Beach Music (47 page)

Jordan did not shake hands with Captain Brill, nor acknowledge his presence as he walked into his office and studied the decor of the room. The doctor and the boy sat in silence for a minute before Dr. Brill cleared his throat and said, “So.”

But Jordan was comfortable with silence and didn’t answer a word. He could sit for hours without uttering a sound.

“So,” Dr. Brill said again.

Still, Jordan did not speak, but turned his full attention to the psychiatrist. All his life Jordan had stared directly and inquisitively at
adults and few of them could bear the silent weight of his scrutiny. “So why do you think your mother sent you here?” Dr. Brill said, trying to jump-start some kind of interaction.

Jordan shrugged his shoulders and just looked at the pale-skinned unprepossessing man who sat before him.

“She must have had a good reason,” the doctor continued. “She seems like a very nice woman.”

The boy nodded.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” the doctor asked. “You’re here to talk. I’m paid good money by Uncle Sam to listen.”

Looking away from the doctor, Jordan turned his attention to a modern painting of a square and a circle and a triangle, interposed on each other in different colors.

“What do you see when you look at that painting?”

“Bad taste,” Jordan answered, turning his gaze back to the doctor.

“Are you an art critic?”

“No,” Jordan answered, “but for my age, I’m something of an aficionado.”

“Aficionado?” the doctor said, rolling the word. “You are something of a show-off too.”

“I speak Spanish, so it’s not showing off, Doctor. I also speak French and Italian. I’ve lived in Rome, Paris, and Madrid when my father was stationed at the embassies. My mother loved art and got her master’s in art history from the University of Rome. She passed her love of art on to me. Believe me, she’d hate that painting of yours a lot more than I do.”

“You’re not here to talk about my taste in art,” Dr. Brill said. “We’re here to talk about you.”

“I don’t need you, Doc,” Jordan said. “I’m doing as well as can be expected.”

“That’s not what your parents or teachers think.”

“It’s what I think.”

“They all think you’re a very disturbed young man. They think you’re unhappy. So do I, Jordan. I’d love to help,” Dr. Brill said, and his voice was soft and Jordan could not find a false note in it.

Jordan hesitated, then spoke, “I’m upset. True. But not for what they think … I deserve better parents. God made a terrible mistake. He delivered me to the wrong people.”

“He often does that,” Dr. Brill agreed. “But your parents have impeccable reputations. Your reputation’s anything but. They say you have no friends.”

“I choose to be alone.”

“Loners are often misfits,” Dr. Brill said.

But Jordan was ready for him and fired back, “So are shrinks.”

“Pardon me?”

“Shrinks are some of the biggest losers in the world. I’ve heard my father say it a million times. He said it today.”

“What did he say today, exactly?” asked Dr. Brill.

“He said you become shrinks because you’re so incredibly fucked-up yourselves.”

Dr. Brill nodded his head and said, “In my case, your father is absolutely right. I endured a perfectly miserable childhood. It made me want to fix up the world.”

“You can’t fix my world.”

“I can try, if you’ll let me, Jordan.”

“I’m here under false pretenses. My parents don’t like who I am. But they don’t know me. They don’t know anything about me.”

“They know you only make C’s and D’s on your report card.”

“I’m passing,” the boy said. “My teachers could stop clocks from ticking. That’s how boring they are. Boredom should be one of the seven deadly sins.”

“What bores you?”

“Everything,” Jordan said.

“Do I bore you?” Dr. Brill asked good-naturedly.

“Brill,” Jordan said, fixing the doctor with his blue-eyed gaze, “people like you are death. You’ll never understand one thing about me.”

“I’m the fifth psychiatrist you’ve been referred to,” Dr. Brill said, consulting his notes on a clipboard. “They all take note of your hostility and your unwillingness to conform to the therapeutic process.”

“I don’t need a shrink, Doctor,” Jordan said. “Thanks for your time, but I’ve got something that helps me where none of you guys can.”

“Could you tell me what it is?” the older man asked. “I’d like to know.”

“I’m religious,” Jordan said.

“What?”

“I’m very religious. I’m a Catholic.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

“Of course not,” Jordan said. “You’re Jewish. A lot of shrinks are Jewish. At least the ones I’ve met.”

