst.
Such fates took place elsewhere, out on the wide oceans
of the world.
Here on this great inland lake one
either drowned or froze to death at once orelse one survived.
Storms here never reached the intensity
of hurricanes or typhoons, they came quickly
and though they might last two or three day blows
they went away again having swept the southern beaches
clean washing the flotsam and jetsam high up
against the beach dunes, leaving the beach itself firm,
and hard, and clean so that Jerry Engels could run along
the beach knowing that his naked footprints were
the only ones on the beach between the West end of Indiana
shores and burns ditch six miles to the West.
Years later when he was in college his roommate,
Carlos had once said to him, you're
Indiana shores is like the sea coast of Bohemia, and it was.
His lake, his shore, his dunes, and woods,
and swamps where as wonderful and in his improbable
as the Bohemian coast, were there inside
of the towers of Chicago across the water
with the open hearth furnaces of Gary only 16 miles to the West.
He had shuffled along the beach through singing sand,
seen flocks of blue birds resting on the telephone wires
and walked through fields of bottled junctions.
He stood at the crest of the live dune
and looked down on oak woods and loop
and filled meadows that were going
to be buried as the dune shifted in Southeast.
And windy days he even felt the doom
moving as he stood there the wind driven sand
stinging his bare legs like wild grasses bent and tossed
and traced feathery patterns on the wind rippled sand,
he just had to laugh in later years
when he told people that he'd grown up in Indiana.
And saw they were thinking of cows, and corn,
and silos for what he was thinking of
was a log cabin on the wooded ridge with a large cottonwood
in front of it, and a clump of Juniper
nearby in which a pair of Cardinals lived,
or when built her nest every spring just above the cabin
door, and from the porch every evening one
could hear the whipper wills cry from behind the live dune.
He had found a hummingbird one morning hanging by its beak
from the porch screen and held it in his hand
thinking its neck was broken, only
to feel it revived on his palm before darted
away and hummingbird flight.
That was his Indiana place the birds,
and wildflowers, and animals.
To get there one left the Indiana most people thought
about then drove North a mile across a swamp, where redwing
blackbirds sat on the cattails where beavers dammed the slowly
moving water, and where wild flag and turkeys kept
lilies grew in the ditches along the road which
was the only road into town, you could call it a town.
Where there are no stores and in those days only 30 houses.
In his earliest memories the male
was not even brought into town, was
delivered to a communal mailbox out on Route 12
and working for the male was a real expedition for the kids.
As they picked their way barefoot along
with sandy ruts of the unpaved roads
stopping to eat blueberries, stopping
to choose sassafras leaves, and stopping once to watch
and wonder as a mother skunk that
are five kittens across the road in front of them.
It was a wild place then, a place that had never quite
developed into the country community that had been planned
in the 1920s for the depression that put its spell on Indiana
shore's.
The clubhouse and the guest house
large log buildings atop the highest dune in town
were seldom used now.
The golf course had reverted to peat bog
and oak-wood in the planned yacht harbor
had never been dredged.
Even now when the war was over and new houses were going up,
there was still no community tennis courts and
that alone struck Jerry as an imperfection,
there should be courts, otherwise the shores
was a perfect place to have grown up
and there was no doubt in his mind
that he'd grown up there and not in Whiting or Chicago,
where the family had lived most of the year
or perhaps he had grown during those winter months.
But the point and meaning of his winter growth
really came clear in the summer in terms
of the longer swims he could take,
the higher trees he could climb, the deeper
holes he could dig in his sand yes, he'd
grown up with the shore summer after summer until now
in his 16th summer.
He was full grown though he might gain another 1/2 inch,
which would make him exactly 5'10 shading himself as he
stood half naked in front of the bathroom mirror he could see,
he could just feel he was a man or almost.
There are still one thing to do, one remaining thing
that would set the seal on this whole process of growing up,
one thing.
He and Phil discussed that one thing from time
to time generally when they were away from the beach, away
from their homes hiking through the woods
or walking along the old golf course road there out of sight
surrounded by the heavy Midwestern heat,
Jerry could feel and even say certain things that were
bit inappropriate elsewhere.
He could, for instance pause to slap
at a mosquito and his bare forearm
and then look up from the spot of blood,
and feel a surge of desire heavier than anything
he felt on the beach or even out on the lake, where sailing
with his feet braced against the combing
he felt the sun between his spread legs
stoking with its solar heat his own internal warmth.
Deeply erotic as that could be, it
was just not like the feeling that came over him
along the golf course road, where it felt somehow
natural to pause, to smash a mosquito or two,
to feel the beaded sweat on his body,
and then to say drawing the words up
as if they came from the bottom of his being she says,
I need a woman.
[LAUGHTER]
They did not talk about sex, these discussions
were more like sounds than speech.
They were like the sighing of wind in the treetops
or the thud of their feet along the beaten track
to which the road had reverted now that the golf course was
out of use.
Jesus, I need a woman, Jerry might say.
To which Phil, would respond in his own way by saying,
shut up or take a shower.
How could you shower out there in the deep woods?
Where was the lake into which you could always dump himself
and the feeling got too strong as he sailed?
There along the golf course where
the only patches of water where the dark pools that
collected in the pitty ground and one of the big Tamarac
blew down ripping a hole, where its roots had vainly sought
to anchor it in the soil.
