Looking Back: A Novel

PROLOGUE

At a country inn on the coast of Maine, two men of a certain age, sitting on porch chairs some distance apart, watched the swollen, olive-green Atlantic crash on the rocks below. They were of a type that a careful observer would recognize by their old, well-cut woolen jackets, polished loafers, and reticence in the presence of strangers. They had not spoken at all.

Then one of them startled the silence. Is this your first time here?

No. Every few years I come, whenever I feel the urge to see an ocean. Last time I went the other way, to the Pacific.

The waves crashed, the wind raced through the trees, and the silence returned. Then after a while, as if he were musing, the other man addressed the air.

I read an interesting thing yesterday. Balzac is supposed to have said, ‘Behind every great fortune there is a crime.’

Yes, that is rather interesting.

I thought so. Apropos of it, I could tell you a story, if you care to hear one.

By all means. Go ahead.

CHAPTER ONE

Books, purses, three empty bottles of Diet Coke, and the remains of a large pizza littered the card table that had been set up near the open window. Outdoors, green May was flourishing. Scented with lilac and wet grass, it was lively with walking traffic on the paths that crisscrossed the quadrangle from the Gothic library, to the glassy, modern science building, to the old redbrick museum, and beyond.

Commencement. It’s more like a conclusion, a funeral.

Startled, the two others turned toward Amanda. This doleful remark did not fit her. She was eager; her bright, blooming face in its frame of wavy, caramel-colored hair was always optimistic; she sparkled. Among these three young women, she was the one who would most attract attention.

True, there were some who would prefer the calm, classic elegance of Cecile. It was she who now said more cheerfully, It’s the beginning of something else, Amanda.

For you, it is. You must be the only person in the graduating class who’s getting married this summer.

I know. Isn’t it ridiculous? I feel like my own grandmother. In her day, for Heaven’s sake, you were expected to do just that. ‘A ring by spring,’ they used to say. Cecile’s pink smile made fun of herself. But we’ve waited four years for him to get through architecture in New York, and that’s long enough. We haven’t seen each other since February vacation, when I went east, and I can’t wait. With a sigh of contentment, she added, I’m sure if it weren’t for all this, I would be terribly sad about leaving here.

Ave atque vale, Norma said.

Amanda asked, What’s that?

‘Hail and farewell.’ It’s Latin.

Why on earth anybody should want to fill her head with that dead stuff, and spend the rest of her life teaching it to people who’ll never use it except to teach it to more people who’ll never use it, I don’t know!

Surely not the rest of her life, Cecile protested.

Why not? I happen to enjoy it, Norma said. Anyway, I’m the family oddball. Always was.

Norma was plain, short of stature, and too broad of face. Yet, because that face with its keen roving eyes was so extraordinarily alert and intelligent, many a person, seeing her for the first time, had felt a kind of shock.

You are not an oddball, Amanda said firmly.

Oh, yes. Even my brother, who really loves me—really, really does—even he says I am because I’d rather read than eat. Anyhow, enough of me. Have you decided, Amanda? Are you staying up here or going back south for good?

"I don’t know. I can’t seem to make up my mind. One thing makes me mad, though. Nobody ever told me that a B.A. means almost nothing anymore, not my kind of a B.A., anyway. If I knew something definite, the way you know Latin, for instance, I could walk right into a teaching job, at least at a private school like yours where you don’t absolutely have to have a degree in education. As it is, without graduate school, I don’t see what there is for me. Amanda sighed. So I might as well flip a coin. Spend the summer scorching here in the Missouri drought, or else cross the Mississippi and sweat in the soggy heat at home while I look for some kind of a job, though God knows what."

Cecile reminded her, No matter what you decide, you’ll have to come back up here for my wedding. You’ve got to be a bridesmaid. I’m paying the airfare and buying the dress, so no argument about it.

Come stay for a couple of weeks with me, Norma urged. I’ve a hunch that might help you solve your problem, if you know what I mean.

