But I am mistaken. My aunt is not suggesting that I go into research.
“I want you to think about entering medical school this fall. You know you’ve always had it in the back of your mind. Now I’ve fixed up your old garçonnière in the carriage house. Wait till you see it — I’ve added a kitchenette and some bookshelves. You will have absolute privacy. We won’t even allow you in the house. No — it is not I doing something for you. We could use you around. Kate is going through something I don’t understand. Jules, my dear Jules won’t even admit anything is wrong. You and Sam are the only ones she’d ever listen to.”
We come to the corner of the gallery and a warm spray blows in our faces. One can smell the islands to the south. The rain slackens and tires hiss on the wet asphalt.
“Here’s what we’ll do. As soon as hot weather comes, we’ll all go up to Flat Rock, the whole family, Walter included. He’s already promised. We’ll have a nice long summer in the mountains and come back here in September and buckle down to work.”
Two cars come racing abreast down Prytania; someone shouts an obscenity in a wretched croaking voice. Our footsteps echo like pistol shots in the basement below.
“I don’t know.”
“You think about it.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She does not smile. Instead she stops me, holds me off.
“What is it you want out of life, son?” she asks with a sweetness that makes me uneasy.
“I don’t know’m. But I’ll move in whenever you want me.”
“Don’t you feel obliged to use your brain and to make a contribution?”
“No’m.”
She waits for me to say more. When I do not, she seems to forget about her idea. Far from holding my refusal against me, she links her arm in mine and resumes the promenade.
“I no longer pretend to understand the world.” She is shaking her head yet still smiling her sweet menacing smile. “The world I knew has come crashing down around my ears. The things we hold dear are reviled and spat upon.” She nods toward Prytania Street. “It’s an interesting age you will live in — though I can’t say I’m sorry to miss it. But it should be quite a sight, the going under of the evening land. That’s us all right. And I can tell you, my young friend, it is evening. It is very late.”
For her too the fabric is dissolving, but for her even the dissolving makes sense. She understands the chaos to come. It seems so plain when I see it through her eyes. My duty in life is simple. I go to medical school. I live a long useful life serving my fellowman. What’s wrong with this? All I have to do is remember it.
“—you have too good a mind to throw away. I don’t quite know what we’re doing on this insignificant cinder spinning away in a dark corner of the universe. That is a secret which the high gods have not confided in me. Yet one thing I believe and I believe it with every fiber of my being. A man must live by his lights and do what little he can and do it as best he can. In this world goodness is destined to be defeated. But a man must go down fighting. That is the victory. To do anything less is to be less than a man.”
She is right. I will say yes. I will say yes even though I do not really know what she is talking about.
But I hear myself saying: “As a matter of fact I was planning to leave Gentilly soon, but for a different reason. There is something—” I stop. My idea of a search seems absurd.
To my surprise this lame reply is welcomed by my aunt.
“Of course!” she cries. “You’re doing something every man used to do. When your father finished college, he had his Wanderjahr, a fine year’s ramble up the Rhine and down the Loire, with a pretty girl on one arm and a good comrade on the other. What happened to you when you finished college? War. And I’m so proud of you for that. But that’s enough to take it out of any man.”
Wanderjahr. My heart sinks. We do not understand each other after all. If I thought I’d spent the last four years as a Wanderjahr, before “settling down,” I’d shoot myself on the spot.
“How do you mean, take it out of me?”
“Your scientific calling, your love of books and music. Don’t you remember how we used to talk — on the long winter evenings when Jules would go to bed and Kate would go dancing, how we used to talk! We tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. Don’t you remember discovering Euripides and Jean-Christophe?”
“You discovered them for me. It was always through you that—” All at once I am sleepy. It requires an effort to put one foot in front of the other. Fortunately my aunt decides to sit down. I wipe off an iron bench with my handkerchief and we sit, still arm in arm. She gives me a pat.
“Now. I want you to make me a promise.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Your birthday is one week from today.”
“Is that right?”
“You will be thirty years old. Don’t you think a thirty year old man ought to know what he wants to do with his life?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Then?”
“Yes. Next Wednesday afternoon — after Sam leaves. I’ll meet you here at this spot. Will you promise to come?”
“Yes ma’am.” She expects a great deal from Sam’s visit.
Pushing up my sleeve to see my watch, she sucks in her breath. “Back to the halt and the lame and the generally no ’count.”
“Sweetie, lie down first and let me rub your neck.” I can tell from her eyes when she has a headache.
Later, when Mercer brings the car around to the front steps, she lays a warm dry cheek against mine. “m-M! You’re such a comfort to me. You remind me so much of your father.”