One saw Tamarac in all stages of declension 3/4 upright,
their weight resting against a neighboring
tree half down crushing some younger, smaller growth,
and finally flat on the Earth.
A semicircle of spreading roots steel Earth clogged fanned out
above the circular pools that formed where the trunks had
once stood upright, those stagnant pools surged
by marsh marigolds and skunk cabbage
were find breeding grounds for the mosquitoes that
pestered their walks and kept them on the move
until they had come out onto the golf course.
There they usually sort open ground
near what have been the 1/3T, where
they could sit for a while to look out
across the ruined fairway and there Jerry,
would revert to the preoccupation
of his 16th summer.
Maybe we should go to Michigan City, he would say.
It was known they at least had heard
that there was a house in Michigan City, a cat
house where they were women or cats whom one could visit.
A friend of theirs from Horton's dock,
the summer community next to Indiana shores
had told them about the house.
He had visited it, he said.
The question was should they go, what do you think?
Jerry, asked.
He was genuinely curious to have a person's honest opinion
on the subject should they go.
He felt persons might have sounder, wiser views
than his own, his own views were chaotic.
There were moments when it seemed
to hit insane they had delayed going even for a day, much
less for the weeks that had already passed in this summer
when it just had to happen.
What were they waiting for?
They were grown, they were men in all but name were the hell.
First, it was more of a man than Jerry felt himself to be,
so what was person's honest opinion on this vital question
should they go.
Do you want to go, Phil, it ask Jerry.
Leadership is what they need, Jerry realized.
They were getting nowhere on their own.
What they needed was for some determined fellow
to take charge Alex Walker, for instance Tim Horton's dock he
had been there, he knew the address, what they needed
was for Walker to say one night, OK we're going.
You gave angles, you gave for us they would nod their heads,
they were game.
They would get into Walker's car,
he would drive them to the house,
and tell them what you did when you went in
and how much you paid and all that.
He had done it he said and maybe he hadn't.
Maybe he was bluffing, and anyway he was not a leader,
he was more a lone wolf type.
If he had gone, and probably he had, he'd gone alone.
So it'd be just a little humiliating for them
to have Walker's their leader for their first experience.
To accept his leadership would be
to acknowledge his superiority and Jerry
felt that Phil at least was really Walker's superior,
Phil was bigger, more intelligent, more mature,
actually than Walker was.
It would be wrong for Phil to be driven to Michigan City
by Walker, more wrong and if Jerry and Walker were
to go together.
Jerry, could accept Walker's leadership,
but he did not want to go alone with Walker,
he wanted Phil to be along.
What should happen?
Jerry felt. Was that Mr. Thorson should take his son along
with Jerry for a drive some night in the person's Buick.
They might go to a movie first and then afterwards Mr Thorson
would say, OK boys it's time.
And he would take them to the house
and wait outside for half an hour,
because it would be wrong for him to go in,
and afterwards he'd say something matter of fact
like, have a good time or now you know your way.
Jerry always imagined Mr. Thorson taking the initiative
not his own father, he couldn't have
explained why but it seemed to him Phil or Mr. Thorson should
assume leadership or neither of them had.
Do you want to go?
Phil, would ask when Jerry raised a great question.
It's a difficult question to answer.
Sitting with his back against an oak tree
idly knocking a part of fern with a stick he held,
Jerry would consider the matter, did he want to go?
Then Phil would say, let's go, he
would gladly follow but when the question was thrust back
into his own lap he could never quite make up his mind,
did he want to go?
Did he want it to happen with a woman in a cat house, a cat
woman?
That could be a little scary sounding.
It could seem almost like going to the zoo in Michigan City.
Getting into a stinking cage with one of the big cats
and getting eaten up or torn apart for his money, some fun.
As he thought of a woman pacing restlessly in her room
maybe brushing her hair between customers,
the muscles of her shoulders and arms
shifting and moving under her bare skin
he could feel it might be fun with her,
it certainly would be exciting though it would still
be just a little alarming.
I don't know, Jerry would say an answer to Phil's question.
Do you think we should go?
I think we should get the hell off this subject,
Phil would say decisively.
And that Jerry would nod.
He accepted the conventional wisdom of his world, which
was the guy should not have their minds on women
all the time.
Guy should at least make the effort
to think about serious things like the United Nations,
or who was going to win the election in November.
So he nodded when Phil said they should
get the hell off the subject.
Together they would rise to continue their aimless walks,
for a while they might even talk about cars or sports
or even politics, but then inevitably the conversation
would die away until the only sound was
the store of dry leaves underfoot
and the shrill of tree frogs.
Then they would tramp onwards in silent companionship,
their minds roaming ahead down the golden and garish
corridors of fantasy for however while they might try to be,
they were never wise enough to keep their minds off women
for very long.
The problem if it was a problem, was that there were women
everywhere.
How could you keep your mind off them
when you saw them on the beach and in the water
and on boats and on water skis?
They were just on the beach, they were on the road
behind the wheels of cars and on bicycles
and even just walking alone.
You saw them in the streets of Chesterton and Porter
behind store counters and you saw
them getting on and off the South Shore railroad,
they were everywhere.
Everywhere Jerry where he saw a woman.
So unless you were to spend his whole life
floating in the middle of the lake or hiding in the woods
he was bound to have a woman right in front of him, bound
therefore to be thinking about her
and for that matter women didn't have to be present,
didn't have to be visible to be present even deep in the woods
or way out in the lake he felt their presence.
