The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (8 page)

BOOK: The Rebellion of Yale Marratt
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"You know, Yale," Cynthia said, "you just don't say things like that at
Midhaven College. What's more, I don't know whether you know it or not,
but because we have been going around together so steadily after the way
you talked, my roommate and most of the girls in the freshman class are
pretty convinced that we have been sleeping together." Yale knew that
that was true. Sonny Thompson, his roommate, had intimated as much and
tried more than once to draw Yale into a long, trying conversation about
Cynthia's sexual ability.
"Listen, Cindar," Yale said, "I don't care who knows I love you. You can
be sure of one thing, that I'll never discuss our love with anyone.
I don't care what anyone thinks. The students at Midhaven . . . Pat, Liz,
Doctor Tangle, anyone . . . they all can jump in a lake." Yale looked
at her, tears in his eyes. "I love you, that's all."
"Oh, Yale, I guess I love you too," Cynthia said. She put her arms around
him and kissed him fervently on the lips and eyes and nose. What does
it matter, she thought. Maybe, somehow, by some miracle it could work
out. But she was unable to picture herself on friendly terms with Pat and
Liz Marratt. Was it wrong to be in love, she wondered? She had thought
about it often. She guessed that most girls when they went out with a
boy thought of what it would be like to be married. Several times she
had written "Mrs. Yale Marratt" on the pages of a notebook and looked at
her writing, trying to imagine herself with that name; then, blushing,
scribbled it out. It was silly. She was only eighteen. She had to finish
college. Daddy expected that. He was so proud of her. Three years and
she would graduate and be twenty-one. There were girls at home that had
graduated with her and were going to have babies. Three years. How many
things could happen? She turned to Yale, shivering. "Oh, it's silly,
Yale. We're only kids. We've got to finish college. Your parents hate
me. My father would be horrified. But I do love you!" She buried her
face in his coat and sobbed at the wonder and fear of being in love with
a boy. A good-looking, wonderful, frightening, unpredictable boy who
wasn't childish or smooth or a wolf like many of the boys at Midhaven,
but in some strange way wilder and more dangerous than any boy or man
she had ever known.
"Cindar," Yale whispered, "do you remember the Kramer picnic? I thought
your breasts were beautiful." He touched her breasts through her dress.
"That day I wanted so much to kiss your breasts. Could I now?" He pushed
up her sweater. Unhooking her brassiere, he smelled the warm fragrance
of her skin. He kissed her nipples. She held his face close to her,
caressing his cheek as if she were holding a child. She marvelled at
the warm, good feeling of happiness that flowed through her. It was nice
to have this boy, with his curly hair and warm face cuddled against her
breasts. I do love you, Yale, she thought.
4
Small co-ed colleges like Midhaven College have certain well-established
traditions regarding dating, and boy and girl relationships. You won't
find them described in the college catalogue, nor is there any written
protocol that says you must pick out a member of the opposite sex, and
pretty much "go steady" for a college year. It just happens that if you
are a boy, by the time you have become a sophomore you have either picked
a girl whom you can count on for college dances or Saturday night dating,
or you find that the "preferred" girls are already committed. A girl who
goes steady for any length of time in the cloistered college environment
soon learns that no other boy will try to break in. Then, too, if a
girl shifts dates too often, she becomes the intriguing subject of male
"bull-sessions." For the sophomore males as with the juniors and seniors,
it becomes pretty much common knowledge what girls "have done it," what
girls "might come across," and those who you "wouldn't be caught dead
with, or take to a dog show." The only imponderable in the situation is
the incoming freshman class. By midyears, the freshman girls have been
classified and committed, usually by upper classmen who have avoided
earlier entanglements.
Meeting Cynthia so early in his freshman year, being constantly seen with
her between classes, Yale established his priority. Refusing to discuss
her in "bull-sessions" alienated Yale from male companionship; being
with Cynthia so often identified him in male eyes as a bit of a "twerp,"
a current expression to indicate anyone who lacked group approval. By
the end of their sophomore year, it was generally accepted on the campus
that almost any time of the day in their free time, look for Yale and
you would find Cynthia, look for Cynthia and you would find Yale.
