Free The Temple of Gold by William Goldman Page A

the start but said nothing of it to anyone because she needed the money. At any rate, from then on we played the piano less and talked more, about all kinds of things. She had a way of patting me on top of the head which, with most people, you don’t like, seeing as it makes you feel as though you are a dog and they are petting you. But with Miss Twilly it was all right. She was such a sweet girl. Very shy and kind, with a soft, gentle voice. She was so shy she blushed all the time, even in front of me, which should show the kind of person she was.
    But the music part never got anywhere. I stayed with those scales the whole eight weeks I took piano lessons. And I did try. Each time before she came I’d practice half an hour, trying to cup my hands and sit up straight, trying to make those notes come out right. But some people can do some things and others can’t, and playing the piano was not my forte, a pun Zock thought up one day.
    So, finally, Miss Twilly had a long talk with my mother and told her the truth. About my being tone deaf and how this kind of hurts your chances of ever making it as a piano player. And my mother stopped the lessons right after. At the last one, Miss Twilly and I talked and laughed, having a gay old time. But when she got up to go, I think we both felt sad.
    “Well, good-by, Raymond,” she said, patting me on the head.
    “So long, Miss Twilly,” I answered, walking her to the door. “I sure hope you can make it to Carnegie Hall.” Which of course she never did, but just the same it was what she wanted more than anything else in the world. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
    “Maybe,” she said, patting my head once more. “Let’s hope so.”
    And I did see her. Often, during the next couple of years. Uptown or around the campus I’d see her walking alone or with some other girls. Whenever that happened, I’d wave and shout: “Hello there, Miss Twilly.” And she’d blush and wave back. She was never with a boy, at least none I ever saw. And that was a shame, her being such a fine girl, shy and gentle and all.
    Then, in June of my sophomore year in high school, her class graduated, her along with it. Graduation day at Athens was something I never cared for. All those caps and gowns and crying mothers. I had already made up my mind that when I graduated from college, I was going to skip the whole business. But of course, the way things worked out, I never had to miss much sleep on that score.
    Anyhow, I was puttering around the house, waiting for it to get over. Zock used to like to watch, so he was up by the college auditorium taking it in. My father was there, too, being as he was such a big deal at the school he had to go. And my mother wouldn’t have missed it for the world. About the time I figured it was done, I started getting ready for the trip to Zock’s house, when there was a buzz at the front door. I went down to answer. It was her.
    “Hi, Miss Twilly,” I said, opening it.
    “Hello, Raymond,” she said, walking in. It was a hot day and she was perspiring so she took off her cap and gown, smiling at me. She was wearing a big skirt and a very thin white blouse you could see through. “I thought I’d come over and say good-by,” she told me. “I’m leaving this afternoon.”
    “That was real nice of you, Miss Twilly,” I said. “I’m glad you did.” She put her hand on my shoulder and we walked into the living-room where the little upright piano was. We started laughing.
    “I suppose,” she began. “You don’t. I mean. Any more, do you?” She was very nervous on account of just having graduated, but I got what she meant.
    “Practice?” I answered. “I’d rather be strung up by my thumbs.”
    It was very hot and stuffy and we both laughed at what I said, even though it wasn’t funny. That is something I’m not much good at. Being funny. Once in a while, alone with Zock, I could do all right, but not often. He said not to worry about it