“George, nobody was paying me. I knew that the candidate was one of the few men in Congress aware of the menace of fascism. That's why the papers have been attacking him so vehemently. For the last few weeks I've been working over there, as a volunteer, along with hundreds of other people from offices and unions.”
“But why get mixed up...?” I began.
“I've told you why over and over—I never want to see another concentration camp again. George, you sound as though I was doing something shady. Know what I was doing? Merely visiting voters, urging them to be sure to register, so they would be able to vote next month. Why even the Democrats and Republicans want a large registration. I was in a house on 107th Street when this fellow came up and attacked me, stabbed me twice before I knew what hit me.”
“By God, we'll get the police after the bastard!”
Eddie smiled at me. “Good old George, sometimes you act as simple as a country girl hitting Broadway. The police are probably looking for me.”
“You? Why?”
“I think I killed him,” Eddie said calmly. “If not dead, he's badly hurt, and there will be a trumped-up assault charge against me—if they find me. You can picture the headline holiday, stuff about, 'Red Vote-Getter Assaults Porto Rican...' And what can I tell them; that I'm only a poor slob looking for peace and decency in the world? They'd laugh in my face! Peace is a dirty word, a crazy word, these days.”
“Wait, stop all this jabbering and tell me what happened, exactly what happened, without any speeches as trimmings,” I said, beginning to think clearly again.
Eddie lit a cigarette, offered me one, as he said, “I knew he was following me, I'd seen him when canvassing another house, but didn't think anything about it. And I'd heard rumors that the old political machine, the tough ward-heelers, were supposed to have thugs out after us, but I really didn't believe that. Well, this tenement was a small one, about four stores, with one family to a floor. It was the middle of the afternoon, and all the doors I'd knocked on remained closed, the people were probably out working. He came up the stairs, passed me, as though going up the next floor, then turned and had his knife out—all in one movement. I saw the flash of the blade and turned sideways—that's why I got it in the shoulder instead of the back. We grappled and he cut my jaw and I kneed him, then slammed him against the wall; face forward, threw him down the stairs, ran down past him and out.”
“How do you know he's dead?”
“I don't, but I know he's badly hurt—real badly. George, when you've been in a lot of combat, seen many men laying around, you get a kind of special sight—you can look at a man and know he's dead or ready to die. I had that feeling about him.”
“Still, you're not certain, maybe he got up and walked away.”
“He never walked away, George.”
I asked, “Anybody see you leave?”
“I don't know. I held a handkerchief over the cut on my jaw, and the blood didn't come through my coat from the shoulder cut. I walked over to Lexington Avenue and there was a bus at the corner. I rode that a few blocks. I was getting weak and dizzy. I got off and called the cops from a candy-store phone booth, told them where the guy was. I was afraid he would die for sure if he laid there till the tenants came home—maybe hours later. Then I went to the doctor.”
“This doc, who is he?” I asked, feeling sorry for the kid. Nothing seemed to go right for him, and I couldn't even understand what was troubling him.
“I took a chance. I'd canvassed him a few days before. We had quite a long talk—seemed like a right-thinking guy. I simply told him I had been in a fight and I think he understood. He didn't ask questions, just sewed me up. Then I told him I was going to call my brother and called you. It was stupid involving you, but I had to have money to pay him. He told me I could return later, but I can't return. Anyway, he didn't see me dial and there's little chance of the number ever being traced to Sky Oil. Maybe I made a big mistake, maybe I should have gone back to election headquarters. I don't know, I didn't want to involve them. George, I have to get out of town.”
“Take it easy, kid. Way I see it, even if they find you, you have a perfect case of self-defense. I'd go to the cops and...”
“Talk sense,” Eddie said, his voice suddenly hard. “Justice has nothing to do with this. I'd be smeared and convicted by the papers before the case ever started. I'd be railroaded. That's what the papers and the ward-heelers want—a smoke-screen of scare headlines from now till election day. No, I have to run. I want to run; to be jailed for this would drive me nuts.”
“You talk some sense. Running is a sure sign of guilt. If what you say is true, wouldn't a chase be up their alley? The big hunt?” I asked, thinking how Eddie had messed up his life. A smart kid, with his pension money and a chance to finish college under the G.I. Bill, live a normal, easy life, yet here he was, possibly involved in murder.
“No, George, the whole thing boils down to this: the headlines and all that, can't be written unless they find me. I don't think anybody saw us, unless they find me, they can't prove it wasn't merely another fight. I believe they're counting on me to make charges, through the ALP, and then when they know who I am, that I was there, then the papers and the powers that be will reverse the whole deal, cry political terrorism and the rest of the phony stories, but making me the thug. Understand”?”
“A little, although I can't understand why you persist in ruining your life with this fanatical...”
Eddie said wearily, “George, don't start that.”
“I won't. Now what happens?”
“I think it's best I leave town. Happily, I didn't give my real name when I signed up as a volunteer worker. Sign of the fear of our time—we're afraid to give our right name for anything political. Sounds fantastic, but never tell when they'll have one of their so-called 'loyalty checks' for wounded vets and...”
“That's ridiculous,” I cut in. “Good Lord, there's nothing wrong about electioneering.”
Eddie smiled at me and lit another cigarette. “Let's not argue the point. If they want to press the frame-up they'll have to find the goat—me. I've been seen around the neighborhood for the last few weeks, but I'm certainly not well known. However, to be on the safe side I'd like to leave town. I was thinking of southern California—the cold weather bothers my wound a little. I could have my pension sent there, live on that. Might take a little time, the delay, but perhaps Flo would lend me enough to get by on till then.” He paused, added in a whisper, “Know what I'd like to do? Go to Italy.”
“Why Italy?”
“America, my homeland, frightens me, makes me restless... I can't seem to settle down here.”
“And you could in Italy, of all places?” I asked.
Eddie looked at me, his thin face thoughtful. “George, I'm going to tell you a secret, something that sounds wonderful and horrible at the same time. There's a little village below Naples, a smelly, backward, little place. When my outfit was there, back on a lonely country farm there was a... young girl... and... Oh, hell, I went with her for a couple bars of candy. I know you can't understand how I could do that, or the hunger that made her do it. Anyway, it started on that basis. She was young, about fifteen, probably can't even read or write. I spent several nights with her, and it turned into something beautiful, very pure—for both of us. I guess in the years since, it has been magnified in my mind. I'm not sure. But I look back on that as the only serenity, true happiness, I've ever known.”