No, I don’t know what you mean. Amanda had a way of discarding at will, or else retaining, her native accent. Now, widening her eyes with puzzled innocence, she recrossed the Mississippi. What d’y’all mean?

Norma laughed. You know perfectly well what. My brother Larry is more than a little bit crazy about you. He thinks you’re absolutely beautiful.

Well, so she is, Cecile said stoutly.

Your brother Larry doesn’t know a thing about me. I’ve been in your house only twice, for two weeks each time. What can you tell about a person in those few days?

You can tell plenty, Cecile declared, still stoutly. Why, Peter and I both knew after the first three days, right here on this campus. Peter Mack, the senior, and Cecile Newman, the freshman! It was all unheard of, and still we both knew, no matter what anybody said.

Amanda studied her fingernails. Shell pink ovals with white tips in the French style, they were beautifully cared for by herself. She was thinking of Larry’s latest letter that had come yesterday. By now, if she had saved all the letters, she would have more than a dozen of them, but she had not saved them. Thoughtful and quite correct, they were also far too frank and effusive. To be admired is one thing, but this was so sudden as to be absurd. And yet, here was Cecile with her tale of three days.

Obviously Amanda was thinking, Cecile saw, so she changed the subject. Weren’t we going to have somebody take our picture downstairs in front of the house before we leave? she asked.

Norma said quickly, Yes, but not today, and not a full-length picture. I need to press a long skirt first.

Automatically the two friends glanced at, and as quickly away from, Norma’s legs. Shapeless and thick, the ankles measured the same as the knees. Held together, they were almost as wide as somebody’s small waist. These legs were the bane of Norma’s existence, bane being poison; in a way, they had poisoned her life—or she had allowed them to do so.

In elementary school, the boys called me piano legs, until Larry, my brother, was old enough to beat them up for doing it.

I have no time now, anyway, Amanda said. Sundale’s Coffee Shop awaits me, she mocked. Will you be stopping at Sundale’s later, either of you?

You’re sure we don’t bother you when one of us comes in? Cecile asked gently.

No, why should you? Come and admire me in my baby blue uniform.

All right. If I can get through some more of this packing, I will. But just look.

The small space, cramped to start with, was jammed with possessions. Cecile’s and Norma’s rooms—or cubicles—were heaped with clothing and books, all seemingly flung at random on the beds. More books were stacked in boxes on the floor. Luggage waited to be filled; it was fine luggage, leather and tweed, Amanda saw, estimating its cost.

Oh, well, I’ll save some éclairs for you, she said. If you don’t come, I’ll bring them back and put them in the refrigerator.

Suddenly I feel so sorry for her, Cecile exclaimed when the door had closed. She never seemed to be the kind of person you’d feel sorry for. In all the time we’ve known her, she never once complained about anything. Today is the first time.

She’s been wearing a mask all the time, haven’t you realized that?

"Do you think so? But she seems to get so much pleasure out of every little thing. It’s almost contagious to be with her."

No, no, no! What is a little thing to you is a big thing to her. She must have been awfully deprived. I can’t believe you haven’t seen that in her.

Probably, said Cecile with a small rueful smile, I haven’t because I’ve been too spoiled all my life.

You’re the least spoiled person, Cecile, given your circumstances. You’re merely inexperienced.

Well, I certainly know that it can’t be exactly easy to be on a scholarship work-study program, but so many people do it, that it doesn’t seem quite so—

She has more on her mind than that, Norma said, interrupting. Things must be pretty bad at home, and being up here can only have made them seem worse. She’s very torn between going back or getting away for good. I get hints of it when she’s at my house, but only hints.

Strange. So beautiful, and so smart. To look at her, you’d think she had everything.

