THE QUESTION CAME TO him forcibly that morning, a little before noon, as he stood outside the Governor’s Office in the Capitol building. He had with him an enormous black notebook, its thick pages neatly indexed with pink tabs, and a freshly inked speech, eight pages triple spaced, strange words dazzling him in oversized type — a “reading copy” Jay McGown said. Jay stood next to him, fumbling with manila folders and copies of the committee report, law books and news releases. Roy stared at Jay and at the bundle of printed matter and the gleaming marble corridors down which Arthur Fenstemaker had just now slouched. He wondered about those times in the past when he had asked himself the question, when some abstract force seemed to have separated him from awareness of what had gone before, leaving him bereft of reason, all justification, to grapple with the bald moment. What, he would ask himself, What am I doing here?
It was as if the question had been poised on his lips for years, always asked and forever unanswered. It had come to him once in Alaska, as he stalked a bear, cold and blinded with tears, on a hunting trip with his father; and, again, one evening in 1945 at a squawling party given in the U.S.O. in Norfolk, Virginia, as he perspired in his dark sailor suit and danced with his bride of three days. And even before that he had asked himself the question: fumbling in the cramped darkness of a Model-T Ford, barking his shins against the pine dashboard, in his first fantastic attempt at seduction.
The question had been coming to him for so long it had become a sort of ritual, a trick of the imagination, in which he was thrust back in time and then forward again, coming upon the moment as a stranger and viewing whatever experience was at hand with the limited awareness of one who might just now have stumbled on the scene. How come I’m here of all places? he would ask himself.
He turned to Jay McGown and repeated the question.
“Makin’ goddam history,” Jay said. “You heard the Governor …” He stared at the speech copies and added: “You see any errors in this stuff?”
Roy shook his head. “How should I know?” he said. “I’m just the author of the bill.” He stared at the print. “You write the speech?” he said.
Jay nodded. Roy said: “I never in my life had a speech written for me.”
“Then this here’s a moment of unparalleled magnificence,” Jay said. “You got yourself a ghost — you’ve arrived as a major public figure.”
They walked down the marble hall and into the chamber of the House of Representatives. Jay began distributing copies of the bill and the committee report and Roy’s remarks, yet unuttered. The chamber was steamy and half filled. It was a time just before convening when lobbyists and secretaries and newsmen and people with any sort of authority were permitted on the floor to pursue the legislators. Roy went to his desk and began his last-minute studies, checking notes, thumbing reference books, making penciled changes in the speech. He stared around, glancing at the back of the chamber, watching the clock. Arthur Fenstemaker came upon him from behind. He pulled over a chair and sat down. He asked Roy how he was. Roy said he was wondering what he was doing there.
“I never thought, when I was growing up, about getting into politics,” Roy went on. “And when I did, finally, right after college, I never thought I’d take it seriously. Just a means to an end. I forget what end.”
“I remember,” Fenstemaker said, “selling Real-Silk Socks — that’s a trade name — durin’ the summers at college. The limit of my ambition then was to sell enough of those goddam Real-Silk Socks to be manager of district sales and sleep with my secretary. The district manager had a secretary … You ready to take a little run?”
“Yes.”
“It’s all set up,” Fenstemaker said. “I had to talk to the Speaker. About puttin’ the bill up on the Calendar, ahead of some minor stuff.”
“I thought he was against the bill,” Roy said.
Fenstemaker showed his marvelous teeth. “He’s an honorable and reasonable man, Roy,” the Governor said. “All I had to do was threaten to ruin him.” He got abruptly to his feet and headed up the aisle without looking back, pausing occasionally to whisper in a member’s ear. Roy resumed his studies. A pageboy brought a telephone extension to his desk and plugged it in. Roy picked up the receiver.
“Where’ve you been?” Ouida said to him. “I called all yesterday afternoon and half the night, and —”
“I fell asleep — passed out actually,” Roy said. His voice sounded timorous. He thought suddenly about how nice it would be on the lake that afternoon; the emotion was unsettling. He was quickly, peculiarly charged with desire — right there in the middle of the day, on the floor of the House of Representatives — and the hell, he thought, with Earle Fielding and Fenstemaker and —
“I called five or six times,” Ouida said. “Where were you?”
“In bed … Unconscious … I didn’t wake up until … it was too late to call.”
“I’m going out to the ranch a day ahead of time,” Ouida said.
“Ahead of what?”
“That insane tennis tournament. I’ve got to get out there early to clean up the place. Arrange for a cook, have the courts rolled …”
“Courts?”
“Tennis courts. They’re playing tennis, remember? That’s the kind of tournament it is.”
“I’m still asleep,” Roy said.
