“ANDREA … ANDREA, DEAR. THERE’S some company to see you …”
Her mother’s voice sang to them, footsteps hesitating on the stair. Andrea rolled over him.
“All right — I’ll be down …”
Then she rolled back and they lay side by side trying to recapture whatever special emotion there had been for them. It seemed to be passing them by, just barely, and they clung to the heavy languor of the moment as if it had been the real thing and they had won it for themselves.
Presently, she leaned over and kissed him on the side of his face and got to her feet, straightening her clothes. Her throat and forehead shone in the withering heat of the early afternoon and small streaks of perspiration were coming through the back of her blouse. She looked at herself critically in the mirror.
“God! I can’t go down there looking like this. Could you see who it is?”
She looked lovely with her face and forehead shining and her hair damply matted, and he told her this. But at the same time he slipped his shoes on and started downstairs.
The sound of Stanley’s voice was a relief, and it was not until he had reached the bottom and turned into the main room that he realized Elsie was with him, talking with Andrea’s mother about the insect pictures. Stanley looked like death, but it was apparent he had come to terms with the condition. He wore a fresh suit and was making an effort to keep his mouth from going slack, and he did not complain. He stood a short distance away, staring at Andrea’s painting — the amalgam of Neil and John Tom — her cosmic lover, her legendary poet-politician folk hero.
He turned to greet Neil. The complaint — the early call, the hangover, the business with Elsie the night before: which was it? — showed only in his eyes. He could not get them quite into focus.
“Hi, Dads.”
“Hello … Hello, Elsie.” She looked up, smiled nicely and nodded, holding on to the katydid photograph. It probably made absolute good sense to her.
“I’ve written you something,” Stanley said. “Want a look?”
“Yes.”
They sat on a couch and Neil made penciled notations on the copy. They did not hear Andrea reach the bottom of the stair, but he immediately detected the surprised and faintly disapproving quality in her voice. She was already being entirely too nice to the girl, telling her that of course she should dine with them; they would love having her. The phone business started again, and Andrea’s father looked in.
“It’s the Governor, Neil. He must of just finished his consommé.” The old man had a terrible laugh, possibly the result of it not quite being a laugh but rather a contrivance of high-pitched grunts put together in sequence, wheezing and dreadful. He seemed determined not to show his teeth for fear they might shoot right out of his head.
“Neil. Any plans yet?”
“Some. I’m going back tonight.”
“Ah. You been bothered much this morning?”
“Yes. The goddam phone …”
“I’ve been getting some for you the last hour or so and having them transferred out there. Anything interesting?”
“No …” He thought a moment. “The papers. I’m working on a statement to give them now.”
“Anything particular you wanted to say?”
“No. Not really.”
“Then I’d suggest you hold off. Go out of business for the day …”
“All right.”
“… Piss on the fire and go home …”
“Okay …”
“Unless Edwards comes up with something. I don’t think he will. He’s trying like the devil. I understand he’s been calling the newsmen, instead of the other way around. See? You’re ahead without even opening your mouth.”
“That’s fine. I didn’t much like the idea of popping off anyhow after so much in the papers this —”
“Well listen — what I called you about … There’s a Mexican going to call you. Probably soon, as we hang up. He called me and I gave him your number, but then I got in ahead of him.”
“Who is it?”
“A Mexican.”
“From Mexico?”
“No, goddammit, hell no. American of Spanish descent. You like that better? Enrique García López. Henry. You know Henry?”
“Yes.” He remembered Henry in the Legislature and as a city judge and later as a patrón, a new political leader of the machine-vote counties to the south.
“Well listen — you be careful what you say to that slant-eyed bastard. He’ll probably want to make a deal.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know. But be careful. He’s a goddam bandit.”
“Do we need him?”
“Hell yes we need him. Every goddam vote we can scrape up. But don’t promise to make him Secretary of State or anything. He’s just liable to ask for that. For a starter.”
He gave a great laugh of satisfaction.
“All right,” Neil said.
“Hey — one other thing. You really leaving tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Could you get by here to see me in the next hour?”
“Oh, hell — listen — This is my last day here. You understand? I’ve been tied up every minute of —”
“Okay, okay. Can I come by there?”
“Well … sure. Happy to have —”
“Be about fifteen minutes. That all right? I won’t stay long.”
He could hear the children being summoned from next door and the dinner being set out on the table. In another room Andrea was still full of false enthusiasm for Elsie. Elsie was giving it to her right back, playing the innocent.
“You can’t talk about it on the phone?”
“No.”
