The Lords of Discipline (53 page)

For five minutes, I squeezed and stroked her feet until I felt them warm and pulsing in my hands.

“Do the toes again, please,” Mrs. Gervais said, her head resting against the couch and her eyes closed.

“Ah, the toes,” I said, “where true pleasure resides. May I bite your toes when I’m finished, Mrs. Gervais? As a reward for my services?”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Mother will think you are sick, Will,” Annie Kate said, putting her socks back on.

Mrs. Gervais agreed. “You do sound disturbed when you talk like that, Will.”

“Your mind tells you no, but your feet tell you yes, right, Mrs. Gervais?” I said, pretending to bite her big toe. She jerked her foot away from me, laughing.

“Will’s going to a party tonight, Mother,” Annie Kate said.

“How nice. Whose party?”

“The St. Croixs are having their annual Mardi Gras fete,” Annie Kate said.

“I used to go to those,” Mrs. Gervais said. “But that was before I met your father. Sometimes they were not unpleasant.”

“I think it’s disgusting that they quit inviting you,” Annie Kate said bitterly.

“They’re certainly not the only ones, dear.”

“You want to go with me, Mrs. Gervais?” I offered. It was the natural reflex of Will McLean, the patron saint of piety. “The St. Croixs always try to get me to bring a date.”

“No, thank you, Will. Someone has to be with Annie Kate.”

“I’m not due for a week, Mother. If you want to go, I’ll be fine. I can always call you.”

“I don’t think the St. Croixs would ever recover from the shock. No thanks.”

“Well, I have to be going, ladies,” I said, rising. “Call me if anything happens and I’ll see y’all after chapel tomorrow morning.”

I kissed both of them on the cheek. Annie Kate turned my face and kissed me on the mouth.

Mrs. Gervais said as I was leaving, “Thanks for massaging my feet, Will. They feel young right now and nothing has felt like that for a long time.”

T
he party at the St. Croix house was part of the winter season in Charleston. Pig, Mark, and I went to the party together, and all of us were nervous about being the only cadets among the two hundred invited guests. None of us was comfortable around the St. Croixs’ friends.

Commerce and Abigail answered the door together.

“My three favorite men in the world,” Abigail said extravagantly.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Commerce said hospitably. “Get George to fix you a drink and make yourselves at home. I want you to enjoy yourselves tonight.”

A string quartet, penguinesque in their tuxedoes and correct as finger bowls, played Mozart and Bach in the living room. The party-goers ignored the music. It was an extravagant adornment for the evening. I waved to Tradd across the room as we made our way through the crowd toward the bar. George, the black bartender, was dispensing drinks with all the self-effacing joviality required of his station. There was a feast spread out on the dining-room table, artfully arranged in silver. The faces of the guests, confident, urbane, and relaxed, were illuminated by a dozen candelabra and the soft liquid light of the downstairs chandeliers. The conversation was loud and spirited, and I felt like a visitor from another planet.

Abigail’s dress was black, low-cut, and fashionably severe. Her hair was short and the color of new honey, and she smelled like perfume and soap. She steered me through the crowd, through the dense alliances of intermingled families where each face was a chronicle of privilege and subordination to the genealogy of great houses and proud names.

I got my drink and pulled back with Pig and Mark to a neutral corner. Pig attracted attention because of his build and because his head bumped into the chandelier in the dining room when he leaned over to spear a shrimp with a toothpick. He was mortified to find himself the center of attention, when a hundred eyes turned on him as the chandelier swung like a pendulum and tinkled prettily, with a sound like glass dominoes falling. But there was nothing for us to say to anyone and very few people approached us to talk.

“A lot of duckbutts among the ritzy, huh, Will?” Pig said, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “I bet there isn’t a guy here who could bench press two hundred pounds.”

“Yeh, but we couldn’t lift their bank accounts.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” he said, taking another large swallow from his drink. Both of us were drinking too much, but in Charleston society that was customary if not required.

Mark had stopped to talk with an amiable, blue-haired woman who looked two hundred years old and gave every indication of monopolizing his company all night. Tradd was playing host to a small entourage of women in the living room. Occasionally he would catch our eyes and wink.

