For there, Tiger thought, ever more melancholy now, there is the essential heart of the greatest disaster and tragedy on earth bar none, this Hell-Earth, Tiger thought, the utter fiasco, the fraud, the bitter mouthful of ashes it all turns out to be, for these kids, any kid. ... All parents, well most parents, certainly, hope that for their kids it will turn our differently, another way, in fact, it's what they mainly work and sweat and go through sheer hell for, another way, as if there ever was or ever could be another way, What way? I myself, looking at Jane, that little doll, feel the same way, it’s only natural, it can’t be helped, that’s how we are, watching her, loving her, hoping for her, working for her, it's all part of that sad, mad game. . . . For it all turns out the same. . . . Only the same. . . . Poor Jill, that sweet kid, that lovely, luscious, honey-kid. . . . Think of her when you think of the timeless moment of truth, suspended, cold, forever more, for all of us in store, think, J knew her so well, so well. . . . That kid. . . . Tiger shook his head, sadly, the closest yet to tears, filled with the heaviness of the loss. . . . Gone, she was gone, and really gone, and never again, never, not ever again. . . . How could he balance it, accept it? Where wav the perspective? Figure. Ground. It was all ground. . . . Tiger’s thoughts hit a bleak terrain. For a while, he merely drove, like a zombie, thinking nothing at all. He passed the Episcopalian church, his church. Something was going on in the hall, all the lights were on. Was it a dance? He wondered. How cotdd it be? Looby Loo hadn’t mentioned it to him. Tonight? Just how could it be? It couldn't be. Maybe the electricians were working in there. He would ask Looby Loo. He slowed down, he didn’t see any kids. . . . Kids are my life, the voice in Tiger went on, alive again, through them I live, I know. My football teams. My classes. My work. My own kid. I know it's the spirit of kids that keeps me alive. Just as in Korea, there, Looby Loo kept me alive. I know. It wasn't until / hit thirty that I began to feel the full impact of the disaster that life in the adult world, our world, really was. It was then that I started going though the crisis which nearly took me out of it all. It lasted several years. I know. I came close, so close, to saying goodbye to it all. Until I found the way. I found my way. The only way, so far as I know, or can tell, to hang on. to stay around, for a while, anyhow. For. anyhow, you never know, you just never know—who ever knows? Did those guys in your Company know? Did Jill know? That warm, wonderful girl, that tremendously vital, living girl. What did she know? Ten, fifteen seconds —and no more. Nothing more to know. No. Do you know? The brutal core of life. That’s it. The dark forces swarming around, all around, within, and out there, only waiting to put out the light. And yet—and here’s the most agonizing part of it—part of the light, yes, that’s it, absolutely, and mocking it, ever attacking it, insidiously, brutally. ... In myriad ways. ... Yet always„ essentially, the same way. . . . This is life. The tragibeauty, Life. . . . Never would I talk this way to Jane. I couldn’t bring myself even to mention any of this to Jane, I couldn't bear it. A nd yet—there she is, before me, my own, my very own, given me by Looby Loo, the best a fellow could ever hope to have, how did I ever land such a gem, how could she be my own. ... In for it, my Jane, the grotesque world of Adults. . . . What am I supposed to do? As I watch her play, and grow up, I have this dark, stark truth hidden away, pushed out of the way—What can 1 do? Does it show through? When? At what point? When she’s especially happy and thrilled about something? In the way that kids are and only kids can ever be? 1 don’t know. Maybe. I feel it, certainly. I try not to show it. I don’t show it. I play the game. It’s all a game. To the end. . . . Tiger sighed, turning up Schooley Road and slowing down to a crawl, just at its intersection with Sycamore Street on or near the comer of which, if all went according to plan—
He saw her, just running toward the corner, and he began to climb out of his deep, dark melancholy, as soon as he saw her young form, that exquisite form, running, easily, toward that corner.
He pulled up beside her, and opened the door. The fresh, sweet fragrance hit him and filled the car, almost at once. She sat beside him and pulled shut the door.
“Hi,” she said, snuggling up to him.
“Hi," he said, pulling away from the curb, aware only of her, the wonderful fragrance of her, beside him, near him, her hand, her fingers now playing with his ear.
“Maybe tonight's a bad night,” she said, in her low, astoundingly beautiful voice, that unique voice, which he loved. “But I just couldn’t wait anymore.”