The Governor rang off. Before Neil had reached the other room they were called in to eat. Andrea stood at one end of the table and advised where they should take their seats. The girls were quietly stuffing themselves in the kitchen, and he went in to say hello. They showed enormous appetites, dead tired and emotionless from the excitement of the morning, scarcely interested in any dinnertime conversation. He tried desperately for a few minutes to tell them something, but even if he had known what it was he wanted to say there was some doubt whether he would have ever got through to them.
“You find all the eggs?”
“Yes.”
“Where were they hidden?”
“Yard.”
“Did you have a good Easter?”
“Yes. Grandma froze a butterfly.”
“Yes,” he said. “She sure did.”
“And a bumblebee!” said the younger sister.
The older set her fork down and began suddenly to cry. Neil was frantic.
“What’s wrong, honey? What is it?”
“There’s nothing to do.”
“Yes there is …”
“What?”
“… There’s …”
“Nothing!”
“There’s the park. After the naps perhaps we can all —”
The older one continued to cry.
“I want to freeze a bug,” the younger one said, looking up impatiently. Andrea came into the kitchen to speak to the children for a moment. Then she looked at him.
“I think that’s very nice.”
“What?”
“Elsie. You didn’t tell me she’s going to Washington …”
She went back to her seat at the dining table. Neil joined them and served himself. He spoke to Stanley about the decision against any statement for the papers. The old man discussed cattle and the dubious quality of the beef they were being served. The grandmother described her new Leica camera. The phone rang again.
He tried to get Andrea’s attention, but she avoided his gaze. He wondered if it were possible to get past the loneliness, the little terrors that isolated them all and were now nearly beyond comprehension. They had perpetrated such violences against one another — was there some twilight court where sentences for these crimes were miraculously, blessedly commuted? Just when you had thought a healing had set in, one of them laughed or coughed or hiccupped and the tissue tore away … He reached for the phone.
“Hello.”
“Neel? Neel Creestawnsawn?”
“Hello, Henry.”
Enrique García López bragged on him some. They talked about the time they had worked together, years ago, on legislation — never close to passage — setting up minimum housing requirements for migratory farm laborers.
“Neel?”
“Yes.”
“You got it wrapped up dawn here, boy.”
“Good … Good.”
“Mawst be like that ahverwhare.”
“I hope so, Henry. I sure hope so.”
“You think you’ll be needing my votes?”
“Well …”
“Ah doan think so. Ah think you could do without us. Spicking frankly.”
“I’m not so sure. I thought you said …”
“Sure. We’re for you, Neel. Hawndred per cent. Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”
“I don’t know what amount I need, Henry. It’s just that —”
“That prick Adwards — he’s struck gold or sawmthing.”
“What?”
“He wants-a deal with me.”
“What, Henry?”
“That prick Adwards — he’s damn fool, Neel, you know that? — he’s offer me five thousand.”
“For what?”
“The votes. To deliver the cawnties.”
“Well, damn, Henry … I don’t think I could make it without you. Or perhaps I could. But I’d like to have you with me.”
“Ah’m with you, boy. All the way. You can be sure of that thing. But I was figuring if you got any to spare you might make it without some of mine. That way I could accept that crazy man’s money — and I need it, Neel. Ah got a little debt.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you got the votes here if you need them. But they goin’ to Adwards, otherwhise. And if it gets too close I can always ring in a few thousand more votes Ah got. Secretly registered. Just for you. We got great pawtential down here.”
They talked some more and then ended the conversation without anything being definitely decided. The others had moved back into the main room, and Emma was clearing the dishes. The children had been taken up to bed.
“Godalmighty,” he heard the old man say. “It’s the Governor again.”
Arthur Fenstemaker came through the door, grinning hugely at everyone and looking as if he might at any moment circle the room in a compulsion of handclasps and vault up the stairs to kiss the children. He did kiss Andrea on the side of the face and squeezed her mother’s arm until the older woman began to turn red at the neck and laugh, nervously and for no reason, at everything the Governor said. The Governor stood glaring at Elsie for a moment, repeating his promise to visit her in the bookstore and make a purchase.
“But she won’t be there,” Andrea said gaily. “She’s leaving us just as soon as Stanley finds her a job in Washington.”
“Cut that stuff out, Stanley,” the Governor said. He took Neil’s arm and they went into the study. They sat in two big chairs and lit cigarettes.
“First thing when you get back, I want you to see some people for me.”
“All right.”
“First thing. Otherwise, we’ve got a disaster on our hands.”
“What’s it all about.”
“A lynchin’.”
“What?”
