Griff nodded and left the office.
Idly, he wondered how much longer Manelli would last. He did not suppose it would be very long. Manelli was not the man Titanic wanted for comptroller, even though they were giving him a fair chance at the job, now that McQuade was gone. He headed down the hallway toward the old Cost Department, passing Payroll, and then Credit, recalling Harley Ford’s personal assurance that Danny would be back soon.
He saw the COST sign over the open doorway at the end of the hall, and he was momentarily surprised until he realized someone had probably replaced the sign, either Marge or Aaron. To the right of the doorway, he saw familiar placards:
R. GRIFFIN
A. REIS
He smiled and went into the dapartment. He saw the new blue carpet and the new desks, and the Welcome Back, Griff sign, and then he saw Marge and Aaron standing near the windows, grinning like two positive idiots. Marge came across the room to him, and he lifted her from the floor and kissed her resoundingly on the mouth, while Aaron stood by, smiling foolishly. It was good to be home again.
Aaron left at five for a dental appointment, and Marge left at six to have her hair set and her nails done, exacting a promise from Griff to pick her up at eight on the button. Alone, Griff worked in the silence of the office, happy to be getting his department in shape again. He was filled with a tremendous sense of well-being, a certain knowledge that now everything would be all right.
At seven he glanced at his watch, finished the task he was on, and hastily left the office. The factory was unusually still, the hot lingering days of August having discouraged overtime. He buzzed for the elevator and Bill the watchman came up for him and took him down to the ornate lobby and then let him out of the building. He started for the parking lot, spotting his car at the far end of the field, lonely and forlorn-looking now that all the other cars were gone.
There was a purple wash in the sky to the west, the first shaded beginnings of dusk. The day’s heat still clung to the air, but there was promise of a cool Septemberlike evening, and a lazy sort of atmosphere hung over the parking lot. He walked through the lot gingerly, hearing the steady cadence of his heels on the concrete. He did not see the man near his automobile until he was almost upon him.
The man leaned against the front right fender, his arms folded across his chest, the last rays of the dying sun catching his hair in a red-gold web. For a moment Griff didn’t recognize him, and then he realized it was Jefferson McQuade.
But… but hadn’t he left already? What…?
“Hello, Griff,” McQuade said softly.
“Hello,” Griff said grudgingly, annoyed by the sudden panic that fluttered in his stomach. The same sort of panic he’d felt a long time ago when he’d been waiting for the then-unknown visitor from Georgia. The same panic he’d felt when he thought McQuade had seen the note he’d left for Aaron. The panic that had stabbed at him after his telephone conversation with Hengman, when he’d looked up to find McQuade standing there. The same panic, he realized, that had attacked him after the Cutting Room hosing, that had left him weak after the inquisition of the Puerto Rican girl. The fear he’d felt that night of the Guild Week party, when he thought there would be trouble with McQuade. The fear, later of losing his job. Fear.
Not a lack of knowledge, not a lack of recognition.
Fear!
The fear he had tried to explain to Marge when the fear itself was not inside him at the time. But the fear was inside him now, and now he could explain it to her, oh, now he could, now afraid would have meaning, now he could explain this fear that seemed to breed itself automatically whenever McQuade appeared.
“I hope you don’t mind my waiting for you,” McQuade said.
He stared at McQuade and said nothing, and his mind went back to what Harley Ford had said in Manelli’s office.
“When I think what could have happened in this fact’ry if Mistuh Griffin hadn’t had the courage to…”
He had interrupted Ford even then because the word “courage” had sounded false to his ears. He knew now that he was not courageous, that some animal instinct for survival had taken him down to Georgia, that he was as much afraid of McQuade as he’d ever been. It was, after all, Harley Ford who had put an end to McQuade. Griff had simply run to the protective skirts of Mother, and Mother had handled the problems of the block bully. Well, the bully was back.
That night on Marge’s fire escape McQuade had become a symbol. But McQuade was not a symbol now. McQuade was a man, and that man stood before him now, and Griff was still afraid, and the fear was a slimy, crawling thing that made him want to vomit.
It was growing darker rapidly. They were alone in the parking lot, and he wondered why McQuade had waited for him, and he found himself beginning to tremble again. They were alone, and darkness was coming on, and it seemed he had been waiting months for this very moment, this terrible moment when McQuade would crush him once and for all.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying good-by,” McQuade said.
“Didn’t you?” He could hear the waver in his voice. He wanted to be inside the car, safe. He wanted to drive away from McQuade and all the evil McQuade represented. He-started to walk toward the driver’s side of the car. McQuade followed close behind him.
“Now that Kahn and I are through,” he said, “now that even Titanic and I are through, I wanted to say good-by. Properly.”
The word properly pierced Griff’s mind. He wet his lips and searched McQuade’s face. He could see the darkness spreading itself in long thin fingers around him. For a desperate moment he longed for the reassuring hum of the factory’s machinery behind him, longed for the hot glow of sunlight.
“I imagine you don’t much give a damn what I think, Griff,” McQuade said, “but remember that I was only trying to do a job, will you? And I did it the only way I knew how. Maybe I made mistakes, but everybody makes mistakes, Griff. You can’t condemn a man for making mistakes, can you?” He paused. Griff unlocked the door and stepped into the car. Quickly McQuade moved around the door, standing so that Griff could not close it.
“What difference does it make now?” McQuade asked. “You did what you felt you had to do, and now I’m out. But I bear no enmity, believe me. I’m big enough to realize a man can’t bear enmity and go on living with himself, Griff.”
In the gathering gloom Griff studied McQuade’s face. He wanted to close the car door, lock it, speed away from the lot.
“Well, I just wanted you to know, Griff,” McQuade said. “And… and I’m glad I waited for you, because good-byes are sometimes all a man has left, do you understand? I know you’re responsible for my being out, but that doesn’t matter. Harley Ford is a good man, and Titanic is a good company, and anything I did… and anything you did… that’s all over now, that’s all water under the bridge, believe me. I didn’t try to hurt anyone deliberately, Griff, no I didn’t. Not even you. And I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. That’s why I can stand here with no malice in my heart and wish you all the luck in the world. I just did the job the way I thought it should be done, that’s all. I hope… well…” He grinned awkwardly. “I hope… well… I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“What?” Griff asked, a little dazed. “What did you say?”
He could see McQuade’s smile in the darkness, a dazzling smile now. And then he saw McQuade’s hand reach out, slowly, tentatively, extended for a final handshake.
“No… hard feelings?” McQuade asked humbly.
He looked into McQuade’s eyes, and he saw no mockery there. For a moment he was puzzled again and then surprised by the eagerness with which he reached out to take McQuade’s hand.