Raul began calmly, pointing out that, indeed, the violence of S.D.S. had never exceeded breaking a few windows, at great expense to their skulls. And as for the Panthers, the most they had ever been accused of was killing one of their own members; nothing, when compared to the numbers that died at the hands of the police. In any case, he said, over objections to that, any amount of violence on their part was not only justified but their duty.
There was no turning back after that point, and Raul had little patience when the obvious conclusions he drew from history were questioned. But they didn’t really question his points, they questioned his methods. There must be something better than violence, they would say, we’ve had too much of that. Sweating, upset, and furious, he yelled that it was very simple to oppress and kill a race for hundreds of years and, when they turned an avenging fist, start talking about peaceful solutions. He walked out on both of them, his system in violent disorder.
He hated such talks. To what end was he speaking? He didn’t hope, or believe, he could convince them. All it left behind was a bitterness and anger he didn’t wish for or enjoy. That kind of violent accusation is better left for mass circulation: in speeches, where whole masses are moved to action. How worthless to say it to a fellow actor and his mother. Pointless masturbation.
He was an artist, that was his duty. Politics is a pile of human excrement that, as Joyce put it, his soul would have to fly by. His mind needed to be free, not ensnared by partisan rhetoric.
Anita was redoubly impressed. The more articulate and passionate he proved himself to be, the more dangerous his influence.
Alec and Raul had never disagreed; over politics they fought for the first time. Alec, one night walking the dog with Raul, his parents away for the weekend at their country house, asked Raul to explain an action of S.D.S.’s. Raul disliked the position of having squeamishly to excuse an action; an action, not a revolutionary act, just a seizure of a building. To explain required wading through the quagmire of rhetoric. More angry at the words he had to choose, Raul bullied Alec.
“Don’t try and convert me,” Alec said angrily.
They separated not speaking to each other. Raul went home. He was amazed. Where had that comment come from? He had never spoken to Alec about politics before Alec’s mother came home. That was the answer. Suddenly he found himself in a position that Alec’s mother had defined for him. In a minute or so he called Alec.
“I was going to call you,” Alec said.
“I’m sor…”
“Let’s forget it. We’re both sorry.”
“Yeah, I mean I didn’t mean to…Look, let’s not talk about politics any more. I hate it, I’ve told you I hate it, so don’t ask me to any more.”
“I wanted Mother to hear what you had to say, and after that, I was interested, you know? Well, let’s forget it. You wanna come over and smoke?”
“Baby, I never turn down the grass.”
Anita had forbidden Alec to have anyone at the house while they were away on weekends. Alec, of course, paid no attention to the rule. But since Alec had a neighbor who, by his mother’s request, would come and check on him, a system had to be created.
At the slightest noise, Raul would leap into Alec’s closet, hiding there until the danger passed. Alec’s door stayed shut, so none of the grass’ odor penetrated the other rooms, and a strict watch on noise and incense was maintained. Record player and all other noise ceased on the ring of the telephone, Alec being, of course, the only one to pick it up. Going in and out of the apartment, Alec would look ahead to see if the neighbor’s door was shut.
Raul had cried out when Alec first told him all this. “You’re going to college in a few months. What kind of treatment is this? You’re being treated like an adolescent. It’s stupid and barbaric and obscene.”
Alec laughed at Raul’s mad hysteria. “I know,” he said pleasantly.
“All right. Look, I don’t want to get myself involved with you and your mother, but come on. Aren’t you going to fight this?”
“No, because I’d rather have you here, playing the stupid game, than risk, just for these few months, losing you. All right, it’s stupid, but you are here. In a few months I won’t have any contact with my mother, so it doesn’t matter if she’s being stupid now.”
Raul said nothing.
During the week Raul sat dismally in classes, his notebook open, writing a vast amount of poetry. “Math class,” he told Alec, “is my most productive period. I write, on the average, three poems. Nearly all bad, of course.”
Between classes — he had only four and was cutting gym every day — he strolled over to different hiding places to smoke cigarettes. On days when long periods elapsed without a class, he slipped down to Mike & Gino’s.
“Look at how liberal they are to you,” Alec pleaded. “Only four classes. On some days, only two.”
“On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have four. Tuesday, I have three. Thursday, I have two.”
“Okay, big deal. It’s still great.”
“What’s great about it? Between those classes I am not in a quiet study writing, or on stage acting. I’m any other indolent, dumb adolescent. The only places I can go to are Mike & Gino’s, which is not a Paris café, or to some dingy hole in the wall to smoke.”
“Just try and stick it out. You’ll get all that in a year or so.” Raul sighed. “There’s no other place for you,” Alec continued. “I don’t want your talent wasted in some crash pad in the Village.”
“What the fuck makes you think…”
“I’m telling you,” he insisted, “that there’s no other place for you. Without it, where are you going to go?”
Raul stared off into space. His face hard, he finally said, “So I should languish here and allow my talents to be slowly corroded by this luxury. What artist went to an Ivy League school? What the fuck am I going to write about all my life? A neurotic kid in a rich school? Very hackneyed material. Really rather dismal.”
Alec got up and walked about the room. “What can I say? I don’t want you to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because I want us to share all our experiences. When we’re in Paris,” he said, laughing, “I want us to be able to talk about all the teachers we’ve had, etc.”
“And when you’re a senior in college, am I supposed to be a freshman? Alec, I’m above those of my age. I’ll go out of my mind.”
“All right,” he said quietly, “then leave.”
Raul sat up in irritation. “It’s not you that’s keeping me here. You said it, my boy, where do I go? There’s no place for an intelligent fourteen-year-old. If I leave this school I’m ruined. My career will have no future.” He sat quietly. Suddenly he stood up, screaming, “Bourgeois escapism! Pure, unadulterated escapism. I am such a fucking coward!”
He sat down again. “I have no choice,” he said. “I stay. I’m powerless to do otherwise.” Silence. He went on: “I’ll be fifteen in a month or so.”
9.
As the month of April began, three things were important for Raul. One, warnings for the last trimester — to those failing subjects or in danger of failing — were sent out. Two, it was now or never, if Raul was to speak to Alexander. Three, the running for Iago was nearing its last phase; from now on the competition would be heated.
Raul talked Bill into coming with him to see Alexander. The two walked into his hushed room. Alexander’s face was pitted, giving it a bleak aspect; his eyes were mournful, expressive of a constant sorrow. He glanced up inquisitively at them.