INITIATION IV: CRUCIFIXION (November 1980 - December 1982): The Eighth State: Brahman Consciousness
Part II (June 1981 - December 1981)
Finally, we were driving north on Massachusetts Avenue on our way home one day when a bullet hit our windshield; particles of glass struck Annie. She was O.K.. I thought we had been hit by a rock, and got out of the car to investigate, so I had a perfect view as the police car screamed up and disgorged an officer who warily approached a hearse, opened its door and hauled a large, bearded man out and onto the road, handcuffing his hands behind his back. A moment later, he reached into the hearse and pulled out a rifle. The mood of the bystanders turned ugly, and they started to throw stones at the man. "Stop it!" I said. "He's already down!" Apparently, he had been shooting at the bar across the street, and we just got in the way of one of his bullets.
Oddly enough, I had passed this hearse -- its rear window said, "We make deliveries" under a decal of Harley-Davidson wings --- and seen its owner many times, on my way to work. He didn't live far from us in Somerville. Anyway, we took this as a sign that it was time to move out of the city; and so we started casting north on weekends. Within a few weeks we had found the perfect place in Marblehead; our long-time room-mates (Mary Ann, a co-worker of Annie's from her Lauriat's days, and her boyfriend John, a Yale graduate who was now in commodities) came with us. About this time, Margaret Miles, one of my old teachers at the Divinity School who had liked my work linking art and theology, asked me to be her Teaching Assistant. I regretfully turned her down, thinking Cambridge would be too long a commute. A few days later I reconsidered and asked her about the position, but it was filled.
Annie kept her job in Cambridge, while I started freelancing as an artist and sign-painter in Marblehead. I enjoyed painting signs in ornate, Victorian lettering that suited the 19th-century decor of the downtown area. I also designed and painted a large mural inside the Warwick Theatre of the nine Muses, arrayed and colored as an allegorical unfoldment of the chakras. Inspired by the artistic success of my uncle, Clark M. Goff, I also sold photocopies of the pen-and-inks I drew of Marblehead's tiny, crooked streets of 18th- and 19th-century houses, its countless profusions of flower gardens, and its glorious vistas of cobalt ocean. Marblehead surrounded me with stunning beauty --- my version of an earthly paradise --- and it only served to heighten the hollowness I felt inside.
Annie had found an old bottle-dump in our backyard while putting in marigolds, and as summer slipped into fall I dug all around and under those flowers, excavating gorgeous antique bottles, lamp chimneys, and an eighteenth-century British penny. The dig also disgorged numerous white porcelain fragments, which I ignored at first until I found a shard with hand-painted blue lettering and real gold-leaf trim. I then spent countless hours gathering as many of the pieces as I could find --- about 85 of them, spread over an eight-foot swath, about a foot underground --- and then gluing them back together to restore an 1890's apothecary soda-dispenser, about a foot high and barrel-shaped, with gold-leafed hoops framing the beautifully hand-painted label, "Original Dr. Swett's Root Beer, 5 c." As I worked, I sometimes sang along with the radio, which seemed always to be playing Christopher Cross's "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)." I somewhat identified with Arthur, who "does as he pleases; shows himself a pretty good time." My father often joked afterwards that he felt I was trying to symbolically reassemble the shards of my marriage, but I was not yet aware that my marriage was broken.
I sometimes watched old reruns of "Welcome Back, Kotter" on T.V., which I had heard was based on the true teaching experiences of Gabe Kaplan, the star. I was inspired by Kotter/Kaplan's success as a teacher. Our house-mate John had enjoyed himself immensely working part-time as a substitute teacher before going into commodities; I thought I would give it a try. I landed a one-day job at the Carlson School in neighboring Salem, and hopped a ride with Annie on her way to work in Cambridge. It was a nightmare. The second-graders were sweet and somewhat awed by my three-piece suit and beard, but quickly discovered I was a push-over; I was still too uncomfortable with my father's parenting style to whole-heartedly be an authority figure myself. I tried diligently to impart all the material the regular teacher had left for me, but was swamped beneath the children's high-spirited chaos. I remembered so clearly being their age and watching my class-mates tease a substitute-teacher. I had never joined in; feeling sorry for the substitutes, I had tried to make their job easier. Perhaps I was "remembering" my future agony! At day's end I exhaustedly slunk away, and never pressed my case when the Salem school system forgot to pay me.
As 1981 crept to a close, I went to work at a small word-processing firm called 'Neath the Elms; this was my first taste of microcomputers. What a revolutionary fluidity! I could store text; I could insert changes anywhere in a text and print them immediately; I could even correct my output as I wrote. No longer having to worry about hitting the right key on the first try, I doubled my self-taught typewriting speed overnight, to over 60 words per minute. Again, as with the photocopier, the new technology had a price; I could see that I would no longer be forced to digest ideas inside before putting them on paper, in order to print a high-quality single draft. The price did not seem too high. I also liked mastering the rather arcane codes of WordStar; I always enjoyed learning new languages. Owner Bob Allison quickly promoted me to Operations Manager and spoke of making me partner.
Annie had wanted to go to graduate school but felt she was not bright enough for Harvard; I convinced her that Harvard was a state of mind and that she could do it. She applied to the Graduate School of Education, was accepted, and did very well, taking courses part-time while she continued managing the Harvard University Press Bookstore. I sometimes typed and edited her papers on the word-processor at 'Neath the Elms in my spare time --- what little I had. I had begun working 60-plus hours a week, mainly to avoid being around Annie. Something odd had crept into our relationship.
One day she called from work and said she'd be working late. I felt as if I had been stabbed in the gut --- I knew she was lying, and she knew I knew, but neither of us said anything. She was racked with guilt about her overpowering infatuation for a co-worker; she was having an affair and had confided in her friends, but couldn't tell me. I, who had prided myself on the wonderful marriage we had, did not have the skills to deal with this. She had been my best friend; now I could no longer trust her. Our relationship froze into deeper and deeper silence.
NEXT: INITIATION IV: CRUCIFIXION, Part III (December 1981 - June 1982)
