12
16 March
90
Daniel
did not come home for spring break, which is this week. Spring, in March! Well,
what we call the winter semester the Americans call the spring semester.
No, I dont
mean to say home, but back to Montréal. He told me that New York is now home
for him. I told him that I understood, just as Rimouski was no longer home for
me once I moved here for university. I told Tina about the exchange and she
said I guess home is where you had your first sex. We had a good laugh.
Daniel said
that he had things to do in New York during the break, like going to the opera.
(I am glad that he likes opera.) He told me that he has a girlfriend who is
from Iowa and who is going back there for the break.
I was right
the last time I wrote about Betty. She now has a boyfriend. A French kid named
Gérard Brunet. Does not go to her school, of course. How she met him is still a
mystery. Not particularly good-looking but very sweet, and seems to worship
her. A little bit like Etienne and me. I dont believe that they have done it
yet, with each other or with anyone else. Thats different from Etienne and me,
or at least me. I wonder how it will be for them.
But she is
beginning to speak French again. With Gérard, of course; his English isnt very
good. But sometimes, especially after she has been speaking with him, even with
me. Then she catches herself and goes back to English.
George got
tired of waiting for me and called me in the middle of February. The pretext
was to invite me to a party that he was having for his 50th birthday, as he
told me he would, on the last day of the month. But of course there were hints
of getting together again. Once again I said maybe and afterwards I called
Tina. She said that she was going and encouraged me to go too, without feeling any
obligation to G. She even thought that I might meet someone else there.
So I went to
the party and guess what, my journal. I fell for George again. It was the
hotel-room trick again, red carnations included, and it worked again.
Last night I
saw him again. It was nice. He apologized for his callousness back in December.
He said that he too was in shock and reacted by blocking his emotions.
I want to
believe him. I am not one to hold grudges. Even with papa it was not really a
grudge, but a need to assert myself against someone who tried to annihilate me,
quelquun qui essayait de manéantir. Non, papa, ce nétait pas de la
rancune contre toi, seulement le besoin de maffirmer.
So I will
continue with George for as long as it feels good. How long will that be? I
asked him that once, and he said, As Yogi Berra said, its hard to predict,
especially the future. I have since heard that it was Niels Bohr who said it
first. I believe it. I knew some Danish exchange students at McGill, and they
were all very funny.
One of these
days I will tell George. When I think of it. Or if he says it to me again. He
probably will. He does have a tendency to repeat himself. But we laugh about
it.
Comida criolla
Early in April there was another chance to see a German
movie on the big screen: a double bill of Fassbinders last two films. They
didnt bother with his very last one, since it was in English, but they saw the
one before, Die Sehnsucht der Veronika Voss. The progress he had made
since seeing The Tin Drum amazed him: this time he could ignore the
subtitles almost completely. He was also reading Der Fall Maurizius with
very little recourse to the dictionary. He felt ready for Germany.
He
decided that he would go for somewhat over a month, leaving early in June and returning
in mid-July, and spanning the World Cup that would be played in Italy and that
he could watch in real time on television. He was relieved that Canada, which
had played in 1986 without scoring a single goal, did not qualify this time and
so he would feel free to root for any team he chose. He chose the Federal
Republic of Germany.
He
had thought of flying Lufthansa, so that he could practice his German with the
flight attendants, but Mrs. Taylor talked him into taking Singapore Airlines,
which stopped in Frankfurt on its way to Singapore. Not only was the fare much
better, she said, but so was the service.
The
booking made, he immediately wrote Brigitte a letter in German with the
details. It then turned out that on the first of June he would be moving into
his own apartment. He would have only a few days to set it up.
The
apartment was in a building that was being renovated with a view to co-op
conversion, in an area around Columbus Avenue and the Eighties that was
undergoing gentrification. But the financing had run out temporarily, he was
told so that the newly renovated apartments were put back on the rental
market, with preference given to potential co-op buyers. Since he already knew
that New York was going to be his home for quite a few years to come, it seemed
to him natural to want to own a piece of it. His bank statement duly impressed
the broker, and he was told that, once the contract was signed, he could move
in on the first of June; he would have a one-bedroom apartment that, eventually,
would be his own. Since the semester would end in mid-May, he told his mother
that he would be back in Montreal for the second half of May, to gather those
of his belongings that he wanted to keep and have them shipped to New York for
delivery at the beginning of June. At the end of his stay they would celebrate,
a week or so early, Bettys sixteenth birthday.