When Sundale’s closed at eleven o’clock, Amanda walked out into a clear, soft night. Most of the employees turned toward the avenue, there to catch the day’s last bus for the long ride into the city; only one young woman, who lived in the town, took Amanda’s direction toward the university. She was considerably younger than Amanda, only a senior in high school, yet in these fifteen-minute walks to the spot where their ways parted, they had developed a kind of intimacy. Perhaps it was the quiet neighborhood of sleeping houses and the solitary path on which their footsteps rang that had encouraged the intimacy.

I see your friends didn’t come tonight, said Terry.

No. They’re still packing up. Me, I can practically carry back all my stuff in my own two hands.

You going to be sorry to leave?

In a way. In another way, I sometimes think I’m sorry I ever came.

You aren’t! Gee, if I could go there, I’d give anything, even though I’m glad I’m going to State U. It’s half the price, maybe less. Gee, so much seems to depend on money, doesn’t it?

Under the sky’s weak night light, Amanda glimpsed the girl’s upturned face. Its innocence was not four years, but forty years younger than her own. And with a feeling almost maternal, she said gently, You’ll do all right, Terry.

The fact was that this girl very probably would. One Saturday afternoon, at Terry’s urging, Amanda had gone over to visit her at home. The house was small and simple, but beautifully cared for by Terry’s father, who was a carpenter, and by her mother, who worked in a pastry shop and kept the neat kitchen fragrant with good cooking. The little brother had been doing his homework at a table in the front room, while a fox terrier lay in his basket under the table. Leaving the house that day, Amanda had looked back. For a moment she had had a strange feeling, a pang of envy, as if a magic circle had been drawn around that house and all the people in it.

Terry was curious. However did you get a scholarship? You must have been head of the class.

Well, I was. I had A’s all through, but all A’s aren’t equal to each other, you know. There wasn’t much competition at home. Here, I got B-pluses, and believe me, I had to work hard to get them.

Terry, still curious, had another question. How did you get to room with those two girls?

I was in three of Norma’s classes. We got talking, and we liked each other. Then when Norma and Cecile got those rooms, they asked to have me assigned to the third bedroom.

Who’s the pretty one with the dark hair and the plaid pleated skirt? Sort of athletic looking and preppie?

That’s Cecile. She is athletic. She plays lacrosse.

What’s the matter with the other one’s legs?

It’s something about her glands, Cecile told me. Pituitary, or thyroid, or something.

With legs like those, you’d want to die, wouldn’t you?

I don’t know. I only know she’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.

Oh. There came a pause, and then another question. Why did you say you’re sorry you ever came here?

When I have the right answer to that, I’ll tell you, Terry. Here’s my street. Get home safely.

What indeed was the right answer? Two forces raged, one of them the longing for home, and the other a need to stay away from home and start another life. The conflict was sometimes almost physically exhausting, not the least so because of the effort to keep one’s trouble to oneself. She had revealed too much today. It must not happen again.

All was dark and quiet except for a dim light in the hall when she went back to the dorm. Tiptoeing into the closet-size kitchen, she put the éclairs into the refrigerator, closing the door without a sound, so as not to disturb the sleepers. Sometimes when she caught herself tiptoeing, there came a sense of being, in a vague way, an intruder here, even though there was no sensible reason for feeling like that. Taken in one piece, this last year in these rooms had been wonderful. She would remember it as a collage of snow sliding on the windowpanes, of music on Norma’s CD player, of food and drink, pretzels and chips, beer, and a crowding of feminine voices. It had been a curiously feminine time; Norma had no boyfriend; Cecile, wearing Peter’s diamond on her left hand, most certainly wanted none; I, thought Amanda, had no time for boyfriends because when I wasn’t studying to keep up, I was working every weekend and skipping half my vacations to earn something at Sundale’s. No, you would never think that a year spent that way could still have been so wonderful. And that in spite of all, it could be so painful to leave it behind.

Restless now, not ready for sleep although it was midnight and she had been rushing around since five o’clock, Amanda went slowly through the nightly routine, repairing chipped polish on her nails, spreading lotion on her feet, and caring for her teeth, which were strong and even.