“What I called about — what I was calling about last night — was to ask you to come with me. We’ll be miles and miles from everything. I’ve already got a baby sitter to stay in town with the boy. We can be alone out there — we’ll have the whole evening and night and next morning together. The others won’t be arriving until the afternoon.”
“I don’t know,” Roy said.
She wanted to know what was the matter and he tried to explain, and then she still wanted to know.
“What’s all this got to do with Fenstemaker?” she said. “I’m not in love with Fenstemaker. You in love with Fenstemaker? You obligated in any special way? I don’t understand any —”
He tried again to explain. “I happen to want to do this,” he said.
“All right. Forget it. Go back to sleep.”
“Look,” he said, “I’ll try to get loose later this afternoon. I can’t promise but I’ll try to —”
“Forget all about it,” Ouida said. She hung up.
He put the receiver down and sat there still holding onto it, wondering if he should call her back and attempt once again to explain the curious, the very trying circumstances. Look, he would say to her, I don’t know why I’m here about to make a speech. I never in my life thought I’d be. Or that I’d get a phone call from a lovely married lady with girl-sized bosoms and hair the color of maple syrup and just about the most desirable shin-bones I ever in my life saw. Calling to argue that I ought to be out in the country to watch her walking barefoot, wearing cotton underpants, all around a ranch house that’s having its … its tennis courts rolled. I don’t know why, lady. I’m not now and never have been a well man …
The boy returned and disconnected the phone extension. Willie England came down the aisle and sat next to him. “How’s it feel to be a member of the Governor’s team at last?” Willie said.
“I’m on nobody’s team,” Roy said with finality. “Wouldn’t drink a cup of coffee with some of the buggers and fourteen-carat sons of bitches that swoon and genuflect around the Governor. I just happen to —”
“Okay … Okay,” Willie said. “I think it’s fine.”
They sat in silence for a moment, looking round the great hall. Red and white lights flashed on a large board behind the Speaker’s rostrum. A slim young man moved along toward the front, stepped up on the raised platform and banged a gavel.
“This House is coming to order,” Willie said. “Suppose I’d better clear out.” He hesitated and then added: “You know anything new about Rinemiller?”
“A little,” Roy said. “Fenstemaker called me last night. He call you?”
“No,” Willie said. “Guess he thought he’d given me enough miseries … I still don’t know what to do about it. Am I supposed to expose my own employer? Chairman of my own board? You think Fenstemaker might do something himself? What’d he call you about?”
“The fellow with the recording machine. Looks like he’s back doing more business. According to Fenstemaker, anyhow.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Willie said. “Who is it this time? I hope to God it’s not another friend of the family.”
“Another House member,” Roy said. “He wouldn’t tell me who. Just said the fellow had taken another member up to his hotel suite and spent part of the afternoon. Fenstemaker must have spies everywhere. Nobody’s safe. He thinks the guy’s given up on trying to work through the Governor’s Office and is back buying votes again.”
“I’m not going to think about it,” Willie said. “I got to go look for a new job.”
Willie retreated up the aisle. Roy studied his legislation until Huggins appeared beside him. “What’s all this I hear about you and Fenstemaker?” he said.
“It’s true,” Roy said. “Come round tomorrow and share my mess of pottage.”
“How’d all this happen?” Huggins said.
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” Roy said. “Maybe he just knows real class when he sees it … You give me some help?”
“Help? What kind of help?”
Roy wrote down the names of some members with whom Huggins might have influence. “Help me pass a bill, for chrissake,” he said. “You don’t want to be an obstructionist all your life.”
“Sure … I’ll help,” Huggins said, looking mystified. He turned and moved up the aisle, picking out members to visit. A succession of speakers, from the rostrum and then from the floor microphones, inveighed against one thing and another. Their voices droned on; House members wandered in and out, drinking coffee from paper cups, reading newspapers, waving to friends in the gallery. Fairly soon the Speaker gaveled for order and called up a series of minor bills that were briefly described and passed without objection. Willie walked past alongside a committee chairman, talking and taking notes. Roy bent over his notes, trying to remember all of Fenstemaker’s instructions. Voices raged around him. Rinemiller and Earle Fielding came down the aisle and stood next to his desk.
“Hey, Roy,” Rinemiller said. “Hey, Roy …”
He looked up at Earle and Alfred. The two of them stood there, pursuing him, like old debts. “Just trying to get this stuff set right in my mind,” he said. “Before I have to get up there and make a fool of myself.”
“Wanted to let you know I got a little amendment,” Rinemiller said.
“That’s fine,” Roy said. Rinemiller smiled. Earle Fielding stared at him tragically for a moment and then turned away, focusing his attention on the speaker’s rostrum.
Rinemiller said: “My amendment calls for three hundred thousand more than is in the bill.”
