Bryce

The Second Semester

Chapter 15 - Dark Days

            Maybe it was the January weather, leaden and cold.  Maybe it was reviewing Damon’s background from the Chicago projects.  Maybe it was just mental exhaustion after attempting to deal with too many issues in too short a time.  But Bryce felt absolutely “blah” all through the next few days.

            The high point on Thursday was lunch at Rebecca Ruth Hall with Caroline Koehler.  The cafeteria in what Bryce thought of as the Home Ec building was much more pleasant than either the student cafeteria or the food court in the University Center, and cleaner.  Caroline recommended various items on the menu, and the guys tried out a few new things.  One such item was Vichyssoise.  Some how, cold soup seemed a contradiction in terms.  On the other hand, they appreciated coquille St. Jacques, a dish of scallops and mushrooms, very much.  It seemed that it was French week at Rebecca Ruth.  Bryce was interested to learn from Caroline that coquille St. Jacques in some fashion went back to the Middle Ages, being a favorite of pilgrims on the route to Santiago de Compostello in northwestern Spain.  St. Jacques and Santiago both refer to the apostle St. James the Greater, whose relics are believed to reside at Compostello.  It was a popular pilgrimage destination for centuries, and remains so in a lesser key even today.  The downer about the visit to Rebecca Ruth Hall was the absence of a French wine to go along with the other items.  That, of course, was a consequence of being under the legal age of 21 and on the campus of a state university.  That puritan influence again.  Bryce and Damon discussed that at lunch, and decided that the only thing prohibition did was encourage binge drinking.  Bryce noted that it was ironic that it was the fundamentalists, who claimed to be biblically based, who tended most to be in favor of prohibition.  Nowhere in the Bible is wine or any other alcoholic drink prohibited.  What is prohibited is drunkenness.  It’s the excess, not the thing itself, which is the problem.

            Friday, like most days, began with a workout at the gym, but even that did not seem to energize Bryce the way it was supposed to.  He and Curtis discussed the weather, but Curtis was in the grips of his romance with Maddy, and nothing, not even a January drizzle, could dampen his spirits.  Bryce envied him.

            In the class on French Literature, they were treated to a discourse on Stendhal and his two well-known novels, Le Rouge et le Noir, which they were supposed to be reading, and La Chartreuse de Parme.  Both are replete with strong emotion, but the emotions were evoked by disgust with the world of the 1820s in France and Italy.  They reflect the life of the author, in that both are concerned with an able man who is held back by social snobbishness and entrenched interests.  Dr. Anjot gave the class a synopsis of La Chartreuse de Parme, as it was the other work which they were to read and discuss on Monday.  There was a parallel with Chateaubriand’s work, in that this work, too, had as its starting point the French Revolution and its aftermath, in this case the French invasions of Italy.  But Stendhal saw that as a liberating experience, and the restorations after the defeat of Napoleon as the defeat of reason and progress.  In that, he was at one with the Liberal elements of the nineteenth century.  In his private capacity as Marie Henri Beyle, Stendhal had served in the Napoleonic army, being one of the minority who survived the retreat from Moscow in 1812.  The class was aghast to learn that Napoleon had suffered a 95% loss of his Grand Army in his Russian campaign.  Stendhal’s hero, Fabrice, also fights for Napoleon at Waterloo.  The novel has a terribly complicated plot, but clearly shows cynicism about society, the social structure, and the Church.  Fabrice is pushed into a career in the Church, even though he has no vocation to the priesthood, and definitely has no liking for celibacy.  This reflects Stendhal’s own life style, which included inveterate womanizing and a debilitating bout of syphilis.  To treat this malady, he dosed himself with iodine of potassium and quicksilver, which probably caused more problems than they solved.  He was in such bad shape that he had to dictate La Chartreuse de Parme in 1839, as he could no longer hold a pen.  He collapsed on the streets of Paris, and died shortly thereafter on 22 March 1842.