This state of affairs went just far enough beyond unwritten traditions as
to represent a defiance of them. It was all right to have Saturday night
dates with the same girl, or walk between classes with the same girl,
but to give up all other college activities for the exclusive enjoyment
of each other's company was a Daphnis and Chloe, Romeo and Juliet state
of affairs that was generally frowned upon. From the faculty standpoint
it could only result in an unforeseen marriage, or worse, an unwanted
pregnancy. It was difficult to cope with.
While word of these "going-ons" had reached Doctor Tangle, and he had
considered having Dean Shaw discuss it with Yale, by the middle of
Yale's junior year Doctor Tangle had taken no action. Looking over the
scholastic records of Yale and Cynthia, trying to decide what to do,
Doctor Tangle was puzzled. Both Yale and Cynthia were on the Dean's
list. It was quite possible that they would both graduate Phi Beta
Kappa. From Yale's standpoint, considering that he had been accepted on
a trial basis, this was surprising enough; but worse was the knowledge
that despite Yale's wide interests in learning he refused to listen
when his faculty advisor suggested that he take a few courses in such
subjects as Accounting, Advertising or Business Management.
It wasn't that Doctor Tangle thought much of these courses. They had
been made available at Midhaven College in keeping with demand; but it
would have been simpler if he could have told Pat that Yale was taking
a few business courses. Certainly, he couldn't tell Pat that Yale had
written a brilliant study of Judaistic influences on Christianity. There
were certain times when it was the better part of valor to watch and
wait. Doctor Tangle sighed, wondering how Cynthia and Yale could study so
successfully in the confusion of the college hangout, "Mama Pepperelli's,"
a combination soda fountain and delicatessen, or in the reception room
of Cynthia's dormitory. It defied all common sense, yet, he reflected,
they probably had no other place they could be together. Doctor Tangle
rubbed his bald head. He tossed Yale and Cynthia's records into his file
basket. Running a college entailed a great many more problems than Patrick
Marratt realized. Times had changed. Now, the girl-boy problem on campus
had become a problem for the college president. Yet, in this case, it
wasn't a problem, really. He rather admired Yale's consistent rejection
of Pat's way of life. While he carried no banner for Jews, Doctor Tangle
thought it might be interesting if Pat's Irish blood were tempered with a
mixture of Jewish corpuscles. Pat's consternation would be worth watching.
Pat's own problems with the Marratt Corporation during Yale's sophomore
and junior years, precluded any great interest in Yale's activities. Liz
assured him that the affair with Cynthia was "first love." If Pat would
keep hands off, it would fade into a normal perspective. Pat, who never
had a date with a girl until he was twenty-six, and married Liz when
he was twenty-seven, couldn't withhold a certain disdain toward any boy
who could devote so many hours to a girl.
While the Marratt employees had unanimously joined the union, and the
years since had been punctuated with endless bargaining conferences, there
had been no strike. The threat of a "sit-down" strike persisted, however,
and a feeling of tension continually existed in the plant. Pat knew he
no longer held the parental control that he exercised for so many years
over his employees. It was as if, unasked, a new management had moved in
and taken charge; undermining and countermanding his authority. Some days
it gave him the feeling that he was sitting on a time bomb waiting for
the fuse to go off. The only thing that seemed to prevent a strike was
the uncertainty on the part of the union as to the future of the Marratt
Corporation. While general business conditions had improved, it was common
knowledge that the company was facing fierce competition from private
brand products. Pat had reluctantly taken several huge contracts from one
of the country's largest grocery chains and the company was packing jams,
soup, piccalillis and ketchup under the chain's own label. It wasn't only
that he had taken the contract through necessity at prices he considered
impossible, but these chain brands that sold well below the level of the
Marratt line were hurting the sale of his own brands. If the union called
a strike, Pat was prepared to dump the chain contract, and automatically
lay off half the employees. Among the remaining employees, he was certain
there were sufficient who would cross the picket line. Harry Cohen was
well aware of the situation; so it had become a cat and mouse game that
kept Pat constantly studying his operating costs.
