The Lords of Discipline by Pat Conroy Page A

surf. Something in me was congruent with this land, something affirmed when I witnessed the startled, piping rush of shrimp or the flash of starlight on the scales of mullet. I could feel myself relax and change whenever I returned to the lowcountry and saw the vast green expanses of marsh, feminine as lace, delicate as calligraphy. The lowcountry had its own special ache and sting. In Charleston I had found the flawless city rising splendidly, economically, out of a ripe, immaculate landscape. But it was also the city of the Institute and I never could quite forgive her for that single indiscretion.
    Abigail slowed her walk and turned to wait for me to catch up. The wind caught her hair, honey-colored and sensibly cut, but she brushed it back with a charming, distracted sweep of her hand. She was smiling and her face was younger, even girlish, in the darkness. She took my hand, and we skipped down the seawall for twenty yards. Then she stopped and walked to the railing. With her eyes closed, she began inhaling the warm, fragrant air in large breaths. The wind was rising slowly.
    “There is an old Charleston joke, Will,” she said with her eyes tightly shut. “Someone asked an old Charleston woman why she never traveled anywhere and she replied, ‘Why should I travel, sir? I am already here.’ That’s the way I feel about this city.”
    “That’s not how I feel about Charleston. It’s not that I don’t like the city. I do like it. I love the way this city looks. But sometimes I don’t like the way this city feels. It feels dead to me and sometimes it feels mean. I don’t know whether it’s the city itself or because of the Institute. Maybe if I hadn’t gone to the Institute I’d feel the same way about the city you do.”
    “All the boys complain about the Institute while they’re there, Will. You know that. Then as soon as they graduate they become crazed fanatics about the place, lunatic alumni who think the place was designed by God on the first day he rested. You’ll be just like all the rest of them when you graduate, mark my words.”
    “I’ll never be like that, Abigail.”
    “Hush, you simpleton. I’m telling you gospel stuff and you’re not even listening. Now I want you to tell me something else, and I’ve got a good reason for asking. Who is the girl creature in your life? You’ve never brought a girl to the house a single time since you’ve been rooming with Tradd and I demand a plausible explanation.”
    “There is no girl creature, Abigail.”
    “Pourquoi, monsieur?”
    “I don’t have time,” I lied.
    “Nonsense, monsieur.”
    “Girls have this funny habit. They turn green when I come in sight. I don’t know what’s really the problem. I’ve never learned to talk with girls. I don’t know how to say the things I hear other boys say to them, and I feel stupid trying. I’m not comfortable around them and, God knows, they’re not comfortable around me.”
    “Confidence, Will. Confidence,” she said soothingly. “You’ve got to start realizing that you’re adorable and eligible and desirable. You’re twenty-one and composed of fresh, juicy, tender, delectable man-flesh. We’ll find a girl for you this year.”
    “I don’t like South of Broad girls, Abigail,” I said. “You know that, don’t you? You set me up with that one girl when I was a sophomore. What was her name? Buffy or Missy or Punkin or something. I’d have done the world a favor if I’d drop-kicked her off the Cooper River Bridge at low tide. She was the biggest snob I’ve ever met.”
    Abigail giggled with pleasure. “I admit it was not a match made in heaven, Will, but Suki was a darling-looking girl and I thought you two might get along just famously. Stranger things have happened between men and women. But you certainly must try to get over this prejudice you have against snobs. I came from a long, distinguished family of snobs, and you absolutely adore me.”
    Clumsily, she leaned forward and