You have a short upper lip, Norma, who noticed details, had remarked, so your teeth show when you smile. You’re lucky that they’re so perfect.

Luck. Yes, she had had a good deal of it after all. She would never have been here if she hadn’t come from Mill River and been a little bit—no, quite a good deal—different from the rest of her class. She was probably the only one in it who loved books so much. She was her family’s oddball, as Norma was hers. And if the principal hadn’t been an old-time college friend of some important people on the faculty here …

Yes, and besides all this, she had made these two friends, the first real ones she had ever had. In a way she felt closer to them than to her own sisters, although she hated to think so. But it was true, and it had nothing to do with any good things that Norma and Cecile had done for her.

Still, sometimes people think what they want to think. Isn’t that so? Amanda asked herself. Perhaps if Cecile hadn’t done so many warmhearted things, like giving me that sweater—

A little blue treasure, it lay in its original glossy box on top of her suitcase. It was a duplicate of one of Cecile’s, which she had innocently admired. Desire for it must have been written on her face, for on her birthday, Cecile had produced that glossy box with a ribbon bow on it. The ribbon bow was still saved, tucked now under the sweater.

They were from another world, those two, Cecile and Norma, friends from their kindergarten year at some private country day school that, in the snapshots at least, was apparently surrounded by lawns. Some might wonder, judging by outward appearances, what Cecile might possess in common with Norma. But anyone who knew them both would understand. For in some ways, Norma was extraordinary. She had quite literally a photographic memory. You would have to see it to believe, Amanda thought now. She could scan a page in a textbook and then repeat the whole page. She played the piano very well, was witty, and could be amusing. Perhaps you might say that all these gifts were compensation for her miserable legs. Who knew?

But might it not be also, Amanda reflected, that Cecile was attracted to Norma’s way of life? Cecile always came to town to visit when Amanda was there; living on a farm fifteen miles out of town, she was probably glad to leave it whenever she could. Norma lived on a fine suburban street in a marvelous house with a lovely garden in the yard and a guest room with its own private bath. There was even a woman, Elsa, who kept the house and did the cooking. Amanda had loved it there….

My brother’s a little bit crazy about you.

He was nice enough, very calm and friendly. A large man, seeming older than twenty-six, with hair already thinning and a square face with brown eyes like Norma’s. Neither one of them had their father’s cool, severe good looks. His name was Lawrence. Lawrence Balsan.

Larry hated being a junior. One night on the porch he had confided in Amanda, and told her so. He would gladly have used his middle name, Daniel, were it not that his father liked the sound of Lawrence, Junior. That seemed to be a foolish concession on Larry’s part, unless you reckoned the advantages of not angering a father whose name was on signs scattered all over the county: Balsan Real Estate.

The company had three offices. Larry ran two of them. Five years ago he had been graduated summa cum laude from this same university. Highest praise! Norma was so proud of her brother that she might have been his mother. Well, that was easy enough to explain: Their mother had died, their father was remote, and the children had clung together.

Brushing until her scalp tingled, Amanda reflected. People were so endlessly fascinating with their motives and quirks. What was it about herself, for instance, that had caused Larry Balsan to fall in love with her? Surely he must know dozens of pretty girls.

Yet surely, too, if she wanted, she could catch him. It was easy to tell when a man was teetering on the verge. But she really, really—as Norma would say—didn’t want him. Those few embraces on the porch swing had been proof enough. She had felt nothing, and she wanted to feel everything.

At noon a few days later, Amanda stepped out of the bus into the pouring sunshine of central Mississippi. Along the length of Main Street, there were not more than a dozen parked cars and a not much greater number of people on the sidewalks. Four years ago she would most likely have recognized—or been recognized by—most of them, but long absences between brief vacations had rendered her almost a stranger. She walked on, not even glancing at the shops, for she knew by heart what was in each window and what had always been in them: the butcher’s hams, the beauty parlor’s array of toiletries, the grocery’s canned goods stacked in pyramids, the shirts and jeans in Ben’s Dry Goods—all unchanged. The town dozed. It was, in its torpor, extraordinarily ugly except perhaps for the sapphire sky above it. There was nothing here to give greeting or to please the eye. She had never noticed that before.