“Well. Almost.” The overstatement and then the qualification seemed to make Fenstemaker feel a little better. “Not really, but pretty much the same thing. A month ago this sheriff and two or three deputies and some others tied a colored man to a tree and beat him to death. With chains.”
“I haven’t heard about any of this. Last month? How did —”
“Only because I been sittin’ on it five weeks. I heard about it soon’s it happened. They were tryin’ to hush it up down there, but you don’t really ever hush up anything like that. I sent some people in to look around and then I got a couple Rangers to make an investigation. It didn’t take them long. They had the whole story for me in about a week. It’s a goddam mess. I’d like to go down there and lay some chain on a couple of those sonsofbitches …”
The Governor went into further detail. He explained how they had documented the case and were prepared to turn it over to the District Attorney.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to see these people in Washington. They’ve heard about it, too. We came across a couple of their investigators asking questions all over the town. The Rangers told them they had the case nailed down and sent them back. So they know about it there.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that nothing’s going to happen. No charges, no nothin’. Nothin’ at all. And when they hear about it up there they’ll raise an awful goddam stink.”
“I should think so. What do you mean nothing will happen?”
“Well, nothin’ right off. The thing is, there’s this Judge and this D.A. and I don’t trust either one. They’re liable to put the case before a grand jury and recommend they forget all about it. They’re not exactly in mournin’ over that nigger.”
“Well for God’s sake, Arthur … What do you plan to do about it?”
“I’ll get ’em. One way or another — those two and the whole damn bunch of them are going to pay and pay and pay …”
“But what about a trial? Isn’t there even going to be an indictment?”
“… And pay,” the Governor said. “I’m going to turn them inside out. Maybe the whole goddam town while I’m at it. There may be an indictment — I think there will be. Who the hell knows? Maybe even a conviction. But it’s going to take time to get the thumbscrews tightened on them. And there won’t be time for anything if those people in Washington start screaming at me. You get some more of their investigators down here and we’ll have a riot. And if I don’t get some action taken in court, we’re going to have some mean goddam legislation jammed down our throats or up our behinds or however you prefer to look at it.”
“You want me …”
“To talk to those people. You can do a sellin’ job for me. They’ll listen to you. Explain it to ’em for Jesus sake.”
“All right. I’ll try. They might understand.”
“Yes … I wish the hell I understood.”
“Understood what?”
“Just what the hell my part is in all this,” the Governor said, standing to go. “I got no business. I just jumped in like a damn fool. I don’t even know why. Right reasons or wrong reasons — who the hell can say?”
He stood and began to walk toward the front of the house, then stopped abruptly and turned back to Neil. The vitality so noticeable on his arrival had nearly leaked away; his face sagged and his eyes were clouded over.
“You think this is the right thing to do?” he said. “I’ve searched my head and …”
Before Neil could reply, or even begin to search his own head, the Governor’s expression firmed.
“The hell with all that,” he said. “I can’t worry about motives. Let the rest of them worry about that … They’ll have me doing the right thing for the wrong reasons anyhow. You do what you have to do.”
He turned and took another step and then faced Neil again.
“What’d that fellow want?”
“Who?”
“The Mex … Henry … He call you yet?”
Neil told about the telephone conversation.
“Well it could’ve been worse. And you said the right thing. He’s a bandit, like I said, but he’s honest and he’ll do what he says. Let him take old Edwards for a ride. I’d prefer to see the money go that way. Edwards’ll be lucky to get a vote for every five dollars he throws around. And he hasn’t got much to throw.”
“You think those people you’ve talked to will stay with me all the way? Even if I begin to sag a little?”
“Who knows?” the Governor said. “They’re all a bunch of bandits when you get right down to it. We could win without their money. But this way it’s easier. You can go back up to Washington and vote that economic aid and lower the interest rate and maybe even get a nigger bill through. You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you? Like it a lot better than rampagin’ around here tryin’ to outtalk Edwards and bein’ something you ain’t?”
“Yes,” Neil said. Then he put the question to the Governor.
“You know where Edwards got all that information — on John Tom and Elsie and Stanley?”
Fenstemaker began unwrapping a cigar and looking for a wastebasket in which to throw the cellophane. Not finding one, he stuffed the wrapper in his pocket, stared blandly at Neil, and said: “From me.”
“Why? Why in the world would you —”
“I did it because old Edwards was pokin’ around all over town, asking questions. He’s a crazy goddam campaigner, but he’s good at that sort of thing. He would’ve got all of it sooner or later, and I felt as long as I had some control over how and where he’d use it you wouldn’t get hurt any. I passed the word along to a few people he was talkin’ to, and it worked. You weren’t hurt. The poor dumb bastard fired all his barrels and brought down the house. It was a good performance — funny as hell — but only that. He didn’t even touch you. Otherwise … How’d you like to go through this campaign pickin’ out buckshot from your behind?”
