His room was on the third floor, and Raphael was puffing slightly as he reached the top of the stairs. The door at the end of the hall was open, and billowing clouds of smoke were rolling out. Raphaels stomach turned cold. Everything had gone too well up until now. He went down the hall and into the smoke.
A young man with olive skin and sleek black hair brushed by him carrying a large vase filled with water. Dont just stand there, man, he said to Raphael in a rich baritone voice. Help me put this son of a bitch out. He rushed into the room, bent slightly, and threw the water into a small fireplace that seemed to be the source of all the smoke. The fire hissed spitefully, and clouds of steam boiled out to mingle blindingly with the smoke.
Damn! the dark-haired man swore, and started back for more water.
Raphael saw the problem immediately. Wait, he said. He set down his suitcases, stepped across to the evilly fuming fireplace, and pulled the brass handle sticking out of the bricks just below the mantelpiece. The damper opened with a clank, and the fireplace immediately stopped belching smoke into the room. Its a good idea to open the chimney before you build the fire, he suggested.
The other man stared at the fireplace for a moment, and then he threw back his head and began to laugh. Theres a certain logic there, I guess, he admitted. He collapsed on the bed near the door, still laughing.
Raphael crossed the room and opened the window. The smoke rushed out past him.
Its a good thing you came by when you did, the dark-haired man said. I was well on my way to being smoked like a Virginia ham. He was somewhat shorter than Raphael, and more slender. His olive skin and black hair suggested a Mediterranean background, Italian perhaps or Spanish, but there was no Latin softness in his dark eyes. They were as hard as obsidian and watchful, even wary. His clothing was expensivetailored, Raphael surmised, definitely tailoredand his wristwatch was not so much a timepiece as it was a statement.
Then the young man looked at Raphael as if seeing him for the first time, and something peculiar happened to his face. His eyes widened, and a strange pallor turned his olive complexion slightly green. His eyes narrowed, seeming almost to glitter. It was as if a shock of recognition had passed through him. You must be Edwards, right? His expression seemed tight somehow.
Sorry, Raphael replied. The names Taylor. I thought you might be my roomie. No. Im two doors up the hall.
Oh, wellthe stranger shrugged, making a wry facethere goes my chance to keep the knowledge of my little blunder a secret. Edwards is bound to smell the smoke when he gets here. He rose to his feet and extended his hand. J. D. Flood, he said by way of introducing himself.
Rafe Taylor, Raphael responded. They shook hands. What were you burning, Flood?
Some pieces of a packing crate. Ive never had a dormitory room with a fireplace before, so I had to try it. Hell, I was even going out to buy a pipe. He raised one eyebrow. Rafeis that short for Raphael?
Afraid so. It was a romantic notion of my mothers. You wouldnt believe how many school-yard brawls it started.
Floods face darkened noticeably. Unreal, he said. That strange, almost shocked expression that had appeared in his eyes when he had first looked at Raphael returned, and there was a distinct tightening in his face. Once again Raphael felt that momentary warning as if something were telling him to be very careful about this glib young man. In that private place within his mind from which he had always watched and made decisions, he began to erect some cautionary defenses. And what does the J.D. stand for? he asked, trying to make it sound casual.
Jacob Damon Flood, Junior, Flood said with distaste.
Jake? Raphael suggested.
Not hardly.
J.D. then?
Thats worse. Thats what they call my father. How about Damon?
Flood considered that. Why not? How about a martini? Is it legal? In the dorm, I mean?
Who gives a shit? Im not going to start paying any attention to the rules at this late date.
Raphael shrugged. Most of my drinking has been limited to beer, but Ill give it a try.
Thats the spirit, Flood said, opening one of his suitcases and taking out a couple of bottles. I laid in some ice a bit earlier. I make a mean martiniits one of the few things Ive actually learned. He busied himself with a silver shaker. Any cretin can swill liquor out of a bottle, he went on with a certain brittle extravagance, but a gentleman boozes it up with class.
Floods language seemed to shift back and forth between an easy colloquialism Raphael found comfortable and a kind of stilted eastern usage. There was a forced quality about Flood that made him uncomfortable.