“You have my good wishes,” Roy said. Earle Fielding did not look at him again.
“You mean that?” Rinemiller said.
“Mean what?”
“You’ll accept the amendment?”
“Hell, no.”
“Why not?” Rinemiller said. “Godalmighty, Roy, you think the money in that bill’s adequate?”
“Half a million dollars wouldn’t make it adequate,” Roy said.
“All right, then. So we’re agreed. Let’s stand up and make a real fight on this thing … For an adequate bill … Let’s see who’ll be counted for the folks. Fenstemaker goes too far with these accommodations of his. I’d rather lose than —”
“I’d rather win,” Roy said. “In this instance, anyhow. This bill would pass. I don’t think it could make it if we start tampering with those appropriations figures.”
Rinemiller backed off a step or two, looking resigned. “You sound like Fenstemaker,” he said. “Already got you spouting the clubby line.”
“Go ahead and introduce your amendment from the floor,” Roy said. “It might get accepted. I know some people who’d vote for it just to weaken chances of the bill itself on final passage.”
Rinemiller and Fielding wandered off. Roy stared at them. He wondered if he should go talk to Earle. If not now, then later. And if he couldn’t think of what exactly to say, he’d get Jay McGown to prepare a few words and see they were distributed to the press-radio-television gallery.
“That was all very interesting,” Willie said.
“You hear it?” Roy said.
Willie nodded. His attention faltered for a moment as one of the secretaries moved past, smelling good.
“What’d you think?” Roy said.
Willie raised his hands in innocence. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m going to stop making judgments. After hearing that tape yesterday, I don’t know anything for real sure. But Alfred made a point about Fenstemaker. Sometimes he goes too far. Sometimes you’ve got to stand up and holler.”
“Yes,” Roy said. He rubbed his eyes and thought briefly of Ouida. There seemed no use in arguing anything. Willie moved off again and Roy attempted to concentrate on his notes. He thought, instead, of Ouida, building a hurried fantasy of how it might be with Ouida at the ranch, or better still at the lake cabin, with the sounds of fishermen beaching their boats and the sour-water smell mixed with pine and the yeasty ferment of silage, coming awake like that, early in the morning in Ouida’s perfumed arms. Ouida had been partly right. Another evening wouldn’t be the same as the one that was most immediate. None of the evenings was. He was nothing like his person of two or three nights before, nor even of that morning.
Jay McGown walked past, hesitated, and came back to whisper into his ear.
Red and green lights splashed across the voting boards and a faint riffling sound was heard as the automatic computers went to work on the tally. Roy leaned over and pressed his switch. A young man strode past, watching the board, holding one finger above his head; another member followed a few steps behind, signaling with two fingers. The young men glared at each other and separated. The midday sun gleamed chalk-white through the windows, and two flags flapped dismally in the torpid heat outside. Roy wondered how the carp were biting.
“You’re all set, then?” Jay said to him.
Roy nodded. “You got any new converts?” he asked.
“Few foot-draggers giving us trouble,” Jay said. “Some of the fascists.” They both smiled at the word; it seemed almost archaic. Jay said: “They’re shaken — a few of them — about you managing the bill. They think something’s wrong.”
“There probably is,” Roy said. “Wish I knew what it was.”
Jay moved on. Roy repeated to himself: I wish I knew. What it was. What in hell did Fenstemaker expect of him? He could nearly hear it now … Behold, my friend, I have gone and set the land before yew. Go in there yourself now and possess it, as I have already sware it unto yew and your children and their seed after them … He began to tremble slightly, the way it had been at one time with girls, or the time with his father, leveling gunsights on the Kodiak bear. It must’ve been the size of an upright Model-T, the bear, and he’d had one of the old Fords once, trembling even then, the first time he had propped himself mile-high at the steering wheel. The bear was bloodied and poorly killed, and the T-Model nearly impossible to stretch out with a girl in.
