Different Seasons(63)

But Bowden looked positively alarmed by this idea.

“I believe they might resent the boy if I took that proposal to them now,” he said. “Things are very delicate. They could go either way. The boy has promised me he will work harder in his studies. He is very alarmed at this drop in his marks.” He smiled thinly, a smile Ed French could not quite interpret. “More alarmed than you know.”

“But—”

“And they would resent me,” Bowden pressed on quickly. “God knows they would. Monica already regards me as something of a meddler. I try not to be, but you see the situation. I feel that things are best left alone . . . for now.”

“I’ve had a great deal of experience in these matters,” Rubber Ed told Bowden. He folded his hands on Todd’s file and looked at the old man earnestly. “I really think counselling is in order here. You’ll understand that my interest in the marital problems your son and daughter-in-law are having begins and ends with the effect they’re having on Todd . . . and right now, they’re having quite an effect.”

“Let me make a counter-proposal,” Bowden said. “You have, I believe, a system of warning parents of poor grades?”

“Yes,” Rubber Ed agreed cautiously. “Interpretation of Progress cards—IOP cards. The kids, of course, call them Flunk Cards. They only get them if their grade in a given course falls below seventy-eight. In other words, we give out IOP cards to kids who are pulling a D or an F in a given course.”

“Very good,” Bowden said. “Then what I suggest is this: if the boy gets one of those cards . . . even one”—he held up one gnarled finger—“I will approach my son and his wife about your counselling. I will go further.” He pronounced it furdah. “If the boy receives one of your Flunk Cards in April—”

“We give them out in May, actually.”

“Yes? If he receives one then, I guarantee that they will accept the counselling proposal. They are worried about their son, Mr. French. But now they are so wrapped up in their own problem that . . .” He shrugged.

“I understand.”

“So let us give them that long to solve their own problems. Pulling one’s self up by one’s own shoelaces . . . that is the American way, is it not?”

“Yes, I guess it is,” Rubber Ed told him after a moment’s thought . . . and after a quick glance at the clock, which told him he had another appointment in five minutes. “I’ll accept that.”

He stood, and Bowden stood with him. They shook hands again, Rubber Ed being carefully mindful of the old party’s arthritis.

“But in all fairness, I ought to tell you that very few students can pull out of an eighteen-week tailspin in just four weeks of classes. There’s a huge amount of ground to be made up—a huge amount. I suspect you’ll have to come through on your guarantee, Mr. Bowden.”

Bowden offered his thin, disconcerting smile again. “Do you?” was all he said.

Something had troubled Rubber Ed through the entire interview, and he put his finger on it during lunch in the cafeteria, more than an hour after “Lord Peter” had left, umbrella once again neatly tucked under his arm.

He and Todd’s grandfather had talked for fifteen minutes at least, probably closer to twenty, and Ed didn’t think the old man had once referred to his grandson by name.

Todd pedaled breathlessly up Dussander’s walk and parked his bike on its kickstand. School had let out only fifteen minutes before. He took the front steps at one jump, used his doorkey, and hurried down the hall to the sunlit kitchen. His face was a mixture of hopeful sunshine and gloomy clouds. He stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment, his stomach and his vocal cords knotted, watching Dussander as he rocked with his cupful of bourbon in his lap. He was still dressed in his best, although he had pulled his tie down two inches and loosened the top button of his shirt. He looked at Todd expressionlessly, his lizardlike eyes at half-mast.

“Well?” Todd finally managed.

Dussander left him hanging a moment longer, a moment that seemed at least ten years long to Todd. Then, deliberately, Dussander set his cup on the table next to his bottle of Ancient Age and said:

“The fool believed everything.”

Todd let out his pent-up breath in a whooping gust of relief.

Before he could draw another breath in, Dussander added: “He wanted your poor, troubled parents to attend counselling sessions downtown with a friend of his. He was really quite insistent.”

“Jesus! Did you . . . what did you . . . how did you handle it?”

“I thought quickly,” Dussander replied. “Like the little girl in the Saki story, invention on short notice is one of my strong points. I promised him your parents would go in for such counselling if you received even one Flunk Card when they are given in May.”

The blood fell out of Todd’s face.

“You did what?” he nearly screamed. “I’ve already flunked two algebra quizzes and a history test since the marking period started!” He advanced into the room, his pale face now growing shiny with breaking sweat. “There was a French quiz this afternoon and I flunked that, too ... I know I did. All I could think about was that goddamned Rubber Ed and whether or not you were taking care of him. You took care of him, all right,” he finished bitterly. “Not get one Flunk Card? I’ll probably get five or six.”