The Graduate Read online

  “Try again,” she said. She began forcing the girdle down around her legs.

  “You were just lonely or something?”

  “No.”

  Benjamin frowned. “For his looks?” he said. “He’s a pretty handsome guy, I guess.”

  “Think real hard, Benjamin.”

  Benjamin frowned down at one of her feet, then shook his head. “I can’t see why you did,” he said, “unless … you didn’t have to marry him or anything, did you?”

  “Don’t tell Elaine,” Mrs. Robinson said. “Oh no.” She nodded.

  “You had to marry him because you got pregnant?”

  “Are you shocked?”

  “Well,” Benjamin said, “I never thought of you and Mr. Robinson as the kind of people who …” He shook his head. “All right,” she said. “Now let’s go to bed.”

  “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. So how did it happen.”

  “What?”

  “I mean do you feel like telling me what were the circumstances?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I mean what was the setup. Was he a law student at the time?” She nodded.

  “And you were a student also.”

  “Yes.”

  “At college.”

  “Yes.”

  “What was your major.”

  She frowned at him. “Why are you asking me all this.”

  “Because I’m interested, Mrs. Robinson. Now what was your major subject at college.”

  “Art.”

  “Art?”

  She nodded.

  “But I thought you—I guess you kind of lost interest in it over the years then.”

  “Kind of.”

  “So,” Benjamin said. “You were an art major and he was a law student. And you met him. How did you meet him. At a party or at a dance or—”

  “I don’t remember, Benjamin,” she said, removing her bobby pins and shaking her head to let the hair fall down around her shoulders, “and I am getting pretty tired of this conversation.”

  “Well how did it happen. How did you get pregnant.”

  “How do you think.”

  “I mean did he take you up to his room with him? Did you go to a hotel?”

  “Benjamin, what does it possibly matter.”

  “I’m curious.”

  “We’d go to his car,” she said.

  “Oh no.”

  “What?”

  “In the car you did it?”

  “I don’t think we were the first.”

  “Well no,” Benjamin said. “Bui it’s—it’s kind of hard to conceive of you and Mr. Robinson going at it in the car.” He sat down in the chair again and began to smile. “In the car?” he said. “You and him?”

  “Me and him.”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “So that’s where old Elaine—” He looked up. “What kind of car was it.”

  “What?”

  “Do you remember the make of car?”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Really,” Benjamin said. “I want to know.”

  “It was a Ford, Benjamin.”

  “A Ford!” he said, jumping up from the chair. “A Ford!” He laughed aloud. “Goddammit, a Ford! That’s great!”

  “That’s enough.”

  He shook his head and smiled down at the rug. “So old Elaine Robinson got started in a Ford.”

  “Benjamin?”

  “That’s great.”

  “Benjamin?”

  “What.”

  “Don’t talk about Elaine.”

  He stopped smiling suddenly. “Don’t talk about Elaine?” he said.

  “No.”

  “Why not.”

  “Because I don’t want you to,” she said. She turned around and walked to the bed.

  “Well why don’t you.”

  Mrs. Robinson pulled the bedspread down along the bed and dropped it on the floor.

  “Is there some big secret about her I don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s the big mystery.”

  “Take off your clothes,” she said.

  Benjamin frowned and removed his coat. He dropped it behind him onto the chair, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “I wish you’d tell me,” he said.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Well why is she a big taboo subject all of a sudden.”

  Mrs. Robinson uncovered one of the pillows at the head of the bed.

  “Well,” Benjamin said, removing his shirt and dropping it on his coat, “I guess I’ll have to ask her out on a date and find out what’s—”

  Mrs. Robinson straightened up suddenly. She turned around to stare at him. “Benjamin, don’t you ever take that girl out,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Do you understand that.”

  “Well look. I have no intention of taking her out.”

  “Good.”

  “I was just kidding around.”

  “Good.”

  “But why shouldn’t I.”

  “Because you shouldn’t.”

  “Well why are you getting so upset.”

  “Let’s drop it,” Mrs. Robinson said. She turned back to the bed and uncovered the other pillow.

  “Are you jealous of her?” Benjamin said. “Are you afraid she might steal me away from you?”

  “No.”

  “Well then what.”

  She shook her head.

  “Mrs. Robinson,” Benjamin said, taking a step toward her, “I want to know why you feel so strongly about this.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Then let’s hear them.”

  “No.”

  “Let’s hear your reasons, Mrs. Robinson. Because I think I know what they are.”

  She reached down to pull the covers part way back.

  “Your daughter shouldn’t associate with the likes of me, should she.”

  “Benjamin.”

  “I’m not good enough for her to associate with, am I. I’m not good enough to even talk about her, am I.”

  “Let’s drop it.”

  “We’re not dropping it, Mrs. Robinson,” he said, walking across the room. “Now that’s the reason, isn’t it. I’m a dirty degenerate, aren’t I. I’m not fit to—”

  “Benjamin?”