He
made sure to inform Megan of his plan.
In mid-April, as he was beginning to write his paper on Der
Fall Maurizius, he received Brigittes reply, also in German. She informed
him that at the time of his arrival she would be in Göttingen, doing the last
few performances as Arkadina in The Seagull. If he wished, he could take
a train from the Frankfurt airport station to Göttingen and be there in a
little more than two hours. She could get him a room in the same hotel where
she was staying, and gave him its number, along with that of her room, so that
he could call her from Frankfurt when he knew his arrival time in Göttingen.
She would meet him at the station if it was not too late.
The
theater company in which she was performing was one of the ones in which she
had worked in the late fifties while his father was a doctoral student. While
in Göttingen they could take a trip to Bad Harzburg, and stop in Hanover on the
way back to Hamburg, where he would meet the lovely Rita. She would be busy in
Hamburg for the rest of June, but in July she could spend some time with him in
Berlin and then accompany him to Frankfurt when it was time for him to go back
to New York. Unfortunately there would not be time to go to Norderney: there
was no point in going there for less than a week, and therefore that would have
to wait for his next trip.
The last day of April was the last day of classes. Dr.
Klostermann had decided to forgo a final examination and gave grades on the
basis of the tutorials. Karen and Daniel both got As and they celebrated by
going out to dinner and then back to her place, where, to his surprise and even
more so to hers, she had the first orgasm in her life. After that she couldnt
get enough and during the next few days designated as reading/study days
they spent a good deal of their time in bed. Canadian bookworm that he was, he
had prepared for the finals during the preceding weeks, and he did well, ending
with a 3.6 average for the year. But Karen was the kind of student who depended
on coffee-fueled last-minute cramming, and she did quite poorly, to the point
dropping below a B average and therefore facing the loss of her scholarship. In
that case she would have to leave Columbia.
Karen
seemed quite nonchalant about the prospect. At their farewell encounter they
were no longer practicing their German, and in pure Midwestern English she told
him that Columbia had been a disappointment for her. She had not made any
friends in New York, and meeting him was the best thing that had happened to
her. Going to IU she explained that that was the University of Iowa in Iowa
City, not Iowa State where Jason was going for her senior year would be just
fine. Her concern was altogether different.
Now
that Im having orgasms, I assume that Ill be getting em with Jason too, and
I dont know how thats gonna play with him.
He
was astounded. Why would that be a problem? Wouldnt that make him feel good?
I
guess for you its normal, being French and all. But Jason is an Iowa country
boy, and back home sex is just something you do because the guys want it. A
girl isnt supposed to enjoy it.
But
that was in high school!
It
doesnt change until you fall in love with someone. Ive got an older sister,
and cousins, and thats what Ive heard from them: once youre in love its
different. And Im not in love with Jason. But I love it when I come!
Before leaving for Montreal he bought some basic furniture
and arranged to have it delivered on the first of June. He got a simple dinette
set, a sofa and coffee table, and a double bed with bedding. As a young man
living in New York in 1990 he knew that his single bed in their Montreal house
would not serve the purpose.
Once
again he took the train to Montreal. It was on time, and Mireille met him at
the station. They went out to dinner before going home.
Betty
seemed to have matured more than the five months since he had last seen here
would explain. She looked like a woman, not only physically but in the absence
of the carefree girlishness that he had always known in her.
Shortly
after they got to the house the phone rang. Mireille answered. She turned to
Betty and said, Cest pour toi. Apparently the caller had asked for
Betty in French, and Mireille simply stayed in French mode.
Betty
went to the telephone, which was in the hallway, with a feigned reluctance. She
spoke very softly.
Is
something the matter with her? he asked his mother, also softly.
Shes
under pressure. She seemed reluctant to elaborate.
What
kind of pressure? School?