He was an erotic pantheistic, or a pantheistic eroticism.
As far as he was concerned there were
women in the wind that filled the sail of his boat,
caressed his bare skin, blew him to and fro,
and sometimes dumped him in the lake.
They were in the water through which he swam
and in the warm sand on which he rode.
There in the rain that poured down
over him, and the gigantic thunderclaps of summer storms.
They were in a savage grip of lightning
when it seemed like bolts of silk
were being torn in the sky, they were
everywhere and in everything.
They were in the cry of each bird, the color of each flower.
He was up to his neck in women drowning in them, so
how could he keep his mind off them?
How?
Actually most of the time he made no effort at all
and still afternoons when not a leaf stirred
in the big Cottonwood and the only sound
was the faint call of a morning dove going poo, coo, coo, coo,
coo, Jerry would lie on the cabin porch
and daydream a women.
He would invent a whole series of nameless and almost faceless
girls bending, and stretching, and dancing
across the back of his mind.
Then he would dance them off stage and allow a single girl
to emerge Rosalind, Rosalind Ingleside the star of his show.
She was his girl, he was her guy,
and they had gone steady all spring
and it was terrific except that nothing had happened.
Even in fantasy when Rosalind emerged
on the stage of his mind all she did
was to smile at her adolescent impresario.
Jerry smiled back.
Then Rosalind looked at him out of the corner of her eyes,
and he would feel his heart quiver,
and he would hear a sigh tender and more languishing
than his swamp size.
And Baleen, would stick her head out the kitchen door
to ask if he said something.
No, Jerry would reply thinking what
a very plain made vermin was.
Why did his mother never hire cute girls
to work for them in the summer?
That might be something.
I'll make your lemonade, Baleen would suggest.
She was a willing worker, why couldn't she
be beautiful as well?
Though if this went on, if things didn't shape up
soon Jerry would rise and leave--
things didn't shape up soon Baleen,
might begin to look good.
Sighing again less languishing Jerry would rise and leave
the porch to wander down the ridge past the clump
of Juniper's to see what was going on at the Hyatt
or at the Person's.
There, water.
Oh, thank you.
The Hyatt's lived closer, 50 yards down the ridge
in a stone house.
He would climb the steps, push open
the screen door of their porch, and walk in
to find Shirley Hyatt reclining on a lounge
chair, a bottle of Coke by her side, the John Dixon car
mystery story in her hands.
Hi, they would say to each other without relation.
Surely it was very attractive, but they had grown up together.
Jerry, could remember fighting with her over possession of one
of her own dolls when they were in play school back in the days
when they all lived in hiding.
Flirting with Shirley would be about
like flirting with his own sister,
so after saying hi, he would drop on to another lounge chair
and stare somewhat resentfully Shirley's slim brown
and very attractive legs.
Rosalind had better legs, but Shirley's were in front of him
at the moment demanding more attention than he really
wanted to pay, considering that for all intents and purposes
those were sisterly legs.
At least Ann didn't have legs like Shirley's, it
seemed to be another point in Ann's favor
at this stage of the game.
What are you doing?
He would ask Shirley after examining her legs in silence.
I'm reading a mystery, Shirley would reply.
But occasions like this it sometimes
occurred to him that maybe Shirley had
her version of his problem, maybe the sight of his legs
annoyed her as much as the sight of her legs annoyed him.
With that thought he would stretch his legs
to look at them and perhaps work his thigh muscles watching them
bunch and unbunch.
Stop doing that, you're always doing that, Shirley would say,
which seemed to confirm his suspicion that she
noticed his legs, which were good legs incidentally.
In fact his legs were probably his best part he would think,
flexing a bicep and feeling, see how it was coming along.
You're always feeling yourself, Shirley complained.
Well, he was the only one who seemed to want to do it,
not that he was unwilling to be felt
by some sympathetic woman who would like
his arms, and his legs, and his torso as much as he liked them.
And at the thought of that nameless women
admiring his body, he would tense
the muscles of his abdomen and try
to make them ripple drawing another rebuke from Shirley,
who was evidently as conscious of what lay beneath his t-shirt
as he was of what lay within her halter.
Can't you just sit?
She would ask.
Do you want to do something?
He would say.
I'm reading a mystery, she would remind
him blocking out her view of him with the pocketbook
in her hand.
Give me a drink of that Coke, he would say.
Go get your own, she would reply and at that
he might rise and lounge into the Hyatt's kitchen
to open the refrigerator and see what was there.
There was never a maid in the Hyatt's kitchen,
because all summer long they kept open
their townhouse, which for them was still inviting.
They left their maid in town to keep house
for Mr. Hyatt who had to sleep in white,
because of an Standard Oil Company rumor
that one of the senior men at the refinery
should be on the spot at all times
in case of fires or other emergencies.
Mr. Hyatt shared the chair with Mr Musgrove and Mr Fields,
didn't complain about having to babysit the refinery,
but it was a dumb rule in Jerry's opinion.
Suppose the whole refinery did explode and catch fire
some night what was Uncle Horace supposed to do about that?
He was plant superintendent not a fireman.
Back on the porch with a bunch of grapes in his hand
Jerry, would drop onto the lounge and again
and look at Shirley not the sexy cover of the mystery story
she was reading.
Let's do something, he would say.
