Chapter 32

Hugo got drunk last night! Well and truly wasted.

Looking back it was sort of funny. He’s a pretty easy drunk, it took about three shots and he was staggering around as he went for the fourth one. Then he sort of just sagged down on the floor and he was out. I think I’ve found something he doesn’t do very well.

But it wasn’t all that funny then and when I think about it, it still isn’t. All the inactivity is getting to him big-time. Oh, he’s learning fast, faster than fast, my God he’s reading at a reasonably adult level already, his English is unbelievable, and he absorbs almost everything like a sponge. And he’s working harder than I’ve ever seen anybody work in that garden, it’s huge—I had to stop him before he made it even bigger so it wouldn’t eat up his time too much—and he keeps it weed-free; even individual blades of grass get whipped out as soon as he sees them sprout.

He isn’t bringing in money, though, of course, and that’s eating him up. He keeps talking about how wrong it is for him to live off me, and how he wants to help, and he hates it when I keep telling him he has to study and learn instead.

After dinner he was at it again, the same thing, and I let it get to me. The idea of his being nothing but a manual laborer, which is all he could possibly handle now, just sickens me. The most brilliant man I’ve ever met consigned to schlepping garbage or sweeping out office buildings for a living? I can’t stand the thought.

So after he went on for a couple of minutes I sort of snapped. “Dammit, Hugo, I keep telling you not yet!” I hollered at him. “It’s too soon, you’re not ready, take the fucking time to learn all the things you need to get along in the world!”

He looked at me sort of shocked, it was the first time I’ve ever raised my voice to him. And I was ashamed of myself right away, it’s not his fault. “I’m sorry, Hugo,” I said immediately. “I shouldn’t yell at you. But don’t keep worrying about this. There’ll be plenty of time later for you to work for money, but it’s the same as with children, first you need education.”

“But I am not a child, Linda,” he said plaintively. “I am a man, full in maturity. And each day I grow that much older, and yet I may not be a man and work as men do. I must find my place in this world, though I do not know that such a place exists for me.”

“Oh, a place exists,” I told him. “And right now that place is here, with me, learning about a world you still don’t know.”

He still looked pretty morose and walked over to sit in his chair. How soon Daddy’s old chair has become his in my mind! For a few minutes he picked up the basic arithmetic text I’d given him, but I could see his mind wasn’t on it and after a while he set it back down.

And he headed for the liquor cabinet. He hadn’t had a drink since he and Danny and I shared one, but he got out the bottle and poured himself a good dollop and took it back to his chair without a word. I was reading myself, going over some legal journals—I can’t go back to Irving with rust on my mind—and I let it go. Then he did it again, and once more, and finally headed back for another refill and that was when he quietly collapsed.

I did try to get him up and to bed, but he was dead to the world. Finally I just got a blanket and carefully draped it over him and went to bed myself.

He got up at least once in the night, I vaguely remember hearing the toilet flush, but I was only half-awake and I dozed right back off. And when I got up this morning he was still there on the floor, still sleeping it off.

I tried to be quiet, but almost right away he sat up. And regretted it, I could tell. I know people’s faces don’t really turn green, but his came about as close as I’ve ever seen, and he put his hand to his head and shut his eyes. OK, this I could do something about; I ran a glass of water and dropped a couple of Alka-Seltzer into it and handed it to him. He just stared at it.

“Drink up, it’s good for what ails you,” I said gently. So he did, and it was at least enough to get him back in his chair. But when I said something about breakfast he shook his head fast and then flinched, so I just fixed some cold cereal for myself—no need to throw a bunch of cooking odors at him—and then went over to massage his neck. He’s still pretty tense, but I think he’s coming around.

“I do not behave well,” he says ruefully.

I laugh and keep on rubbing his neck. “It’s OK, Hugo, a lot of people tie one on every now and then.”