Dell's Journey

Chapter 15: At The Top Of The Staircase

 He walked a couple of blocks down to where he'd seen

something like a round-a-bout from the bus. In the middle

was a big "Welcome" sign, surrounded by loads of flowers of

every color imaginable. His instincts proved right, and

nearby was a map of the town, set up by some benevolent

city-government committee in 1989. He got his bearings and

moved in the direction of the campus.

He made his way on the concrete walkways that circled

around grand and serious looking libraries and faculty

buildings. Enough birds to qualify as a flock were

feasting on some kind of after-dinner fare, some swarming

insect he assumed. He passed some people with book-bags

and asked them where a certain hall was. They told him.

Then he was there.

"What do you think Pet?"

Pet said nothing.

"Should we still, uh, do something?"

No response.

Dell stood like a statue perched on the edge of a wide

green lawn. A few great oaks or maples stood up against

the aged brick of the two-story building. There were

spectacular stained glass windows looking out of it, with

indoor lights beaming out of them. The sun had gone down

now, though it was not yet dark, and the air was cooling.

The wind had diminished into a steady breeze, and it

rustled the leaves with a whispering sound. People passed

by every so often, alone or in couples, talking about names

and events that were important to them. Pet was sniffing

whatever he could reach from his stretched tether, which

was wrapped around Dell's hand. They had been standing

there for at least four minutes.

For such a self-conscious person, Dell was, in this

moment, quite lost in something else. He had begun moving

toward the brick building without any intention and without

any aim. The engraved stone at the porch read Thurman

Hall, and Dell climbed the three stairs up to a large and

evidently antique wood door. He opened it and walked

inside. The entryway had a high ceiling with an ornate

yellow light hanging down from it, and a bulletin board on

the right-hand wall. Dell glanced at the postings for

room-rentals and exchange-student clubs without

comprehending them. He wandered slowly into the large

common-room where a handful of scholars were murmuring to

each other or poring over textbooks in over sized chairs.

No one took any notice of him, and he took no notice of

anyone else. He saw a flight of stairs in the corner and

wondered where they led.

His feet made dull wooden thuds on the staircase as he

ascended. The light was dim, and his shadow preceded him

as he moved upward. He passed a painting of a woman, or

rather, of woman, one of those chaotic and disproportionate

celebrations of the womb and the breasts that seem to be

trying to remind the female creature of her right to exist.

He momentarily considered the probable ratio of female to

male nudity in visual art, before losing interest. Thud,

thud, thud. The staircase turned ninety degrees to the

right and then opened to the second floor. As he neared

the golden glow at the top, his eyes had already become

fixed upon the girl at one of the library tables, her head

bowed and her pen scribbling notes in the margins of an

open book. The fashionable spectacles were resting on the

tabletop. It was Rian, and beside her was a young man who,

judging by the proximity of his chair to hers, was almost

certainly Gabriel.

To his surprise, Dell's reaction to this was almost

nothing. It was as if the moment had somehow already

happened, and he was watching it unfold before him like a

play he knew by heart. The perpetual anxiety that had

plagued him with fears of this very scene had run its

course. It was finished. The struggle had taken place

within his mind, and he had neither won nor lost; he had

lost interest. In fact, the chief thought in Dell's mind

was not the despair of seeing Rian living her life without

any concern for him, but that this was what people must

feel like when they move on. He had once heard it said

that a cold man cannot understand a warm one, and a well

fed man cannot comprehend a starving one. He wanted to add

that a person racked with love-sickness and longing cannot

understand one that has got on with their life.

He stood on the very last stair, Pet tucked up under

his arm, staring at the two students absorbed in their

work. Someone with a shoulder-bag edged past him swiftly

and turned left down the hallway. In a single moment, Rian

lifted her head and glanced toward Dell, seeing his face

and smiling a polite smile of disinterest. It was obvious

that she did not recognize him. He turned and walked down

the stairs.