“I know,” he told her, murmuring to her, and placing a hand on her lap, where her hand promptly clasped it, eagerly, yet tenderly.
“You're great,” Tiger said, “You’re always on time,” He said, already beginning to feel fine, in fact quivering a little inside, at the thought of what lay ahead, with his breathtak-ingly unique Rochelle, that astonishing maid.
“That was just awful, wasn’t it?” she said, raising his hand, the hand, to her cheek, and her lips, caressing it with a kiss.
“And how,” he said, driving ahead. He was heading out of town, he would take the road up to the hills which overlooked the town, and the valley. From there they could see the whole valley. It was marvelous, the view was unbeatable. At night, in particular.
“It’s really scared everybody.” she said, continuing to caress his hand, “That poor kid,” she said, cuddling the hand.
“You like that hand?”
“I love it.”
“That’s your hand.”
“Ummm—I know it—”
Tiger turned into the highway. The traffic was very light tonight. It usually was—around this time. Tiger was thinking about the girl beside him. Rochelle had two more years at the high school, this year, and next. She was, as a matter of fact, in the same class as Ponce, that great kid, Tiger’s unofficial right-hand man, his future full-time assistant and eventual successor, he hoped, fondly. She was seventeen, and terrific. Really uniquely terrific, Tiger knew, murmuring it to himself, within. That first encounter in the Guidance/Counseling office had truly astonished him, putting it mildly, and he had then and there created the new category of stars, blue, i.e., especially for her, and no other. He had also decided, then and there, that she was to be catered for in the car on all future encounters. It was the least he could do. He knew it. He had missed her most of all, the truth be known, during the long summer vacation, which Tiger, each year, dreaded more and more. He suddenly recalled, for she had gone out of town, away to
Pretty Maids All in a Row 133 some seaside resort, or camp, was it, and he hadn’t had one single opportunity to contact her, the whole while. It was a spectacular affair, their reunion. Tiger recalled, warmly. She was certainly a great kid, with a phenomenal intelligence, second only to none, well, to Ponce, maybe. On the Stummper, the truth be known, they were level. Somehow, though, Tiger felt Ponce was ahead—by a shade, only. He had no objective proof of this. It was intuitive, purely. For when he had first administered the Stummper to her last year, in the middle of her sophomore year, when in fact he had first met her, face to face, there in the Office, she had soared spectacularly, truly amazing him, for the blunt truth was: he hadn’t expected it. She had, up to the time, seemed so normal. Truly amazing. It had amazed him, and taught him a lesson he would never forget, one each and every Guidance Counselor should learn. Not unlearn. In some instances. He had mentioned it in one of his papers. Since then, of course, subsequently, as a matter of course, having had the opportunity to really get to know her, thoroughly, more or less, he had come to realize the girl’s performance in other life-areas was little short of phenomenal also. He had, in short, come to realize that he had on his hands in that school a genuine phenomenon, of no mean order, no less. She was, for example, probably the finest natural actress Tiger had ever encountered in all his years as Adviser, Director, Coach & Teacher of the school’s Drama Department & Club. She had fine presence, a natural ability to fall into each role, however diverse or difficult indeed, she did this with vigor and zest, and passionate intelligence, to boot. She was a gem. He was not only proud of her, he was crazy about her, and she knew it. With her intelligence, Tiger mused, and had always mused, how could she help but know it. She was great. Great. She astounded him. They were out of town now and heading into the hills. All around them was darkness, except straight ahead of course where the lights played. Yes, Tiger thought, feeling her snuggling beside him, no doubt dying for him, her face just against his shoulder and from time to time lifting and kissing him all about the ear. Yes, Tiger thought, as he had on many previous occasions, this was the girl he would most like to have by his side, his partner in life, should anything ever happen to Looby Loo, his true blue. Out of the blue. For it could, well he knew, in this uncertain life, this tragic, and utterly baffling, this only life. It was true— “Tiger,” the girl murmured, “I forgot to tell you—” she went on to murmur—“Oh, don’t get scared, Darling, are you scared?” She paused, smiling, he knew—“It’s not too bad,” She paused once more, teasing him, he knew—“I’m running a little low, that’s all—Lovely—” She told him, sweet and low.