“I’ll take my chances,” I said. “I’m not afraid of being alone. I’ve got a job and I’ve got my studies, and that doesn’t leave much time for loneliness.”
“I like you,” Quinby said, laughing good-naturedly. “I like your certainty.”
“And half the guys in your fraternity,” I said, “have the same kind of certainty.” The three of us laughed together. I liked these two Bills. I even liked the idea of belonging to a fraternity with a Negro in it — that
That Sunday morning, when I made my weekly collect call home to New Jersey, I was surprised to learn that my parents knew about my visit from Sonny Cottler. To prevent my father’s intruding in my affairs, I told the family as little as possible when I phoned. Mostly I assured them that I was feeling well and everything was fine. This sufficed with my mother, but my father invariably would ask, “So what else is going on? What else are you doing?” “Studying. Studying and working weekends at the inn.” “And what are you doing to divert yourself?” “Nothing, really. I don’t need diversions. I haven’t the time.” “Is there a girl in the picture yet?” “Not yet,” I’d say. “You be careful,” he’d say. “I will be.” “You know what I mean,” he’d say. “Yep.” “You don’t want to get in any trouble.” I’d laugh and say, “I won’t.” “On your own like that — I don’t like the sound of it,” my father said. “I’m fine on my own.” “And if you make a mistake,” he said, “with nobody there to give you advice and see what you’re up to — then what?”
That was the standard conversation, permeated throughout with his hacking cough. On this Sunday morning, however, no sooner did I call than he said, “So we understand you met the Cottler boy. You know who he is, don’t you? His aunt lives here in Newark. She’s married to Spector, who owns the office supply store on Market Street. His uncle is Spector. When we said where you were, she told us that her maiden name was Cottler, and her brother’s family lives in Cleveland, and her nephew goes to the same college and is president of the Jewish fraternity. And president of the Interfraternity Council. A Jew and president of the Interfraternity Council. How about that? Donald. Donald Cottler. They call him Sonny, isn’t that right?” “That’s right,” I said. “So he came around — wonderful. He’s a basketball star, I understand, and a Dean’s List student. So what did he tell you?” “He made a pitch for his fraternity.” “And?” “I said I wasn’t interested in fraternity life.” “But his aunt says he’s a wonderful boy. All A’s, like you. And a handsome boy, I understand.” “Extremely handsome,” I said wearily. “A dreamboat.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” he replied. “Dad, stop sending people to visit me.” “But you’re off there all by yourself. They gave you three Jewish roommates when you arrived, and the first thing you do, you move out on them to find a Gentile and you room with him.” “Elwyn is the perfect roommate. Quiet, considerate, neat, and he’s studious. I couldn’t ask for anyone better.” “I’m sure, I’m sure, I have nothing against him. But then the Cottler boy comes around—” “Dad, I can’t take any more of this.” “But how do I know what’s going on with you? How do I know what you’re doing? You could be doing anything.” “I do one thing,” I said firmly. “I study and I go to class. And I make about eighteen bucks at the inn on the weekend.” “And what would be wrong with having some Jewish friends in a place like that? Somebody to eat a meal with, to go to a movie with—” “Look, I know what I’m doing.” “At eighteen years of age?” “Dad, I’m hanging up now. Mom?” “Yes, dear.” “I’m hanging up. I’ll speak to you next Sunday.” “But what about the Cottler boy—” were the last of his words that I heard.
There
That night, I had to sit at my desk until two A.M. — and with the gooseneck lamp twisted down to keep the glare of my light clear of Elwyn, asleep in the upper bunk — in order to finish the homework that I’d failed to do because of my being preoccupied with the auburn-haired girl’s swinging leg.
What happened when I took her out exceeded anything I could have imagined in the library bathroom, had I the daring to retreat to one of the stalls there to relieve myself temporarily of my desire. The rules regulating the lives of the girls at Winesburg were of the sort my father wouldn’t have minded their imposing on me. All female students, including seniors, had to sign in and out of their dormitories whenever they left in the evening, even to go to the library. They couldn’t stay out past nine on weekdays or past midnight on Fridays and Saturdays, nor, of course, were they ever allowed in male dormitories or in fraternity houses except at chaperoned events, nor were men allowed inside the women’s dorms other than to wait on a florally upholstered chintz sofa in the small parlor to pick up a date whom the attendant downstairs would summon on the house phone; the attendant would have gotten the young man’s name from his student ID card, which he was required to show her. Since students other than seniors were prohibited from having cars on campus — and in a college with a preponderantly middle-class student body, only a few seniors had families who could provide for a car or its upkeep — there was almost no place where a student couple could be alone together. Some went out to the town cemetery and conducted their sex play against the tombstones or even down on the graves themselves; others got away with what little they could at the movies; but mostly, after evening dates, girls were thrust up against the trunks of trees in the dark of the quadrangle containing the three women’s dorms, and the misdeeds that the parietal regulations were intended to curb were partially perpetrated among the elms that beautified the campus. Mainly there was no more than fumbling and groping through layers of clothing, but among the male students the passion for satisfaction even that meager was boundless. Since evolution abhors unclimactic petting, the prevailing sexual code could be physically excruciating. Prolonged excitation that failed to result in orgasmic discharge could set strapping young men to hobbling about like cripples until the searing, stabbing, cramping pain of the widespread testicular torture known as blue balls would slowly diminish and pass away. On a weekend night at Winesburg, blue balls constituted the norm, striking down dozens between, say, ten and midnight, while ejaculation, that most pleasant and natural of remedies, was the ever-elusive, unprecedented event in the erotic career of a student libidinally at his lifetime’s peak of performance.
My roommate, Elwyn, loaned me his black LaSalle the night I took out Olivia Hutton. It was a weeknight, when I wasn’t working, and so we had to start out early to get her back to her dormitory by nine. We drove to L’Escargot, the fanciest restaurant in Sandusky County, about ten miles down Wine Creek from the college. She ordered snails, the featured dish, and I didn’t, not only because I’d never had them and couldn’t imagine eating them, but because I was trying to keep the cost down. I took her to L’Escargot because she seemed far too sophisticated for a first date at the Owl, where you could get a hamburger, french fries, and a Coke for under fifty cents. Besides, as out of place as I felt at L’Escargot, I felt more so at the Owl, whose patrons were usually jammed into booths together alongside members of their own fraternities or sororities and, as far as I could tell, spoke mostly about social events of the previous weekend or those of the weekend to come. I had enough of them and their socializing while waiting tables at the Willard.
She ordered the snails and I didn’t. She was from wealthy suburban Cleveland and I wasn’t. Her parents were divorced and mine weren’t, nor could they possibly be. She’d transferred from Mount Holyoke back to Ohio for reasons having to do with her parents’ divorce, or so she said. And she was even prettier than I had realized in class. I’d never before looked her in the eyes long enough to see the size of them. Nor had I noticed the transparency of her skin. Nor had I dared to look at her mouth long enough to realize how full her upper lip was and