            When Professor Anjot asked for comments towards the end of the class period, one dim student took up most of the available time attempting to understand the meaning of the word “chartreuse,” as his only knowledge of it was the color.  In vain, Dr. Anjot attempted to explain that the word itself referred to the monasteries of the Carthusian monks, who, in the 1740s, invented a liqueur which also bears the name, and which has a distinctive greenish color, which in turn gives us the reference with which the student was familiar.  The student simply could not get his head around the fact that the same word could have three distinct references.

            As they left the classroom, Marc Rimbault could not restrain himself from commenting to Bryce, “There’s your typical Catholic priest all explained: a hypocrite and sexual predator.”

            “Thanks for not being confrontational, Marc,” Bryce replied.  He was in no mood to be charitable this morning.  “I suppose you also believe the typical American citizen is a murderer, thief, and sexual deviant, as that’s mostly what you hear about on the news.  Bad news always makes more waves than good.”  Bryce stalked off to his English class in a foul mood.

            Things did not get any better all the rest of the day.  In his English class, Dr. Etheridge chose this day to discuss Samuel Johnson’s health problems, and especially his virtual blindness.  That was hardly an uplifting story.  Well, in a different mood Bryce might have taken it as the story of the triumph of the will over adverse circumstances, but Bryce was not in that positive mood, and it just seemed like another story of things which went wrong.  Likewise, in Biology Dr. Harris spent his time on some environmental issues, which under different circumstances Bryce and Damon would have found interesting.  Under the present pall, however, a brief film showing shore birds covered with oil slick from a grounded tanker was not inspiring of anything but disgust.

            In his History class, Bryce was treated to a discussion of the family affairs of King George I.  The House of Hanover has appropriately been called the House of Hate.  While still in Germany, George was married against his will to his cousin, Sophia Dorothea, in order to secure her inheritance.  They had two children, but neither was faithful to the other.  George had a series of mistresses, often more than one at the same time.  Sophia Dorothea had a scandalous affair with the Swedish diplomat Count Königsmarck, which led to the Count being assassinated and his body tossed in the Leine River, on which Hanover stands, weighted down in a manner which would do Al Capone or Jimmy Hoffa proud.  Sophia Dorothea was imprisoned in Ahlden House at Celle for the last thirty years of her life, and prohibited any contact with her children.  George engaged in a bitter quarrel with his next oldest brother, Frederick Augustus, with whom he had previously been close.  He quarreled with his only son, and refused to grant him any role in the government of Hanover or Great Britain.  In 1714, upon the death of Queen Anne, George I succeeded to the throne as the Protestant champion, bypassing over fifty individuals with a closer blood connection, but who were Catholic.  He died on 11 June 1727 in his coach racing across northwestern Germany on his way to his beloved Hanover.  This was not a story calculated to raise Bryce’s spirits.

            As they left the History class, Marc Rimbault said to Bryce, “I need to apologize.  You’re right, after promising not to be confrontational, that remark after French this morning was inappropriate.”

            “It’s okay,” Bryce dismissed the remark and the apology as equally meaningless.  In his dark mood, he did not recognize Marc’s sincerity on this occasion.

            Marc, however, would not let it go at that.  “I mean it, Bryce.  I really don’t want to quarrel with you.”  In an effort at levity, Marc added, “I’m not a Hanoverian.”

            Bryce looked at him, and something clicked.  On an impulse, he grabbed Marc’s hand and turned it palm up.  As he feared, there was a scar across his wrist.  All the talk about how hopeless the world was in connection with Chateaubriand’s René flooded back into Bryce’s memory.  He realized that Marc was being serious, that somehow Marc thought he needed Bryce.  He could not refuse that unspoken appeal.

            “Okay,” he repeated, but with a different meaning to the word.  “I’m free for a while since the history study group decided not to meet today.  You want to talk?”

            “What about Damon?” Marc asked.

            “Damon told me I was such a wet blanket today, he was going over to the fraternity house about this time to spend some time with his friend DuBois,” Bryce said.

            Marc smiled.  “Doo Boys?  Don’t you mean Dubois?” he asked, giving the second time the French pronunciation.

            “No.  I made that same mistake the first time I met him.  Damon’s friend is named for W.E.B. DuBois, who pronounced it as though it were English.”

            “I stand corrected,” Marc surrendered.

            “Pat’s?”