Her bulging suitcase, which needed new wheels that she hadn’t had time to get, weighed her down on one side; she had to change hands after every few hundred steps. Over her arm dangled the lightweight carry-on that was Cecile’s and Norma’s going-away present. Striped in black and white, it was so pretty that her glance had kept returning to it all through this long day. In it were a book for the plane and the three bus changes that had brought her home; in it also was her diploma.

The family had no idea of what that piece of paper signified. They knew only that it was a proud thing to own, since most people they knew did not own one. And, trudging along through the heat that sweated her shirt onto her back, she felt how sad it was that they had not even been able to see the grandeur of the faculty procession, the tasseled caps, the gowns, and the insignia; nor had they heard the brasses ring out Pomp and Circumstance, nor heard her name called as she stood to receive this proud piece of paper.

Too expensive. The plane fare was, and the hotel was, and the time off from the shirt factory where her sister Lorena and her father both worked was also too expensive. Yet, if Dad hadn’t fallen and shattered his thighbone that week, he and Mom would have scraped together the bus fare and come.

In a spot of shade, she had to stop and sit down on a boulder to rest her trembling arms. Here were the familiar crossroads. The factory was on the other side of town, going back where she had just come from. The school was on the right, and home was two miles straight ahead. It seemed to her that everything looked gray. Apparently, it had not rained for a long time; the road, though tarred, was also gray. And the houses, so many of them in need of paint, as was her own, were also gray.

Mixed emotions were what she had. And she said it aloud: Mixed emotions. The here and the there. The here, where you could be yourself, not wondering what impression you were making.

When you are beautiful, Norma had once confided in a wistful moment, you don’t have to wonder what people are thinking about you.

But Norma was quite, quite mistaken. There was much more to it than being beautiful. What impression, for instance, would Amanda make on her father’s boss or on his son? A fleeting one. Two seconds’ worth, she might be sure. To begin with, that assumed a meeting which, since such people generally lived far from the town in a house with a columned veranda, would never happen in the first place. They came from different worlds. You had to be realistic.

On the ground beside her feet were the suitcase and the carry-on. All at once, it occurred to her that the ground was dirty. And in fear that she might have damaged the carry-on, she picked it up to look. Thank goodness it wasn’t soiled. In it was a collapsible umbrella that she had bought to protect it in case of a shower. The blue sweater was in it, too; this was for safety’s sake, in case the suitcase should be lost. All her best possessions, the silver charm bracelet, the flowered summer bathrobe, and the soft, fur-lined gloves—no use for them here in this part of the country—were gifts from Norma and Cecile. Mostly, they were from Norma, who seemed to be so much better off than Cecile.

She stood up. There was only one more bend in the road, where, under the live oak, one of her sisters would be waiting for her. They would have consulted the bus schedule and timed the walk home, as the family always did whenever there was no car available to fetch anyone from town. There had never been enough cars for so large a family, with so many going to jobs in different directions. We’re certainly not what you would call poor, Amanda reflected now, yet there had never been enough of anything.

There indeed and at last was Lorena with the large, cheerful smile on her still childish face. And with glad cries they rushed to meet.

Lorena’s room contained a bed and a crib for the baby. They had had to bring in a cot for Amanda, since Tommy, now grown too old to share a room with another of the little girls, had had to move in with Hank and Bub. The house, especially since Lorena had come back with her three children, was bursting at the seams. There was no air in the room now, for it had begun to rain hard and the window was closed. Amanda had not had a bath this evening because Dad, her brothers, her youngest sister Baby, and Lorena’s children had been using the bathroom until it was so late that she was too tired to take one.