No,
shes doing fine at school. Shes getting pressured for sex. Not so much from
the boys. She knows how to say no, and this kid Gérard that shes talking to,
hes very nice and respectful. Hes a little nerdy, though hes cute, and he
cant believe that a beautiful girl like Betty would give him the time of day,
let alone go out with him. But its the other girls in her crowd that are
pressuring her. To them its not cool to be a virgin when you turn sixteen.
Thats
ridiculous! She obviously isnt ready!
Dont
be so sure. I was not quite sixteen when I had my first.
Really!
In Rimouski?
Actually
it happened in Montreal, but it doesnt matter. I was ready. And Id rather
your sister lost it with a boy like Gérard, whos considerate, though hes
probably inexperienced himself, than with one of the junior Don Juans. The
last words were said in a whisper as Betty came back into the living room,
trying to suppress a smile. Daniel wondered if his mother thought of him as one
of the junior Don Juans, but he didnt get a chance to ask her.
On
va sortir demain soir avec quelques copains, Betty said matter-of-factly.
He had not heard her speak French in four years.
Avec
Gérard? Mireille asked.
Bien
sûr
of course, Betty said with an embarrassed smile, as though suddenly
remembering that she was an anglophone.
Betty
and Mireille continued chatting, but Daniels mind was on his mothers
revelation about her sexual life, the first that he could remember. So she,
too, was fifteen when it happened to her, just like his father (and Brigitte).
Sexual precocity, then, was not hereditary, since his awakening did not happen
till he was almost eighteen. As for Betty, it was well over a year since she
had told him that she was not ready, and Gen had given him a little lecture
like the one she gave her students about the rapid hormonal changes of
adolescence.
Another girl who seemed different after five months was Megan.
Megan was always mature for her age, and now, at eighteen and a half, she was
very much a woman. But during their one encounter she seemed distant and
uncommunicative, and her participation in sex was passive and perfunctory,
reminding him of Karen before she found orgasms, though Megan had not lost
hers. He knew that she was no longer with Keith, and he wondered if there was a
new boyfriend for Megan never seemed to be without one that she had not
told him about, and if she felt guilty over cheating on him. Or perhaps she was
depressed, for whatever reason. When she said good-bye he heard a subtext of good
riddance. His last words to her were Write me! He hoped that, after some
reflection, she might tell him in a letter what was going on.
Once again he took the overnight bus to New York, and he
was at the apartment house at eight oclock. The super gave him the keys. He
went up to his apartment, which was empty except for the kitchen appliances. He
put his bags in the bedroom closet. The smell of fresh paint was strong, and he
opened the windows. The day was pleasantly warm. His apartment was on the third
floor, and he could hear voices from the street below; most of them were in
Spanish.
After
relieving himself there was very little toilet paper on the roll, and no
spare he realized that he was hungry. Looking out the window, he saw that
across the street there was a little neighborhood restaurant that was open. He
decided that he could have breakfast there while looking out for the arrival of
the moving van from Montreal which would bring him his desk and dresser,
among other important objects and the delivery truck from the furniture
store. Neither one had come by the time he finished breakfast, and he went back
to his apartment after buying the New York Times at a candy store.
He
was absorbed in a lengthy article speculating on the future of the Soviet
Union, and in particular on the role of Boris Yeltsin as the newly elected
Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Soviet
Federative Socialist Republic, when the buzzer rang. It was the furniture
truck.
It
took about an hour for the furniture to be carried upstairs and put into place.
All that time he was hoping that the Montreal van would not come. He had no
telephone yet, so that he could not contact the moving company. Fortunately the
furniture people left after hanging around with some needless chitchat, which
he finally realized was intended to elicit a tip with no sign of the van.
He
went back to the candy store, where there was a pay phone, and called NYNEX to
order telephone service. He was told that if he went to the district office in
the afternoon to fill out the paperwork, he would have a line by Monday. He was
in a quandary: what if the moving van arrived while he was away? He went back
to the apartment, looked at the moving contract which clearly named June 1 as
the delivery date and noticed that the company had a toll-free number. Once
again he went to the pay phone, for which he had to wait since a middle-aged
man was talking to it in Spanish, and finally called the movers. After giving
them the contract number he was told that he could expect the van between three
and five.
