The Headmasters Papers Read Online Free PDF

Upjohn to assume command. I need your cooperation badly. If he asks for something, even for something unusual, try to do it. No debates, please. Save your frustration for me when I get back. Help!
    J.O.G.
    19 September
    Mr. and Mrs. Frank Greeve
    14 Bingham Drive
    Tarrytown, New York
    Dear Val and Frank,
    It was a great relief and solace to talk to you two last night. Without family, I would literally be lost.
    We are now ensconced in our respective Boston settings, Meg in a private room (a term bearing no relation to reality) in Mass. General and I—I’ll explain later—at the Copley Plaza. If medical science were less benighted by half, Meg would be at the Copley Plaza and I in the bleak cell. At any rate, Meg is doing beautifully. Her attitude is all shrewdness, attention, and dry humor. Braver than brave—and that is so damned attractive. Dr. Dietrich, the specialist doing the tests and giving the “other opinion,” is a thoughtful, likable, humane sort of person—gives the impression of having lots of time and explains things, both to Meg and to me. He won’t even venture estimates about treatment, remissions, percentages of cure, etc., until his own tests are in. No false optimism, either. Meg is sick, and it’s cancer. I wonder if you can imagine the kind of fear and emptiness that statement arouses in me? I know Meg will endure whatever is required with strength and grace, but I feel like collapsing right now. I keep thinking I’ve got to help, I’ve got to be strong, but I feel like collapsing. Waiting is worst. I’ll keep you posted.
    Thank you, Val, for your generous offer to close up Little House and to look after the boat. I left the less equivocal food in the fridge and there is some meat in the freezer you might want to take home with you, if that is technically possible. When you are ready to leave, just call the Frazier number and say, “Come. Close up Little House.” He knows what to do about the pipes, and he’ll haul the float off to the boat house.
    This is all really very strange. Nothing is routine. There is a heavy overlay of irony and foreboding about every practical concern. The Valmar, for instance—will Meg and I ever sail in her again? If not, what an odd role that boat has played in our lives: a symbol of possibility, a means to never-quite-worked-out rest and adventure. Our plan was always to sail in and out of quiet Maine harbors, working our way slowly, maybe infinitely, down east. The school would of course give us an autumn leave for this, and we would be happily incognito, out of touch. But as we all well know, such is never the case with boats. The head has always got to be replaced to meet the requirements of the Clean Harbor Commission, the engine is never right, there is always a leak between the engine and the centerboard, unreachable by human hands—not an important leak, just enough to raise the possibility of serious trouble if cruising in cold water anywhere NE of the Cape. But could any actual cruise measure up to our hypothetical one? Probably not. Yard bills buy dreams, not voyages. Or Little House? What does Little House mean without Meg? This is pitiful stuff, I know, but it’s the kind of thing I am actually thinking.
    Frank, there is one more thing I want to ask which I forgot to mention over the phone. Could you brainstorm a bit with your attorney friends about how I might best locate Brian overseas? I’ve bombarded the post office at Cape St. Vincent where we last made contact, and I’ve written to acquaintances he may have been traveling with for a time, but I’ve heard nothing yet. I think it’s very important that he be aware of what is happening with Meg as soon as possible. Are there people-finding services abroad? Do you think our embassies might help? Any tips, hunches, or advice on the matter would be deeply appreciated, Frank.
    Again, thanks to both of you. Our best to