            “You’re on.”

            The two young men made their way the short distance through the unpleasant January weather to the warmth and familiarity of Pat’s Tavern.  At mid afternoon, it was far from crowded, so they were able to snag a booth near the rear, away from the few other patrons, where they could talk quietly in private.

            “First round’s on me,” Marc insisted.  He returned shortly with two draft beers.

            “Do you want to tell me about this?” Bryce said, again grasping Marc’s wrist and turning it up to the light.

            “No.  Not the particulars.  Not right now.  But I stick with what I said on Wednesday.  The world in which we live is a pile of shit.  There’s no real hope of it ever being anything else.  That being so, suicide is a reasonable out,” Marc insisted.

            “Why haven’t you succeeded?” Bryce asked.

            “Huh?”

            “It’s a reasonable question.  Given your position, why are you still alive?  You have no faith in God or an afterlife, so there’s no fear of what might await you after death.  You think this world is, in your own words, a pile of shit.  You are here on the University of Clifton campus more or less as a free man.  You could easily arrange a suicide now, one that would succeed.  There are a plethora of possibilities.  So, I repeat, why haven’t you succeeded?” Bryce insisted.

            Marc took his time to respond.  “I got up the courage once.  It does take courage,” he said defensively.

            Bryce nodded acceptance of that statement, so Marc continued.

            “I thought I had all the bases covered.  I was in a nice warm tub of water, and I had a sharp knife.  I would not suffer.  I did the deed, and then lost consciousness from loss of blood.  But I woke up in the hospital.  It seems my sister came home after quarreling with her boyfriend at the time, and found me in time.  I’ve never been able to be really grateful for that.  I think I would be better off dead.  But it upset Annette so much.  I guess I never realized how badly she would take it.  So, the short answer to your question is, I’m alive now because I don’t want to upset Annette.”

            Bryce was quiet.  He took several swallows from his glass.  “I’m sorry.  I should not have invaded your privacy.  I should not have made you go through that again,” he said.

            “You didn’t make me, Dork.  I could have told you to shove it, to mind your own business.  I guess at some level I wanted you to know.  A little self-pity.  Look at me!  Look at this pathetic creature!  Don’t you feel sorry for him?” Marc replied.

            Bryce smiled.  “As long as you can make fun of yourself like that, I think you’re safe for the moment.  I wouldn’t want to have to explain a corpse here in the booth with me.”

            “You really are a dork.  I tell you one of my deepest secrets, and you make fun of it,” Marc complained, but in a voice which indicate he shared the sentiment with his listener.

            “You wanted to tell me.  You just said so.  If I suddenly became all concerned and helpful, would you believe it?” Bryce asked.

            “No.  I’d think you were a world class hypocrite, like that Fabrice character Dr. Anjot told us about,” Marc replied, smiling.

            “And I would have been.  Marc, I’ve had dark moments, too.  Never to the point of actually attempting to kill myself, but I sure thought about it,” Bryce confessed.

            “You?  Somehow that does not seem consistent with the rest of you.  But then, neither does your Catholicism and your homosexuality.  You are an enigma, Bryce Winslow,” Marc pronounced.

            “Guilty,” Bryce conceded.  “I know, from the point of view of the world around us, I make no sense.  Somehow, that doesn’t bother me.  But you’ve caught me at a bad time if you want me to defend my position.  I’ve been feeling down for the past two days, and I would probably botch it.”

            “Can I ask what brought on your ‘dark moments’ as you called them?” Marc enquired.

            Bryce hesitated.  This was getting really personal.  Did he want to go that route with Marc.  Marc seemed to Bryce to be as much of an enigma as he could possibly be.  Was he friend or foe?  Did it matter?  Then, there was that something which told Bryce that Marc needed him in some way.  It was another of those odd feelings which he could not explain, and the very fact that he could not explain it was disconcerting.

            Noticing that their glasses were nearly empty, Bryce got up.  “Next round’s on me,” he said as he delayed answering and made his way to the bar.  As he did, he was arguing with himself about how far his duty to satisfy Marc went, and how much he should expose himself to possible ridicule.  Okay, so in some not very clear way Marc needed him.  But ....

