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In fact, though jests have flown pretty freely about the house, and hearty laughter is likely to be where the Deweys muster in much strength, yet I have had a pretty serious vacation. I set for my stent, to read the New Testament, or the Gospels at least, in Greek, and to master the great work of Auguste Comte, and to write one or two sermons. With the philosopher I have spent the most time.
"Oh," he said. "I changed. Yi! What time is it?" "Getting on for three." "Baby, I've got to run. I hate to." He was already dressing. "I know," she said. He was gaining speed. Deweys was his only hope. He had to get there and get Suzanne to the back of his mind before he could go home. The quilt stopped him. "Suzanne." She came naked into the living room. "This quilt is special." He thought.
Oliver took a nap and walked down to Deweys for more Guinness and congratulations. He went to bed feeling as though he had made it through a one-way turnstile. Things were different on this side; there was a lot to do. The next day he brought Jennifer and Emma home from Mercy Hospital. Verdi had gotten used to Jennifer.
He introduced Jennifer. "I've seen you somewhere," Jennifer said to Mark. "Climbing out a bedroom window," George said. "Was that it?" Jennifer smiled. "Couldn't have been recently," Mark said. Sandy staggered into the room, carrying a huge turkey in a roasting pan. She lowered it to the table as the regulars cheered. Sandy had worked in Deweys for years.
Women. Halfway through the second pint, he said it out loud, "Women," and let go a deep breath. Deweys at that hour was securely masculine. It was understood that women were a source of difficulty, desirable though they were. Oliver glanced around the room. The man didn't exist, in Deweys, at that hour, who didn't have the scars to prove it. He raised his glass to Mark who had just come in.
Porter had made an extravagant cake for Jennifer the week after she had Emma. Driving home from Deweys to North Yarmouth wasn't as easy as walking up the hill to State Street. No five minute walk to Becky's for breakfast, either. On the other hand, he had a good work space in the barn, and it was quiet at night. Oliver counted his blessings. Verdi had made his first patrols and was adjusting.
He squeezed her again in response and left, not trusting himself to look back. He couldn't go home. He drove into the city and had a Guinness at Deweys. He called Jennifer and said that he needed strong drink after the non-alcoholic Christmas party and that he'd be back soon with a pizza. Richard came in, and Oliver ordered another pint. "What's your definition of home?" Oliver asked him.
He bought a ship's clock set in a handsome maple case, a present for the house. "He says 'Ja! and everything," Oliver told George in Deweys. "Great guy. He actually knows how to do something." "Nice face," George said, looking at the clock. "So, what's new with you, George?" "Jesus, Olive Oil, the gallery owners . . ." George groaned and held his head with both hands. "They're all the same.
A most superb and grand discussion followed, the Deweys going home at eleven-thirty and I stayed to talk to one A.M. I slept dreaming wildly of the discussion. . . . Then had an hour and a half with Dewey on certain moot points. That talk was even more superb and resultful to me and I'm just about ready to quit. . . . I need now to write and read."
They brewed ale downstairs and pumped it directly from the bar. He didn't know how many people would come to the housewarming some would rather drink wine or the hard stuff. Five gallons of ale should be enough. He bought six, to be on the safe side. He had lunch in Deweys, hoping to calm down. But the more he thought about Suzanne, the more confused he got.