Brando_ Songs My Mother Taught Me - Marlon Brando [20]
In my letters home that year, I kept appealing to my parents to visit or write. “Which one of you died and which one of you has broken your right arm?” I asked in one letter. In another that autumn, I told my father:
We had our last football practice Thursday and the team is going to play the last game of the season at Culver on Saturday. We’ve got about a four-to-one chance of winning, although it should be a good game with all the rivalry and what not. The coach gave me consolation in saying that I would have been first-string material had I not been hurt and lost those three weeks of important practice. Next year though. I got my dress uniform and am the “king dude.” Boy, will I wow ’em. It’s tailored perfectly and really looks very military and snappy.…
I never realized how much I didn’t know about things until I came up here. It’s astounding. I certainly hope you get here soon. I’ve surely missed you and Mom. My God, but she’s a sweet woman. When you come you will find yourself at very gala activities. First of all, it is Thanksgiving; secondly, we are having plays (one of which I am in). Then we have a big dance. About girls, I find myself entirely indifferent. I don’t give one damn if I never see one again. I’m glad I’ve passed the “girlie” stage of this adolescence stuff at least. And would you believe it, I’d rather not go to any dances?
Love, Bud
Dear Folks:
Time is moving too slowly. It seems as though I’ve been up here for eight months. Everybody hates the coach. So do I. The Crack Squad deal is shaping up good for me. The captain said that I would make it … the campus is just ablaze with autumn colors. It is a knockout. Duke becomes in my estimation smarter and smarter every day. What a guy. English is very hard for me now because we are doing grammar, but I’m at it.
Love you both very much Bud
Every Sunday we had to go to the chapel for a service, where most of the cadets fell asleep, and Duke, who was very religious, and the other masters peered down the pews trying to catch us snoozing. Like everyone else, I was bored by it all. There was always a lot of elbowing in the ribs to break the boredom, and occasionally a farting contest would develop. As adolescents, we were capable of high-compression expulsions, which bounced off the boards of the wooden pews and produced loud, satisfying reports. Once a cadet released his bomb, the trick was for him to stare accusingly at his neighbor. If his neighbor laughed, it was all the better because it could be construed as an admission of guilt, and once guilt was established, everyone looked at the culprit with disgust. Then it was someone else’s turn to try to fart louder.
One Sunday, after several cadets approached the altar to receive communion, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to find out what they were experiencing. I had been told they were being given something to eat and maybe even wine, so I went up and knelt. When it was my turn, the priest put a wafer in my mouth, but instead of swallowing it, I stuck it in my cheek and rolled it around with my tongue to investigate it. When he offered wine, I gulped and held onto the cup so tightly that he had to put his foot on the railing to gain enough leverage to take it away from me. Back at my seat, I pulled the communion bread out of my mouth and studied it carefully. Peripherally I spotted Duke looking down at me darkly from the opposite end of the pew, and after the service he called me to his chambers and said, “My boy, you were toying with the most profound power in the universe. God help you. You must never insult the Lord again as you did today. Never again.”
“What did I do?”
“I saw you playing with the Holy Sacrament. You have to treat it with the greatest respect because if you don’t, you are tempting the Devil.”
I felt awful for having offended Duke. This man who was so dear to me seemed frightened by what I’d done. I told him I was sorry, but that I had no idea what the ceremony meant.
“It’s the body of Christ,” he said,