“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Conrad’s expression changed, going from apathy to worry. “Minnie, don’t do this,” he said, quickly stepping in front of her and attempting to pull her aside. “If I get another write-up, then I can’t live on campus in the fall, and the commute from my parents’ place is a killer. Please?”
He smiled as if they were good pals, which they were not, but whenever Conrad Carter wanted something, he thought he could get it with a smile. She’d seen him wheedle his way out of multiple write-ups with a little charm. He’d even charmed her, once. She brushed his fingers off her arm and stood firmly in place.
“That’s not my problem.”
“Minnie—”
“Get your things,” she told the woman while staring at Conrad’s narrowed eyes. He reeked of booze. She had no idea how many beers they’d had, but it had clearly not been one.
“This is bullshit, Minnie.”
“Don’t call me Minnie.”
“Fine, MinervaCunt-reras,” he said snidely.
She turned around and indicated the door to the young woman, who was clutching her purse with her mouth open, glancing at Conrad, then at her. She finally made up her mind and stepped out into the hallway.
Minerva began walking, but he followed her. Again, he tried to clasp her arm. Her hand slid into her jacket pocket, gripping the flashlight tight. She had that terrible split second of panic in which she did not know what shape a man’s rage might take.
“I’m sorry,” he whined. “I’m drunk, I’m sorry.”
“Move your car first thing in the morning,” she said, her voice hard, her grip on the flashlight not slackening.
Downstairs, she picked up the phone by the entrance and dialed the taxi company. They came quickly, thank God. After the taxi took off, she began walking to her dorm. She stopped before she ventured onto the path and turned to look at Briar Hall. The lights in Conrad’s suite were all on and she saw his silhouette, standing by the window, facing in her direction.
She flicked on the flashlight and walked through Briar’s Commons. A faint breeze swayed the branches of the trees. She shivered and thought that she should have called Hideo and asked him to walk her back to her dorm. For once it was unpleasant being alone.
Briar’s Commons was merely a collection of old trees and moss, but as she breathed in the cool air, she felt uneasy and looked over her shoulder more than once to make sure she was not being followed.
Once back at Ledge House, she thought to organize her notes as she’d planned, but instead she curled up on a couch and satquietly. Eventually, she phoned Hideo and told him about what had happened with Conrad and asked him to do the second set of rounds at eleven with her. Hideo instead told her to take it easy, he’d do the circuit alone so she could slip into bed early.
She slept well and, in the morning, fried an egg for breakfast. She put her tape recorder, the notebook, and her camera in her backpack. She was hoping to take pictures of Virginia’s painting and her drawings.
Minerva stepped out into the summer morning to await the arrival of the taxi that would take her to the Willows, only to discover that someone had painted two long black lines on the front door of the house.
Minerva stared at the lines.What the hell?
It didn’t look like paint. It was more like tar, sticky and with a foul smell. She stepped back a few paces, repulsed by the sight and scent of the marks.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
She rushed into the house, phoned Hideo to tell him about the marks—maybe he could reach the handyman and have the mess cleaned—then ran back outside and stared at the door.
In October some kids had egged the dorm for kicks. But that mischief had not provoked the malaise that caused her to stare at the door. There was no writing, just the lines, and yet she tried in vain to make sense of them, feeling this was a message she ought to decode.
The sound of a klaxon made her whirl around in surprise, and the taxi driver waved at her. Minerva slipped into the cab but turned around in the back seat to look at the door as the vehicle began to move. The black upon the white door was like a cavity in a tooth: the announcement of decay upon a pristine landscape.
1934: 2
The boy showed upat our dorm two weeks before Halloween. The kitchen floorboards needed repairs and in came the burly, gray-haired handyman who worked on campus, followed by a lean young fellow in overalls and a flat cap.
Ginny, being a naturally friendly girl, offered the men a glass of lemonade and chatted with them, with the result that she learned the young man’s name was Santiago. He was new to this job and had worked at a textile mill before being laid off.
For the past few months, the number of businesses with blue eagle signs from the National Recovery Administration on their windows had increased, giving us hope that the worst of the Depression was over, but the situation was still dire, and I imagine the young man was drawing barely a couple of dollars a week as an occasional handyman.
