“Winter intimidates the soul,” he said, somewhat balefully. “It’s too cold. If the sun is God’s eye, why doesn’t He open it today?”
“But it’s a wonderful day,” Amanda said, smiling.
“Well, for you, I guess,” Morton said. He saw the puzzlement on her face and added, “Or don’t you know yet?”
“Know what?”
“Well, never mind.”
“Know what, Morton?”
“No, never mind. I’ve got to hurry. I’m late for chapel.”
She caught his arm and stepped into his path. “Don’t I know what yet?”
A rare and secret smile crossed Morton’s face. “Where are you going now?”
“Ardaecker. What should I know that I don’t know?”
“You’ll see.”
“Don’t be mean, Morton!”
“I’ll talk to you later. When are you eating lunch?”
“Fifth hour. Morton, what—”
“I’ll meet you in the cafeteria. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, okay?”
“All right, but...”
Morton retreated into his cowl and started off down the path in stately dignity. Amanda stared after him, her hands on her hips. An expression of disappointment crossed her face, a translation of emotion into exaggerated grimace, the honest and direct translation of a seven-year-old, curious on the face of Amanda Soames only because she was nineteen. The expression faded. She stood watching Morton a moment longer, and then she turned and continued walking toward Ardaecker Hall.
She unslung her shoulder bag, took off her jacket, and threw it onto one of the benches along the basement wall. She dug into her purse, found a nickel, and quickly put it into the coffee machine. Sipping from the cardboard container, the steam rising about her face, she walked idly toward the bulletin boards on the wall opposite the benches.
She was alone in the building. She could hear the huge oil burner throbbing somewhere beyond the solemn green lockers with their hanging combination locks. The basement walls were painted a sterile pale green. Three overhead light globes cast a harsh glow onto the concrete floor. The heating ducts and vents overhead were painted in the same cold green, and the water pipes were covered with astringent white asbestos. She walked idly and slowly, unconsciously female, totally unaware that she added a badly needed tonal softness to the otherwise drab basement. She never thought of herself as beautiful, or even as attractive. “Vanity is a sin,” her mother had taught, and she’d accepted this unquestioningly, startled sometimes by the sight of her own naked body in the mirror, surprised by the lushness of it, as shocked as if she’d seen a naked stranger, and embarrassed.
The boys at Talmadge did not find Amanda beautiful, but they did think she was attractive. If there was nothing unusual about her shoulder-length blond hair, or her brown eyes, or her mouth, or the gentle curves of her body, she was still pleasant to watch because she looked so incredibly soft. One of the freshman boys had probably described her effect most accurately during a cafeteria discussion, which caused Morton Yardley to leave the table quite suddenly. They were speculating on Amanda’s potential when one of the boys asked, “Did you ever try to kiss her? It’s like invading France.”
“I never even think of kissing her,” another boy said. “In fact, I never think of sleeping with her.”
Morton, eating a sandwich at the other end of the table, retreated further into his hood.
“Yeah, yeah, you never think of sleeping with her,” the first boy said.
“I mean it. I swear to God. Never with her.”
“Then what?”
“She’s the softest girl I’ve ever seen in my life. I think of sleeping on her,” and it was then that Morton put down his sandwich and left the table.
Unconsciously female, Amanda tossed the empty coffee container into the big trash barrel and studied the first of three bulletin boards. There were the usual notices assumed to be of interest to Music majors: a meeting of the Gilbert and Sullivan Society, a new award for the best violin-cello duet composed by an undergraduate, a dance recital to be given at the University Theater in co-operation with the Drama School, a revised schedule of fees for practice rooms, Fifteen dollars an hour, that’s outrageous! she thought, a special rehearsal of the marching band before the Yale game on Saturday, had she promised Diane she would go? She wished Diane hadn’t joined a sorority; it made it so difficult to keep up with her. Still, the Sig Bete house was closer to most of her classes. She made a mental note to call Diane and began scanning the second board. Blah-blah, the usual garbage; there was still a notice there about the Halloween Ball, didn’t they ever take anything down? Her eye was caught by a frantic, hand-lettered note.
I have lost three pages of an English theme due in Eng 61.12 on Friday, November 13th! Please, please, if you have any information, please contact me, Ardis Fletcher, locker number 160 in Baker Dorm.
Amanda smiled and moved effortlessly toward the third and final board. It was just like Ardis to have lost those pages. If the rumors about her were true, she’d lost just about everything else she’d owned by the time she was fifteen. There didn’t seem to be much on the last board. She was turning away when she stopped, alarmed because her name had leaped out at her suddenly from one of the typewritten pages. Even as she moved back toward the bulletin board, she knew that this was what Morton had meant, and she felt an anticipatory excitement. She read the notice with slow deliberation, allowing the excitement to build inside her.
November 9, 1942
NOTICE TO ALL MUSIC MAJORS IN COMPOSITION
In re all musical compositions submitted for consideration for annual Christmas Pageant. Drs. Finch and MacCauley have now judged all submitted songs, ballets, and incidental music and wish to announce the selection of the following compositions for inclusion in the show:
INCIDENTAL MUSIC
Introduction and Prelude Ralph Curtis
Vamp ’Til Ready George Nelson
SONGS
Still and Bright Francine Bourget
U.S.O. Blues Louis Levine
An einem gewissen Morgen Margit Glück
BALLETS
Winterset Amanda Soames
Surprise Package Amanda Soames
She stood before the bulletin board, and she read the notice a second time, and then once again, and she thought, Both ballets are mine, and she thought, This is one of the happiest days of my life, and there in the silent basement she began weeping.
“You should have told me, Morton,” she said to him later.
“What?” he asked. “I can’t hear you.”
She raised her voice above the student roar in the cafeteria.
“You should have told me!” she shouted. “About the Christmas Pageant.”
“And spoil the surprise? Not a chance.” He sat opposite her at the long table, spooning vegetable soup into the cave formed by the hood. “I wish I could have been there when you read the notice.”