The Bear and his wife found us in our exile.

“Good evening, Colonel,” I said as they approached. “Good evening, Mrs. Berrineau.”

“Good evening, Will,” she said. “Dante, how are you?”

“Fine, Mrs. Bear. Just fine,” Pig answered.

“That’s Mrs. Berrineau, Bubba,” the Colonel amended, then turning to me, he said, “I didn’t recognize you with your shoes shined, lamb. You’re not a total disgrace to your alma mater tonight. I’d say you were only a ninety percent disgrace.”

“You look lovely tonight, Mrs. Berrineau,” I said, ignoring the Colonel’s jibes.

“Thank you, Will. You look very nice yourself.”

“What office are you running for, Bubba?” the Bear said. “Keep your eyes on him, darling. I’ll watch his hands.”

“I’ve never seen you in civilian clothes before, Colonel,” I said, grinning. “I understand now why you stick to uniforms.”

“You don’t like that suit, Will? I picked it out for the Colonel,” Mrs. Berrineau said.

“Oh, it’s beautiful, Mrs. Berrineau. Pig and I were just talking about how good the Colonel looked before you walked up.”

The Bear’s eyes danced with joy. “Almost caught you on that one, huh, Bubba?” Then as he and Mrs. Berrineau walked away, he said, “I don’t get to hang around the cheese in Charleston very often, Bubba, and if they see me pretending to enjoy talking with you, then I’ll never get to see the cheese again. You lambs have a good time and don’t drink too much.”

The party was very painful to me, as parties usually were, and I felt the familiar loneliness of crowds. I watched the General as he received friends and admirers who wanted to brush against the immensity of his myth. I wondered if he ever grew weary of playing the role of the Great Man. I talked with Abigail and Commerce, but I was uncomfortable meeting them in their other life. I did not like to share them with two hundred other people. I did not want them to be part of this extraordinary fantasy. I preferred them in the comfortable informality of their own milieu, with Abigail arranging flowers, Tradd playing the piano, and Commerce descending the stairs after working long hours on his journals. After they left us, Pig and I got ready to make our departure.

I was trying to rescue Mark from his elderly admirer when George, the bartender, came up to me and said I had a phone call.

Excusing myself, I went to the hallway. There was a crowd in the hallway and I had trouble hearing who was on the phone.

It was Annie Kate.

“Will, the baby’s coming.”

“Are you at the hospital?”

“Mother’s drunk, Will. Will you come drive me, please?”

“Have you called the doctor?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t worry, Annie Kate. I’ll be there in a minute. Call the doctor. I’m coming.”

I ran back into the living room and looked for the Bear. I bumped into a queenly, gray-haired woman and almost knocked her to the floor. I had met her before and disliked her on sight. She had three or four unpronounceable Huguenot names and she played the role of grande dame murderously. I excused myself and felt her stare withering the hairs on my neck.

Colonel and Mrs. Berrineau were talking to a group of men and women unknown to me. Some of the men wore Institute rings. It was a reflex of mine to check men’s hands to see if they wore the ring.

“Colonel, may I see you for a minute? It’s urgent, sir.”

“Of course, Bubba,” he said as he turned toward the group with whom he had been speaking. “Pardon me, sir. Pardon me, madam.”

I hurried him to the verandah, and looking toward the door to make sure no one was listening, I said, “Colonel, I need a favor. I’ve never asked you for one, but I need one now.”

“What is it, Bubba? I can’t grant it or refuse it until I know what it is.”

“Colonel, I’m not coming in tonight. I’ve got to break barracks.”

“Sorry, Bubba, I have to cut you on that one.”

“Bear, listen, please. There’s a girl I know. She just went into labor. I just received a phone call. Her mother’s drunk and can’t drive her to the hospital. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I swear it’s true.”

“You swear by the Code, Bubba?” he said, fixing me with his large, serious eyes.

“I swear it, Colonel.”

“Then get going, Bubba. That little girl needs you. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, Colonel.”

“Hurry, Bubba,” he ordered. “Move it, boy. Move it. But remember. You’ll have to pay the Bear.”

