Flesh and Blood (16 page)

1974/
Mary dressed in cream for the ceremony. She wore a cream-colored straw hat and a simple cream dress under a beige linen jacket. As she walked through the campus with her gloved hand on Constantine's elbow, as leaf shadows shifted on the grass around them, she knew she'd arrived at a moment that would hold for her, whatever else happened. Whatever mistakes she'd made, whatever humiliations suffered, she would always have this: herself walking beside her husband at Harvard as strange music drifted out of dormitory windows and children on their way to promising futures mugged for the cameras in cap and gown. She knew how her gold earrings gave back the light. From one of the windows, a pure tenor voice sang something about a wild world. Or a
wide
world.

“Quite a place,” Constantine said.

“Mm-hm,” she said, with a tick of annoyance. She didn't want to be appreciative. She wanted only to be with and of this place, to be exactly who she was right now, an attractive woman in a smart outfit come to see her son graduate from Harvard. Come to sit between her husband in a navy-blue suit and her daughter, the wife of a promising young Yale law student.

“I made the reservations for lunch,” Constantine said. “At that place the Florios are so crazy about.”

“Fine,” she said. She didn't want a conversation. She didn't want to dwell on her fear that Paul and Liz Florio's idea of a good restaurant would be expensive but wrong, a flashy place with elaborate, bad food; a place other families told jokes about as they drove past on their way to restaurants Mary and Constantine couldn't know about. She'd asked Billy where they should go for lunch after the ceremony but Billy was acting strange these days. All he'd been willing to say was, “Please, let's not make a big deal out of this. Let's just get a hamburger someplace. I don't want a Hallmark card scenario, not with everything that's going down in the world.” She hadn't known what to tell him, beyond the obvious: “You know, you're the first one in my family or your father's family to graduate from college. Ever.”

“I know, Ma. I know.”

Billy would be the only one. Susan was married and Zoe was Zoe. Constantine's people were still farmers in Greece, as far as anybody knew, and Mary's brothers' children would all be lucky to see thirty without doing time. She wanted to make Billy see that this ceremony was as important as a wedding or a funeral. Billy had lived his life under her protection. He couldn't imagine what he was escaping: all the long hopeless years, men crouched over rusty machines and women muttering into the soup. He didn't know how time hung in rooms. He believed life urged all its children toward good ends.

“One o'clock,” Constantine said. “That's what you wanted, right?”

“Hmm?”

They turned into the Yard, where the commencement ceremony would be held. Rows of folding wooden chairs stood in mute, perfect order, and up ahead, on a platform, a suited man white-haired and hale as success itself discussed particulars of the microphone with a younger man in blue jeans.

“For lunch,” Constantine said. “I made the reservation for one o'clock. That ought to give us plenty of time to find the place.”

“Fine.”

He sighed, and she could hear the phlegmy workings of his lungs. His body was prone to mucus; hers tended to parch. She believed that when they grew old, he'd be thick and viscous and hairy while she'd be thin and dry as a hickory stick. They'd grow deeper into their differences. She worried sometimes about growing old with Constantine but now, right now, she felt she was about to tear through her old caul of doubt into a solid, imperishable future that glittered among the leaves, that sparked and sang along the white drainpipes of these old brick buildings, where great men had once been young.

Constantine said, “We should get over to Billy's place.”

“In a minute,” she answered. “There's still time. I want to walk around the campus a little longer.”

“Pretty, ain't it?” he said.

Mary's forehead burned and a thin film of perspiration popped out along her upper lip. She loved Constantine for everything he felt about Harvard, his pride in its shaded walks and broad stairs, but he was a man who said 'ain't.' He'd earned the money, and he'd stood beside her, and he loved her, in his way. But he would take them this afternoon to the Florios' restaurant, Chez Something-or-other.

“Let's go get Billy,” she said abruptly.

“I thought you wanted to keep walking.”

“We can't. I don't know what I was thinking about, we're late as it is.”

As she would later tell her friends at home, the less said about Billy's apartment, the better. At first, she and Constantine believed they'd gotten the wrong address. The building looked as if it were about to emit one last dusty exhalation and tumble down into the weeds of its yard, leaving only a skeleton of rusty pipes and a crumbling chimney. Mary squinted at the slip of paper on which she'd written the address. “No, this is it,” she said.

