91 REVERE STREET
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Eric and I were too young to care for books or athletics. Neither
of our houses had absorbing toys or an elevator to go up and down
in. We were inseparable, but I cannot imagine what we talked
about. I loved Eric because he was more popular than I and yet
absolutely
sui generis
at the Brimmer School. He had a chalk-white
face and limp, fine, white-blond hair. He was frail, elbowy, started
talking with an enthusiastic Swiss jump, and would flush with be–
wilderment if interrupted. All the other boys at Brimmer wore little
tweed golf suits with knickerbockers, but Eric always arrived in a
black suit coat, a Byronic collar, and cuffless gray flannel trousers
that almost hid his shoes. The long trousers were replaced on warm
days by gray flannel shorts, such as were worn by children still in
kindergarten. Eric's unenviable and freakish costumes were too old
or too young. He accepted the whims of his parents with a buoyant
tranquillity that I found unnatural.
My first and terminating quarrel with Eric was my fault. Even–
tually almost our whole class at Brimmer had whooping cough, but
Eric's seizure was like his long trousers-untimely: he was sick a
month too early. For a whole month he was in quarantine and forced
to play by himself in a removed corner of the Public Garden. He
was certainly conspicuous as he skiproped with his Swiss nurse under
an out-of-the-way beech tree far from the pond and the swan boats.
His parents had decided that this was an excellent opportunity for
Eric to brush up on his German, and so the absoluteness of his
quarantine was monstrously exaggerated by the fact that child and
nurse spoke no English but only a guttural, British-sounding, Swiss
German. Round and round and round the beech tree, he played in–
tensely, frailly, obediently, until I began to tease him. Though mo–
tioned away by him, I came close. I had attracted some of the most
popular Brimmer School boys. For the first time I had gotten favor–
able attention from several little girls. I came close. I shouted. Was
Eric afraid of girls? I imitated his German.
Ein, swei, drei, BEER.
I
imitated Eric's coughing. "He is afraid he will give you whooping
cough if he talks or lets you come nearer," the nurse said in her
musical Swiss-English voice. I came nearer. Eric flushed, grew white,
bent double with coughing. He began to cry, and had to be led away
from the Public Garden. For a whole week I routed Eric from the
Garden daily, and for two or three days I was a center of interest.