Experimenting to see if he could toss a grape in the air
and catch it with his mouth.
I am doing something, Shirley would answer.
Jerry, picking the grape off the floor
and wiping sand from it would lean forward,
I'll take you for a sail, he'd say, at which point
Shirley would remind him that there was no wind.
So having struck out there and eaten all the grapes,
Jerry would move on to the forces
to see what Phil and Linda felt like doing.
Those summer afternoons seemed endless,
they began with a quiet spell after lunch, the daydreaming
period when he lay on his back and listen to the doves,
to the far off who to the freight trains hauling
steel from Gary, oil from Whiting along the New York
Central, or the Pensy, or the Baltimore and Ohio
tracks that snaked through the farmland to the South.
Then moved by the desire to do something,
to see someone he would begin the slow process of getting
things started for the afternoon.
Dropping it on Shirley, dropping in on Phil,
and then dropping back in on Shirley to let her
know the plans.
We're going to play on the Ingleside court,
he would tell her.
So John Dixon car would have had his hour, Shirley roused
at last would get up to find her tennis racket and her tennis
shoes.
And then they would face the problem of how
to get to the Ingleside house.
It was a mile by beach and a mile
and a half by the winding roads, and who
wanted to carry tennis rackets along the beach
or walk anywhere on a day like this?
One could run miles, yes, one could play tennis,
yes, one could swim or sail for hours,
yes, but one could not walk.
So a car became necessary, but Mr. Engels and Mr. Forson
had driven to work that morning in the Engels car,
and Mrs. Engels and Mrs. Forson were shopping in Chesterton
in the Thorson's car and Mrs. Hyatt
was planning to use her car later
in the afternoon to go have her hair done,
so that left Nancy trained and her car to be roped in.
Nancy was probably wondering what to do with herself anyway.
Call Nancy, he would say to Shirley.
Then the transportation problem had been thoroughly canvassed.
From where he stood on the Hyatt's porch he could
see the train house very clearly on the opposite ridge,
standing out like the big eyesore it was.
And if he lingered long enough he
would see Nancy emerge, wide in tennis shorts
switching her racket from side to side
as she walked down the drive to climb into her ancient Packard,
which had to be parked on a slope
to give it a running start.
Valiant through would then begin to roll silently
down the driveway before it choked and coughed into life
as it reached the road.
At that point Jerry, would leave the highest porch
to get his own racquet and tennis shoes.
He would even be moving fairly fast by the time
he reached the house, pausing only to tell Valine,
that if his mother asked where he was when she came home tell
her he'd gone to play tennis.
Then he would be off down the steps to the road
or soon he would hear the roar of valiant whose
old engine, only eight or nine of whose 10 cylinders still
seem to function, the car was a menace
really only Mr. train would have kept it so long.
Linda for us would like to sit on one of the jump seats
and filled are not mine sprawling out
in solitary grandeur on the back seat,
surely we always sat up front next to Nancy and Jerry.
Jerry, would slide in next to the girls where
he would fling his left arm out along the back of the seat
and feel Nancy's soft hair brushing his wrist.
Do you have to crab so?
Surely would say, pinned there between Jerry and Nancy
and at that point Jerry would touch Nancy's shoulder
with his fingers and say, you and me
against Phil and Shirley, whereupon little Linda Fawcett
would speak up.
I'm not just going to chase balls, it's too hot to play,
anyway Nancy would say nursing valiant food
like a wounded battleship up and down hill, and around bends
to the Ingleside, where she would pull into the driveway
back and turn so that valiant food could get its running
start and then cut the engine.
They would pile out make their way across the untended lawn
towards the court, Jerry casting backward
glances at the drawn blinds of the closed house
and wishing not for the first time
but Rosalind family would move out earlier in the season.
Why have a big summer place if you didn't use it more?
Then sighing, he would turn his attention back
to the girls at hand, particularly to Nancy.
All those legs, all those arms, all those lovely breasts,
in short what a body?
Every summer for the last few summers,
Nancy have been looking better and better.
And now this summer she stretched and served
on the Ingleside court or as she led
tanning herself on the beach she looked just about perfect.
At least Jerry, could see no flaws he
had been observing her closely.
There was just no doubt she had a terrific figure in her skin
and she let him oil her back on the beach,
felt like warm satin.
Also she danced well.
When they danced together to records in the highest game
room at night she'd let him hold her
almost as closely as he wanted, she was fun unlike Shirley.
It was getting to be a real pain in the neck
these days particularly on the beach.
Jerry, would come out of the water feeling good
suggest a game of keep away or underwater tag or nights
and horses and Shirley would turn him down,
in a provoking way she provoked Phil too.
Sometimes she tried them too high,
they would grab her arms and legs
and lug her down to the water threatening
to toss her into the lake sizzling with saline
and irritation.
What's the matter with you two?
She would demand loftily as they manhandled her.
We're saving you from sunstroke, Phil would explain.
You get any doctor they won't serve you at the spa,
Jerry would add.
Very funny, Shirley would say.
Now, if you two goons will put me down,
she just didn't like being handled.
But Nancy was not like that.
Nancy was a good sport.
You could get your hands on Nancy without annoying her.
In fact she seemed to like it as much as Jerry did.
With the result he had moments dancing with her
or wrestling with her in the water
and he had to think sad thoughts,
and then go away and settle down and try to remember how
serious he felt about Rosalyn.