“Jesus Christ,” Constantine said. “Wouldn't you know it.”

“Please don't start,” she said. “This is a happy day. There's no need to rain on anyone's parade.”

He nodded grimly. “I hope it's safe in there,” he said. He kept his hand on her elbow as they crossed over the rough boards of the porch and mounted a set of stairs that were not much more than kindling, each painted a different garish color. “Christ,” Constantine muttered. The air was heavy with sweet, feral odors Mary couldn't name. Cats, certainly, and incense—she knew that smell from church. The building had the air of a deconsecrated chapel, a once-sanctified place given over to stray cats and the steady appetites of vermin. “Wouldn't you know,” Constantine said, and Mary, told him to hush.

When they knocked at the battered door Billy called, “It's open.” They walked in and found him wearing patched jeans and a ragged flannel shirt, sitting with Zoe on a sofa that must have come straight from the junkyard. The apartment was, well, indescribable—it might have been the home of a lunatic, someone so lost to the fundamental principles of order and cleanliness that he'd drag any filthy piece of trash up from the street and display it proudly. As Mary and Constantine stepped inside she involuntarily touched one of her earrings with her fingertips.

“Hey, folks,” Billy said. “Welcome to the House of Usher.”

“Christ, will you look at this dump,” Constantine said. He managed a growlish laugh and Mary thought, Fine, they can get through it with banter. They can make this into a rough masculine joke.

“I call it home,” Billy said.

“It's sure colorful.” Mary smiled. To Constantine she added, “I like it. It's fun.”

Again, her emotions rose in such confusion that she felt the moisture break out along her upper lip. She wanted to defend Billy from his father. She wanted to stand next to Constantine and demand to know who Billy had turned himself into. How had he gotten so lost? Her lungs clenched up and she struggled for a breath.

“Goddamn rat's nest,” Constantine said. The grudging humor still hadn't left his voice. Please, Mary said silently. “What're you now,” he asked, “some kind of beatnik?”

''That's it, Dad,” Billy said. “Once again, you've hit the nail right on the head. I am, in fact, a beatnik. You've gone straight to the heart of the matter.”

“Now listen here, friend—”

“Come on, guys,” Mary said, though she could barely speak for lack of wind. The invisible metal bands pressed on her lungs and seemed to tighten another notch with every breath she accomplished. “It's a happy day, we don't want to fight.”

Billy and Zoe sat together on the sofa, which looked as if it might be infested with something that would get into their hair. Mary shuddered, and pulled in a breath. She saw, suddenly, that Billy's and Zoe's hobo clothes—the costumes she'd considered foolish but harmless—were part of a larger perversity. There they sat, her son and daughter, heir and heiress to centuries of daily struggle, the recitation of prayers for luck and better weather, the husbanding of funds. There they sat in rags, hair unkempt, slumped like the poorest of white trash on a piece of furniture that had been dowdy and threadbare even when new. Mary's drunken father had had more pride. Her Sicilian grandmother, too poor to buy drinking glasses, had kept her jelly jars in immaculate rows. For the first time in her life, Mary knew her son as a stranger. As someone who might do anything, whose head was full of thoughts and desires she couldn't imagine.

“Right,” Constantine said. He raised his arm and looked at his watch. The dark blue wool blend of his jacket, the crisp white line of his shirtsleeve, drew back to reveal his Rolex in all its placid certainty. At the sight of her husband's watch Mary briefly imagined him and her son as officers in two hostile factions: one strong and wealthy, armed with tanks; the other nimble and wily, anarchic, armed with little darts tipped in unknown poisons.

“Better get your cap and gown,” Constantine said. “We've got to swing by the hotel and pick Susan up on our way.”

Billy said, “I'm not wearing a cap and gown.”

“Huh?”

“I'm not wearing a cap and gown. I'm willing to go through commencement and everything, the works. But I'm not wearing the monkey suit.”

“Don't be stupid,” Constantine said. “C'mon, go get it, we're gonna be late.”

“There's nothing for me to get,” Billy said. “I didn't order a cap and gown.”