  He took her arm and pulled her around to face him. “I’m good enough for you but I’m too slimy to associate with your daughter. That’s it, isn’t it.”

  She nodded.

  “Isn’t it!”

  “Yes.”

  He stood a moment longer holding her arm, then pushed her down on the bed. “You go to hell,” he said. He shook his head and walked back to the chair to pick up his shirt. “You go straight to hell, Mrs. Robinson.”

  “Benjamin?”

  “Do you think I’m proud of myself?” he said, throwing the shirt down on the rug and walking back to stand in front of her. “Do you think I’m proud of this?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Well, I am not.”

  “You’re not.”

  “No sir,” he said. “I am not proud that I spend my time in hotel rooms with a broken-down alcoholic!”

  “I see.”

  “And if you think I come here for any reason besides pure boredom, then you’re all wrong.”

  She nodded.

  “Because—Mrs. Robinson?”

  “What.”

  “You make me sick! I make myself sick! This is the sickest, most perverted thing that ever happened to me!” He stared down at her a moment. “And you do what you want but I’m getting the hell out.”

  “Are you?”

  “You’re goddamn right I am,” he said. He turned around, picked up his shirt from the floor and slid his arms into its sleeves. Mrs. Robinson sat up on the edge of the bed and watched him as he buttoned it and tucked the shirttails into his pants.

  “Benjamin?” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “Did you
mean those things you said, Benjamin?”

  “You are damn right I did.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Well, I am too. But that’s the way it is.”

  “That’s how you feel about me.”

  He nodded.

  “That I’m a sick and disgusting person,” she said, looking down at the rug.

  Benjamin finished tucking in his shirttails, then looked at her. “Now don’t start this,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t start acting hurt.”

  “Don’t you expect me to be a little hurt?”

  “Now Mrs. Robinson,” he said, pointing at her. “You told me yourself that you were an alcoholic.”

  She nodded. “And sick and disgusting,” she said.

  “Now wait a minute,” he said. “You stand there and call me trash. What do you expect me to say.”

  “Did I call you that?”

  “You did.”

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Well in so many words, Mrs. Robinson. You stand there and tell me I’m not good enough for your daughter.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Of course you did.”

  She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Benjamin,” she said, “I want to apologize to you if that’s the impression you got.”

  “Well Mrs. Robinson,” he said. “Two minutes ago you told me I wasn’t good enough for your daughter. Now you say you’re sorry I got that impression.”

  “I didn’t mean it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t think you’d be right for each other,” she said. “But I would never say you weren’t as good a person as she is.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t.”

  Mrs. Robinson waited a moment, then stood and walked to the closet to remove her hanger of clothes.

  “What are you doing.”

  “Well it’s pretty obvious you don’t want me around anymore,” she said.

  “Well look,” Benjamin said. “I was kind of upset there. I’m sorry I said those things.”

  “Benjamin, if that’s how you feel—”

  “But it’s not.”

  “That’s all right,” she said, smiling at him. “I think I can understand why I’m disgusting to you.”

  “Oh no,” Benjamin said. He hurried across the room. “Look,” he said, taking her arm. “I like you. I wouldn’t keep coming here if I didn’t like you.”

  “But if it’s sickening for you—”

  “It’s not!” he said. “I enjoy it. I look forward to it. It’s the one thing I have to look forward to.”

  “You don’t have to say that.”

  “Well I wouldn’t. I would never say it if it wasn’t true.”

  “May I stay then?” she said. “Yes. Please. I want you to.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well don’t thank me, because I want you to.” She lifted the hanger back into the closet. “But you won’t ever take out Elaine, will you.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to promise me that.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “Look,” he said. “Let’s not talk about that. Let’s not talk at all.”

  “Promise me.”

  “But why should I! Because I’m not good enough for her?”

  “Because you’re different.”

  “How are we different.”

  “You just are.”

  “She’s good and I’m bad. Look. Why the hell did you bring this up. It never occurred to me to take her out.”

  “Then give me your word you won’t.”

  “But I don’t like to give my word about things.”

  “Why not.”

  “Because you never know what’s going to happen.”

  “Then you’re thinking of taking her out, aren’t you.”

  “No,” Benjamin said. “I give you my word I have no intention of taking her out.”

  “Now give me your word that you never will.”

  “This is absurd.”

  “Promise me, Benjamin.”

  “All right, for Christ’s sake! I promise I will never take out Elaine Robinson.”

  “You swear to it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now let’s get the hell into bed.”

  Chapter Five

  It was several days later that the subject of Elaine Robinson was brought up again. It was at the Braddocks’ dinner table.

  “Elaine’s back from school today,” Mr. Braddock said. “She just got back for the holidays.”

  Benjamin sprinkled some salt onto a piece of meat on his plate.

  “Ben?” his father said.