            After giving his order and receiving his beers, Bryce leaned on the bar, awaiting his change from his twenty dollar bill.  It was a good thing he was leaning, because suddenly he heard in his mind the words, whatsoever you do for the least of these, my brethren, you do also for me.  He very nearly collapsed.  His attention was definitely elsewhere when the barman returned with his change.  When he got no response from Bryce, he asked, ”Are you okay?  How much have you had already?”

            Somehow that pulled Bryce back from wherever he was.  “Uh, yeah.  I’m okay.  Just had something on my mind,” Bryce said as he collected his change, gathered up his two beers, and headed back to the booth.  He had his answer.  There is no limit to our duty to others.

            Back in the booth, across from Marc, Bryce asked, “What was it you were asking about?”

            Marc looked at him closely.  He knew that Bryce knew exactly what he had been asking about.  Okay, if Bryce wanted to play games, he would play.  “I asked what brought on your times of despair.  What made you feel like life was a crock?”

            “I was in high school, you understand.  It started between my sophomore and junior years, and lasted most of my junior year.  I was having what I considered temptations.  I was having the first real clues that I’m gay.  It did not fit with anything.  Man, talk about things not fitting, here I was, son of a respectable lawyer and a pillar of society, in a Midwestern town, in a Catholic school, with an older brother who liked making nasty comments about queers.  I could not possibly be gay.  So, I spent a year, more or less, avoiding reality.  I fucked every girl I could, and acted the macho man.  But it was tearing me up inside.  To cover that, to dull the insistent voice of reality, I got involved in drugs.  My family is well to do.  I had money.  If you have money, you can get drugs.  I got some really ...  Well, never mind the details.  I very nearly ruined my life, and harmed the lives of my family as well.  I guess at that point, it was my mother who I did not want to hurt.  Now, she still counts for a lot, but first place would have to go to Damon.  Anyway, I came to my senses, and got off the drugs, and settled down.  But it was not until last semester that I was able to accept the reality that I’m gay.  I guess I’m just a slow learner.”

            “How about now?  Do your family know?” Marc asked.

            “Yes.  I came out to my mother and sister first, then to my father and brother at Thanksgiving.  Mom and Nan – that’s my sister – have been very supportive.  My father reluctantly came around.  I think I can live without my brother’s approval,” Bryce replied.

            “You’re lucky.  My dad won’t talk to me, and my mom is convinced I’m going through some phase, and will grow out of it,” Marc confided sadly.

            “I can see where that would lead to some pretty dark thoughts, particularly if, like you’ve indicated before, you’ve abandoned the Faith,” Bryce commiserated.  “Looking back, that’s the only thing which kept me going during my dark period.”

            “And I definitely have abandoned the Catholic fucking Church,” Marc said with some bitterness.  “It has offered me nothing but grief ever since I realized I’m gay.”

            “Believe me, Marc, I’m as angry and as embarrassed as you can possibly be about some of the ignorant and uncharitable things the hierarchy have said about us gays.  Somehow, in my mind, I’m able to make the distinction between the basic Faith and the pronouncements of the bishops and Vatican bureaucrats.  That distinction is crucial to me,” Bryce said.

            “So you still believe in what you call the basic Faith?”

            “I still believe.  Please, Marc, give me the respect of at least admitting I’m being honest.  I know you don’t agree, but I really believe it is possible to be both Catholic and gay without being intellectually dishonest.  It makes sense to me now, but it took me a lot of thinking, and counseling, and praying to accept this,” Bryce pled with his interlocutor.

            “To me, nothing in this life really makes sense.  The only rational position seems to me to be one of complete doubt,” Marc insisted.

            “Can you really exist in a continuous state of doubt?  I don’t mean to be confrontational any more than you do, but I’ve seen it said over and over that those who claim to be agnostics, when it comes to action, act like atheists, believing in no God and only the material world,” Bryce asked.

            “Maybe,” Marc admitted.  “If I can’t believe in God or the afterlife, it seems more reasonable to act like they don’t exist.”

            “I won’t tell you that’s unreasonable, but it seems to me to be not entirely honest,” Bryce challenged him.

