“It’s this nuisance, make-work, government-on-our-backs sort of thing, but shit, kid, the job’s yours if you want it. I’d kind of like to see you in the crew.”
“The crew,” George Mills said.
“The bucket brigade in the trailer,” Laglichio said.
“And the pay?”
“Every bit as good as you make right now.”
“I see,” George Mills said.
“Money isn’t everything. There are other advantages,” Laglichio said.
“Yes?”
“The niggers would see your white ass and think you’re foreman. I wouldn’t tell them otherwise, George,” Laglichio said. “Look,” he said, “it’s up to you what you do with your life.”
Messenger phoned. “It was this roll of fast color film they do in Japan,” he said. “It was this roll of super fast film he brought back with him. It’s not on the market here in the States. It retails for maybe three or four dollars,” he said, something manic in the edge of his voice. “Talk about your mess of pottage, hey Mills? The horror, the horror, huh?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well you were wrong,” Messenger said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Well it wasn’t any gold goddamn lighter, it wasn’t any pen-and-pencil set. He didn’t touch the place settings. He never stole the silver.”
“I don’t—”
“It was film,” he said. “It wasn’t any damn souvenir. It didn’t have any damn royal crest on it. That was just your idea. It was this roll of fast film with an ASA rating of several thousand. On a cloudy day you take sharp color pictures of the dark side of the moon or something.”
“He stole the chancellor’s film?”
“No,” Messenger said. “That was your idea too. It was Claunch, Sr.’s film. He was passing it around. He saw Sam pocket it.”
“That’s why he was shouting!” Mills said, everything clear to him. “The son of a bitch set him up!”
“No,” Messenger said, “that’s your idea too. What is he, a mastermind? How could he know Sam would slip the roll of film into his pocket? You’re one of these conspiracy suckers, Mills. Things happen, that’s all. This was just simple, honest, innocent rich man’s show and tell. And Sam, Sam was so mad at how they’d been treating him he pulled this dumb kid’s trick. It wasn’t even theft. It was vandalism.”
“He was caught red-handed. They were shouting. They made him resign.”
“Yeah, well,” Messenger said, “they worked it out.”
“The trust,” George Mills said.
“The works,” Messenger said gleefully. “The car is back.”
“It’s Harve,” he said when he phoned again.
“What is it?” Mills asked. “Has something happened to your son?”
“Who is it?” Louise asked. “Is it Cornell?”
Mills nodded. “It’s his kid,” he told her.
“Oh my God,” Louise said, “what happened?”
“No, no,” Messenger said. “Tell her it’s all right.”
“What is it, George?” Louise asked.
“I don’t know,” George Mills said. “He says it’s all right.”
Messenger was laughing and talking at once. Mills could barely understand him.
“But he says he’ll be all right?” Louise said.
Mills handed his wife the telephone. “You talk to him. I can’t carry on two conversations at once.”
“Cornell, it’s Lulu,” she said. “George tells me Harve’s going to be all right. That’s the important thing. Listen,” she said, “kids that age have incredible powers of recovery. I saw it all the time in the lunchroom. They’d bang their heads open on the slippery floors, get into fights. A few days later they were completely — What? Oh,” she said. “—Oh. — Oh.”
“What?” George Mills said. “What?”
Louise looked at him crossly and shook her head. She put her finger to her lips. “What? What’s that, Cornell? Oh,” she said smiling, and began to nod. George Mills watched her nod and smile into the telephone. Messenger might have been courting her. She looked seductive, almost coy. “That’s wonderful,” she said at last. “I certainly will.” She replaced the phone.
“What?” George Mills said. “What?”
“It was the alphabet,” she said.
“The alphabet,” Mills repeated. “The kid’s learned the alphabet.”
“That’s just it,” she said, “he never did.”
“That’s what’s so wonderful?”
“Well yes,” she said, “in a way. I mean they didn’t know he hadn’t learned it. He sang that song when he was a little kid.”
“What song?”
“You know,” she said. Louise started to sing. “ ‘ABCDEFG, HIJKLMNOP.’ You know,” she said.
“Oh yeah,” George Mills said.
“I mean Cornell says that was practically his favorite song when he was a kid, so naturally they assumed …They didn’t know he didn’t understand the connection between the sounds and the letters. Now they think that when they taught it to the kids in preschool that must have been the month he had strep throat. And that when they reviewed it in kindergarten that was when he had his tonsils out.” Mills stared at her. “They just caught it,” she said. “After all those years. Can you imagine? They just caught it.”
“Was he high?” Mills asked.
“Cornell? No. I can tell.”
“You can?”
“A woman knows,” his wife said.
“I see.”
“He’s been sight reading,” Louise said. “All these years. He’s been sight reading. Do you know how hard that is? Cornell says it’s as if we were set down in Japan or Russia or anywhere else they have those peculiar alphabets, and could read only the words we’d had some experience with. Stop signs or the word for ‘bakery’ if we see cakes in the window.”
George Mills nodded.
“Once they caught it they were able to do something about it. He learned it in a day and a half. You know Cornell says he’s been through two readers this week? They’re color-coded. He finished the orange, he finished the red. He starts on the blue one, Let’s Read five, tomorrow. Cornell says it’s confidence. Isn’t it queer, George? Isn’t it queer how things work out?”
Messenger dropped in again at the house. He had phoned first to make sure that George would be home. “You don’t have to phone,” Mills told him at the door. “Just come when you feel like. I acted a little crazy is all.”
“No no,” Messenger said. “That’s all right. I want to see the both of you.”
“You want something to eat? Lulu’s fixing lunch.”
“How’s the back?”
George shrugged. “Comes and goes. Comes and comes, comes and stays. You know how it is. It acted up some today so I knocked off early.”
Messenger nodded.
“Say, that’s great news about the kid,” Mills said. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
“Thanks,” Messenger said. He smiled.
Louise came into the living room carrying a tray. “Oh hi, Cornell.”
“Louise,” Cornell said.
“I thought it was you. It’s good to see you again. I opened a large can of Spaghetti-O’s.”
“You’ll love it,” George Mills said.
“No, you two go ahead. I’m not much on Italian cuisine.”
“Hey,” George Mills said, “ain’t you enhanced?”
“Me?” Messenger said. “No.” He looked embarrassed.
“I’ll fix you a sandwich,” Louise said.
“No thanks, Louise. I’m not very hungry.”