“I think it’s a positive sign you have deep religious feelings.”

“Thanks,” Jordan said, rising to his feet. “Can I go now?”

“You certainly cannot,” the doctor ordered, motioning for the boy to sit back down. “Your mother tells me you have some anxiety about your father’s new duty station.”

“I’ve no anxiety at all. I’m just not going with them.”

“You’re twelve years old. You’ve no choice in the matter. I think it would behoove us to work on strategies to make the transition easier.”

“Yeh, I’m twelve,” Jordan said. “Do you know how many schools I’ve been to? Ten. I’ve been to ten schools, Doc. Do you know what it’s like walking into a new school every year? It’s awful. Nothing good about it. Not one thing. That’s why military brats are so fucked up. They’re either a hundred percent ass kissers or they pull duty at the funny farm.”

“You learn to make friends easily,” Dr. Brill continued, his voice still charged with an undercurrent of irony. “It teaches self-reliance and flexibility. You learn about organizing your time and it prepares you to deal with crisis.”

“It teaches you how to be lonely,” Jordan said in a harsh whisper. “That’s all it teaches you. You don’t know anybody. You learn how to live your life without friends. Then I get to come into an office like this and someone like you starts asking me why I don’t have any goddamn friends.”

“Your father’s received orders to Pollock Island, South Carolina,” the doctor said, again reading from his notes.

“South Carolina,” Jordan said contemptuously. “Now there’s a dream assignment.”

“Your father’s pleased with it. You should feel okay because it’s good for your father’s career. A big step up.”

“My father hates me,” Jordan said looking at the bad painting again.

“Why do you think that?” the doctor asked softly.

“Observation,” the boy replied.

“Your mother told me that your father loves you very much. She says he has a tough time expressing that love.”

“He’s good with hate. He expresses that very well.”

“Has your father ever struck you, Jordan?” the doctor asked, and he could feel the shutting of all the gates around this boy, the closing down.

“No,” Jordan lied, worthy son of a Marine officer.

“Has he ever struck your mother?” asked Dr. Brill.

“No,” Jordan lied again, secret warrior of the Corps.

“Does he pick on you?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.”

“Does he scream at you and make your life a living nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s figure out a strategy for you in South Carolina. Let’s outflank and outmaneuver the military man. Your mother told me that your father might be at Pollock Island for all four years of your high school.”

“So what?”

“You’ll have time to make friends. Try to make some fast. Look for some boys you’d like to hang around. Some nice boys.”

“In South Carolina?” Jordan asked. “Get off it, Doc. I’ll be lucky if the kids there have teeth.”

“Play all the sports. Get a girlfriend. Spend the night out with your friends. Go on fishing trips. Your father’s going to have a lot of responsibility in his new job. He’ll be under a lot of pressure. Keep away from him, Jordan. Figure out ways to avoid him at all costs.”

“I’m his hobby,” Jordan said. “He wants me to be exactly like he is and I’d … rather be dead.”

“Why do you surf?” the doctor asked. “Why do you wear your hair long? Just to make him mad.”

Jordan smiled and said, “It drives him crazy. It
is
why I wear my hair long. It’s not why I surf.”

“Why, then? I’d like to know.”

“Because surfing makes me feel like I’m in the presence of God. The ocean. The sun. The waves. The beach. The sky. I can’t explain it, Doc. It’s like praying without any words.”

“Do your parents have any idea about your religious nature?”

“They don’t know one thing about me.”

“Have you always felt this way about your church?”

“It’s the only thing in my life that’s stayed the same,” Jordan answered. “It was comforting when I was a kid. It’s comforting to me now. Prayer’s the one thing that makes me feel I’m not alone.”

“You’re lucky you have your faith, Jordan. Very lucky.”

“You’re Jewish. What do you believe?”

“I’m Jewish,” the doctor said, quietly, wiping his glasses with his tie. “And I believe in nothing.”

“I’m sorry. That must be terrible,” Jordan said.

“You’re a fine boy. A very fine boy.”

“I tried to make you hate me when I first came in.”

