Welcome to Scribd, the world's digital library. Read, publish, and share books and documents. See more
Standard view
Full view
of .
Look up keyword
Like this
1Activity
0 of .
Results for:
No results containing your search query
P. 1
Temple of Gold by William Goldman (Excerpt)

Temple of Gold by William Goldman (Excerpt)

Ratings: (0)|Views: 7|Likes:
Published by OpenRoadMedia
Raymond Euripides Trevitt is not yet ten when he resolves to make his own way in life. When a new boy, Zock, moves in next door, he knows he has finally met his partner in life’s great adventures. As they come of age in midwestern, midcentury America, Ray and Zock become the best of friends—even though they’re opposites in many ways. Ray takes Zock hiking; Zock teaches Ray about poetry. Together, they run away to Chicago, hide out in movie theaters, and watch Gunga Din over and over.

They navigate high school together: double dating, learning about first love, getting into college. But during a summer visit home, a tragic accident leaves Ray racked with guilt and self-loathing. Broken and lost, Ray is left to find his way through life one blunder at a time, never giving up hope or relinquishing his quest for atonement.
Raymond Euripides Trevitt is not yet ten when he resolves to make his own way in life. When a new boy, Zock, moves in next door, he knows he has finally met his partner in life’s great adventures. As they come of age in midwestern, midcentury America, Ray and Zock become the best of friends—even though they’re opposites in many ways. Ray takes Zock hiking; Zock teaches Ray about poetry. Together, they run away to Chicago, hide out in movie theaters, and watch Gunga Din over and over.

They navigate high school together: double dating, learning about first love, getting into college. But during a summer visit home, a tragic accident leaves Ray racked with guilt and self-loathing. Broken and lost, Ray is left to find his way through life one blunder at a time, never giving up hope or relinquishing his quest for atonement.

More info:

Published by: OpenRoadMedia on Jan 08, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

Availability:

Read on Scribd mobile: iPhone, iPad and Android.
download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
See more
See less

09/29/2013

pdf

text

original

 
 
 
 
THE TEMPLE OF GOLD
By William Goldman
MY FATHER WAS A stuffy man.That is not meant as criticism but rather to be the truth. It is the wordthat best fit him. Stuffy. He always wore dark suits and ugly ties, and wasforever pursing his lips and wrinkling up his forehead before he saidanything. “Is that you?” my mother would call when he came home. Thenhe’d purse his lips and there would go his forehead and after a while he’dsay: “Yes, my dear.” He always called her that—“my dear”; never her realname, which was Katherine. And I was always Raymond.It’s easiest to begin with my father rather than my mother or Grandmother Rae for the simple reason that I knew less about him than theothers. We lived side by side in the same house for many years, but I never really got to know him. That again isn’t meant to be criticism; it was just theway things worked out.Because, in the first place, he was a lot older than I was, being fortywhen I was born. And he was not the kind who enjoyed walking along the beach or playing catch out in the back yard by the ravine. He was a scholar,and I guess a good one, for he was far and away the most famous person atAthens College in Athens, Illinois, which is where he taught all his life. Hegot famous because he was an important figure in the Euripides revival thattook place in the earlier part of this, the twentieth century, which should go along way toward explaining how I happened to get stuck with the middlename I unfortunately possess. I suppose he had visions of me becoming a
 
 
Greek scholar like himself, and if that had happened, my name would have been a winner: Raymond Euripides Trevitt. But such did not turn out to bethe case.My father didn’t have a sense of humor; he never laughed much, andthere was hardly a thing about him you could call amusing. Except maybethe bedtime stories he used to tell me. Whereas most kids got Mother Gooseor along those lines, I got the Greek tragedies. “Go to bed now, Raymond,and I’ll tell you the story of Medea.” Or Antigone. Or Hippolytus. Before Iwas seven, I knew the plots to all those Greek plays. And if you happen to,then you know that they’re not for kiddies, being crammed full of sex, blood, murder, etc. Well, those were my bedtime stories, but the way myfather told them, with his careful, very clipped way of speaking, they never came out dirty at all.As I said, he was a scholar and so were his friends, also teachers fromthe college and nice enough, I suppose, in their own way. We never had big parties at our house, but only small gatherings of three or four couples whosat around, chatting softly and sipping dry wine. At the start, when I wasvery little, my father used to trot me down for a visit, which always endedwith me telling the plot of one of the Greek plays. “ ‘Gweat heavens,’Œdipus scweamed. ‘My wife is my muvver.’ ” And I guess it was prettycute at that, what with me being so young, because they’d always applaud before shipping me back upstairs.All that ended, though, when I was six or seven, seeing as by that timethey had heard me say all the plots and I hadn’t advanced much in mystudies. I never was a scholar, especially about Greek plays, and it was at

You're Reading a Free Preview

Download
scribd