“I know, Colonel. I knew that when I asked,” I said, already running toward my car.

Chapter Thirty-two

I
have driven a car faster than I drove that night, but not in a city. I was going a hundred as I crossed the Cooper River Bridge. I passed through Mount Pleasant at eighty and did not even slow down for the stop sign at Middle Street when I reached Sullivan’s Island.

She was waiting for me on the back porch in her raincoat. She walked toward the car, and I leaped out and helped her through the other door.

“Is it bad?” I asked.

“Bad,” she said. “Will you get my suitcase, Will? The doctor will meet us at the emergency room at Roper.”

“You won’t believe how quick we’ll be there,” I assured her.

Running up to the back porch, I retrieved the small yellow suitcase and saw Mrs. Gervais unconscious, her head lying against the kitchen table, her mouth open.

Then I was in the car again, moving swiftly down the center of the island, slowing for the turn, and flooring it as I headed across the causeway between Sullivan’s Island and Mount Pleasant. Annie Kate leaned against me, holding my arm tightly. I knew when the contractions came because her fingers dug into my arm and I could judge both the intervals and duration of the contractions by the pressure of her hands. I went through two red lights and was doing ninety as I passed Shem Creek and glimpsed the lights of Charleston to my left.

“Where are all the cops?” I said. “I’m breaking the law. I want a cop and I can’t find one.”

“Hurry, Will,” she said, and I felt her fingers digging in again. Her head was against my shoulder and I was in love with her.

“Annie Kate,” I said as we sped to the heights of the Cooper River Bridge, “everything’s going to be all right. It’s going to be over in just a little while. But I want you to know that I love you and I meant everything I said. If you decide to keep the baby, you and I can get married secretly. If you decide to give it up for adoption, I still love you and still want to marry you.”

She did not answer but stiffened convulsively as one of the contractions hit her.

The doctor was waiting for us at the emergency room. He was an old, distinguished man. He had the proud, melancholy face one associated with Confederate veterans and looked old enough to have fired on Fort Sumter.

An attendant put Annie Kate into a wheelchair and I did not have time to say good bye to her. The doctor looked at me with contempt and refused to shake my hand. I was confused until I realized he must have thought I was the one who had gotten Annie Kate pregnant.

The doctor took the suitcase and disappeared into the swinging doors that led to the emergency room. By the time I parked the car, there was only the attendant in the room, reading a magazine beneath a small, inadequate lamp.

“Where’s the delivery room?” I asked.

“Third floor,” he said without looking up.

“Can I go into the waiting room?”

“If you’ve got something to wait for.”

“That girl. That woman that you just got out of the car. She’s my wife. She’s having my baby. I figured there must be a waiting room somewhere,” I said.

“This must be your first.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Turn to your right when you get off the elevator. You’ll see the signs, Daddy,” the man said. “Bring me a cigar after the baby’s born.”

I sat in the empty, depressing waiting room with its torn calendars, Coke machines, and vinyl furniture for over an hour. I saw no one, not even a nurse. Once I thought I heard a baby’s cry, but I was not certain and it could have been my imagination. There were things I had wanted to say to Annie Kate that I had not said. I relived the drive from the beach house to Roper in my mind. I said loving, wonderful things to Annie Kate. I acted like a man instead of a scared boy. My strength gave her strength. She whispered that she would marry me and that we would keep the child. I would be a father, at last. And I thought as I sat there that I could explain much of my conduct by referring to my enormous desire to protect, to nurture, and to father. To father. I loved that infinitive. I loved it.

The two green doors opened suddenly, and the doctor, dressed now in white, walked out. His eyes were down but his face was grim and judgmental. He walked toward me and the walk seemed endless and dreamlike.

“The baby?” I asked.

“The baby is dead,” the doctor answered. “The umbilical cord wrapped three times around its throat. It was as if the child was hung from a tree and strangled a little bit at a time. You not only don’t have to worry about marrying the mother, son, you don’t even have to worry about the guilt of putting the child up for adoption.”

And the doctor, an old friend of the family, well known in Charleston for his discretion, turned and walked back through the green doors.

I do not know how long I stood there or how I got back to the barracks.