            “What’s reasonable?  There are so many conflicting theories and positions, all claiming to be reasonable.  Can you prove your Catholic position is more reasonable than all the others?” Marc demanded.

            “No,” Bryce unexpectedly responded.  “In one of his novels – I think it was The Comedians – Graham Greene wrote that there were only two philosophical positions which were worthy of a rational man, Catholicism and Communism.  If we expand that a little, and interpret Communism to mean a purely materialistic, atheistic outlook on reality, I think I can agree with that sentiment.  None of the other positions really hold water.  Either they are self-contradictory, or they are based on very flimsy evidence, or they are simply absurd.  Only these two ring true when tested against real human experience.  From a purely rational position, there is nothing to choose between them.  But Catholicism gives me hope, the other does not.”

            “I guess I don’t have much hope for the human race,” Marc confessed.

            “Hence, this,” Bryce replied, indicating again the scar on Marc’s wrist.  “But you care about how your suicide would affect your sister.  How does that fit into your philosophy?”

            “I don’t know.  I guess, in a way, it’s like you with being gay and Catholic.  I’m a non-believer, but I still think human relationships, some of them, anyway, are valuable.  I’d like to think it’s important how what I do affects Annette, even if that is purely emotion, and emotions are just random impulses, and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.  Who was it?  Some thinker?  Said the only reality is one we create ourselves.  The one in our own minds.”

            “Then there are millions of realities, because there are millions of people on earth today,” Bryce pointed out.

            “I guess that’s so,” Marc agreed.

            “In which case, we have a paradox.  The only realities are not real, they exist only in the minds of millions of objectively meaningless humans.  Now how can you tell me I’m a paradox?” Bryce demanded.

            Marc looked like he was considering that.  “You’re right, I guess.  Maybe existence is essentially meaningless in any objective sense.”

            “Now that’s a happy thought,” Bryce commented.

            At that moment, his cell phone rang.  He pulled it out and looked at the screen.  Damon.  “Hey!  What’s up?  ...  No, I haven’t disappeared.  I’m at Pat’s, taking to Marc. ...  Well, come on over here.  Pat makes a fine burger. ...  Yeah, after we eat.”

            “Damon is on his way,” Bryce informed Marc.  “I didn’t realize it was so late.  After we get something to eat, Damon and I have some work to do.  He’s helping me with a Psychology project.”

            “Oh, okay,” Mark replied.

            Bryce hesitated to ask his next question, but plunged ahead.  “This is not the first time I’ve noticed a certain hesitation around Damon.  Are you uncomfortable around blacks?”

            Marc smiled.  “No, it’s not that.  I told you my family moved around a lot, but it was always to the same kind of house in the same kind of neighborhood.  We lived in ‘desirable’ locations.  The cars parked in our drives were BMWs and Lexuses. There were blacks, Orientals, Asian Indians, Jews, even an Irishman or an Italian.  The cut off was not race or religion, but money.  Everyone had money, and we simply did not associate with people who did not.  The world Damon comes from might just as well be on Mars as far as any familiarity with it is concerned.  Growing up, the poor popped up as objects of fund drives, and objects of patronizing concern, as long as we didn’t actually have to meet any of them.”

            “From the way you talk, I think you’re dealing with that.  So, you won’t mind when Damon joins us in a few minutes?” Bryce wanted confirmation.

            “Naw.  I think we’ve probably reached the end of any fruitful discussion anyway, at least for now,” Marc conceded.  Then, with a grin, he added, “I don’t want your boyfriend getting jealous.”

            Bryce attempted to sock him, but was unable to do it across the table.

            Damon joined them shortly thereafter, and they talked about ordinary things, like classes and what Damon and DuBois had been up to that afternoon.  After eating, all three made their way back to campus, where Bryce and Damon parted from Marc.

            That evening and the next afternoon, Bryce and Damon completed the last two sessions of interviews for Bryce’s Psychology project.  Listening to Damon’s account of his life in the projects certainly did not lift anyone’s spirits.  On the whole, the entire time from Thursday through Saturday afternoon consisted of pretty dark days.