"Poor Jubal! Nobody ever feels sorry for him, so he has to feel sorry for himself."
"Sarcasm yet. No wonder I don't get any work done."
"Not sarcasm, Boss. Only the wearer knows where the shoe pinches."
"My apologies. All right, here's pay copy. Begin. Title: 'One for the Road,'
"There's amnesia in a hang knot,
And comfort in the ax,
But the simple way of poison will make your nerves relax.
"There's surcease in a gunshot,
And sleep that comes from racks,
But a handy draft of poison avoids the harshest tax.
"You find rest upon the hot squat,
Or gas can give you pax,
But the closest corner chemist has peace in packaged stacks.
"There's refuge in the church lot
When you tire of facing facts,
And the smoothest route is poison prescribed by kindly quacks.
"Chorus-
With an ugh! and a groan, and a kick of the heels,
Death comes quiet, or it comes with squeals-
But the pleasantest place to find your end
Is a cup of cheer from the hand of a friend."
"Jubal," Anne said worriedly, "is your stomach upset?"
"Always."
"That one's for file, too?"
"Huh? That's for the New Yorker. Their usual pen name."
"They'll bounce it."
"They'll buy it. It's morbid, they'll buy it."
And besides, there's something wrong with the scansion."
"Of course there is! You have to give an editor something to change, or he gets frustrated. After he pees in it himself, he likes the flavor much better, so he buys it. Look, my dear, I was successfully avoiding honest work long before you were born - so don't try to teach Granpaw how to suck eggs. Or would you rather I nursed Abby while you turn out copy? Hey! It's Abigail's feeding time, isn't it? And you weren't 'Front,' Dorcas is 'Front.' I remember."
"It won't hurt Abby to wait a few minutes. Dorcas is lying down. Morning sickness."
"Nonsense. If she's pregnant, why won't she let me run a test? Anne, I can spot pregnancy two weeks before a rabbit can - and you know it. I'm going to have to be firm with that girl."
"Jubal, you let her be! She's scared she didn't catch� and she wants to think she did, as long as possible. Don't you know anything about women?"
"Mmm� come to think about it - no. Not anything. All right, I won't heckle her. But why didn't you bring our baby angel in and nurse her here? You have both hands free when you take dictation."
"In the first place, I'm glad I didn't - she might have understood what you were saying-"
"So I'm a bad influence, am I?"
"She's too young to see the marshmallow syrup underneath, Boss. But the real reason is that you don't do any work at all if I bring her in with me; you just play with her."
"Can you think of any better way of enriching the empty hours?"
"Jubal, I appreciate the fact that you are dotty over my daughter; I think she's pretty nice myself. But you've been spending all your time either playing with Abby� or moping. That's not good."
"How soon do we go on relief?"
"That's beside the point. If you don't crank out stories, you get spiritually constipated. It's reached the point where Dorcas and Larry and I are biting our nails - and when you do yell 'Front!' we jitter with relief. Only it's always a false alarm."
"If there's money in the bank to meet the bills, what are you worried about?"
"What are you worried about, Boss?"
Jubal considered it. Should he tell her? Any possible doubt as to the paternity of Abigail had been settled, in his mind, in her naming; Anne had wavered between "Abigail" and "Zenobia" - and had settled it by loading the infant with both names. Anne had never mentioned the meanings of those names; presumably she did not know that he knew them.
Anne went on firmly, "You're not fooling anyone but yourself; Jubal. Dorcas and Larry and I all know that Mike can take care of himself. and you ought to know it. But because you've been so frenetic about it-"
"'Frenetic!' Me?"
"-Larry very quietly set up the stereo tank in his room and some one of us three had been catching the news, every broadcast. Not because we are worried, for we aren't - except about you. But when Mike gets into the news - and of course he does get into the news; he's still the Man from Mars - we know about it before those silly clippings ever reach you. I wish you would quit reading them."
"How do you know anything about any clippings? I went to a lot of trouble to see that you didn't. I thought."
"Boss," she said in a tired voice, "somebody has to dispose of the trash. Do you think Larry can't read?"
"So. That confounded oubliette hasn't worked right since Duke left. Damn it, nothing has!"
"All you have to do is to send word to Mike that you want Duke to come back - Duke will show up at once."
"You know I can't do that." It graveled him that what she said was almost certainly true - and the thought was followed by a sudden and bitter suspicion. "Anne! Are you still here because Mike told you to stay?"
She answered promptly, "I am here because I wish to be here."
"Mmmm� not sure that's a responsive answer."
"Jubal, sometimes I wish you were small enough to spank. May I finish what I was saying?"
"You have the floor." Would any of them be here? Would Maryam have married Stinky and gone off to Beirut if Mike had not approved it? The name "Fatima Michele" might be an acknowledgment of her adopted faith plus her husband's wish to compliment his closest friend - or it might be code almost as explicit as baby Abby's double name, one which stated that Mike was somewhat more than godfather to the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Mahmoud. If so, did Stinky wear his antlers unaware? Or with serene pride as Joseph was alleged to have done? Uh� but it must be concluded with utter certainty that Stinky knew the minutes of his houri; water brothership permitted not even diplomatic omission of any matter so important. If indeed it was important, which as a physician and agnostic Jubal doubted. But to them it would be - "You aren't listening."
"Sorry. Woolgathering." - and stop it, you nasty old man� reading meanings into names that mothers give their children indeed! Next thing you'll be taking up numerology� then astrology� then spiritualism - until your senility has progressed so far that all there is left is custodial treatment for a hulk too dim-witted to discorporate in dignity. Go to locked drawer nine in the clinic, code "Lethe" - and use at least two grains to be sure, although one is more than enough - "There's no need for you to read those clippings, because we know the public news about Mike before you do - and Ben has given us a water promise to let us know any private news we need to know at once - and Mike of course knows this. But, Jubal, Mike can't be hurt. If you would only visit the Nest, as we three have done, you would know this."
"I have never been invited."
"We didn't have specific invitations, either; we just went. Nobody has to have an invitation to go to his own home� any more than they require invitations to come here. Like 'The Death of the Hired Man.' But you are just making excuses, Jubal, and poor ones - for Ben urged you to, and both Dawn and Duke sent word to you."
"Mike hasn't invited me."
"Boss, that Nest belongs to me and to you quite as much as it does to Mike. Mike is first among equals� as you are here. Is this Abby's home?"
"Happens," he answered evenly, "that title already vests in her with lifetime tenancy for me." Jubal had changed his own will, knowing that Mike's will now made it unnecessary to provide for any water brother of Mike. But not being sure of the exact 'water' status of this nestling - save that she was usually wet - he had made redispositions in her favor and in favor of descendants, if any, of certain others. "I hadn't intended to tell you, but there is no harm in your knowing."