Falconer+-+John+Cheever

Falconer 97
remembered the panic he had experienced as a boy when he found
his trousers, his hands and his shirttails soaked with crystallizing
gism. He had learned from the Boy Scout Handbook that his prick
would grow as long and thin as a shoelace, and that the juice that
had poured out of his crack was the cream of his brain power. This
miserable wetness proved that he would fail his College Board
exams and have to attend a broken-down agricultural college
somewhere in the Middle West….
Then Marcia returned in her limitless beauty, smelling of
everything provocative. She did not kiss him, nor did he try to
cover her hand with his. “Hello, Zeke,” she said. “I have a letter
here from Pete.”
“How is he?”
“He seems very well. He’s either away at school or camp and I
don’t see anything of him. His advisers tell me that he is friendly
and intelligent.”
“Can he come to see me?”
“They think not, not at this time of his life. Every psychiatrist and
counselor I’ve talked with, and I’ve been very conscientious about
this, feels that since he’s an only child, the experience of visiting
his father in prison would be crippling. I know you have no use for
psychologists, and I’m inclined to agree with you, but all we can
do is to take the advice of the most highly recommended and
experienced men, and that is their opinion.”
“Can I see his letter?”
“You can if I can find it. I haven’t been able to find anything
today. I don’t believe in poltergeists, but there are days when I can
find things and there are days when I cannot. Today is one of the
worst. I couldn’t find the top to the coffeepot this morning. I
couldn’t find the oranges. Then I couldn’t find the car keys and
when I found them and drove to get the cleaning woman I