O'Brien conceded, "I can be pompous at times. It's one of my weaknesses."
He pointed to the pile of bills. "Am I in there?"
"Oscar," Sharlett Underhill told him as she led the way out, "that is something you will never know."
11
Ruth Goldman was in New York.
She had gone to begin treatments at the Sloan-Kettering Institute and would be away two weeks. Other trips would be necessary later.
The decision had been taken by Dr. Levin after studying the test results from Ruth's previous visit and discussing them by telephone with the New York doctors. He told Nim and Ruth together, I can't make promises; no one can, and nothing is definite. But I'll go so far as to say that I, and the Sloan-Kettering people, are cautiously optimistic." That was as much as they could get from him.
Nim had taken Ruth to the airport early yesterday morning for an American Airlines non-stop flight. They had said an emotional goodbye.
"I love you," he declared just before Ruth boarded. "I'll miss you, and I'll be doing whatever's the equivalent of praying."
She had laughed then, and kissed him once more. "It's a strange thing," She had said, "but even with all this, I've never been happier."
In New York, Ruth was staying with friends and would attend the Institute several days a week as an outpatient.
Leah and Benjy had again gone to stay with their grandparents. This time, because relationships between Nim and the Neubergers were now cordial, Nim had promised to go over for dinner occasionally, to be with the children.
Nim had also-in fulfillment of an earlier promise-arranged to take Karen Sloan to the symphony.
He had received, several days ago, one of Karen's notes which read:
Days come, days go.
On some you are in the news
With Begin, Sadat, Schmidt, Brezhnev, Carter,
Giscard d'Estaing and Bishop Muzorewa.
But of them all, one Nimrod Goldman
Merits my front page.
It is good to read of you,
But better still
To see, and hear, be touched, and share,
And personally love.
He had sighed on reading it because he genuinely wanted to see Karen, then had thought guiltily: Any complications in his personal life were of his own making. Since the memorable evening when he and Karen made love, he had dropped in to see her twice during the daytime, but the visits were brief and hurried, with Nim on the way from somewhere to somewhere else. He knew that Karen craved a longer time together, with more intimacy.
Ruth's absence seemed an opportunity to be with Karen in a more satisfying way, and going to the symphony, instead of spending the evening in her home, was a compromise with his conscience.
* * *
When he arrived at Karen's apartment, she was ready, wearing a becoming dark red dress and a single strand of pearls. Her long blonde hair, brushed and gleaming, fell about her shoulders. The wide mouth and soft blue eyes smiled a warm greeting. The nails of her long fingers, which rested on a lapboard, were manicured and shining.
As they kissed, letting their closeness linger sweetly, Nim felt his desire for Karen, which had only been dormant, unmistakably revive. He felt relieved they were going out.
A minute or two later, after Josie had come in and was busy disconnecting the wheelchair from a power outlet so it could become more mobile, Karen said, "Nimrod, you've been tinder strain. It shows."
" A few things have happened," he admitted. "Some you've read about. But tonight there's only you and me and the music."
"And me," Josie said, coming around to the front of the whcelchair. The aide-housekeeper beamed at Nim, who was clearly one of her favorites. "But all I'm doing is driving you both. If you'll come down with Karen in a few minutes, Mr. Goldman, I'll go ahead and bring Huniperdinck around."
Nim laughed. "Ah, Humperdinck!" He asked Karen, "How is your van with a personality?"
"Still wonderful, but"-her face clouded-"what I worry about is my father."
"In what way?"
She shook her head. "Let's leave it now. Perhaps I'll tell you later."
As usual, Nim marveled at the dexterity with which Karen, using only her sip-blow tube, piloted her chair out of the apartment, along a corridor, and toward the elevator.
On the way he-asked, "How long does the battery last for?"
She smiled. "Tonight I'm fully charged. So, using the battery for thechair and my respirator, probably four hours. After that, I'll need to plug in again to dear old GSP & L."
It fascinated him how tenuous was Karen's hold on life, and that electricity kept her living.
"Speaking of GSP & L," she said, "how are your problems?"
"Oh, we always have a new assortment. They sprout like weeds."
"No, seriously. I want to know."
"Well, suddenly, oil is our biggest worry," be told her. "Did you hear that the latest talks between OPEC and the United States broke down today?"
"It was on the radio before you came. The oil exporting countries say they won't take anymore paper money. Only gold."
“They've threatened that several times." Nim was remembering his conversation with Eric Humphrey and Mr. Justice Yale shortly before Christmas. Then the oil situation had been worrisome; now, in March, it was gravely critical. He added, "This time it looks as if they mean it."
Karen asked, "If imported oil stops coming, how had will things be?"
"Far worse than most people believe. More than half the oil America uses is imported, and eighty-five percent of that comes from OPEC countries."
He went on, "Even now, though, an oil shortage is being thought about mainly in terms of cars and gasoline, not electricity."
Nim reflected again, as He had on the way over tonight: the most dramatic confrontation yet with the OPEC oil nations, with a potential far more devastating than the Arab embargo Of 1973-74, had happened abruptly within the past forty-eight hours. It was a possibility that everyone had known about but comparatively few took seriously. The eternal optimists, including some in high places, were still hoping a final showdown could be avoided, that one way or another the Niagara of imported oil would keep on flowing. Nim didn't share their belief.
A thought occurred to him concerning Karen. Before he could express it they came to the elevator and the doors opened.
Already inside, the only other occupants, were two small children-a boy and a girl, cheerful and fresh-faced, their ages probably nine and ten.
"Hi, Karen!" they both said as the wheelchair, followed by Nim, moved in.
"Hello, Philip and Wendy," Karen said. "Are you going out?"
The boy answered. "No. Just downstairs to play." He looked at Nim. "Who's he?"
"My date. This is Mr. Goldman." She told Nim, “These are two of my neighbors and friends."
As the elevator descended, they all said hello.
"Karen," the small boy asked, "can I touch your hand?"
"Of course."
He did so, moving his fingertips gently, then asked, "Can you feel that?"
"Yes, Philip," she told him. "You have gentle hands." He seemed interested and pleased.
Not wanting to be outdone, the girl inquired, "Karen, do you want your legs changed?"
"Well . . . all right."
Carefully, apparently knowing what to do, the girl lifted Karen's right leg until it was crossed over the left.