The Graduate – Charles Webb
“That’s a hell of a good age to be.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Robinson lit a cigarette for himself and dropped the match in an ash tray. “I wish I was that age again,” he said.
Benjamin nodded.
“Because Ben?”
“What.”
“You’ll never be young again.”
“i think—“ He dropped an ash from his cigarette into the ash tray. “I think you ought to be taking it a little easier right now than you seem to.”
Benjamin nodded.
“I have no idea where I’m going. Maybe just around the country or the continent. Maybe if I can get papers I’ll work around the world. So that’s that.”
“Come on!” Benjamin said, standing up. “Now I have wasted twenty-one years of my life. As of yesterday. And that is a hell of a lot to waste.”
“Sit down.”
“Dad,” Benjamin said, “for twenty-one years I have been shuffling back and forth between classrooms and libraries. Now you tell me what the hell it’s got me.”
“A damn fine education.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
“You call me educated?”
“Art.”
“Art?”
She nodded.
“But I thought you—I guess you kind of lost interest in it over the years then.”
“Kind of.”
Comments
Post a Comment