He did feel very serious about her,
actually Nancy meant nothing to him compared to Rosalyn.
And the girls of the State Park were less than nothing.
State Park?
Well, yes there was a State Park just
down the beach beyond Horton's dock
and somehow this summer Jerry, had begun to drift down there
from time to time.
He went out of simple curiosity just
to see what the girls looked like,
whether they'd talk to him if he sat down the beach near them
and smiled in their direction.
All he did was to ask them where they came from, would they
like to swim or to go up to the park
pavilion for a hot dog or an ice cream cone,
he was not trying to pick up a girl at the park,
he was just testing to see how difficult or easy
it might be if ever decided he wanted to pick one up.
In his mind the girls at the park
were like the cat women in Michigan City.
It was exciting just to know they were there,
there was something to think about.
They were like safety valves in a way.
If things got too desperate at the shores,
they could always go to Michigan City or to the park.
The meanwhile throughout June he and Phil
had stuck to the shores swimming,
sailing, hiking, running, playing tennis and cards
and dancing with the usual girls, nothing had happened.
Yet something was going to happen, Jerry could feel it,
it was coming.
No matter what he did it would come.
It would come even if he did nothing.
He could lie motionless on a warm sand,
but his eyes closed, his hands laced behind his head
and still it would come to him.
It would come like a great wave, a sash.
He would be swept up rolled around,
dragged down, and cast up by the waves of desire.
It was all fairly clear in his mind, hazy but clear
like a fine summer morning, he was going to have a woman.
The Friday before the 4th of July, Jerry
trotted down the beach to check the Ingleside house.
It was about time for the family to move out.
He knew Rosalind and her mother were back from New Mexico
where they'd been for most of June,
and though he suspected Rosalind was now
cruising on her grandparents' yacht,
he hoped to get information about her from her parents
or from the moccasins, the couple who
worked for the Ingleside.
Generally came out to the shores first to open the house
alas, no one seemed to be there.
There were no signs of activity still on the off chance
that someone was in the house, but just
hadn't opened the curtains or put out the porch furniture.
Jerry climbed the beach steps and began to prowl around,
it was as he feared the place was still deserted.
Yet now he was there he didn't feel like leaving.
In fact, he wondered if he could find a way inside.
He thought it would be nice to go lie
for a while on Rosalind's bed, but it
didn't seem to be any broken windows
and naturally he wasn't going to break one,
even if it were already cracked like the pain of this basement
window, he crouched down to examine.
He pressed his hand against the pain
and was rewarded or alarmed or something
to find he pressed part of the glass clear out of its frame,
fell into the basement with a tinkling crash.
Shouldn't press so hard, he thought.
The window however, could now be unlatched
if he felt like reaching through the opening he had made
since the opening was there he didn't
see what harm it would do if he used it,
so be careful of the sharp edges of the remaining glass.
He reached through and unhooked the window.
A minute later he was lowering himself
into the Ingleside basement wary about the broken
glass on the floor.
This is a sort of silly thing to be doing,
he told himself as you move towards the steps leading up
through the ground floor.
Upstairs there was a closed house smell and almost
a chill in the air, he didn't really like the feeling of it.
He almost wished he hadn't come in.
It was a dumb thing to be doing anyway wandering around
in darkened rooms, where the draperies were pulled
in the dining room chairs shoved in tight against the table,
as if no one ever expected to eat here again.
There are no flowers or newspapers and magazines
anywhere in sight, and the tile floor of the living room
felt cold and bare without the usual rugs.
All empty houses look bad, but this
has affected Jerry more adversely than the sight
of his own family's cabin when they came out
to open it in the spring.
He wondered why?
Decided the reason was that the Ingleside summer
place was a real house, furnish like a townhouse and one
expected it to look as if the moccasins are just arranged
everything, just swept the hall and vacuumed the stair runner,
this house didn't look at all right
and its unused dusty state, and it
was really weird to turn the faucets in the upstairs
bathroom and realize they were already open
and the water wasn't turned on.
Rosalind's bedroom is at the back
overlooking the lawn the tennis court.
The striped mattress was covered by a white dust sheet,
the pillows seem to have been put away somewhere
and he certainly was not interested in finding
them or lying down on the bed.
So then why did he lie on it?
This is absolutely nuts, he told himself.
What an embarrassment it would be
if the family were to drive up?
How could he explain to them what
he was doing in their house lying on Rosalind's bed
when he couldn't even explain it to himself?
Yet he didn't get up and leave.
It was rumor, cozier in this room
than it had been downstairs, it was almost stuffy.
He felt like curling up and falling asleep,
except that he was too excited for sleep.
The sun glowed against the drawn blinds and his heart beat fast
and he began to think deep thoughts about Rosalind.
He loved her, there could be no doubt of it really.
Often when he thought of her he felt his joints weakening
and his head getting dizzy.
Now, he seemed to be getting dizzy all over.
Nancy train was perfect in one way physically,
but Rosalind was perfect and always.
She was the sort of girl there's one in every high school
class, who proved you could be rich, and beautiful,
and intelligent, and kind, and popular all at the same time.
And as Jerry thought of Rosalind perfections
he felt his heart expand, felt ready to do anything for her,
she was just so nice, so good, so beautiful
and friendly and nice and good-- she
was just more than he could possibly put into words.
Kneeing and sighing with love he rose from her bed
and wandered towards her dresser.