They had a couple of drinks, and Raphael feigned enjoyment, although the sharp taste of nearly raw gin was not particularly to his liking. He was not really accustomed to drinking, and Floods martinis were strong enough to make his ears hot and the tips of his fingers tingle. Well, he said finally, setting down his glass, I guess Id better go get moved in.
Taylor, Flood said, an odd note in his voice. Ive got a sort of an idea. Is your roommate up the hall an old friend?
Never met the man, actually.
And Ive never met Edwards eitherobviously. Why dont you room in here? There was a kind of intensity about the way Flood said it, as if it were far, far more important than the casual nature of the suggestion called for.
They dont allow that, do they? Raphael asked. Switching rooms, I mean?
Its easy to see youve never been in a boarding school before. Flood laughed. Switching rooms is standard practice. It goes on everywhere. Believe me, I know. Ive been kicked out of some of the best schools in the east.
What if Edwards shows up and wants his bed?
Well give him yours. Ill lie to himtell him Ive got something incurable and that youre here to give me a shot in case I throw a fit.
Come on. Raphael laughed.
You can be the one with the fits if youd rather, Flood offered. Can you do a convincing grand mal seizure? I dont know. Ive never tried.
The whole point is that we get along fairly well together, and I dont know diddly about Edwards. I know that youre white, but I havent got any idea at all about what color he is.
Is that important? Raphael said it carefully.
Floods face suddenly broke into a broad grin. Gotcha! he said gleefully. God, I love to do that to people. Actually, it doesnt mean jack-shit to me one way or another, but it sure as hell does to old J.D. Sooner or later somebody from back home is going to come by, and if words gets back to the old pirate that his son has a nigger roommatehis word, not minethee shit will hit thee fan. Old J.D.s prejudiced against races that have been extinct for thousands of yearslike the Hittitesor the Wends.
It wont work out then, Damon, Raphael told him with a perfectly straight face. My mothers Canadian.
Thats all right, Raphael. Im liberal. Well let you come in through the back door. Have Canadians got rhythm? Do you have overpowering cravings for northern-fried moose?
Raphael laughed. The young man from the east was outrageous. There was still something slightly out of tune though. Raphael was quite sure that he reminded Flood of someone else. Flood had seemed about to mention it a couple of times, but had apparently decided against it. All right, he decided. If you think we can get away with it, well try it.
Good enough. Well drop the Rafe and Jake bit so we dont sound like a hillbilly band, and well use Damon and Raphaelunless youd like to change your name to Pythias?
No, I dont think so. It sounds a little urinary.
Flood laughed. It does at that, doesnt it? Have you got any more bags? Or do you travel light?
Ive got a whole backseat full.
Lets go get them then. Get you settled in.
They clattered downstairs, brought up the rest of Raphaels luggage, and then went to the commons for dinner.
Damon Flood talked almost continuously through the meal, his rich voice compelling, almost hypnotic. He saw nearly everything, and his sardonic wit made it all wryly humorous.
And this, he said, almost with a sneer as they walked back in the luminous twilight toward their dormitory, is the most intelligent group of undergraduates in the country? He quoted from a recent magazine article about the college. It looks more like a hippie conventionor a soirée in a hobo jungle.
Appearances can be deceiving.
Indeed they can, Raphael, Angel of LightFlood laughedbut appearance is the shadow at least of reality, dont you think?
Raphael shrugged. Were more casual out here on the coast.
Granted, but wouldnt you say that the fact that a young lady doesnt wear shoes to dinner says a great deal about her character?
Wheres your home? Raphael asked as they started up the stairs.
Grosse Pointe, Flood said dryly, the flower on the weed of Detroit.
What are you doing way out here? Raphael opened the door to their room.
Seeking my fortune, Flood said, flinging himself down on his bed. Then he laughed. Actually, Im putting as much distance as possible between my father and me. The old bastard cant stand the sight of me. The rest of the family wanted me to go to Princeton, but I preferred to avoid the continuous surveillance of all those cousins. A very large family, the Floods, and I have the distinction of being its major preoccupation. All those dumpy female cousins literally slather at the idea of being able to report my indiscretions back to old J.D. himself.