He smiled, and then said: “Talk to those people up there for me, will you? They’ll believe you. You obviously got no guile …”
Then he was gone, through the main room with an extravagant wave toward the others, striding down the driveway to his limousine. Neil stood at the door and watched him go.
It should have been John Tom, he thought. John Tom would have been far more successful at this business — he could have been the epic poet-politician, with a knowing, no-nonsense approach to how things were and how they ought to be and a compensating awareness of the terrible underpinnings of the system that supported them. He never took himself too seriously, and yet he had been one of the few serious persons he had ever known. A very Good Doctor. He had made a speech to a bunch of them one night at one of the parties in the big spanishy house across town, standing there, lecturing them, the vitality coming to him as all of Neil’s began to drain away: “Bums, hacks, medicine show evangelists …” he said. “Liberals! You’re all hysterical Tories at heart — Wobblies playing the bond market. Simpering, powdered old pros from Flitville — worrying about bad breath and lip hair while the world caves in. Go ahead! Get right with your Zen-Buddha! Walk softly and carry a goddam badminton racquet …”
The trouble was, they had no stomach for it — John Tom’s awful compulsion to look at reality — they could not bear to watch for too long a time. Stanley still carried a little of it with him; it was what he called his mixed tones. But all the others couldn’t possibly stare the truly monstrous in the face …
The afternoon wore on. Stanley and the girl went out for a ride in the hills. Andrea and her parents sat talking about a summer trip to Taos or Acapulco. Neil talked incessantly on the phone and stood around waiting for the children to come awake. When they finally wandered down the stairs, cross and perspiring, he attempted to engage them in conversation. But it was about as brittle and meaningless as cocktail party patter, and they soon grew bored with him and followed their grandmother outside to chase insects.
Toward evening, Stanley returned with Elsie and began transferring his luggage from one car to the other. Neil stuffed clothes in his bag upstairs. Andrea brought him some freshly laundered shirts. They sat quietly, talking about the house and the children and their personal finances, trying obliquely to recapture a little of the magic that had just barely passed them by earlier in the afternoon. Clouds gathered and a noisy rain began to fall.
“Perhaps the flights will be canceled,” she said.
“We’ll have to go out and wait, in any event.”
There was one last phone call. The pretty little girl who had accompanied them on the flight down wanted to know if he would like a ride back the following morning. He told her no, wanting desperately to stay one last evening with Andrea and the children but certain at the same time there would be her parents and possibly one last unavoidable party getting in the way. It could get a lot worse, he thought, before it got any better. The girl’s singsong voice droned on interminably, rising and falling. Listen, he wanted to tell her, Listen … Quit trying to be something you’ve invented. Forget about your Village parties and your folk dancing and those contrived plans to romance with Negroes and Senators and misunderstood artists. Get out of those goddam bulky skirts and those awful quarter-heel shoes … Put your hair up sometime; get it out of your face. Quit chewing your nails and take a bath every night and keep your underwear laundered. Ease off all that posturing and wait for something really genuine to happen.
He told her thanks-very-much and give-his-best-to-her-father and have-a-good-trip-back.
Then he left the phone off the hook and got his bags from upstairs, kissed his children and left a twenty-dollar bill in an envelope for Fat Emma the maid. It had been like a weekend with friends in some gay country house spooked by forgotten assignations. They loaded the bags in the back of the car and drove slowly through the gleaming streets toward the airport.
They stood on the ramp, rain falling all around, rattling the shed above their heads. Andrea watched Stanley and the girl talking and then bending toward each other to kiss. She wavered a moment, looking up at Neil who seemed either half asleep or in a mild state of shock. She put her arm through his and their shoulders touched lightly and finally they were able to turn their faces to each other and kiss. They mumbled insane, insensible goodbyes and then Neil and Stanley made a run for the plane. The folding stairway swallowed them up and the big motors began to groan. She and Elsie looked at each other glumly and turned to leave. Her name came across the public address — there was a number to call. She dialed the number from a booth and Kermit’s voice shrieked at her.
“Hey, Miss Lady, where’s that car of mine? Old Jake and I are out here at your digs, and somebody’s split with my heap.”
She told him what had happened with his car. He found this unimaginably funny.
“It’s the gas gauge, Miss Lady. I never think to look. Listen — old Jake and I are giving a little party tonight at my new Renaissance Gallery and we got absolutely to have you with us …”
She began to feel a little better and promised to meet them there for a drink.