Yale, living in his own world, trying to find a way of reconciling
his family with his love for Cynthia, and caught up with the wonder of
learning and knowledge, paid little attention to the mundane problems
of running a business. During his sophomore and junior years, he saw
Pat and Liz only occasionally. During school holidays he came home and
lived as a shadowy part of the family. His awkward attempts to discuss
Cynthia usually ended in an angry discussion of Jews. Had either Pat or
Liz listened to him silently and sympathetically, they would have found
that Yale had changed considerably from his Buxton Academy days. Then,
he studied what interested him and simply ignored everything that didn't.
Now, almost every area of knowledge entranced him. He found that Cynthia
had a penetrating mind, and to his delight challenged his ideas. He was
charmed with her female outlook on life. Not that he became feminine in
his concepts, but he appreciated Cynthia's warm practicality. He told her
that she was the balance wheel for him. One day he stumbled on a book
of Chinese philosophy; the idea of the Yang and the Yin. This male and
female principle permeating all living became a wonderful substantiation
of his own feeling.
He found a symbol that expressed it, and went to a jeweler in Midhaven.
The design was a divided circle. "That's the trademark of the Northern
Pacific Railroad," the jeweler laughed. Yale found out later that the
jeweler was correct. Some former president of the railroad had seen the
symbol in his oriental travels and adopted it.
Yale told Cynthia the story the night he gave her the ring. It was an
expert job. The jeweler had made it using ivory and jade mounted in a
platinum setting.
"With this ring I thee wed," Yale said. "It is a symbol of us -- always."
Cynthia smiled through her tears. "Yale, I love you so very much. I'll
wear it always." She thought, now, I'll have to tell Daddy and Aunt Adar.
Would Yale tell his family? Why did their love have to be sordid,
and depend so much on the approval of others? How could either Yale's
family or her father know the deep abiding love that she and Yale
experienced? She knew without asking that she was not accepted by Pat
or Liz . . . never would be probably. She knew that her father would
accept Yale, reluctantly at first, but eventually in his own way. But
he would never be happy if he knew that Yale's father and mother hated
Jews. That kind of marriage would never work.
Yale kissed the tears on her cheeks. "Don't be sad, Cindar. No one will
come between us -- ever." They were parked on Strawberry Hill a few miles
from the college. Across Midhaven Bay the lights of an amusement park
and roller-coaster seemed like stationary ships far at sea. Cynthia,
stretched on the seat, lay in Yale's arms.
"We have never
really
made love, have we, Yale?" she asked, whispering
in his ear. "Do you ever think about it?"
"Yes, I think about it, and when it happens it will be good and the
nicest thing that ever happened to either of us."
Cynthia was silent for a moment. "I wonder . . ." she said. She didn't
finish the thought.
"Wonder what, honey?"
"No, it's not a nice thing to ask."
Yale held her away from him. He looked into her shadowed eyes. "Come on,
what's troubling you?"
"Have you ever loved another girl?"
Yale laughed, delighted at the frightened way she said it. "No, I haven't,
Cindar. I'm not sure I even know how to go about it."
"Me either, but I won't be afraid with you.
They were engaged, but they told no one. They had long wonderful talks
about marriage and timidly discussed intercourse. Yale knew when she
had her monthly periods. They bought and read together books about
reproduction and marital relations. And, in their love, they held
secure the knowledge that soon, somehow, they would really "make love"
. . . not in an automobile, not on a blanket in the woods, but on a bed,
tenderly embraced through a long wonderful night.
Because of his love for Cynthia, Yale studied his courses with more energy
than he had ever thought possible. A book was always under his arm. Now as
he read he was able to integrate his reading into mature thinking. Driving
himself, night after night, long after Sonny Thompson had gone to bed,
Yale covered the contents of most of the English courses offered at
Midhaven College before the end of his sophomore year.
He read Philosophy on a historical basis from the early Greeks through the
latest thinkers like Josiah Royce. His continuing search for the ultimate
meanings in life seemed to grow out of his love for Cynthia. Somehow,
someway, he would find answers to all the mystery of life, and he would
share his discovery with her.
BOOK: The Rebellion of Yale Marratt
9.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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