The Rebellion of Yale Marratt by Robert Rimmer Read Free Book Online

Jews there had been an angry discussion with the manager

and they had gone somewhere else. It had all seemed rather silly to Yale.

"From what you have told me about your father," Cynthia smiled, "I'll bet

he doesn't like Jews." She didn't tell him that it was only in the past

year or two that she herself had become aware that her racial background

could be considered offensive to some people.

"Small worry," Yale laughed. "He doesn't like me much either. He says I

read too much and have crazy ideas. I read the whole Bible last year."

Cynthia looked at him amazed. "Oh, I'm not one of those religious twerps.

I happened to read another book that kept making reference to Biblical

characters so I just decided to read it. It took me two months."

He grinned. "There are a lot of nice Jewish girls in the Bible."

"If you read so much, you must be smart."

"Oh, I'm smart. I'm so smart that I am a freshman on trial. I'm smart . . .

queer. Anybody who reads and doesn't care for athletics and thinks he

would like to be a poet rather than a businessman is not smart in

my family."

"Well, I like you," Cynthia whispered.

Yale looked at her in wonder, struck by the clear, clean beauty of her

features. She had large, brown eyes that seemed to contain within them

the wisdom of her race. Her face descended from high cheekbones to a firm

chin. Her slightly angular jaw was a favorite of many artists depicting

feminine beauty. He suddenly realized that Cynthia's features resembled

his own imaginings of Ruth and Naomi in the Old Testament. In the years

to come, as he knew Cynthia better, the thought would often recur to

him that even beyond her own awareness she seemed to carry with her

a racial warmth and understanding. Later, he would ask her many times

if she realized that she had this transcendent beauty, and she would

look at him and laugh, and tell him that perhaps it wasn't she at all,

but something he had conjured in his own eyes and in his own brain.

Although Yale had kissed only one or two girls in his lifetime, and

those halfheartedly as the expected thing to do, he had a tremendous

desire to kiss Cynthia. The liquor gave him the courage to try.

She looked at him, amused. "You kiss like a schoolboy. I'll show you

how a farmer's daughter does it." She kissed him with her lips pressed

hard against his, her mouth slightly open. The top of her tongue brushed

his teeth. Yale blinked. The liquor was beginning to give him a dull,

throbbing headache. He saw Cynthia's face through a blur. The clear

vision of a moment ago vanished. She became a curious blend of black

hair and wide brown eyes.

"I'm drunk," he mumbled. He closed his eyes. He didn't know how long

he slept. Perhaps it was only a few minutes. He awoke to her shaking

him and saying, "Hey, freshman, wake up. I feel awfully funny. Have you

ever been drunk before?" Yale looked at her leaning over him, her hair

falling across her eyes.

"Nope," he said and wondered if the dizzy feeling he had, and an inability

to bring Cynthia into clear focus, was being drunk. "But I think I am now.

How much of that stuff did you drink?"

"Five or six swallows. I've never been drunk before either. I feel like a

bird. Woo. . . ." She stood up and then quickly sank to her knees. "I am

dizzy." She flung her arms in front of her and fell forward on the sand.

Yale looked at her, alarmed. "Hey, come on. Wake up! Are you sick?" She

didn't answer. He felt suddenly protective toward her. "Cynthia? Cynthia,

what's the matter?"

"Oh, I think I'm sick," she moaned.

He looked at her helplessly, "I've got an idea. Let's go in for a swim.

The river water is cold, it'll straighten us up." He pulled off her saddle

shoes and ankle socks. She didn't move. "Come on," he said, patting her

on the back. He noticed a zipper on the back of her dress and pulled it

down. Her dress came apart to just above her buttocks. Still she didn't

move. He started to fumble with her brassiere