Apt Pupil

3

Todd was in the kitchen of his house, making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You got to the kitchen by going up half a dozen redwood steps to a raised area that gleamed with chrome and Formica. His mother’s electric typewriter had been going steadily ever since Todd had gotten home from school. She was typing a master’s thesis for a grad student. The grad student had short hair, wore thick glasses, and looked like a creature from outer space, in Todd’s humble opinion. The thesis was on the effect of fruitflies in the Salinas Valley after World War II, or some good shit like that. Now her typewriter stopped and she came out of her office.

Todd-baby,’ she greeted him.

‘Monica-baby,’ he hailed back, amiably enough.

His mother wasn’t a bad-looking chick for thirty-six, Todd thought; blonde hair that was streaked ash in a couple of places, tall, shapely, now dressed in dark red shorts and a sheer blouse of a warm whiskey colour — the blouse was casually knotted below her breasts, putting her flat, unlined midriff on show. A typewriter eraser was tucked into her hair, which had been pinned carelessly back with a turquoise clip.

‘So how’s school?’ she asked him, coming up the steps into the kitchen. She brushed his lips casually with hers and then slid onto one of the stools in front of the breakfast counter.

‘School’s cool.’

‘Going to be on the honour roll again?’

‘Sure.’ Actually, he thought his grades might slip a notch this first quarter. He had been spending a lot of time with Dussander, and when he wasn’t actually with the old Kraut, he was thinking about the things Dussander had told him. Once or twice he had dreamed about the things Dussander had told him. But it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

‘Apt pupil,’ she said, ruffling his shaggy blond hair. ‘How’s that sandwich?’

‘Good,’ he said.

‘Would you make me one and bring it into my office?"

‘Can’t,’ he said, getting up. ‘I promised Mr Denker I’d come over and read to him for an hour or so.’

‘Are you still on Robinson Crusoe?’

‘Nope.’ He showed her the spine of a thick book he had bought in a junk shop for twenty cents. ‘Tom Jones.’

‘Ye gods and little fishes! It’ll take you the whole school-year to get through that, Todd-baby. Couldn’t you at least find an abridged edition, like with Crusoe?’

‘Probably, but he wanted to hear all of this one. He said so.’

‘Oh.’ She looked at him for a moment, then hugged him. It was rare for her to be so demonstrative, and it made Todd a little uneasy. ‘You’re a peach to be taking so much of your spare time to read to him. Your father and I think it’s just… just exceptional.’

Todd cast his eyes down modestly.

‘And to not want to tell anybody,’ she said. ‘Hiding your light under a bushel.’

‘Oh, the kids I hang around with — they’d probably think I was some kind of weirdo,’ Todd said, smiling modestly down at the floor. ‘All that good shit.’

‘Don’t say that,’ she admonished absently. Then: ‘Do you think Mr Denker would like to come over and have dinner with us some night?’

‘Maybe,’ Todd said vaguely. ‘Listen, I gotta put an egg in my shoe and beat it.’

‘Okay. Supper at six-thirty. Don’t forget.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Your father’s got to work late so it’ll just be me and thee again, okay?’

‘Crazy, baby.’

She watched him go with a fond smile, hoping there was nothing in Tom Jones he shouldn’t be reading; he was only thirteen. She didn’t suppose there was. He was growing up in a society where magazines like Penthouse were available to anyone with a dollar and a quarter, or to any kid who could reach up to the top shelf of the magazine rack and grab a quick peek before the clerk could shout for him to put that up and get lost. In a society that seemed to believe most of all in the creed of hump thy neighbour, she didn’t think there could be much in a book two hundred years old to screw up Todd’s head — although she supposed the old man might get off on it a little. And as Richard liked to say, for a kid the whole world’s a laboratory. You have to let them poke around in it. And if the kid in question has a healthy home life and loving parents, hell be all the stronger for having knocked around a few strange corners.

And there went the healthiest kid she knew, pedalling up the street on his Schwinn. We did okay by the lad, she thought, turning to make her sandwich. Damned if we didn’t do okay.