Хлоя Бенджамин: The Anatomy of Dreams

On the last night of the Thanksgiving break, Gabe and I fell asleep together: our legs braided, our chests stacked spoons. The next morning, though, I woke up alone. I’m not sure how I knew he hadn’t gone back to his own room—call it instinct or intuition, the last cry of the subconscious. Before I could convince myself otherwise, I shoved into my sneakers and yanked on an old sweatshirt, grabbing a flashlight on the way out of the dorm.

It was cold outside, wind sighing in the trees. Fog had turned the sky cottony, so it was difficult to see Keller’s house—only its smudged outline, faint as the sun’s corona, before a scrim of trees. As I came closer to the house, I could hear the stream that ran behind it, making noises like little licks. I intended to go all the way to the garden, though I had no idea what I’d do when I got there. But I didn’t have time to decide, because Gabe walked right out of the front door.

“Sylvie,” he said, stopping in front of me.

I was stunned. Even if I feared I’d find him here, I hadn’t actually expected it. Still woozy in that early-morning hour, I almost felt I was dreaming. I reached for him.

“No, don’t.” He stepped back. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Not supposed to be here?” We were both whispering, though my voice was getting louder. “You just walked out of Keller’s house. I saw you—out of Keller’s house . And I’m the one who’s not supposed to be here?”

“It’s part of the—” Gabe turned his head, and his eyes flickered to the left, as though searching for someone. “Remember what I told you, Sylvie. It’s part . . .”

His mouth hung open for a few seconds, then closed. But before I could tell him that he hadn’t told me anything, another voice came from the doorway.

“Gabriel.”

Mr. Keller stood in the arch that led into the house. Keller didn’t often appear among us students when he wasn’t teaching, but when he did, his presence was electrically charged. If he was ever in line at the dining hall, the entire row of students fell silent in a current. He had a light, charming way of interacting with us, but his power and influence always ran underneath it. Nobody wanted to disappoint him in case his amiability cracked and something else surfaced.

It was more than that, though. He had an attunement to us, an awareness of our inclinations and desires, that was unusual for an older teacher. Once, he came upon a group of us standing in the foyer of the library, with a boy named Will Washburn off to one side. Prone to colds and dramatic, exclamatory falls in gym, Will was particularly on the outs with us that day: another boy had ribbed Will about his lack of athletic skill, and Will had shouted insults until one of the hall monitors gave our entire class early lights-out for the week. Keller could have continued into the library, but instead he paused.

“William Washburn,” he said. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”

Keller’s body was angled toward Will, but not so much that he shut the rest of us out completely. Will looked up nervously.

“Me?”

“Indeed. I meant to ask about those papers I gave you. You’ve not had a chance to go through them, I assume?”

This caught our interest. There was a persistent rumor that Keller was working on a project and that he selected certain students to serve as research assistants. Some people said you got money for doing it, like a sort of work-study. Others said it was more the honor, the prestige—that if he chose you, you were pretty much guaranteed an acceptance to the college of your choice. We all wondered if this was what Keller was referring to now.

“No, not yet,” said Will. His face had a scrunched-up look, as if he was trying to contain something—shock, or maybe pride.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Keller said. “I’ve made adjustments, so we’ll have to scrap them. Bring them to me when you can and I’ll go over what’s changed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Will said.

“Right, then,” said Keller, before turning, for the first time, to the rest of us. “Afternoon.”

We all made our feeble hellos, and he nodded amicably before disappearing into the atrium of the library.

Whether Keller really had given Will something to work on or not, Will’s troubles faded shortly thereafter. So on that day at the end of the Thanksgiving break, when Keller followed Gabe outside, I was almost relieved; I hoped he could diagnose whatever was going on with Gabe and bring it to an end.

He walked to Gabe and put a hand on his shoulder. An expression of nervousness and new clarity came over Gabe, as if he now understood he might really get in trouble.

“Mr. Lennox and I were just having a conversation.” Mr. Keller spoke softly, but his voice was a blade. “A conversation about boundaries.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk,” said Gabe flatly. “I went out of the dorm and across the field. I meant to go into the woods but when I came to Mr. Keller’s house I got curious about his garden and stopped. I walked into the garden and looked at all the plants. I was only going to stay for a minute or two but I know it was wrong and I shouldn’t have.”

The whole speech of apology was so continuous it seemed programmed. Maybe this was something he’d decided he would say if he got caught. But if that was the case, I couldn’t understand why he was telling me.

“Also known as trespassing on faculty property,” said Keller. “Now, it’s a very nice garden, I won’t deny that; I’ve spent years raising my little collection, and you’re not the first young botanist to show an interest in it. You’re perfectly welcome to stop by during the day and have a look, with permission. But not this way.”

He walked to Gabe’s other side, his hands clasped behind his back. My heart was throbbing. All I wanted was for Keller to get to the end of the speech so Gabe and I would know what his consequences would be.

“Secrets,” said Keller. “Mr. Lennox and I were having a talk about secrets. I invited him inside; I saw no reason to leave him out in the cold. So we sat down in my dining room and had a very frank talk about secrets and what comes of them.”

I looked at the house. The shades on the first floor were drawn and rimmed by light. I caught a sliver of the living room, though I didn’t see any furniture.

“Consequence number one,” Keller said. “Reduced night privileges. I expect Mr. Lennox to be in his room without visitors by eight thirty P.M. The monitors will see to that.”

This was to be expected. We waited mutely for what would come next.

“Number two. An essay of at least one thousand words to the tune of what it means to be a respectful citizen in an academic community. Typed, carefully proofread, et cetera, with points deducted for each word misspelled.”

Mr. Keller was standing at Gabe’s side. Instead of his usual daytime uniform—black suit pants, a navy button-up shirt—he wore scrubs and a green sweater with ragged edges. It was unnerving to see him dressed so casually, though of course it made sense: he had probably been in bed. Gabe’s expression was blank. But every so often, he looked at me, and some muscle seemed to flicker.

“Number three,” Keller said. “He has agreed to convey these rules to his peers. It’s now Gabriel’s responsibility to make sure others don’t repeat his mistake. I’ll rely on him to serve as an example, and if I find someone else out of bounds—in my garden, say—Gabriel will be the person I turn to first.”

Mr. Keller fell quiet. The only sound was the wind threading through the trees, and I felt even more alone. But I was not just uneasy for Gabe. The more I stood there, the more I seemed to remember something about the place we were in, like the edges of déjà vu.