Rafael Yglesias - Hide Fox, and All After

“I’m sor…”

“Let’s forget it. We’re both sorry.”

“Yeah, I mean I didn’t mean to…Look, let’s not talk about politics any more. I hate it, I’ve told you I hate it, so don’t ask me to any more.”

“I wanted Mother to hear what you had to say, and after that, I was interested, you know? Well, let’s forget it. You wanna come over and smoke?”

“Baby, I never turn down the grass.”

Anita had forbidden Alec to have anyone at the house while they were away on weekends. Alec, of course, paid no attention to the rule. But since Alec had a neighbor who, by his mother’s request, would come and check on him, a system had to be created.

At the slightest noise, Raul would leap into Alec’s closet, hiding there until the danger passed. Alec’s door stayed shut, so none of the grass’ odor penetrated the other rooms, and a strict watch on noise and incense was maintained. Record player and all other noise ceased on the ring of the telephone, Alec being, of course, the only one to pick it up. Going in and out of the apartment, Alec would look ahead to see if the neighbor’s door was shut.

Raul had cried out when Alec first told him all this. “You’re going to college in a few months. What kind of treatment is this? You’re being treated like an adolescent. It’s stupid and barbaric and obscene.”

Alec laughed at Raul’s mad hysteria. “I know,” he said pleasantly.

“All right. Look, I don’t want to get myself involved with you and your mother, but come on. Aren’t you going to fight this?”

“No, because I’d rather have you here, playing the stupid game, than risk, just for these few months, losing you. All right, it’s stupid, but you are here. In a few months I won’t have any contact with my mother, so it doesn’t matter if she’s being stupid now.”

Raul said nothing.

During the week Raul sat dismally in classes, his notebook open, writing a vast amount of poetry. “Math class,” he told Alec, “is my most productive period. I write, on the average, three poems. Nearly all bad, of course.”

Between classes — he had only four and was cutting gym every day — he strolled over to different hiding places to smoke cigarettes. On days when long periods elapsed without a class, he slipped down to Mike & Gino’s.

“Look at how liberal they are to you,” Alec pleaded. “Only four classes. On some days, only two.”

“On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have four. Tuesday, I have three. Thursday, I have two.”

“Okay, big deal. It’s still great.”

“What’s great about it? Between those classes I am not in a quiet study writing, or on stage acting. I’m any other indolent, dumb adolescent. The only places I can go to are Mike & Gino’s, which is not a Paris café, or to some dingy hole in the wall to smoke.”

“Just try and stick it out. You’ll get all that in a year or so.” Raul sighed. “There’s no other place for you,” Alec continued. “I don’t want your talent wasted in some crash pad in the Village.”

“What the fuck makes you think…”

“I’m telling you,” he insisted, “that there’s no other place for you. Without it, where are you going to go?”

Raul stared off into space. His face hard, he finally said, “So I should languish here and allow my talents to be slowly corroded by this luxury. What artist went to an Ivy League school? What the fuck am I going to write about all my life? A neurotic kid in a rich school? Very hackneyed material. Really rather dismal.”

Alec got up and walked about the room. “What can I say? I don’t want you to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I want us to share all our experiences. When we’re in Paris,” he said, laughing, “I want us to be able to talk about all the teachers we’ve had, etc.”

“And when you’re a senior in college, am I supposed to be a freshman? Alec, I’m above those of my age. I’ll go out of my mind.”

“All right,” he said quietly, “then leave.”

Raul sat up in irritation. “It’s not you that’s keeping me here. You said it, my boy, where do I go? There’s no place for an intelligent fourteen-year-old. If I leave this school I’m ruined. My career will have no future.” He sat quietly. Suddenly he stood up, screaming, “Bourgeois escapism! Pure, unadulterated escapism. I am such a fucking coward!”

He sat down again. “I have no choice,” he said. “I stay. I’m powerless to do otherwise.” Silence. He went on: “I’ll be fifteen in a month or so.”

As the month of April began, three things were important for Raul. One, warnings for the last trimester — to those failing subjects or in danger of failing — were sent out. Two, it was now or never, if Raul was to speak to Alexander. Three, the running for Iago was nearing its last phase; from now on the competition would be heated.

Raul talked Bill into coming with him to see Alexander. The two walked into his hushed room. Alexander’s face was pitted, giving it a bleak aspect; his eyes were mournful, expressive of a constant sorrow. He glanced up inquisitively at them.

Raul spoke. “I’m Raul Sabas and this is Bill Daily.”

“Yes,” Alexander said in a whisper, “Mr. Bowden spoke to me about you and showed me some of your poetry. You both want to be in my class next year?”

They nodded.

“I see. Well, we take some fourth formers on, occasionally. It’s an informal course. We just hand the writings about and discuss them.” He paused. “We’re very serious here. I don’t like flippancy or jealousy. Unless you know something of the pain and diligence that goes into writing, you won’t be likely to stay here.” He looked at them. “Do you have any writings with you?” he asked Bill.

Bill said yes, giving him a folder. He glanced at it, setting it aside. “Do you mind if I keep them?”

“I have copies.”

“Good. I don’t know the schedule setup yet, so I can’t tell you anything definite. I may not have any room, but I’ll keep you in mind.”

Raul was surprised at his finalizing tone. Alexander got up, Raul and Bill following his lead. He extended his hand. They shook it and left.

They walked to a common smoking ground in silence. It was a beautiful spring day. The grounds of the school were flourishing. The sun spread luxuriously over the grass, a light breeze setting all in peace and solitude.

“What do you think?” Bill asked, worried.

“I expected more,” Raul said.

After the play Raul had been surprised at the lack of harassment he was getting from his teachers. He wasn’t pushed by annoying questions. There were no urgings to make up tests or to get homework in. It was logical. Henderson had told them to lay off. If, Raul thought, I am playing this school ruthlessly, it is because they play me ruthlessly.

However, the pressure was on again. Not from one teacher, but all. The day after he spoke to Alexander, he was forced to commit himself to nine make-up tests. The teachers complained of his not doing homework but excused him nevertheless. Raul came home, his useless rage collapsing into humiliation.

There hadn’t been peace in the Sabas home for over a year, because of Raul’s cutting. The open and violent exhibition of passion was routine. And when Rafael Sabas, Raul’s father, told him that warnings had been received in all subjects but English, the scene seemed set again.

Rafael Sabas was six feet three, and he weighed nearly two hundred pounds. He had a loud booming voice that suited both his boisterous sarcasm and the sonorous expression of his more uncompromising views. Nevertheless, he had to be pushed to evidence real anger; he would suppress irritation, allowing it to grow like a cancer within him, the visible sign being a certain tension about the temples. It was in this manner that he spoke about the warnings.