Illusions of Love (6 page)

“Now there are two fundamentals with which we must concern ourselves . ‘ That was the last of the lecture Martin heard. His mind drifted off.

He was wondering why the hell he had wanted to come to Yale in the first place. He daydreamed about transferring to Stanford. He was happily imagining long, lazy days at the beach at Carmel when Dominic tapped him on the shoulder.

“Wrong class to sleep through,” he said.

“And anyway, it’s over.”

Martin struggled to his feet.

“You may be right about his hating all freshmen, but I still feel as if there is a personal vendetta between the two of us, as if he’s taking his own frustrations out on me.”

“I know what you mean,” Dominic said.

“He really does come down hard on you. But you have to understand that professors are not gods. Some are carried away with their own importance. Some bring their own paranoia to class. And some feed off the fears of their students. I don’t know which category Wheeler falls into, but if you survive his class you’ll have a great grounding in calculus because he really is a great teacher.”

Martin thought for a long moment.

“Maybe you’re right, though I still get the feeling that Wheeler doesn’t like me. Maybe if I could lick these damn differentials I wouldn’t have to worry. But I just know I’m going to fail.”

Dominic saw the fear in Martin’s eyes.

“You know what’s happening to you, Martin? You have a malady common to almost all freshmen. It’s the first time you’ve been pushed into a cold, hard world, where you don’t get everything you want just by asking. You’ve allowed Wheeler to intimidate

you so that you can’t even think. “

“You’re absolutely right,” Martin said.

“I’m trying so hard to prove that I can make it that I can’t concentrate. Math was always my easiest subject, but this damn thing has got me licked.”

“It’s rough. But look, let’s take this page. There’s a formula to it.

Here, let me show you. ” Dominic proceeded to show Martin how to work out the equations. It was all so basic that Martin almost laughed.

“Boy, it’s so simple when you do it.”

“That’s just my point,” Dominic said.

“Get Wheeler out of your head and you’ll sail right through. Now let me show you again.” Dominic began with another problem.

It was beginning to sink in.

“You know, I think I’m beginning to get it,” Martin said.

“Great. Look, if you get into any trouble I’ll be glad to help.”

“Gee, thanks a lot. I just might take you up on that offer. Can I have your phone number?”

Dominic was a local scholarship boy who lived off campus with his parents. He’d invited Martin over several times, but to date Martin hadn’t come. Now he wrote Dominic’s number carefully in his notebook.

“I’ll try working some problems on my own, but if I get stuck I really will give you a call.”

Martin went back to his room. The suite was empty. He wondered if his roommates ever studied. He opened the math book and tried again. For a while he was able to answer some problems, but then he got stuck and his fear returned. It was relieved a little by a call from his parents, who were looking forward to the holidays and his visit home.

They would never believe their brilliant son was in danger of failing.

Skipping dinner, he worked until seven-thirty, at which time he wanted to tear the book to pieces. Finally he picked it up and threw it against the wall. There was no doubt about it he was going to flunk.

He flung himself on the bed for a while and stared disconsolately at

the ceiling. Then he remembered he had Dominic’s number and decided to call.

“Hello?” the voice at the other end said.

“Is this the Gatti residence?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if I could speak to Dominic, please.”

“I’ll call him to the phone.”

Martin waited.

“Hello?”

For a moment Martin felt embarrassed. He wasn’t used to asking for help.

“This is Martin Roth,” he said awkwardly.

“Yeah? What can I do for you?”

“Listen you could do me a big favour. Could you explain once more how to do these equations? Wait a minute, I have the book right here.”

Before Martin turned the page, Dominic said, “Look, why don’t you come over?”

“You mean it?”

“Sure. If you feel like it. It’s a lot easier if we can sit down together.”

“I wouldn’t be interrupting, would I?”

“No, not at all. Besides, it won’t take more than half an hour. It’s pretty simple when you catch on.”

Again, Martin had the feeling that he was imposing, but he was desperate.

“When can I come?”

“If you leave now you’ll get here by eight-thirty.”