  “What.”

  “I think it might be a nice idea if you asked her out.”

  Benjamin stopped salting his meat. “What?”

  “I think it might be a nice gesture if you asked her out to dinner sometime next week.”

  “Why should I do that,” Benjamin said.

  “Because I’d like you to.”

  “You would.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you like me to.”

  “Well Ben,” his father said, “because they’ve shown an interest in you and done things for us and this is a good way to keep the relations between the two families smooth.”

  “You don’t think they’re smooth?”

  “I think they could be smoother.”

  “They seem pretty smooth to me.”

  “Ben?” his mother said. “Don’t you think she’s a terribly attractive girl?”

  “Yes I do,” Benjamin said. “But that’s not the point.”

  “Because I think she’s one of the prettiest—”

  “Mother, she is a beautiful girl,” Benjamin said, putting the salt shaker back on the table. “But Elaine and I do not get along.”

  “How do you know.”

  “Because,” Benjamin said, “I took her out once before.”

  “When.”

  “In high school.”

  “Five years ago?”

  “Yes five years ago, Mother.”

  “And you didn’t enjoy each other.”

  “No we did not.”

  “Well I’ll bet it would be a lot different now,” Mrs. Braddock said.

  “It would not,” Benjamin said. “It was awkward and strained five years ago and it would be awkward and strained now.”

  “Ben?” Mr. Braddock said, wiping at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “It’s awkward and strained for me every time Mr. Robinson comes over here and you tell him you’re going to call up his daughter.”

  “Well he asks me, for God’s sake. What am I supposed to say: ‘Hell no, I’m not’?”

  “Look, Ben.”

  “He doesn’t expect me to call her up, Dad. It’s just small talk.”

  “You’re wrong,” Mr. Braddock said, returning the napkin to his lap and looking up at his son. “He made a special point of telling me she was back. He made a special point of telling me to let you know.”

  “All right,” Benjamin said. He picked up his knife and fork from beside his plate and began cutting the salted meat. “Next time he asks me I’ll tell him I have no intention of ever calling her up in my life.”

  “You call her up after dinner.”

  Benjamin looked up and dropped the knife and fork on his plate. “What the hell is this,” he said.

  “Is your time so valuable, Ben?”

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  “Is your television viewing and evening drinking so important that you can’t take one night out to do something for someone else?”

  “Elaine Robinson and I do not get along!” he said. “Elaine Robinson and I have nothing in common!”

  Mr. Braddock nodded. “I guess she’s not quite your intellectual equal, is she.”

  “Come on now.”

  “I guess it wo
uld be quite a strain to spend an entire evening with someone of inferior mentality, wouldn’t it.”

  “You know goddamn well that has nothing to do with it.”

  “Shhhh!” Mrs. Braddock said. “Don’t go on like this. Now if Benjamin absolutely refuses to take her out—”

  “I do.”

  “All right then,” Mrs. Braddock said. “I’ll invite the family over here to dinner.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll have the Robinsons over here to dinner some evening next week.”

  Benjamin frowned down at his plate.

  “Any special objection to that?” his father said.

  “No,” Benjamin said. “Of course not.”

  He ate the rest of his dinner quietly. He waited while his mother cleared the table, then ate dessert and drank a cup of coffee.

  “Excuse me,” he said when he was finished. “I’ll go call Elaine now.”

  ***

  Just after seven o’clock the following evening Benjamin removed a bottle of bourbon from the liquor cabinet, drank several large swallows, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Several minutes later he parked his car at the curb in front of the Robinsons’ house and walked up the flagstone path to the front door. The night had already become dark and the porch light was turned on for him.

  Mr. Robinson opened the door almost the moment Benjamin rang.

  “Well Braddock,” he said, shaking his hand and grinning. “It’s about time you got around to this.”

  Benjamin followed him into the house.

  “I’m afraid the young lady isn’t quite dressed yet,” Mr. Robinson said. He led Benjamin down the hall to the back of the house and into the sun porch. His wife was sitting in one of the chairs on the porch with a drink in her hand. She looked up at Benjamin when he appeared but didn’t smile or attempt to rise from her chair.

  “Hello,” Benjamin said.

  Mr. Robinson had pushed his hands down into the pockets of his pants but now removed one of them almost immediately to glance at his watch.

  “What would you say to a short one,” he said.

  “All right.”

  “Bourbon still your drink?”

  “Yes.”

  Benjamin waited until he had left the room, then turned back to Mrs. Robinson, who was still sitting in the chair looking at the large glass panels enclosing the porch.

  “Now listen,” he said. “This was not my idea. It was my father’s idea.”

  “Benjamin?” she said quietly, not looking at him. “Didn’t I make myself perfectly clear about this?”

  “I’m saying it was not my idea,” he said, taking a step toward her. “I’m saying my parents thought it would be a nice little social gesture if I—”