In One Person

It was as if the details of
any
sexual adventure were already known to him, and he was bored by them. For a moment, Kittredge looked surprised that he was holding me—or perhaps repulsed. He suddenly put me down. “You know, Nymph, they’re going to make you talk to Harlow—you know that, don’t you?” he asked.
    “Yes,” I said. “I was wondering what I should say to him.”
    “I’m glad you asked me,” Kittredge said. “Here’s how to handle Harlow,” Kittredge began. There was something oddly soothing and (at the same time) indifferent in his voice; in the way Kittredge coached me, I felt that our roles had been reversed. I’d been the Goethe and Rilke expert, tutoring him through the tricky parts. Now here was Kittredge, tutoring me.
    At Favorite River Academy, when you were caught committing an act of carnal folly, you were interrogated by Dr. Harlow; Kittredge, who (I presumed) had a wealth of experience with carnal acts, was an expert at dealing with Dr. Harlow.
    I listened intently to Kittredge’s advice; I hung (as they say) on his every word. It was painful to hear, at times, because Kittredge insisted on spelling out for me the details of his sexual misadventure with Elaine. “Forgive the specific example, Nymph, but just so you know how Harlow operates,” Kittredge would say, before launching into his short-term hearing loss—the result of how
loud
Elaine Hadley’s orgasms were.
    “What Harlow wants to hear from you is how
sorry
you are, Nymph. He’s expecting you to
repent
. What you give him, instead, is nonstop titillation. Harlow will try to make you feel
guilty
,” Kittredge told me. “Don’t buy into that shit, Nymph—just pretend you’re reciting a pornographic novel.”
    “I see,” I said. “No remorse, right?”
    “No remorse, Nymph—that’s exactly right. Mind you,” Kittredge said, in that eerily changed voice—the one I was afraid of. “Mind you, Nymph—I think what you’ve done is
disgusting
. But I applaud you for having the courage to do it, and you absolutely have a
right
to do it!”
    Then, as suddenly as he’d swept me into his arms on the dormitory stairs, he was gone—he was disappearing down the third-floor hall, with those admiring boys in the doorways all watching him run. It had been classic Kittredge. You could be careful, but you could never be careful enough with him; only Kittredge knew where the conversation would end. I often had the feeling with him that he knew the end of our conversation before he started.
    It was then that the door to our faculty apartment opened; both Richard Abbott and my mother were standing there, as if they’d been standing on the other side of the door for quite a while.
    “We heard voices, Bill,” Richard said.
    “I heard Kittredge’s voice—I would know his voice anywhere,” my mother said.
    I looked all around me in the suddenly deserted hall.
    “Then you must be hearing things,” I told my mom.
    “I heard Kittredge’s voice, too, Bill—he sounded rather
passionate
,” Richard said.
    “You should both get your ears checked—have your hearing tested or something,” I told them. I walked past them into the living room of our apartment.
    “I know you’re seeing Dr. Harlow tomorrow, Bill,” Richard said. “Perhaps we should talk about that.”
    “I know everything I’m going to say to Dr. Harlow, Richard—in fact, the details are pretty fresh,” I told him.
    “You should be careful what you say to Dr. Harlow, Billy!” my mother exclaimed.
    “What do I have to be careful about?” I asked her. “I don’t have anything to hide—not anymore.”
    “Just take it easy, Bill—” Richard started to say, but I wouldn’t let him finish.
    “They didn’t kick out Kittredge for having sex, did they?” I asked Richard. “Are you afraid they’re going to kick me out for
not
having sex?” I asked my mother.
    “Don’t be silly—” my mom started to say.
    “Then what
are
you afraid of?” I asked her. “One day I’m going to have all the sex I want—the way I want it. Are you afraid of that?”
    She didn’t answer me, but I could see that she
was
afraid of my having all the sex I wanted, the way I wanted it. This time, Richard didn’t jump into the conversation; he didn’t try to help her out. As I went to my bedroom and closed the door, I was thinking that Richard Abbott probably knew something I
didn’t
know.
    I lay down on my bed and tried to imagine everything that I might