The governor nodded pleasantly. “And do what, Paul?”
“I don’t know.”
“A splendid suggestion, entirely worthy of you.”
Norris said slowly, “Now look here, Bent. I’ve had just about enough of you, in public and in private. You have a sharp tongue. You’ve always had it. And you use it to poke fun at all the things that have made this country great. You—”
“Among them,” the governor said, “inherited wealth and position and what used to be known as privilege.” He nodded. “I saw your name on a list not long ago, Paul. Your income last year was not far short of one million dollars, but you paid no income tax.”
“Perfectly legal.” A vein was beginning to show on Norris’s forehead. “Absolutely within regulations.”
“I’m sure it was, but a little difficult for a man earning ten thousand dollars a year to understand when he pays perhaps a twenty-percent tax.”
Beth watching, listening, wondered what in the world the governor was hoping to accomplish by deliberately antagonizing the man even if it was justified.
“I don’t give a damn about the man earning ten thousand dollars a year,” Norris said. “He isn’t worth consideration.”
Beth smiled to herself. I see it now, she thought: it is pure diversion, waving a red flag to distract the man from the major problem.
“Do you know, Paul,” the governor was saying, “our hypothetical ten-thousand-dollar-a-year man doesn’t give a damn about you either, except as a source of annoyance. He thinks you and your kind ought to have been ploughed under years ago.”
“You talk like a communist.”
“It has been said before.”
“You admit it then?”
The governor smiled. “I consider the source of the accusation. Those with far-left leanings consider me very much a part of the Establishment—which, together with your opinion and that of others like you, puts me just about where I want to be: very close to the middle.” He paused. “Ponder those intangibles for a time.” And then, his voice turning cold, “But don’t even think of creating a disturbance in this room, or I’ll have you tied up like a Christmas turkey with a gag in your mouth. Is that understood?”
Norris took a deep breath. The vein in his forehead was very plain. “You wouldn’t dare.”
The governor showed his teeth. “Don’t try me, Paul. I only bluff in poker.” He and Beth walked on.
A waiter with a tray of drinks stopped in front of them. “Thank you, son,” the governor said. He handed a glass to Beth, took one for himself.
“How about it, Governor?” the waiter said. He kept his voice low. “They’re saying, you know, that we’re stuck here. For good. They’re saying the fire isn’t even close to under control. They’re saying—”
“There is always ‘they,’” the governor said, “and they are always crying doom.”
“Yeah. I know. Like scuttlebutt in the Navy. But look, Governor, I got a wife and three kids, and what about them? I ask you, what about them?”
“Boys,” the governor said, “or girls?”
“What difference does that make?” And then, “Two boys and a girl.”
“How old?”
The waiter was frowning now. “One boy’s eleven. That’s Stevie. Bert’s nine. Becky’s just six. What’re you giving me, Governor?”
“Becky is probably too young,” the governor said, “but why don’t you take both Stevie and Bert to the ball game Saturday?”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“So it is.” The governor was smiling gently. “I may see you there. If I do, I’ll buy you a beer, and a coke for each of the boys. How about that?”
The waiter hesitated. He said at last, “I think you’re horseshitting me, Governor—excuse the language, lady.” He paused. “But,” he said, “I’ll sure as hell take you up on it if I see you.” He turned away. He turned back. “I like the first baseline.” He was smiling as he walked off.
“He understands, Bent,” Beth said.
The governor nodded, “I was stationed in London during the Blitz.” He smiled. “You weren’t very old then.”
Beth’s smile matched his. “Don’t try to pull years on me.
“When it came right down to the crunch,” the governor said, “the people took it. They didn’t like it, but they took it. They endured and they didn’t complain and they rarely panicked. People like that man. People Paul Norris isn’t fit to—live in the same room with.”
“Or die in the same room with,” Beth said. “Yes. I agree.” Her eyelids stung. “Maybe in the end I’ll—panic.”
“The end isn’t yet.” The governor’s voice was strong. “And even if it does come, you won’t panic.”
“Don’t let me, Bent. Please.”
The time was 5:23. An hour had passed since the explosion.
20
In the trailer one of the telephones rang. Brown picked it up, spoke his name. He hesitated. “Yes,” he said, “she is here.” He handed the phone to Patty.
“I thought you would be there, child,” her mother’s voice said. In her tone there was no hint of censure. “I am glad. Your father would have been glad.” Silence.
Patty closed her eyes. She said slowly, hesitantly, “‘Would have been’ ? What does that mean?”
The silence on the phone grew and stretched. Mary McGraw broke it at last in a calm voice without tears. “He is gone.” Merely that.
Patty stared out through the windows at the scene of controlled confusion outside and took a deep unsteady breath. “And I was here,” she said.
“You could have done nothing.” Mary’s voice was gentle. “I saw him for a few moments, at the end. But he did not see me or even know that I was there.”
Tears were close. Patty held them back. “I’ll come up.”
“No. I am going home, child.”
“I’ll come there.”
“No.” The voice was strange, taut and yet controlled. “I am going to have a nice cup of tea. And a good cry.” Then I’ll go to church. And you cannot help me with any of those.” Mary paused. “I don’t mean to turn away from you. It is just that right now, with your father gone, I want to be alone. He would have understood.”
Hesitantly, “I understand too, Mother,” Patty said. We face our grief in our own ways, she thought; it was a new concept. There were many new concepts today.
“And you?” the mother said.
Patty looked around the trailer almost in bewilderment. And yet the answer was plain. “I will stay here.” With Daddy’s building.
There was a long pause. “Not Paul?” Mary said.
“Not Paul. That’s—finished.” Patty paused. “Daddy knew.” And here in the midst of grief came renewed anger. She forced it down.
“Do as you think best, child.” Pause. “God bless you.” Patty hung up slowly. She was conscious that Brown and the two battalion chiefs tried not to watch her, waiting self-consciously for her to give them their cue. Strange, how easily she understood that; how easily she understood many things about men like these, men Daddy had always dealt with, men unlike Paul. But I have no business being here, she thought. “My father is dead.” She said it slowly, distinctly, and then stood up. “I’ll leave now.”
“Sit down,” Brown said. His voice was harsh. In silence he got out his cigarettes, chose one, snapped it in half and almost threw the pieces into the ashtray. “Your father,” he said. “I am very sorry, Mrs. Simmons.”
Through the fatigue and the strain he smiled, a gentle grimace. “He and I had our fights. We were bound to. He was a builder and by his lights I was a heckler, and we both had low flash points.” The smile spread. “But a better man never lived, and I am glad he is not around to see—this.”