Stone Lake: part 67

A Star Tribune serialized novel by Richard Horberg

Chapter 23 continues

The story so far: The Rev. Mayfield challenges Allen's views on hell.

Abruptly, the minister stood up. "I'm very glad we had this little talk, Allen. At this point, I'm sure you'll agree, theological discussion would be fruitless. We'll do it some other time — I look forward to it. Thank you for coming in."

Allen stood up, a little confused. "In case you're going to recommend that I be fired at the end of the year, you needn't bother. I'm leaving anyway."

"My dear young man, I have no intention of making any such recommendation. As a matter of fact, I'm sorry you're leaving. Oh, and by the way, I admire your taste in the opposite sex."

Allen was puzzled. "The opposite sex?"

As he left the church, Allen shook his head. The old man knew everything.

***

Not long afterward, Allen got a much needed letter from Greg Schmidt, a highly therapeutic letter. He renewed his desire to see the world. He said he was fed up with school. He had an urge to be on the move. He had the wanderlust. He quoted Richard Hovey:

I am fevered with the sunset,

I am fretful with the bay,

And my soul is in Cathay.

"Why don't we go?" Greg wrote. "Mexico, South America, Europe, the Far East — it's all the same to me. You say you have $1,000. I think I can save $1,000 over the summer pouring cement for my dad. Whether Mary goes with us or not doesn't matter. A little feminine companionship would be nice. But there's always the danger that she might meet some prince along the way. Or she might stop someplace and build a hospital."

The lines from Richard Hovey excited Allen, his first real excitement for a long time. By return mail he wrote a letter back, informing Greg that Mary was no longer in the picture — that her prince was a mining engineer, of all things, from Albuquerque, New Mexico. "So it's just you and me," he said. As for himself, he was ready to go, eager to cut all bonds. He reminded Greg of the journeys of Herman Melville and Joseph Conrad. "I'm stagnating here," Allen wrote. "As Melville says, the great flood-gates of the wonder world stand open — and we need only pass through."

Greg wrote back enthusiastically.

"The flood gates of the world." Good Lord! What can a phrase do? What can a letter do? You've thrown me so far away from Minneapolis and the University that I don't know if I can even make it through the quarter, even with finals coming up. At any rate, I can't wait until we go.

Whenever we leave, I think we should figure on at least a year. Three months can be a very short time and I'm not particularly concerned about getting back to school the following fall.

What better time to start than September, when everybody else was returning? Besides, he had heard that Alfred Kazin, the New York critic, was going to be a visiting professor at the university both summer sessions, teaching one class on Herman Melville, the other on Walt Whitman. He would take both and be better prepared to go than ever.

But first there was the senior class play, "The Skin of Our Teeth."

Superintendent Magnuson was not pleased to have to pay a $50 royalty for "The Skin of Our Teeth." Most class plays, he informed Allen, cost no more than $25.

Allen assured him that it was a great play — only recently available for high schools — and well worth the money.

Sometime earlier, the superintendent had informed him that he wouldn't mind seeing something other than a comedy for a change. "It's not a comedy," Allen said. "It's a play about life. It's a play about humanity. It won the Pulitzer Prize the year it came out."

Magnuson grimaced and sent the $50.