“Oh, Billy,” Mary said.

Constantine swallowed. Mary could hear the juice of him, the thick angry inner workings. She wanted only to lie down somewhere clean and safe until she could catch her breath.

Constantine said, “So. You want to go to commencement in your beatnik suit? You want to just stroll in there looking like a deadbeat?”

“I want to go in my own clothes,” Billy said. “Why should it be a big deal?”

“You've gotta be different, don't you?” Constantine said. “You've got to stand out.”

“Hey, guys,” Mary said, but she knew her voice was barely audible.

“Look,” Billy said, “I've got friends who are laughing at me for even
doing
this. Sitting there listening to speeches about this grand old institution, brought to us by the folks who helped invent napalm.

You know what napalm does? It's like fire that sticks to you. It eats right down to the bone.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Constantine said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Harvard has big research contracts with the government,” Billy said. “Did you notice how nice the campus is, how well maintained? Where do you think all that money comes from? Tuition? Sweatshirt sales?”

“Mister, I could tell
you
a few things about where money comes from—”

“Guys,” Mary said. “Come on. Susan's waiting for us.”

“Dad, I'm happy you and Mom are here,” Billy said. “I'm very pleased we can share all this. But there are limits. Get my drift?”

“I don't know what you're talking—”

“It's my show. It's my life. And I won't wear the goddamned suit.”

“Right,” Constantine said. “It's got to be your way, huh? You don't care that your mother and Zoe and Susan and I drove all the way up here.”

“No. I do care. I honestly thank you for driving all the way here to my graduation. Which I'm attending for your benefit. In my own clothes.”

“Forget it, then,” Constantine said. “Don't do anything for our benefit. Don't strain yourself.”

Billy shook his head. Mary felt herself beginning to cry. She watched through a hot film of tears as Billy stood and said, “There are two ways to do things, aren't there, Dad? Your way and the wrong way. We've got to take advantage of all the photo opportunities in Harvard Yard, and then after the ceremony we've got to get into the car and drive to some horrible fancy French restaurant. You're not here to see me graduate. You're here to see the son you
want
graduate. I've got news for you. They're two different people.”

“Nice speech,” Constantine said. “Very nice. Where's your goddamned
heart,
mister? You know what you're doing to your mother here?”

“Mom and I can talk about whatever it is I'm doing to Mom. This is about you and me. Right? You want to come up to Harvard like a big cheese and pose for pictures with a guy in a cap and gown. Listen, I can set you up with half a dozen guys. Big strapping guys, short hair, on their way to law school or business school. I've got connections, bring your camera and we can go straight to the Yard—”

“Shut up,” Constantine shouted. “You shut up, mister.” His face was dark, his arms rigid at his sides. Mary knew that in another second, with another quarter ounce of provocation, he'd lunge.

“Oh, Con, Billy, please,” she whispered.

“Mom doesn't care what I graduate in. Do you, Mom?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I just—please. Don't fight.”

“Don't do this to her,” Constantine said. “Don't you dare.”

Billy nodded. “This was a mistake,” he said softly. “Mom, Dad, I'm sorry you came all the way up here for nothing.” He stepped carefully around his father and walked to the door.

“Where do you think you're going?” Constantine demanded.

“For a walk. Maybe I'll go to the movies later. What do you say, Zo? Want to come?
Midnight Cowboy
is playing at the Orson Welles.”

Zoe blinked, as if she herself had forgotten she was present. Mary thought, Everything has failed. All the effort, all the love, the careful stitching of the days, has added up to nothing.

Zoe said, “I can't. I'm sorry. I've got to stay with Mary and Constantine.”

She had begun to insist on calling them by their Christian names. No discipline or persuasion would stop her.

“Okay,” Billy said. “See you.”

He left. The door clicked shut behind him. Mary thought Constantine would run after him but he didn't move. No one moved.

“Unbelievable,” Constantine said. “Unbelievable.”

Tears were running down Mary's face now, hot heavy ones that ran to her jawline. She took a handkerchief from her pocketbook. “What do we do now?” she said in a small voice.

“We're going to the goddamn commencement ceremony, is what,” Constantine told her. “Come on. We got to get Susan from the hotel, she's waiting for us.”