The Marriage Plot - Jeffrey Eugenides [111]
It’s going to feel strange not to have our “baby” with us at Christmas this year. Your father and I are thrilled that you and Larry have this chance to “see the world.” After all the hard work you did at college, you deserve it. I think of you every day and try to imagine where you might be and what you might be doing. Usually I know where you’re living and sleeping. Even at college we usually knew what your apartment looked like, so it wasn’t so hard for me to picture you in my mind’s eye. But now I don’t know where you are most of the time, and so am grateful for any postcard you send. We got your postcard from Venice with the arrow pointing to “our hotel.” I couldn’t quite make out the hotel itself, but I’m glad it’s “dirt cheap,” as you said in your note. Venice looks like a magical place, a perfect locale for a young “literary man” to get inspiration.
Kerbi has a spot on his backside where the fur’s nearly gone. He’s been licking it something fierce. The way he twists himself into a pretzel to get at the itch always makes me laugh. (I wish I could do that when I get an itch on my back!) If it doesn’t get better in a few days, I’ll have to take Kerbi to the vet.
I’m writing this from our patio, under the umbrella, trying to stay out of the sun. Even in wintertime, the sun down here dries out my skin, no matter how much moisturizer I slather on. Right now, “the ol’ dad” is sitting in the living room, arguing with some politician on TV (I’ll spare you the salty language, but the gist is “Bull-Š-Š-Š-!”) I don’t understand how anyone can watch so much news in one day. Dean told me to tell you, when you get to Greece, to be sure to tell “all those socialists over there, ‘Thank God for Ronald Reagan.’”
Speaking of “God,” a package for you from “The Paulist Fathers” arrived at the lake house in Michigan before we left. I know you’re thinking of applying to divinity school and that it may have something to do with that, but it got me wondering a little. Your last letter—not the postcard from Venice but the one on the blue paper that folds into a letter (I think they’re called aerograms?)—didn’t sound like you. What did you mean about the “Kingdom of God” not being a place but a state of mind and that you thought you saw “glimmers” of it? You know I tried for years to find a church to take you boys to, and that I’ve never been quite able to believe in anything, as much as I’d like to. So I think I do understand your interest in religion. But all this “mysticism” you write about in your letters, and “the Dark Night of the Soul,” can sound a little “far out,” as your brother Winston would say. You’ve been gone for four months now, Mitchell. We haven’t seen you, and it’s hard for us to get a good picture of how you’re doing. I’m glad Larry is traveling with you, because I think I would worry even more if you were traveling all by yourself. Your father and I are still not too thrilled that you’re going to India, but you’re an adult now and can do what you like. But we are very concerned that there is no way to contact you, or for you to contact us in case of an emergency.
Okay, that’s enough advice from Mom for now. As much as we miss you, and will miss you especially at Christmas, your father and I are happy that you have been able to undertake this big adventure. From the day you were born, Mitchell, you have been the most precious gift to us, and though I’m not sure I believe in “God,” I do thank “someone up there” every single