Chapter 6 six

six I like Ray Stratton. He may not be a genius or a great football player (he's a slow passer), but he's been my roommate and loyal friend.It was hard enough for the poor man for most of our "senior" year.Where do you tell him to study whenever he sees a tie on the doorknob of our room (the traditional sign for "moving inside")?It is true that he does not study very hard, but sometimes he has to hold his feet.Even if he could use the department reading room, or the Lamont Library, or even go to the Pietta Club to read.But there were a lot of weekend nights when Jenny and I decided to spend the night together against the school rules, and where was poor Ray going to sleep then?He had to run around to find a place to make do for the night, such as lying on the sofa in the next room, etc. (assuming that the friend in the next room doesn't use it himself).Good thing football season was over by then.Besides, I would have made such a sacrifice for him.

But what did Ray get in return?Back then, every time I succeeded in love, I would tell him all the details.So far, his customary inalienable right as a roommate has not been recognized, and I have never honestly admitted that Jenny is my lover.I just told him when we needed to occupy the room, or how, and that was it.Let Stratton think whatever he likes in his heart. "Look, Barrett, are you fucking up yet?" he asked several times. "Raymond, as a friend, I ask you not to ask." "But, fuck it, tell me, Barrett, how many afternoons, how many Friday nights and Saturday nights it's been! You must have fucked it up."

"Then why do you ask me again, Ray?" "Because it's not normal." "What's wrong?" "This situation isn't normal at all, Al. I mean, it's never been like this. I mean, it doesn't make sense to keep information from my old Ray like this, with no details. Not normal. Mom Yes, what kind of magic does she have, so powerful?'" "Listen to me, Ray, mature love..." "love?" "You don't speak like that, like it's a dirty word." "Your age? Love? Damn, I'm really worried about you, brother."

"Worried about what? Worried about my insanity?" "I'm worried about whether you will be successful as a bachelor. I'm worried about whether you can be free. I'm worried about your life!" Poor Ray.He really didn't just talk. "Worried you're going to lose a roommate, aren't you?" "Nonsense, speaking of it, I have one more! Isn't she here all day long?" I'm getting dressed for a concert, so I need to end this conversation quickly. "Don't worry, Raymond. We'll take a flat like that in New York. The girls change every night. Let's have a good time!"

"You want me to take it easy, Barrett. That girl knocked you out." "It's all right," I replied. "Don't be nervous." I adjusted my tie and walked towards the door.Stratton was still skeptical. "Hi Ollie!" "Ok?" "You've got to do it, haven't you?" "Fuck you, Stratton!" I didn't go to this concert with Gianni; I went to see her play.The Bach Orchestra performed the Fifth Brandenburg Concerto in Danster Hall, with Gianni as the clavichord solo.Of course, I've heard Janney play the piano many times, but I've never heard her perform in a group or in public.God, I'm so proud.I really can't find anything wrong with her playing.

"I can't believe how great you are," I said to her after the concert. "It shows that's all you know about music, preppy." "I know nothing less." We are in the courtyard of Danster Hall.It was an afternoon in April, and the weather made it feel like spring was finally coming to Cambridge.Her fellow musicians were all walking around (among them Martin Davidson, who occasionally dropped "bombs" of invisible hate in my direction), so I couldn't start a keyboard panel discussion with Janney. We walked across Memorial Drive and walked along the river.

"Barrett, stop being silly, okay? I'm okay, but not great. Not even 'All Ivy' level. Just okay. That's it, OK?" Since she wants to belittle herself, what can I argue with? "OK. You're good at it. I'm just saying, you gotta keep at it, don't let up." "My God, who says I don't want to go on? I'm going to study with Nadia Boulanger, don't you know?" 1 Nadia Boulanger (1887-1979), French female composer, conductor, professor at the Paris Conservatoire. What the hell is she talking about?Seeing the way she stopped talking abruptly, I realized that this was something she didn't want to mention.

"Who did you study under?" I asked. "Nadia Boulanger. A famous music teacher. In Paris." She said the last word rather quickly. "In Paris?" I asked, with a rather drawn-out tone. "She rarely takes American students. I was lucky. I also got a good scholarship." "Jennifer, are you going to Paris?" "I've never been to Europe. I really want to see it as soon as possible." I grab her by the shoulders.I may have been a bit rough then, that's hard to say. "Hey, how long have you been keeping this on your mind?"

For the first time in his life, Jenny didn't dare to look at me for four days. "Ollie, don't be stupid," she said. "This is inevitable." "What can't avoid the rabbit?" "We always go our separate ways when we graduate. You're going to law school—" "Wait a minute, what are you talking about?" Now she meets my eyes.Her expression was gloomy. "Ollie, you're a candidate millionaire, and I'm worth nothing in society." I still held on tightly to her shoulders. "So what? Why bother with parting ways? Now we are together, aren't we happy?"

"Ollie, don't be stupid," she said again. "Harvard is like Santa's treasure bag. You can stuff all kinds of weird toys in it. But after the holidays, people will shake you out..." She hesitated. "...Where did you come from, and where do you have to go back?" "You mean, you're going to Cranston, Rhode Island, to bake pancakes?" I was in a hurry and spoke without regard for propriety. "Make pastries," she said. "Don't make fun of my father." "Then don't leave me, Jenny. I beg you." "Do you still want my scholarship? Can I still go to Paris, which I haven't been to since my mother's womb?"

"Is our marriage still going?" I said this, but at first glance, I couldn't believe it really came from me. "Who said there was going to be a wedding?" "Me. I'm talking right now." "You want to marry me?" "right." She raised her head a little, and without smiling, she just asked: "What's the reason?" I stared straight into her eyes. "Of course I have my reasons," I said. "Oh," she said. "That's a very good reason." She took my arm (not tugging at my sleeve this time), and we walked along the river.Seriously, we don't need to say anything more at this moment.