A Solitary Blue Read Free Page A

the car rolled down an incline, holding him within her arm. Every night Jeff indulged in the pleasures of watching television, because there was a television set that came with the apartment. At the end of the week, they packed up and went back to Baltimore. “It’ll be good to get back to work, won’t it?” the Professor asked Jeff. Jeff said yes.
    The year Jeff was in third grade, the housekeeper was named Tony and he was a sociology major who liked to have noise around him. He liked to tell the Professor what was wrong with the university when they sat at meals, he liked to listen to his radio while he did housework. And he liked to cook. He taught Jeff to help him and also taught him good recipes. Jeff did his homework after supper that year, because, as Tony said, since they didn’t have a TV, there was nothing else for him to do. The Professor worked before dinner and after, as usual.
    â€œI never thought they worked so much,” Tony said to Jeff. “I always figured professors had kind of an easy life. Not your old man. But he doesn’t publish, does he? I dunno, there must be more to life than this. Where
is
your mother, anyway?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Jeff said.
    â€œI saw her a couple of times, my sophomore year. At rallies, across a crowded room. She was a good looker. She seemed sincere. Taste that spaghetti sauce and tell me what it needs, will you, kid?”
    It was Tony who, by forgetting to take Jeff down to the barberto keep his crewcut short, changed Jeff’s way of wearing his hair. Before then, it was cut off short and straight, like a mown field, and it would grow out slowly until it stuck out over his head like a puffball until the Professor would say, “Isn’t it about time to cut his hair?” But Tony didn’t get around to it, and Jeff’s hair grew until it lay long and flat on his head, like the Professor’s. But Jeff’s hair was dark, almost black, like Melody’s.
    When Jeff was in fourth grade, a boy named Andrew kept house for them because he had to or he couldn’t afford to go to the university. Andrew really wanted to live in a fraternity, he wanted to go to friends’ parties, he went to all the football games and basketball games and baseball games. What he did around the house, he did angrily, his face angry above the vacuum cleaner, his hands angry in the dishwater. That year, the Professor started going out every Thursday evening, to have dinner and then play Whist afterwards. If Andrew had something he wanted to do Thursday night, Jeff was old enough to be left alone. Andrew didn’t tell the Professor this, but he told Jeff. Jeff didn’t tell the Professor either, because he didn’t want to upset the Professor’s routine. When he was alone at night in the house, he just went up to his room with a book and sat on his bed reading until he heard someone come in. Then he turned off the light and fell asleep.
    The year Jeff was in fifth grade, they had a graduate student from the Physics Department, Ian, who had a thick beard and spent long hours in the lab, working on his thesis. At the beginning of each week, Ian put up a list of when he would be in the house. He took Friday and Saturday nights off and went to see his girl friend. He was going to be married in June, “Although why anybody gets married these days I don’t know. Given the statistics on divorce. What about your old man?” he asked Jeff. He sat with Jeff at the table, doing labs or problems, while Jeff did his homework. Jeff looked up at Ian. If he was teasing, Jeff was ready to show that he got the joke. He didn’t seem to be teasing, so Jeff looked serious. “Your father, for example; he’s easy to live with. Maybe he was just too old for her. What do you think?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Jeff said, although he thought he did know, maybe. He knew Melody’s complaints, anyway. He