It began to storm. A crash of thunder shook the house, and the baby awoke. In the dim light Amanda could see Lorena getting up to hold him. As he wailed, she crooned and rocked him. It had to be at least two o’clock by now, and Lorena got up every morning at half-past five to get breakfast ready before leaving for the shirt factory with Dad. It would have been impossibly harder for her if Mom had not been able to stay home and take care of the other children.

You look different, Lorena had said immediately when they met.

In what way?

I don’t know. Just different since you were here at Christmas. You always were different, Amanda, but now you’re more so.

Well, you look the same. Still pretty.

But it was not true. Lorena had puffs under her eyes and hollows in her cheeks; she was too thin; she had aged. Aged, at twenty-seven! A lump of pity stuck in Amanda’s throat.

Of course, you didn’t have to be like this simply because you lived in Mill River. You didn’t need to marry a ne’er-do-well while both of you were in a state of ridiculous, thoughtless infatuation. You didn’t need to have more children than you could afford, as Dad and Mom had done. It all depended upon how you, as a thinking person, made your choices.

Now, lying awake on the thin, lumpy mattress, Amanda’s mind wandered back to the supper table where, a few hours ago, she had been enveloped by a loving welcome. Exactly as she had expected, they were taking it for granted that she had come home to stay with them.

We need to get to know you again, Dad had complained. You only came for a week last summer and went right away up there to that college.

The grievance was plain to hear. As gently as she could, Amanda had replied, I needed to work, Dad. The job paid pretty well, with tips and a free dinner—I had to go back.

With that diploma you’ve got, you could get a nice job here, Mom had said. Her forehead was marked with anxious wrinkles, and her voice was plaintive. She had made several trips to the stove, refilling their plates from the pot in hand, and with each time had repeated herself. A nice job in an office at the high school. I’ll bet you would get it if you asked, Amanda. I’ll bet you would.

Then Dad: Maybe even in the office at the plant. Hey, you and Lorena and me going off to work together, me and Lorena in our work duds and you trotting upstairs in your high heels with diamonds in your ears! He chuckled. How about that?

Yeah, but don’t marry some bum and don’t come back with no kids like Lorena’s. Her youngest brother, Bub, had a way of shouting even when he was merely saying something like Pass the butter. Home is bustin’ at the seams now.

Lorena, with the baby on her lap, leaned over to wipe brown gravy from Dottie’s chin. Plainly, she was too tired to give Bub an answer.

Mom soothed, and worried. Don’t talk like that, Bub. Any girl of ours can bring her babies home anytime, if she ever needs to.

Long as they’re as pretty as these three, Dad said. Look at them. Goin’ to put them all in the movies, that’s what. Then we’ll all quit working.

Us, too, Mom said. You’ll sing, Dad, and I’ll dance.

That they could make jokes and be jolly here! Yet, here is where she had grown up and gotten used to it all, to the smell of fried grease and the littered, untidy kitchen. A person could very likely get used to all of it again, if she had to. And get used to the town, too, where nothing much ever happened, or ever would. Tomorrow would be like today, the day after would be the same, and the day after that… She had always been out of place here and was now still more out of place.

A desolate rain beat on the window. And Amanda, as the night wore on, had a strange sensation of being disconnected, of floating perhaps, with a fearful need to grasp something solid. It seemed to her at last that the only solid substance with which she had any contact was her friendship with Norma and Cecile. A family like Norma’s especially—never mind her brother—would have a golden key that would open many doors.

Long before the dull, rainy dawn, Amanda had made her decision. Norma had invited her to spend a few weeks at her house before Cecile’s wedding. So, then, she would stay home here until next Monday, would with some pangs of sharp regret kiss them all good-bye, and would leave for Michigan.

CHAPTER TWO

The porch swing creaked and jerked as it swung. Larry had an annoying habit of propelling it too high with his feet, and Amanda, sitting beside him, wished he would stop. After the third week here, these evenings were starting to produce a tension within her. There was a sense of expectancy in the