And now who is that young man he saw in the mirror?
He looked at himself without the automatic and friendly
recognition he usually felt when he caught
sight of his own reflection.
Who was this guy in the electric red bathing suit?
Sharp looking he thought, nice build, he told himself.
And somewhere in the back of his head
he definitely repudiated his mother's observation
that his new red bathing suit gave him a vulgar look, vulgar?
There was nothing vulgar about wearing a sharp tight
little bathing suit?
Surely it was critical of it too, but who was she to talk?
She with her to pieces.
Anyway the girls at the park seemed to think he
looked OK in his suit and Rosalind--
how would Rosalyn think of it?
What did she think of it really?
He knelt down and began to go through her dresser
drawers and almost absent minded way,
she liked him of course after all they were going steady,
so this is where the pillows were he closed in that room.
But on the other hand, nothing had happened,
still that didn't mean bedspread in the next drawer he closed it
too, nothing was going to happen and he
started to think of the postcard Rosalind sent him
from the dude ranch in New Mexico, where
she'd been with her mother.
The postcard had a picture of a sorry looking mule
with its head down standing against the background
of cactus with a snow capped mountain in the distance.
The message was, heads up see you soon.
She'd signed it with a smiling stylized drawing
of her own smiling face, Rosalind drew very well.
And the card showed she thought about him when they were apart,
it showed too she understood how much he missed her,
head's up see you soon.
That sounded promising, didn't it?
He sighed and removed from the top drawer of her dresser
the yellow bathing suit she had worn last summer,
and never exactly seen what the inside of a girl's bathing suit
was like.
And it proved to be very interesting.
There was not a whole lot of complexity between the legs
but the part that covered the breast was really
quite ingenious.
Without thinking he began to kiss the cloth there.
On the other hand, he thought--
in the other hand, what?
He found he couldn't remember what
he'd been thinking in the first place,
then he caught sight of himself in the mirror kissing Rosalind
bathing--
and it could be very interesting.
It was not a whole lot of complexity between the legs
but the part that covered the breast was really
quite ingenious.
Without thinking he began to kiss the cloth there.
On the other hand, he thought on the other hand, what?
He found he couldn't remember what
he'd been thinking in the first place,
then he caught sight of himself in the mirror
kissing Rosalind bathing suit.
He blushed and abruptly dropped the suit back into the drawer.
I should really get out of here, he told himself.
Minutes later, he was exploring Rosalind's closet.
Not much here, he thought looking at some summer
dresses on hangers and wondering what
was in that box on the shelf.
There was a person in, he looked inside and found a pencil,
a lipstick, a comb, and a penny.
They depressed him and he put the purse away,
it was definitely time to leave except that as he moved
towards the stairway he passed the door of Rosalind's parents'
bedroom.
How could he be doing this?
He wondered as he started to go through Mrs. Ingleside things.
He found some silk panties, I muscled,
he thought as he picked up a pair,
I really shouldn't-- he said to himself as he rubbed them
against his cheek yet they felt rather nice, it probably--
or what harm did it do if he just briefly kissed them
and got the hell out of the house?
Except that one thing led to another,
he realized as he began to go through Mr Ingleside
drawers a few minutes later.
He wasn't going to kiss Mr Ingleside under things,
but actually these were very good socks,
he thought-- made out of some particularly fine cotton.
He squeezed them.
Of course, Mr Ingleside could afford the best,
look at all these summer shirts for instance,
Jerry ran his hands through the pile, grate he thought.
But there was a serious problem involved in all this
it amounted to the question of whether or not
he was crazy to have broken into the house in the first place
and then to be doing this.
He looked up for Mr Ingleside shirt drawer
and saw himself reflected in the mirror
over Mr Ingleside bureau.
Was this really the Jerry Engels everybody liked?
The Jerry Engels, everybody thought
was such a nice normal friendly guy?
He shook his head doubtfully, then moved by impulses goofier
than ever he stuck out his tongue
and gave himself the Raspberry.
Oddly enough that crazy gesture had a sensitive effect.
He grinned at himself in a normal way
and abruptly began to retrace his route through the house.
A few minutes later, he was in the sunshine
once more staring thoughtfully at the broken window.
It's probably all right, he told himself.
The house would be opened soon, and any anyway
there were no burglars in Indiana shores
and with Eric Anderson at the guard stand on the only road
into town, there's not much danger burglars getting in.
Now, I must skip Rosalind's arrival
aboard her grandparents' yacht, you just take it
from me it's a great scene.
And in order to complete this particular section there's
a 4th of July party, the fireworks
are shot off, there's some dancing,
Jerry gets very moody as he dances with Rosalind
and annoys her a bit, and then goes away and thinks about
and decides he ought to apologize,
comes back to apologize, she says
she wants to be taken home.
OK I'll walk you, Jerry said, she--
that's Rosalind, tried to catch his eyes but he avoided really
looking at her, he couldn't start apologizing right there
in front of Phil.
Then when they were out in the night
instead of beginning with an apology
he tried to kiss her on the lips.
She let the kiss begin, but then pushed him back.
Behave yourself, she said.
They moved across the parking area stumbling a little,
party has been up at the clubhouse
at the top of the high dune.
He quite forgotten move across the parking area
stumbling a little, because Jerry insisted on holding
her so close against him.
He'd quite forgotten his intentions.
Apology was far from his mind.