He heard the Speaker’s voice droning from the rostrum, and then he was on his feet and plodding along in crazy slow movements, feeling monstrous and obtrusive, even in the stadium-sized chamber, toward the front microphone. He stared round the big room, took a deep breath, blinked in the stark light. He laid out his notes and the reference books and the speech Jay had written for him, gaped foggily once again at all his thieves and princes and rapscallions, and began, finally, to talk about the bill. He talked for a quarter of an hour, shifting from his notes to the prepared text and back again to the notes. Then he stood there revealed, waiting for the others to start in. He answered most of the questions right off, and when he couldn’t pull it out of his head, he turned through the thick pages of the reference books to find answers before questions were half out of mouths. A succession of amendments were proposed, defeated, proposed again in different form and beaten again. He accepted some minor changes, after pausing to reflect and in one instance straining to see Jay McGown nodding approval at the back of the hall. Alfred Rinemiller got to the back microphone and talked for ten minutes on his liberalizing amendment. Roy did not comment, but moved immediately for a vote; and Rinemiller was beaten badly. Roy motioned Huggins to the front microphone to relieve him while he went to haggle with someone at the back about obscure points of law in administering funds. When he was finished there, he turned to see Huggins in furious, full-wind debate with an old man, a member of twenty years standing, who had risen to decry the whole concept of such legislation. The old man hooted at the top of his voice, shaking his gnarled fist, charging that an unholy alliance had been formed between Fenstemaker and “minorities.” Fenstemaker and people such as Huggins, the old man claimed, were leading them all down the road to government control and socialism. Huggins stood there at the front microphone for a moment, amazed. “I ain’t even talked to the Governor about this bill,” he said finally. “I just thought it looked all right to me.”
“You think it’s all right, that’s enough to convince me it’s all wrong,” the old man said, waving his hands and looking about him for agreement from the others. Roy came down the center aisle and stood next to Huggins.
“Don’t argue with the old bastard,” he said. “Ignore him.”
“What?” Huggins said. “We can’t do that, can we? He’s misstated the whole thing — he’s even invented stuff about it. Godalmighty, you can’t let it go unanswered.”
“He’s just an artless old man,” Roy said. “Let it go … Forget it. It ought to be obvious to everyone. He’s got a reputation for it. But you get into an argument with him — hell that’s what he wants — he’ll have you defending every point in the bill for the next two hours. He can go all day on something like this. I’ve seen him. So’ve you. Ignore him. Otherwise, all our support might take a walk to the washroom. Don’t answer him. Just nod and sit down.”
“You’re the straw boss,” Huggins said. He walked off and sat at his desk, looking unhappy.
The debate resumed. Roy stood silent at the front microphone and let the opposition talk. Finally, with critics repeating themselves, their forensic gone dreary and uninspired, there were complaints from all around them for a vote. Roy made the motion then, and the Speaker banged the gavel and Fenstemaker’s bill was up for passage. Roy walked back to his desk and the lights began blinking on the big boards. He pushed the switch at his desk and heard one of his opponents say with satisfaction, “It looks like a red board.” Someone else said: “Mebby not. It’s too close to tell.” Roy looked at the boards and then across the chamber. Arthur Fenstemaker had appeared at the back, and Roy saw him there, slumped against a marble column, hands in pockets, staring up at the board. Then the Governor’s eyes focused on him and Roy got to his feet. He moved toward Fenstemaker; he could hear the noise of the electric computers and then the click and a sudden shout from all around. Fenstemaker’s face beamed. Roy turned to look. The red and green lights had vanished and the totals had been flashed. Fenstemaker had his arm and was roaring in his ear: “Ten votes! How ’bout that, my friend. You got home with money in the bank! Ten goddam votes!”
He clapped Roy on the back and pulled him toward the marble column. Huggins was on his feet down toward the rostrum, requesting confirmation. There were some late votes being cast, but not enough to change the outcome. “You did good job, Roy,” the Governor said.
“I just followed instructions.”
“You did real good job … Pretty goddam remarkable demonstration for just a few days’ homework. Hah? How you like those skids bein’ greased?”
“I like it fine,” Roy said. They walked outside together. Jay McGown joined them, and then Willie. Fenstemaker suggested they all go to his office and have a drink.
They walked down the halls together and through the reception room and into the Governor’s office. Fenstemaker got out the whiskey and Jay made drinks. Hoot Gibson came in and stood around grinning for a time until Jay gave him a glass of whiskey; then he told Willie a long, incoherent story about bringing Henry Busse and his orchestra to the college for a dance fifteen or twenty years before. Willie said he thought he remembered Henry Busse. Roy sat in one of the big chairs and closed his eyes, thinking distractedly of Alfred Rinemiller and what would happen to him. Nothing, possibly. It all seemed to depend on so many people. Fenstemaker was flushed and grinning. He waved his glass as in a toast.
“Then, my friends, then we did beat them as small as the dust of the earth …”
Roy got up and excused himself for a moment. He found a phone in one of the back offices and dialed the number. The baby sitter answered, announced that Ouida had gone off to the ranch for the weekend and asked if there would be a message. Roy said no — no message he could think of.
“You wawn talk to Mister Fielding? He’s right here.”
Before he could answer, Earle Fielding’s voice came on.
“Roy? That you Roy …?”
He broke the connection and wandered out the door, down a stairway and into the afternoon heat. On the way home he stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of whiskey. He would either drink from it straight on his way to the ranch or mix a few sours with which to brace the late afternoon on the front porch of the cabin. It seemed like another awful decision to make.