Everything
else happened in routine fashion. By six-thirty his apartment was furnished,
the bed was made up, and most of his pictures and other wall hangings had found
their place, at least temporarily, with the help of pushpins.
He
showered and went out for dinner. He walked west and when he reached Broadway
he saw a restaurant whose sign advertised Cuban and Chinese food comida
criolla y china and decided to try it.
While
waiting for a waitress to take his order the place was quite busy he looked
around him. The staff was Chinese, but they spoke Spanish with the customers.
Most of the tables seemed to be occupied by family groups speaking a mixture of
English and Spanish. One of them, made up of a middle-aged couple, a young man
and two young women, was seated at a table near him and was striking in the
range of skin color among its members. Of the two young women, one was quite
dark and the other fairly light. Both were very pretty and wearing low-cut,
sleeveless summer dresses. The lighter-skinned one, whom he saw in profile,
looked quite familiar, but he couldnt place her.
At
one point she turned his way and flashed a big smile of recognition. Herr
Daniel Vilner! she called out to him.
Cynthia!
he said, with a hesitant tone that undoubtedly betrayed the suddenness of his
recognition of her, perhaps delayed by the fact that in class she always wore
slacks never jeans and, depending on the weather, a blouse or a sweater. Die
Portorikanerin, he said to show that he remembered how she identified
herself in the first class. Cynthia laughed. What brings you here? he asked.
Me?
This is my neighborhood. I live here. I grew up here. What about you?
I
live here too. I just moved in today.
Welcome
to the neighborhood! She turned back to her family and he heard her say, Es
un compañero de mi clase de alemán. He understood her perfectly.
Gracias,
he said, and resolved at that moment to learn Spanish after he returned from
Germany. I might as well fit into my neighborhood, he thought.
He
ordered his dinner, choosing a Chinese appetizer an egg roll and a Cuban
main dish bistec en salsa de tomate. Cynthias group was finishing,
and as they got up, the young man who was of medium complexion and the
darker young woman took each others hands. As the rest of her party made their
way to the door, Cynthia walked over to his table.
This
is my brother Hector, she said, pointing at the young man with her chin. He
goes to Fordham Law School. And thats his girlfriend Letty, and her parents.
Shes also my best friend from high school. They just got engaged.
Where
are your parents? he asked.
Thats
a little complicated, she said with a laugh. Lets just say that Im
representing them. I could tell you about it some time, since Ill be seeing
you in the neighborhood, right?
For
a few days. Then Im going to Germany for five weeks. And then Ill be back.
Germany!
That sounds great! Send me a postcard, okay?
Sure,
he said, pulling a pen from his shirt pocket and handing it to her, together
with a napkin. Below her initials CC she quickly wrote not only her address
but her phone number as well. As she was writing she said, Call me Ceecee
thats what my friends call me. You can spell it C-C or C-I-C-I. So it was
Cici. And have a great trip! She handed him the inscribed napkin, which he
folded into his pocket. Just then his egg roll actually a plate with two
large egg rolls arrived. Bye! Cynthia said as she started for the door,
where her party was waiting for her.
Bye!
he said as he put a blank napkin on his lap. The last word he heard from Cynthias
party came from her future sister-in-law, and sounded like kewapo. He
wondered what it could mean.
While
in physical reality a very pretty woman did not necessarily attract him more
than a not-pretty one, his sexual fantasy world always discriminated strongly
in favor of pretty women. The soprano in Die Entführung was a case in
point, and now Cynthia Carmona, or Cici, came to inhabit that world.
By
Tuesday evening, when he took the shuttle to JFK for his flight to Frankfurt,
his apartment was all set up, with a working telephone, and with the gas and
electricity accounts in his name. He moved his bank account from the Columbia
branch of Citibank to the one in his neighborhood. His pantry was stocked with
canned goods and other nonperishables from the mini market in his block. He had
discovered by observing his fellow tenants that the super, an Anglo man in his
forties named Eddie, was ready to perform any service for a tip. He was ready
to be a New Yorker.
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