Free Asa, as I Knew Him by Susanna Kaysen Page A

three friends, scouting the crowd for romance, and dancing with unknowns, and had started to form a mass, a crowd with its own mood. It wasn’t clear where the mood came from; it wasn’t even clear what the mood was—but Asa felt the change. The mood existed independently of any particular person and had come over the moist patio like an ether, piped through the speakers with Chuck Berry. Asa felt turbulent, like a hurricane day in September, thick and changeable and poised on the edge of novelty. And he knew, from the faces around him, especially Roberto’s, that everyone shared his sensations. Roberto’s characteristic expression, which was petulance overlaid with a brash and false indifference, had shifted to anticipation. Girls who earlier had kept their dancing partners an arm’s length away now pressed their cheeks on white broadcloth, leaving faint dabs of powder there at the end of the song. Boys who had arrived in ties (Asa had not) had pocketed them. Professor Sola had made his round, gin in hand, at nine-thirty, greeted Asa and Parker, whispereda few words to Reuben, and left. But before leaving he had done something that startled Asa into wondering about him. He was a tall bony man who usually wore a black suit, and he moved in an awkward, bony way, as if he consisted only of joints and cartilage. He scuffed along floors, so the boys always knew when he was coming. Tonight he had paused on his way back to the house and turned around, facing the lines of bobbing dancers, and stood watching for a while. Then he had walked, without scuffing, back to the edge of the pool and knelt, swiftly and easily, beside it. Folded up near the ground he looked to Asa more jagged and bloodless than usual. How odd, thought Asa, that Reuben is so unlike him. Professor Sola dipped his hand in the turquoise water and drew it toward him, cupped in his palm. The image of the simply colored paper lanterns strung above the terrace, pink and yellow, swayed on the surface of the pool. Again his hand slid through the water, and he swept his arm along with the ease that Reuben curled his arm to throw a ball. “Grace,” he said. Then he did leave.
    “Grace,” repeated Asa. Was that a name or an idea? He couldn’t decide which would be stranger. If a name, whose? And why was Professor Sola whispering it by the edge of the pool? Grace as an idea was something Asa associated with Bible studies, the story of the Good Samaritan, the drowsiness he felt after lunch, which was when the class was held. It was a puzzle.
    Also puzzling was Jo, who hadn’t arrived. Asa hunted down Parker, who was clasped in beige linen arms at the far corner of the terrace, and coughed.
    “Hey, Parker,” he said.
    Parker lifted his head up and frowned. “I’m busy,” he said, then turned the girl around and introduced her to Asa. Shewas about fifteen, her hair was the color of her dress, and her eyes were still shut, looking in at the memory of Parker’s mouth. Her name was Amy.
    “Sorry, but I wonder if your brother’s coming.”
    “Clem? I don’t know. Why should I know? Why don’t you dance? He’ll be here, if he’s coming.” Parker saw Asa wince at this string of rudeness and pulled a flask from his pocket. “Have a shot. Have a few shots and ask Lydia to dance.”
    “Who’s Lydia?”
    “There must be somebody here named Lydia. Find her and ask her to dance.”
    This was an assignment only Parker could have thought up or carried out. Asa couldn’t go from girl to girl asking if her name was Lydia. Did Parker offer challenges like this just to make him, Asa, feel weak? He stomped into the garage, where Reuben had hidden beer in a cooler behind some snow tires, and stood in the gloom drinking. And in the gloom he saw something new in the garage: Reuben’s car, predicted by Jo.
    It was low, stout, white, and entirely novel to Asa. Its snub-nosed hood said PORSCHE . He walked around it once, looking at its handles and its single strip of