"I'm sorry," I told Charlie. He was sitting on the steps on the porch of the Mansion, whittling something. I'd come up behind him.
"For what?" he asked, inspecting his whittling. He was putting a point on a long, thin, point of wood, though I could not think why.
"For acting like a kid scared you might get mad at me."
He grunted, like a single chuck of a chuckle, acknowledging, perhaps, that I'd understood him correctly. But he didn't look at me, only at his pointed stick. He seemed a little sad, somehow.
"Thank you," he said, and returned to his whittling. I sat down beside him on the steps, and we were both silent for a while, before he spoke again. "I was only ever a boogeyman for you. If you want to keep me in that role, that's your business."
"I don't know. I mean, I know it's only ever been my choice, but I like knowing that if I don't follow through you'll...care."
I meant that being his student, being a student, was my choice, not something imposed on me by anyone else. At the very beginning, he had offered to help me by pushing me harder than I could push myself. He'd said everyone needs a boogeyman. That's what I meant by him caring, that he'd get upset, or pretend to get upset, if I ever gave him less than my best.
As I said the word 'care' he looked over at me, just for a moment.
"I do care," he said, inspecting his whittling again. "That's why if you're going to treat me like the enemy, you can go right to hell. Because I can't help you if your not honest with me about what you want."
"I don't want to do this giving advice thing."
"Ok, why not?"
"Because it's artificial," I said. "To ask for advice creates a bond, an opportunity, if that isn't there...I asked what if no one asks. Well, if no one asks, then I don't want to give advice. I don't want to be pressured to offer maybe unwanted advice. I don't want to advise other people for me--or even for you. I already know what my essay would say if I did that--I'd have to say I'd done something wrong."
Another chuck of sad, almost-laughter.
"If you already know all that," he said, "than you're a better young man than I was at your age."
I had no response to that, so I changed topics.
"What's that you're whittling?"
"A piece of scrap wood."
"No, I mean, why? What's the objective?"
"To make it look like a spear. Because I want to."
I watched him play at making a spear for a while.
"You ever wish late summer could last forever?" he said. And indeed the gardens had gone messy and top-heavy with blossoms and, beyond our view, on the other side of the hedge, those parts of the Flat Field and the pastures below it that had not been cropped close this year had become a sea of goldenrod and asters, attended by grasshoppers, mantises, and now the first of the monarch butterflies streaming south toward Mexico. In another few weeks, most of it will be fading.
And yet I could not say that fall had ever made me sad.
I spoke later with Allen, with whom I can be more articulate, since he demands articulate-ness, just as Charlie demands intellectual--and interpersonal--honesty. And of course, it's easier to talk about things with a neutral party.
"I was acting like a rebellious little kid," I explained, "and I can see why Charlie didn't like that, but I guess I like acting like a kid with somebody."
"Even though being treated like a kid pisses you off?"
"Well, yes, naturally."
Allen laughed at me.
"Daniel, you have encountered the central mystery of adolescence."
"At twenty-seven years of age?" I just had a birthday.
"Better late than never...no, seriously, adulthood is sort of a work in progress. The tendencies of childhood never entirely leave you."
"Adulthood is a choice."
"Every day."
"I just..." I didn't know how to put it, "I like having someone else in charge, someone who seems to know everything. I don't like it, but I like it. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yes," said Allen. "You know, I don't have anyone like that for me. Not anymore."
"And you know all the deliberate mysteries around here, too. You know how the stage magic works."
"I do."
"Does that ever bother you?"
He made a non-committal sort of shrug, declining to directly answer the question.
"Daniel, at some point, you've got to start making magic for others."
No comments:
Post a Comment