The rehearsals of the play started unusually — with hysteria. In a while that tension dissipated into the indolent stretch of time distant from performance. Raul calmed with this quiet work, which allowed him a minimum toleration of school. But he did no school work, and a great distant dread hovered over him. Alec, having the major role — Guildenstern was regarded as lead — was consistently nervous. Not only because of the performance but because it would affect his entrance application to Carnegie. But this is the kind of pressure actors feed on, the kind of pressure adolescents are forced to live with. Because of all this, Alec was drawn strongly to Raul; and Raul, having found a companion in art, needed Alec for his survival at Cabot.
Yet a month and a half after the rehearsals of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern had begun, neither had been at the other’s house. Raul, alone or off the stage, was shy to an extreme; and Alec was not in the habit of cultivating long-term friendships with his own sex, so he was on shaky grounds as well. But Rosencrantz and Guildenstern is not a play to be done by polite friends, and as the hysteria rose again as the performance neared, Raul and Alec decided they would have to rehearse outside of the theater. After dinner Raul would walk the one block to Alec’s house, and they would rehearse until eleven or twelve. After a week or two Raul began to sleep over, and they would rehearse until two or three in the morning.
Three weeks before the performance, Alec’s mother and stepfather left for Europe for two and a half weeks — they would return just in time for the play. Raul asked his parents if he could live at Alec’s during that time and was given permission.
By this time Raul had dropped biology, the first class he had in the morning. This meant, as long as Raul skirted the attendance taken in an early study hall, he didn’t have to appear until eleven-thirty. Objectively, this was a risk; to Raul, it was as minor as cutting gym.
Alec lived in an old and still somewhat fashionable apartment house on West End Avenue. Raul saw only three rooms while he was there — the kitchen, the bathroom, and Alec’s room. The latter was to become the focal point of Alec’s and Raul’s life: everything revolved about this room. Simple human needs were carried out here, all appointments were made here — it was the offstage sanctuary.
It became all this beginning with those two weeks, beginning with Alec’s most important offer to Raul. After all, despite Raul’s objections, Alec had to limit his thinking to what else is there to do?
“All right,” Alec said to him, “forget your objections. Your interest is in art, isn’t it?”
Raul smiled vaguely, aware of Alec’s frustration.
“Well, I’m saying that it will develop you as an artist.”
“Look, I have no objections to taking it. None. However,” Raul smiled, “one should be able to do without it to develop one’s art.”
“What you say, from your premise, is logical. You’re saying you have no objections to it but that one shouldn’t need it.”
Raul, still smiling, nodded.
Alec turned, going over to his desk. He dragged on his cigarette, placing it in the ashtray. He leaned on the desk, grunting while he thought.
Raul’s tension was one of expectation. His ideas were clear — well thought out, as yet to be disproven. But his face beamed with irony, and a high cackle seemed lodged in his throat, ready to come screeching out.
Alec was angry. He did believe it would help Raul’s art, though he was not acting unselfishly. There was a strong desire in him to have Raul share his experiences. Not very hopefully, he suddenly turned to him. “Do you wanna smoke?”
Raul’s cackle nearly leaped into daylight. Smiling, a curious little boy, he said, “Oh, you have some.”
Alec’s dismay became consummate, tinged with paranoia. “Yes,” he said.
Raul was gleeful. “Sure.”
Alec was astonished but said nothing. Why the boy was agreeing against his principles could be asked later.
Raul, his legs drawn up underneath him, anxiously watched Alec prepare. Alec took out three incense sticks, placing them strategically about the room. He opened the record player, took out a record, and put it on. He then opened his drawer, removing a plastic bag filled with marijuana and a package of Top cigarette papers. He put a piece of typing paper on the desk and lay a cigarette paper on top of that.
Raul, his face suddenly serious, extended his hand and asked, “May I see?”
Alec’s face matched Raul’s for solemnity. He passed the bag to him. Raul opened it, smelled it, ran the grains through his fingers, tasted it, and handed it back. He looked up as he did so, and they both laughed.
Alec cleared his throat. He dragged on his cigarette, neatly returning it to the ashtray. He tipped the bag, some of the contents going onto the paper. It was a long process. Alec had to spread the grass evenly across the center of the paper and slowly roll it. He rolled three rather deformed, cigarettelike joints. He got up, telling Raul to follow him, and went over to a small window in a corner of the room. He opened the window, saying to Raul, “Listen, be sure to smoke a cigarette afterward.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.”
Alec went to get a match. Raul, shivering slightly, looked out on the dark avenue beneath. His nervousness, building all this time, reached a climax as Alec returned, the joint between his lips.
He lit it, the loose end going up quickly, and inhaled, keeping the smoke contained within his lungs. Silently, without breathing or stirring, he passed the joint to Raul. Raul followed his lead, the immediate effect being that he heard his loud sucking in of the smoke. He seemed to be dragging fruitlessly, until it suddenly pierced his lungs — he could feel the sharp stream descending into his chest. He quickly withdrew the joint, his throat seared from the heat. He coughed, his open mouth allowing a cloud of smoke to escape.
Alec carefully exhaled. “Hold it in,” he said.
Raul raised his hand while nodding. He dragged again, knowing what to expect. His lungs filled, he passed the joint to Alec, an ember falling to the floor. Alec hastily stamped it out. Raul swallowed and inhaled to force the smoke deeper. Alec dragged easily, as if he were smoking a cigarette. He took it in abrupt spasmodic inhalations; Raul, in one drag, sucking it in until the heat was too much. The process was repeated, with only the butt of the joint left.
A smile of sinister glee slowly appeared on Alec’s face. “It’s time,” he said, “for my number one roach holder.”
Raul smiled and laughed softly. Alec took out a long, thin plastic cylinder, with a funnellike opening, placing the butt there. He handed it to Raul, who put it in his mouth. Alec lit a match. “Take it easy on this, it’s very hot.”
Alec held a match at the funnel’s opening. Raul dragged, a small, sudden flare appearing at the bell of the funnel. Raul, at the back of his tongue, felt the charcoal remains of the roach.
Alec laughed through his nostrils. Raul swallowed, looking at Alec in shock. “Raul swallowed the roach, man,” Alec said.
Raul, a silly, uncontrollable grin on his face, rocked forward, finding the movement deliriously comfortable. “I swallowed it?” he asked woozily.
Alec laughed, a hand drawn absurdly across his mouth. “You’re so stoned,” he said through demented laughter.
Raul, his body flowingly elongated beyond belief, drew himself up, his grin reaching a critical point. His hand gracelessly came up from his side, knocking hollowly on his chest. “Me?” he asked, collapsing into laughter.
They both slid easily off their chairs, their frames quaking with senseless laughter. Raul, his head beneath the window, felt a breeze quietly pass over his face. He stopped laughing. Alec, a tempo behind, stopped too.