The Four Johns Read Online Free PDF Page A

interpreted as arrogance, narcissism, or plain stupidity. So Mervyn had taken refuge in the twelfth century, where he could refresh himself with the chansons and gestes, the rondels and virelais of the Provençal jongleurs.
    Mary Hazelwood was no less refreshing. Mary, uncritical and happy-go-lucky, took life as it came. She was an exuberant and enthusiastic flirt, an activity as natural and necessary to her as breathing. She flirted with John Boce, with the mailman, with Mrs. Kelly’s asthmatic grandson, with Mervyn Gray … with everyone and anyone.
    Mervyn was amused and charmed; in her company he could abandon the twelfth century as well as his façade of calculated coolness. Nevertheless, the tradition of la belle dame sans merci impelled him to caution; besides, there was Susie, who possessed her own peculiar attractions.
    Susie was even more perplexing than Mary. Mervyn understood that the role of Mary’s little sister posed special problems for Susie; still, she had all the necessary equipment to cope with them. Mervyn was unable to fathom her feelings toward him: did she regard him merely as an instrument to be used in her machinations—whatever they might be? Twice he had kissed her; she had seemed to melt, only to become more flippant and detached than ever. Meanwhile, Mary was Mary: pretty enough to make the heart stop, lavish with her charming provocations, and unpossessable as a sunbeam. Impossible not to love Mary! And perhaps, for one whose heart was broken, impossible not to hate her, too.…
    At six o’clock John Boce tramped back into Mervyn’s living room. He wore a suit of pinkish-brown silk and pointed yellow shoes. His long nose twitched; his eyes were bright. “ Allons, mes enfants !” he called. “ En avant! Au mouton ! I smell it from here! The girls are waiting! Hurry, hurry, hurry!”
    â€œGirls plural?”
    â€œHarriet’s coming with us.” Boce watched from the corner of his eye. When no protest was forthcoming, he heaved a relieved sigh. “Well, boy? You ready? We’ll take the convert, eh? More room and all that.”
    â€œThe Volkswagen’s handier. The convertible’s out back, in the garage.”
    The accountant started to grumble, but Mervyn had already stepped outside. Susie and Harriet waited by the fountain in the middle of the court. Susie wore a eucalyptus-green suit, and she had slicked down her tawny hair into a semblance of order. She was fluttering the fingers of her left hand against her thigh—a signal of displeasure, or tension. Harriet wore black tights under a mulberry red skirt, with a green-and-black Peruvian sweater of confused design.
    They walked up the street to where Mervyn had parked the Volkswagen. He tried to maneuver Boce into the back seat with Harriet, but the fat man protested so vehemently that Susie, smiling grimly, slipped in ahead of him; and, still complaining, Boce heaved himself into the front beside Mervyn.
    Mervyn looked at him for directions. “Where do we go?”
    â€œUp Panoramic. Almost to the top. I don’t think we’ll make it in this goddamn motorized wheelbarrow.”
    â€œI wonder if I need gas.”
    â€œYou’ve got the reserve tank. Once we get there we can coast all the way back down. C’mon, boy, move this heap. Sheep have only four legs. That’s one apiece if we get there now.”
    â€œIt’s only six o’clock. You can’t be hungry.”
    â€œI’m always hungry.”
    Mervyn started the car and set off toward the campus. John Boce sat hunched forward, pointing out traffic hazards with a nervous finger. “Next block turn.… Stop. Traffic light.… Now turn. All the way up Bancroft. Stop sign. Stop. Stop ! You blind, Mervyn?”
    Mervyn saw an opportunity to play his game. “It’s a fact I never seem to see the things. I wonder why. Maybe because I detest them so. Tall things with those