“You bet … and, Dominic, thanks a lot.”

“Nothing to it, friend.” Dominic gave him the address.

The Gattis lived in nearby Hamden in a two-storey brick house, one of many such dwellings along a narrow street. At one time the neighbourhood had been upper-middle class, but the population had shifted and Martin guessed that it was undoubtedly lower-middle income. It occurred to him that he’d never been in such a neighbourhood and he realized that in many ways he was as narrow and provincial as his roommates.

Finally he got out of the car, walked up the short flight of stairs, rang the bell and waited.

“Hi,” Dominic said as he stood framed in the doorway.

“Did you have a rough time finding the place?”

“No, it was much nearer than I realized.”

Dominic held open the door a little wider.

“Come on in.”

Standing in the dark hall, Martin observed the small living room with the overstuffed couch and two matching chairs. The rug was faded and worn. A grand piano took up most of one corner.

“My folks are in the sun room,” Dominic said, drawing Martin inside.

“Come on, I want you to meet them.”

Mr. Gatti was stocky, of medium height, with a shock of white hair. He wore very thick lenses which somehow did not detract from his appearance. Mrs. Gatti was a woman of almost her husband’s size.

Nonetheless, she appeared almost delicate. Her hands and feet were small and her fingers were elegantly tapered. Her violet-blue eyes seemed to look beyond Martin, giving the impression of studied aloofness.

“This is my mother,” Dominic said, interrupting Martin’s thoughts.

“And this is Martin Roth, Mother.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Gatti,” Martin answered.

She merely nodded.

“And my father.”

Mr. Gatti extended his hand.

“I’m glad to meet you,” he said and went back to reading his paper.

With those casual amenities out of the way, Dominic said, “I think we ought to get cracking on the books.”

Martin followed Dominic up the dimly lit stairs to his room. It was sparsely furnished with a bed, dresser, and a long folding table which Dominic used as a desk. There was a wooden chair near the door, another by Dominic’s bed, and a faded green mohair upholstered chair with a matching ottoman. On the wall was a picture of Jesus. The table was strewn with an assortment of books economics, engineering literature, and an assortment of other subjects.

“All right, let’s get down to cases. Pull up a chair.”

After two hours, Martin began to see the clearing in the wilderness.

He laughed.

“You thought it was going to take a half hour … I never thought I’d get it through my skull.

My God, Dominic, I don’t know how I’m going to thank you. “

“Forget the thanks. Let me know if you have any more trouble.”

That night, for the first time in weeks, Martin’s sleep was uninterrupted by nightmares of flunking. He was always going to hate calculus, but at least he understood enough now to feel that he had a reasonable chance of getting through. And Dominic’s companionship made the prospect of four long years at Yale more endurable.

In the next weeks, Martin and Dominic saw each other in and out of class. Martin was developing an enormous affection for his newfound friend. His fascination with Dominic lay in the fact that their personalities were as different as their backgrounds.

Dominic was tough, proud, tenaciously independent, with a kind of street smartness that he had needed to survive. Under the facade of his wit was a cynicism born of the Depression.

He was nine the year his father lost his job. Dominic never forgot coming home from school and finding his father seated at the kitchen table, crying like a baby. It would have been better if he had screamed, or gotten drunk; but he was too broken. Later, Mr. Gatti cursed the fates that had denied him an education.

Dominic never viewed his father as being uneducated. Quite the opposite. Antonio Gatti was a natural intellectual. Yet all his self-acquired knowledge was not enough to get him beyond being a shipping clerk. If life had been more equitable, there was no telling what Antonio Gatti might have achieved, but though in the years to come he was able to get jobs here and there, they never amounted to much.

Maria Gatti slowly sold her jewellery and the few other possessions she had brought to her marriage. As the Depression worsened and her husband remained unemployed, the tension in the house increased until she wished she could get a divorce. But that was impossible, since she

was a devout Catholic. Working ten hours a day in a factory making shoes for other women, she had plenty of time to think back over the past.