The doctor laughed. “You did an excellent job,” he said. “I like your fighting spirit. I like everything about you, except for the fact you’re a liar.”

“How did I lie?” Jordan asked.

“You said your father never hit you. You said he didn’t beat your mother,” the doctor said in such a tone that Jordan was certain that the man knew everything.

“He’s never touched either one of us in his life,” Jordan said, but there was no spirit or conviction in the words.

The doctor applauded, clapping his hands together not in mockery, but in appreciation. “Well done. You and I both know his career might be over if you spoke the truth. I understand why you have to lie. Keep out of his way, Jordan. I’ve seen lots of men like him. They grow more dangerous as their sons grow older. You’re smart enough to learn how to avoid his fists. Outsmart him.”

“I’ll try,” Jordan said.

“You haven’t had much fun in your life, have you?” the doctor asked.

“Not very much.”

“What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you? I know, you can’t tell me about your old man. But in school.”

Jordan thought about his short life and how he had never received a single letter from a friend he had met in school. He had never been asked to spend the night with a classmate and he had never danced with a girl.

“In third grade,” Jordan finally said, “I transferred into a school in February. It was my third school that year. On Valentine’s Day, my class had a big party and the teacher had put out boxes with the names of all the kids in the class. In the morning, the kids put all the Valentine’s cards in the boxes of their friends and kids they liked. The teacher then read your name out and you’d go up and get all your Valentines. One girl named Janet Tetu received over sixty Valentines. She was so nice and pretty some of the boys sent her four or five.”

“And you didn’t get any,” the doctor said softly.

“I still’ve never gotten one,” the boy said. “My father doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. He thinks it’s a sissy holiday.”

“I wish we’d met sooner, Jordan. Play sports again when you get to your new school. It’ll make your father happy and it’ll keep you out of his way,” the doctor advised.

Jordan shook his head and answered, “No. He picks me up after practice. That’s when I’m trapped. Those are the worst times. When I’m alone with him.”

“Your mother’ll pick you up. I promise that.”

“The Colonel makes the rules in our house.”

“I’ll make this rule,” Dr. Brill said. “Your mother picks you up or you don’t play sports. No exceptions.”

Later, Jordan told me he couldn’t believe the conviction of the doctor, but said, “A deal.”

“I’ve been seeing your mother all this year, Jordan,” the doctor said.

Jordan was surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“She’s very worried about you. She’s very worried about herself.”

“So what’s new?”

“She told me what your father does. No, don’t be alarmed. She swore me to secrecy. She’s forbidden me to report it to the military authorities and all of us know they wouldn’t do anything anyway. Your mother believes your father loves you very much but … she also thinks he might one day kill you.”

Jordan told me he broke down when he heard those words spoken aloud, the ones he always believed in his heart to be true. He felt himself break open in a deep undiscovered place, one of the dark spaces he had created for himself as a boy. He had wept enough in his life to keep a small aquarium of saltwater fish alive, but the tears had been fierce and private. In front of this small, kind doctor he felt them run down his face in hot spillings. The tears came fast because the secret was out and this odd-shaped, unassuming man had gotten his mother to admit their mutual nightmare at last. During his childhood, he had often awakened in the middle of the night when he had rolled over and his cheek felt the cool wetness where the tears had fallen. It was as if someone had thrown a glass of water on his pillow.

“I talked with your father about this,” Dr. Brill said quietly when Jordan regained control of himself.

“Oh no,” Jordan said, his eyes fearful, despairing.

“He denied it all. I showed him this medical report from last September when you were admitted to the naval hospital with a hairline fracture of the jaw.”

“I got it playing football,” Jordan said.

“So you told the admitting physician,” Dr. Brill said, handing the manila folder to Jordan. “But you didn’t even go out for football this year. Coach McCann corroborated that.”

“It was a touch football game with some enlisted guys,” Jordan said, trying to think ahead of the doctor.

“Your father did it, Jordan,” the man said. “You don’t have to lie anymore to protect him.”

“What did my father say?”

“He denied it completely. He was very cool and polished at first. Then he got angry as he continued to deny it. After he convinced himself that I’d totally made the whole thing up he got furious. It must be terrifying to face his fury as a wife or a son.”