The Birth of People's Republic of Antartica, стр. 10
Back in America before I was born, Israel said, Peregrine had been very much in love with Charity Bentham. They had met at Yale University and continued their romance while Peregrine and Israel dodged the draft for two years. She was good to them, wayfaring youths, and permitted them to stay with her, feeding them, loving them. When the decision was made to flee rather than be arrested for draft evasion, Peregrine had to leave her behind. She drove them to the airport. It was Christmas 1972, and Nixon and Kissinger had unleashed the total destruction of the American bombers on the Vietnamese. It was a time of colossal abandonment. Charity wanted to escape with them, but they did not know where they were going. Israel said, “It was tough on her, since she and your Dad, they were very very close.”
Once Peregrine was in Stockholm, he and Charity corresponded every day. They telephoned once a week. Peregrine’s family, at the direction of his enraged father, had cut him off, as if he did not exist, and Charity was Peregrine’s only hold on his history. Nevertheless, Peregrine insisted Charity carry on with her life. She returned to Chicago and entered graduate school. They made plans for her to join them after her degree.
“Then I came along and ruined it,” I said.
Israel said, “No! Peregrine loves you more than himself, more than he ever loved Charity. It would hurt him if he heard you say that. It’s why he’s never told you this. You changed plans. That’s the truth. Without you, we’d’ve gone all the way down. Always remember that. Peregrine and Charity, it was rough, but it never would have worked after we ran. I don’t care what Guy says. Not on this planet. She was a good woman, but people change. She couldn’t have made it here. You know your Dad, the original pilgrim. He stuck it out. He’s a real hero. He never would deal with those people, though he wanted to because of her. Oh, yeah, he loved her, and she loved him. They were young. They got caught in a war.”
I asked Israel if this was why Peregrine cried so much. Israel said that Peregrine had not yet worked out his sadness, that it was frozen in his heart. Israel said that Peregrine had not done anything wrong, and yet he had lost a woman he loved a great deal. “I’ve been hoping he was through it,” he said, “no, I guess I knew he wasn’t. He’s still fighting. I don’t know if I could take what he’s had to.”
I asked Israel what happened to Charity Bentham. He again told me part of the truth, and not nearly enough for me to see the danger ahead. He said Charity Bentham had earned herself a happy life. She married a man who was a classmate of Israel’s and Peregrine’s at Yale. His name was Cesare Furore; he became a rich and powerful architect and builder. Charity graduated with a prestigious degree in economic science and became a famous professor in Chicago. “She writes megabooks,” he said, “does television, dines at the White House, which is as white as ever. Old Charity, she’s hot. If she’s been smart, she’s forgotten Peregrine. I figure she hasn’t thought of him in a decade. Oh, maybe now and then, when she speaks at Yale or flies out of Kennedy Airport. All the people we knew, not just Charity, they stayed with it back home. They belong. We got lost—me, Peregrine, Guy, Earle, all of us.”
I told Israel hesitantly that I did not understand. It seemed like such a long time ago. It explained some things about Father, his depressions, why he never talked about women as Israel did, but it seemed to say nothing about Peregrine’s anger that night. I was frustrated. I guessed, “Is she here, at the ball?”
Israel sighed. “You want life to make sense? You want it fair? Yeah, I guess you do. Me too. It’s this.” Israel averted his eyes and continued, as if talking to himself. “Old Charity, she played it big. She went and got herself elected a guest of honor tonight. She finally made that trip to Stockholm. Peregrine and her ought to have some kind of reunion. I hope he handles it well down in the cloakroom. Maybe nothing will happen. It’ll be some scene, though; she hands him her sable and he hands her a check. Peregrine’s told me he’d never do anything to hurt her. What a life!” He turned back to me, touched my shoulder, said, “You see, Grim, Charity once did something that wasn’t right, a long time back, but it sticks in the gut. It was cruel, considering how bad we had it. I think I understand why she did it. It could have been handled better. Peregrine didn’t act all that well either. How can I say this? How can I tell you? He’s your Dad!”
I tried to be grown up. I asked what we could do for Peregrine, though I still did not understand the problem. Israel made an odd sound in his throat, turned away. There was a pause. He continued in a tense whisper, “You won’t understand this. There’s a lot I’ve skipped over. And you need a few years yet watching this comedy we’re in, where if you step out-of-bounds just once, you can’t get back in. Like poor Peregrine. He’s ineligible, forever. But I want you to hear it from me first. Oh, God, Grim, we haven’t got what Peregrine needs. Maybe no one does.”
Israel slumped against the wall. I was frightened. Something was deeply wrong. I believe I did then sense that he was trying to protect me from despair; however, I did not realize it was the hopelessness of complete and unpardonable exile. I also did