Strong men don't cry
I JUMPED into my MG and drove through the night to Boston. I changed my shirt in the car before I entered the offices on State street . It was only eight O'clock in the morning, but several important-looking people were waiting to see Oliver Barrett the Third. His secretary recognized me and spoke my name into the telephone. My father did not say 'Show him in'. Instead,the door opened and he came out to meet me.
'Oliver,'he said His hair was a little greyer and his face had lost some of its colour. 'Come in,son,' he said. I walked into his office and sat down opposite him.
For a moment we looked at each other. Then he looked away, and so did I. I looked at the things on his desk: the scissors, the pen-holder, the letter-opener,the photos of my mother and me.
'How have you been,son' he asked.
'Very well,sir...Father,I need to borrow five thous'and dollars.'
He looked hard at me. 'May I know the reason' he said at last.
'I can't tell you, Father. Just lend me the money. Please.'
I felt that he didn't want to refuse, or argue with me. He wanted to give me the money, but he also wanted to...talk.
'Don't they pay you at Jonas and Marsh'
'Yes, sir.' So he knows where I work, I thought. He probably knows how much they pay me too.
'And doesn't Jennifer teach too' Well, I thought, he doesn' t know everything.'Please leave Jennifer out of this, Father. This is a personal matter. A very important personal matter.'
'Have you got a girl into trouble' he asked quietly.
'Yes,' I lied. 'That's it. Now give me the money. Please.'
I think he knew that I was lying. But I don't think he wanted to know my real reason for wanting the money.He was asking because he wanted to...talk.
He took out his cheque book and opened it slowly. Not to hurt me, I'm sure, but to give himself time. Time to find things to say. Things that would not hurt the of us.
He finished writing the cheque, took it out of the cheque book and held it out towards me. When I did not reach out my hand to take it, he pulled back his hand and placed the cheque on his desk. He looked at me again. Here it is, son, the look on his face seemed to say. But still he did not speak.
I did not want to leave, either. But I couldn’t think of anything painless to say. And we couldn’t sit there, wanting to talk but unable to look at each other.
I picked up the cheque and put it carefully into my shirt pocket. I got up and went towards the door. I wanted to thank my father for seeing me, when several important people were waiting outside his office. If I want, I thought, he will send his visitors away, just to be with me…I wanted to thank him for that, but the words refused to com. I stood there with the door half open, and at last I managed to look at him and say:
‘Thank you, Father.’
Strong men don't cry
I JUMPED into my MG and drove through the night to Boston. I changed my shirt in the car before I entered the offices on State street . It was only eight O'clock in the morning, but several important-looking people were waiting to see Oliver Barrett the Third. His secretary recognized me and spoke my name into the telephone. My father did not say 'Show him in'. Instead,the door opened and he came out to meet me.
'Oliver,'he said His hair was a little greyer and his face had lost some of its colour. 'Come in,son,' he said. I walked into his office and sat down opposite him.
For a moment we looked at each other. Then he looked away, and so did I. I looked at the things on his desk: the scissors, the pen-holder, the letter-opener,the photos of my mother and me.
'How have you been,son' he asked.
'Very well,sir...Father,I need to borrow five thous'and dollars.'
He looked hard at me. 'May I know the reason' he said at last.
'I can't tell you, Father. Just lend me the money. Please.'
I felt that he didn't want to refuse, or argue with me. He wanted to give me the money, but he also wanted to...talk.
'Don't they pay you at Jonas and Marsh'
'Yes, sir.' So he knows where I work, I thought. He probably knows how much they pay me too.
'And doesn't Jennifer teach too' Well, I thought, he doesn' t know everything.'Please leave Jennifer out of this, Father. This is a personal matter. A very important personal matter.'
'Have you got a girl into trouble' he asked quietly.
'Yes,' I lied. 'That's it. Now give me the money. Please.'
I think he knew that I was lying. But I don't think he wanted to know my real reason for wanting the money.He was asking because he wanted to...talk.
He took out his cheque book and opened it slowly. Not to hurt me, I'm sure, but to give himself time. Time to find things to say. Things that would not hurt the of us.
He finished writing the cheque, took it out of the cheque book and held it out towards me. When I did not reach out my hand to take it, he pulled back his hand and placed the cheque on his desk. He looked at me again. Here it is, son, the look on his face seemed to say. But still he did not speak.
I did not want to leave, either. But I couldn’t think of anything painless to say. And we couldn’t sit there, wanting to talk but unable to look at each other.
I picked up the cheque and put it carefully into my shirt pocket. I got up and went towards the door. I wanted to thank my father for seeing me, when several important people were waiting outside his office. If I want, I thought, he will send his visitors away, just to be with me…I wanted to thank him for that, but the words refused to com. I stood there with the door half open, and at last I managed to look at him and say:
‘Thank you, Father.’
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