At the edge of the dune he stopped
and tried to kiss her again.
I don't like this Jerry, she said.
You don't love me, he said.
I certainly don't when you behave like this.
He had her hands on his, was trying
to push her arms behind her back.
She resisted so that they seemed almost to be hand wrestling.
You don't, Jerry repeated.
I certainly don't, she agreed.
With a wrench she released herself,
now stop that, she commanded, you're
going to make me sorry I'm back, you're spoiling the evening.
They had arguments like this before during their dates
in Chicago, and always before Jerry had become contrite
now he felt justified, almost angry.
I love you, he told her in a bullying voice,
the implication being she owed him her love.
Then behave yourself, she said.
Reaching down she removed her shoes,
and Jerry bent in a different mood
she would have removed her stockings as well,
but now she preferred to rule them running through the sand
rather than take them off in his presence.
Come on, she said, she started down the dune.
Jerry, stayed to remove his own shoes
and then caught up with her halfway down the dune,
where they had to run at top speed
just to keep their feet under them.
As they near the low beach dunes Rosalind cried out abruptly,
stop.
The ball of her foot and come down hard
on one of the white needle sharp growth just
beneath the surface of the sand growth
from which clumps of beach grass sprouted.
What's the matter?
Jerry asked.
I stepped on some grass, she said.
She sat down to examine her injury.
Let me see, Jerry knelt on the sand and looked at her foot.
There was a spot of blood for her skin had been punctured.
Their heads were close together and he could smell her hair
and holding her slim ankle he could
feel the pulse of her heart beating strongly after the run
down on the dune, he began to caress the ankle.
With the return of tenderness and generous feeling
he began to kiss her neck.
Some minutes later, they were lying side
by side on the sand kissing each other happily,
in a fresh advance by Jerry caused Rosalind to draw back.
No, she said.
She sat up, you want too much, she told you.
He remained lying on the sand looking at her head silhouetted
against the night sky.
He could not see her expression, but he
could imagine the serious, almost sad look that came over
her when she stopped him.
Let's go, she said.
He continued to lie one hand extended towards her,
sadness was invading him.
Come on Jerry, Rosalind said.
She got to her feet and stood over him.
He reached for her ankle and circled it with his hand.
Jerry, she said.
He felt he could not help himself or say anything.
He remained lying on the sand caressing her ankle
with one hand staring up at her face, which he could not see.
Get up, she told him.
And with her free foot she kicked him lightly in the ribs.
He released the anger but remained lying on his back
on the sand, one arm flung out towards her feet.
Oh, get up, she said, her voice sounding to him both tender
and exasperated.
Get up, please.
I love you, he told her.
Jerry, I'm going home, she said and she
started to move off through the grass towards the beach.
A few feet away she stopped to look back at him.
All right, good night, she said.
But her form disappeared as she went down onto the beach.
Jerry continued to lie looking up at the moon,
a minute later Rosalind reappeared.
If you don't get up I'm going home alone, she said.
Sadly, slowly, reluctantly, wearily, Jerry got to his feet
all the sorrow, and weariness, and sadness of the world
seem to be expressed in every movement
as he picked up his shoes, which he had tied together
by their laces and slung them over his shoulder.
I'm sorry, Rosalind said, but you know what I think.
Jerry nodded wordlessly.
Now come on, Rosalind said, her voice almost pleading
for these scenes affected her as much as they did him,
and she was not what he made her seem when he sprawled
helplessly at her feet.
She was not really domineering or even particularly strong
though she was not unsure of herself.
She was simply so nice that she was moved by the sight of Jerry
wanting something she herself didn't want,
but which was in her power to let him have.
He realized that he preyed upon her good feelings
when he made it seem he was suffering, because she wouldn't
go all the way with him.
Sometimes that realization made him feel ashamed of himself.
He felt ashamed now, remembering he
had meant to apologize for his uncouth behavior at the dance
and then instead of apologizing and tried to seduce her.
Let me carry you, he said.
Rosalind was limping slightly, she shrugged.
It's too far, I'm all right.
Jerry picked her up anyway.
I'm sorry, he said.
And Rosalind sensing the crisis was over
put her arms around his neck, she let him kiss her.
I'm sorry too, she said, don't be mad.
A week later, he went to Michigan City,
this had nothing to do with Rosalind.
It was not being faithful to her,
she didn't want him that way and if she should ever
change her mind about it, he probably
ought to be well initiated.
What do you say to them?
He asked Alex Walton.
Say hiya babe, Walker suggested.
Do I mean, seriously how do you talk to them?
Jerry asked.
Who's going to talk?
Walker, wanted to know.
He drove his own jalopy with a cigarette dangling
from his lips obviously enjoying a sense of superiority
over Jerry but that was all right.
Jerry was not proud, but someone was more intelligent
or had a better character, or was a better swimmer
than himself.
Jerry could accept the fact, he was used to it.
After all his own sister Ann was a lot more intelligent
than he was, and so for that matter with Shirley and Phil.
In fact, Jerry considered most of his friends
to be better than himself and at least some respect.
And certainly Walker had to be considered better at sex,
he'd had some experience.
Only it would be nice if he were just a little more helpful.
It was a private house that a rundown
section of Michigan City Jerry had never been in before.
Walker parked at the curb and together they went up the walk
and climb the port steps to ring the bell.
