okay?”
There was no reply.
Then, breaking the ironclad house rules, Jason opened the door. First he noticed the ceiling, where the electric wires had been torn out. Then he glanced quickly at the floor. Where he saw his roommate in a heap, motionless — a belt around his neck.
Jason was vertiginous with fear.
Oh God, he thought, the bastard’s killed himself. He knelt and turned D. D. over. This gesture elicited the faintest semblance of a groan. Quick, Jason, he urged himself, fighting to keep his wits, call the cops. No. They might not come in time.
He swiftly removed the leather belt from his roommate’s lacerated throat. He then heaved him up onto his shoulders like a fireman, and rushed as quickly as he could to Harvard Square, where he commandeered a taxi, ordering the driver to tear-ass to the infirmary.
“He’ll be all right,” the on-duty physician assured Jason. “I don’t think Harvard sockets are wired well enough for suicide. Although, God knows, there are some kids who actually succeed in their ingenious ways. Why do you think he did it?”
“I don’t know,” said Jason, still somewhat deadened from the shock.
“The young man had a bit too much invested in his grades,” Dennis Linden pronounced. He had arrived on the scene in time to offer a professional analysis of the young freshman’s desperate action.
“Did his behavior give you any hints that this was coming? asked the Health Service doctor.
Jason shot a glance at Linden, who continued to pontificate, “Not really. You can never figure out which egg is going to crack. I mean, the freshman year’s so fraught with pressure.”
As the two doctors continued chatting, Jason fixed his gaze on his shoes.
Ten minutes later, Jason and the proctor walked together out of the infirmary; It was only then that he realized that he had no coat. Or gloves. Or anything. Panic had inured him to the cold. Now he was shivering.
“You need a lift, Jason?” Linden asked.
“No, thanks,” he answered sullenly.
“Come on, Gilbert, you’ll freeze to death walking back like that.”
“Okay,” he relented.
During the short ride up Mount Auburn Street, the proctor tried to justify himself.
“Look,” he rationalized, “this is what Harvard’s all about — it’s sink or swim.”
“Yeah,” Jason mumbled half-aloud, “but you’re supposed to be the lifeguard.”
At the next red light he climbed out of Linden’s car and slammed the door.
His anger again made him oblivious to the bitter cold.
He walked on toward the Square. At Elsie’s he consumed two Roast-Beef Specials to replace the dinner he had missed, then went over to Cronin’s, cruising by the wooden booths to find a friendly face so he could sit down and get drunk.
Jason was awakened rudely the next morning by a rapping on the door that made his headache even worse. It was only when he started groggily toward it that he noticed he was still in last night’s clothing. Anyway, his soul felt wrinkled. So they matched.
He opened the door.
A stocky, middle-aged woman, wearing a green floppy hat, was planted solidly outside.
“What did you do to him?” she demanded.
“Oh,” Jason said quietly, “you must be David’s mother.”
“A real genius you are,” she muttered. “I’m here to get his clothes.”
“Please,” Jason said, immediately ushering her in.
“It’s freezing on that landing, if you didn’t notice,” she remarked while entering the suite and glancing hawk-eyed into every corner.
“Foo, it’s a real pigsty. Who cleans up this place?”
“A student porter vacuums once a week and swabs the john,” said Jason.
“Well, no wonder my poor boy’s ill. Whose filthy clothes are these all over everywhere? They carry germs, you know.”
“They’re David’s,” Jason answered softly.
“So how come you threw my David’s clothes all over everywhere? Is that your rich boy’s idea of a little fun?”
“Mrs. Davidson,” Jason said patiently, “he dropped them there himself.” After which he quickly added, “Would you like to sit down? You must be very tired.”
“Tired? I’m exhausted. Do you know what that night train is like — especially for a woman my age? Anyway, I’ll stand while you explain why it’s not your fault.”
Jason sighed. “Look, Mrs. Davidson, I don’t know what they’ve told you down at the infirmary.”
“They said that he was very sick and has to be transferred to some god-awful … hospital,” she paused, and then she gasped, “a mental hospital.”
“I’m really sorry,” Jason answered gently, “but the pressure here can be ferocious. To get grades, I mean.”
“My David always got good grades. He studied day and night. Now suddenly he leaves my house and comes to live with you and he collapses like he had no yeast. Why did you disturb him?”
“Believe me, Mrs. Davidson,” Jason insisted, “I never bothered him. He —” Jason worked up the courage to complete his sentence “— sort of brought it on himself.”
Mrs. Davidson slowly absorbed this allegation.
“How?” she asked.
“For reasons that I simply cannot fathom, he just felt he had to be the best. I mean, the very best.”
“What’s wrong with that? I brought him up that way.”
Jason felt a surge of retrospective pity for his erstwhile roommate. Obviously his mother rode him like a racehorse in a never-ending homestretch. He wouldn’t have to be Humpty Dumpty to crack under that kind of strain.
Then suddenly, without warning, she flopped onto their couch and began to sob.
“What did I do? Didn’t I sacrifice my life for him? This isn’t fair.”
Jason touched her tentatively on the shoulder. “Look, Mrs. Davidson, if David’s going to a hospital he’ll need his clothes. Why don’t I help you pack?”
She gazed up at him with a look of helplessness. Thank you, young man. I’m sorry that I yelled, but I’m a bit upset, and I’ve been on the train all night.”
She opened her purse, took Out a handkerchief already moist, and dabbed her eyes.
“Hey, look,” Jason said softly. “Why don’t you rest here. I can boil some coffee. Meanwhile, I’ll pack his stuff, go get my car, and drive you to… wherever David is.”
“A place called Massachusetts Mental Health, in Waltham, she replied, choking on nearly every syllable.
In the bedroom, Jason grabbed a suitcase and tossed in garments he thought would be appropriate. Instinct told him that the hospital would not require ties and jackets.
“What about his books?” his mother called out.
“I don’t think he’ll need his school stuff right away, but I’ll hold on to it and bring him what he wants.”
“You’re very kind,” she said again. And blew her nose.
One suitcase packed, Jason cast a quick eye around the room to see if he’d missed anything essential. At that moment he caught sight of something lying on top of the desk. Even as he reached out, he had ominous forebodings of what it would be.
Yes, he was right. It was the bluebook from D. D.’s Chem. 20 midterm. And his roommate’s nightmare had turned out to be prophecy. He had received a mere B-minus. As casually as possible, he folded the exam and stuffed it in his back pocket.
“Wait here, Mrs. Davidson. My car’s a few blocks away. I’ll run and get it.”