She’d married outside of her class. Because of that, she’d been ostracized by her family. Her mother had said that she would live to regret it, and she had. Now, looking back over the years, she wondered what the attraction had been. She had sacrificed herself, and in doing so, she destroyed her dreams of becoming a concert pianist. There was a strange irony to their lives. They were two very extraordinarily gifted people who were unable to exercise their talents.

It was Maria who had made Dominic realize that, with out a college degree, he could never amount to anything. If his father had had that parchment, she said, he would never have been fired. If her bitterness blinded her to the fact that there were college professors standing in the breadlines, she had nonetheless imbued Dominic with an indomitable need to succeed. He vowed that what had happened to his father would never happen to him.

He was going to go to college and get a degree no matter what it took.

When he was eleven, he worked for a bookie, mowed lawns, and delivered bootleg liquor to a whore house. Later, he drove a truck and worked on the docks. He had hoarded everything he made. When he’d won a partial scholarship to Yale, he knew he had the world by a string. He tried to explain his confidence to Martin.

“I didn’t have a doubt in the world that I was going to be able to compete Don’t look at me like that, Martin.” Dominic smiled and lit up a cigarette.

“Look like what?”

“Like you think I’m a cocky bastard.”

“If I gave you that impression, it was wrong. I think the look was one of admiration. You’re just so sure of yourself. I wish that I were.”

“That’s really funny, Martin. We always wish that we were someone else or somewhere else. Okay, Martin, you ready for this? The first day we really talked I was green with envy. You’d been to private school.

You could afford to live in the dorms. Your parents were obviously well off. Well, now that we’re friends I’m not so envious. I guess we all have our problems.”

“I guess that’s right,” Martin said, thinking that one confidence inspired another. Hesitating a little, Martin described how he’d been affected by the 10 per cent quota.

Dominic laughed.

“Well, old buddy, you grew up believing that the world was round and then suddenly you discovered it was crooked. I don’t know who’s more privileged, you or me. At least I grew up knowing what it was all about; there were no surprises.”

Martin started to answer, then thought better of it.

As if reading his thoughts, Dominic asked, “Do you think that sounds bitter?”

Martin shrugged.

“Well, maybe. But on the other hand, it’s that bitterness that goads me on. Now to more frivolous things. I’d like to go to New York this weekend. Rubinstein’s at Carnegie Hall Saturday. I’ve got a little dough stashed away-do you feel like going?”

Martin agreed. It would be good to get away from the pressures of school for a couple of days, and he knew his parents would be pleased if he heard the famous pianist. It was odd, Martin thought. He had always had every opportunity to attend concerts, opera and the theatre in California, but he and his friends had preferred just riding around, dancing, or simply hanging out with the gang. For Dominic, who had to scrimp to buy his tickets, a piano concert was a prize event.

On Saturday morning the boys got up at six and drove to New York in Martin’s Ford coupe.

No sooner had they checked in to the YMCA than Dominie was ready for action. It was as though he were determined to conquer the city in twenty-four hours.

Martin found himself caught up in the excitement. They bought hot dogs from a street vendor on 49th and Madison, then hopped on a bus that dropped them near the Metropolitan Museum.

Martin followed Dominic up the wide staircase to the first landing.

He’d visited the museum when he was thirteen, and his parents had taken him to New York for his bar mitzvah, but today with Dominic it was as though he were seeing everything for the first time. Until now he considered most art an excuse for his parents and their friends to get together and give parties. Now he saw that paintings themselves could inspire a real joy.

Later, as they walked downtown to the Automat, Martin was silent.

Landscapes and portraits were unrolling again before his mind’s eye.

It was only when Dominic began showing him how to feed in nickels for their supper that he shook off his reverie and began laughing and joking again.

But if Rembrandt and Rubens had stimulated his senses, Rubinstein took away his breath. As they walked back to the Y, Martin said, “Did you ever hear anything so great? Imagine Rubinstein being able to evoke all those feelings. Isn’t it incredible what those ten fingers can do?”