Raphael began to unpack.
J.D.s the family patriarch, Flood went on. The whole damned bunch genuflects in his direction five times a dayexcept me, of course. I suppose Ive never really forgiven him for tacking that Junior on me, so I set out to be as unlike him as I could. He looks on that as a personal insult, so we dont really get along. He started shipping me off to boarding schools as soon as I lost my baby teeth, though, so we only irritate each other on holidays. I tried a couple years at Pitt, but all that rah-rah bullshit got on my nerves. So I thought Id saddle up old Paint and strike out for the wide wide westWhat do you say to another drink? He sprang up immediately and began mixing another batch of martinis.
Their conversation became general after that, and they both grew slightly drunk before they went to bed.
After Flood had turned out the light, he continued to talk, a steady flow of random, drowsy commentary on the days events. In time the pauses between his observations became longer as he hovered on the verge of sleep. Finally he turned over in bed. Good night, Gabriel, he murmured.
Wrong archangel, Raphael corrected. Gabriels the other onethe trumpet player.
Did I call you Gabriel? Floods voice had a strange, alert tension in it. Stupid mistake. I must have had one martini too many.
Its no big thing. Good night, Damon. Once again, however, something in the very back of his mind seemed to be trying to warn Raphael. Floods inadvertent use of the name Gabriel seemed not to be just a slip of the tongue. There was a significance to it somehowobscure, but important.
In the darkness, waiting for sleep and listening to Floods regular breathing from the other bed, Raphael considered his roommate. He had never before met anyone with that moneyed, eastern prep-school background, and so he had no real basis for judgment. The young men he had met before had all come from backgrounds similar to his own, and the open, easy camaraderie of the playing field and the locker room had not prepared him for the complexity of someone like Flood. On the whole, though, he found his roommate intriguing, and the surface sophistication of their first evening exhilirating. Perhaps in time Flood would relax, and theyd really get to know each other, but it was still much too early to know for sure.
iii
Raphaels next few weeks were a revelation to him. Always before he had been at best a casual scholar. His mind was quick and retentive, and neither high school nor the community college he had attended had challenged him significantly. He had come to believe that, even as on the football field, what others found difficult would be easy for him. His performance in the classroom, like his performance on the field, had been more a reflection of natural talent than of hard work; everything had been very easy for Raphael. At Reed, however, it was not so. He quickly discovered that a cursory glance at assigned reading did not prepare him adequately for the often brutally cerebral exchanges of the classroom. Unlike his previous classmates, these students were not content merely to paraphrase the text or the remarks of the instructor, but rather applied to the material at hand techniques of reason and analysis Raphael had never encountered before. Amazingly, more often than not, the results of these reasonings were a direct challenge to the authority of the text or of the instructor. And, even more amazingly, these challenges were not viewed as the disruptions of troublemakers, but were actually encouraged. Disturbed and even embarrassed by his newfound inadequacy, Raphael began to apply himself to his studies.
Youre turning into a grind, Flood said one evening. Raphael pulled his eyes from the page he was reading. Hmmm?
You study too much. I never see you without your face in some damned book.
Thats why were here, isnt it?
Not hardly. Flood threw one leg over the arm of his chair. A gentleman does not get straight As. Its unseemly. Havent you ever heard the old formula? Three Cs and a D and keep your name out of the newspapers?
No. I hadnt heard that one. Raphaels mind was yearning back toward the book. Besides, how would you know here? They wont let us see our grades. That was one of the peculiarities of what was called the Reed experience.
Barbarous, Flood snorted. How the hell can we be expected to maintain a proper balance if they dont let us see our grades? Do you realize that a man could screw up? Stumble into so many high grades that his reputations ruined for life?
I wouldnt worry too much about that, Damon. I dont think youre in any danger.
Dont get shitty. Flood got up quickly. Lets go out and get drunksee if we can get arrested or something.