The house looked dark but the door opened almost at once,
and Jerry found himself staring at a big unfriendly looking man
in his shirtsleeves holding a newspaper in one hand.
He looked them over then closed the door behind them
called out, Gretch?
It was like a silent house key holder letting them in,
summoning the women of the house to deal with the situation
and then retiring to easy chair in the living room,
where he started to read his newspaper again.
Gretch, was her name Gretchen?
Appeared through the archway of the dining room,
looking not at all like Bell Whatling,
who was Jerry's idea of what a Madam should look like.
Nothing look right to Jerry, if this
was a whorehouse where were the mirrors and chandeliers?
For that matter where were the girls?
OK boys, Gretch said.
Is Marge here?
Walker asked.
Show us her, Gretch, she turned to Jerry, that'll be $10.
For what he wondered paying her?
He hadn't even seen a girl yet, all
he'd seen were some bare brawls, some ratty furniture,
some unshielded overhead light bulbs, Mr.
Silent with his newspaper and Gretch herself
looking as lovable as an egg beater
with those curlers in her hair.
When they had both paid her she took them upstairs where
the girls were, maybe it would be better upstairs Jerry
thought following in her wake, it wasn't.
But upstairs things began to happen
so rapidly that he didn't have time to look around.
Hey, you said Marge was here, Walker
said as a girl with a very pointed chin took his hand
and started leaning into one of the bedrooms.
That's Marge, Gretch said.
She handed Jerry over to a girl named Elaine,
who was at least better looking than Marge though she
was no cat-woman.
As Jerry followed Elaine into her bedroom
he heard Walker saying, wait a minute this isn't Marge then
he was alone with Elaine.
Hello, he said.
Hi, she gave him a smile and started to take off her dress.
Jerry watched her, wondering if he should undress,
he supposed so began to unbutton his shirt.
It seemed to him Elaine ought to be talking to him,
or cuddling with him, or kissing him,
but aside from the touch of her hand
when she had let him into the room
they've been no contact between them at all.
He thought she had nice breasts, but she
didn't seem to be inviting him to fondle them or kiss her.
It was a lot less exciting than he
had thought it was going to be if she were in a bathing
suit on the beach and someone had told him
she were a prostitute, he would have felt much more excited
than he felt looking at her sitting naked
on the edge of her bed.
You're pretty young, she said.
I'm 17, Jerry said.
He prepared that fib in advance to have said 18
would have been a lie, but he would be 17 in October
so he's only claiming about three more months
than he actually had, which didn't
seem like a serious falsehood.
How old are you?
He asked.
20, said Elaine.
She looked older, but Jerry guessed
the life she was leading had an aging effect on her
or she could be lying.
It didn't make much difference though
and he was so glad they were talking
that he stopped undressing.
Do you live here?
He asked.
Here?
Said Elaine looking around the room they were in,
that was reassuring.
She could evidently see it as a miserable room that
needed paint and new furniture, even the bed she was sitting on
was terrible though you'd expect at least the beds in this house
to be good bed.
Where do you live?
Jerry asked.
At home, she said, come on.
Jerry finished undressing.
What followed was partly, but only partly satisfactory.
He got the impression that Elaine was not
entirely with him, that some part of her
was wandering around looking into store windows, that
was unsatisfactory.
And in some respects Jerry had felt more voluptuous
just holding Rosalind ankle than he felt
lying on top of the Elaine.
It was not-- he felt, a particularly
voluptuous experience, which was unsatisfactory also
yet on the other hand, he felt his own performance was
a reasonably creditable one given the fact,
he had never done this before.
That was very satisfactory.
It was so satisfactory that when all was said and done,
he was dressing again he felt happy enough about things
to ask Elaine if she ever met guys anywhere else.
He really didn't like this house,
there was a stale Swedish smell in the air,
but if they were to meet somewhere else
he felt they might have a more intimate and friendlier time
together.
Elaine, seemed like a pretty nice girl or woman
if he could date her, and do something with her beforehand
and then go to a nicer place than this,
he could imagine having a very good time with her.
Elaine said, you could see me here whenever you want.
But what about going to the movies or something?
Jerry asked, then we could go to your house.
You crazy?
My dad would kill me if I brought guys home.
Oh, so Jerry you don't know much, do you?
She said.
Well, don't you ever go out with boys ever?
Jerry asked.
How do you think I got here?
Elaine said.
Well, but now, said Jerry, don't you ever see boys now?
All the time, said Elaine.
She didn't seem to get the point,
probably she wasn't used to customers trying
to take her out on dates.
You come back, she said, I'll give you a really good time,
she purse your lips at him then at the door
she addressed herself she seemed to be almost friendly.
So long Jeff, she said--
Jerry had told her his name was Jeffrey Elmendorf, at least
he had stuck to his own initials.
On the drive home Walker complained
about Gretchen's attempt to palm off that dog run
on him in place in Marge.
He finally had a real bombshell, he told Jerry, how was yours?
He asked.
Jerry shook his head, I don't know, he answered.
I don't think she's a really good prostitute,
she lives with her family.
But a lot to think over, manhood thought great of course,
wasn't quite as great as he had thought it would be.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you very much, nice audience.
I'd be glad to answer questions I gather,
we do that at the lounge?
Yes, if they're available.
There's comments, this is a work in progress
and if you want to tell me where to go I think--
Know where you want to change.
Yes.
Oh, go there.
You like it?