Candy (15 page)

“No matter,” said Pete Uspy, “is mere appearance. We are almost to the Foundation.”

The cab pulled up in front of a large brownstone on 73rd Street and stopped.

“Here you are,” said the driver.

“Good,” said Peter Uspy, “here is the Foundation. Come, we must go inside it.”

He got out and paid the driver and helped Candy out. “Good Night, I hate to go in like this,” she said, “I must look a sight.”

“No, is very good,” said Pete Uspy, “is material pathos. The Crackers are fond of this. Come.”

He led the way up the steps and into a large foyer. A receptionist was there and he went directly to her.

“This girl is in need,” he said, “and she wishes to help others. Have you material work for her?”

“Well,” said the receptionist, “we have that crew in Minnesota. They could certainly use help out there.”

“Just what I was thinking,” said Pete Uspy. “She must go at once. Tonight.” He seemed to have a strange hypnotic power over the receptionist.

“Yes, of course,” she said, looking into his eyes. “I will arrange for the transportation.”

“Good,” said Pete Uspy, “we will wait here.” And he led Candy to an alcove in the foyer, where several chairs and a table were placed.

“Are you familiar with the Cracker work?” he asked when they were seated.

“Oh yes, of course,” she said, “they’re pacifists. . . . I know that much anyway.”

“Ah yes, they are pacifists, but also they do much work in helping others. They have fine spiritual advancement, and you will find great camaraderie among them. It will be much fun for you.”

“Yes, I
am
interested in their work,” said Candy, “but I don’t see how I can go there
now.
I mean, Good Grief, what about my apartment and all my things?” She was thinking too now of Derek.

“You
must
go,” said Pete Uspy, “it is the only means of escaping the physical jail. Then when this affair has blown over, you will come back. Only a few days perhaps. Give me the keys to your apartment. I will see to it.”

“I don’t know,” said the girl reluctantly, “I should at least go by there and pack some things.” She felt her sopping skirt again. “These things are so icky, you have no idea.”

“The Cracker people will give you something dry to wear,” Pete Uspy promised. “A simple cloth shift.”

“I like simple clothes,” Candy admitted, nodding.

“Yes, clothes do not matter; it is folly to judge the pork chop by its wrapper.”

“Is that a Cracker saying?” Candy asked.

“No, that is a Chinese proverb—I have taken it from the book of the
I. Ching.”

“I love the Chinese,” said Candy, “I think they are the most spiritually advanced of all people—the man in the street, I mean to say.”

“The Chinese-man in the street!” said Pete Uspy, chuckling. “Very good.”

“Chinese
cooking
is very good, isn’t it?” said Candy. “I can make several Chinese dishes.” She wanted to name some of them for him and perhaps arrange for him to have dinner with her and Derek, but Pete Uspy said:

“Now, we have little time. The car will be here in a moment to take you to the airport. They will tell you what to do and, in fact, someone will be at the plane to meet you in Minnesota. When you get to the camp, you will find a friend of mine there among the common workers—he will help you. His wisdom is infinite and he is the greatest spiritual teacher of our times.”

“Good Gosh,” said Candy, “you mean I really must go?
Tonight?”

“Oh yes, that much is certain—you cannot risk going to jail. It would greatly damage your spiritual advancement. For me it does not matter, I see through the mirage. But for you, a beautiful sensitive girl, it would be terrible. They would do terrible things to you, undress you and everything.”

“Good Heavens!”

“Yes, so you see we must fight fire
with
fire. They wish to confine you in physical form, we will
escape
in that form!”

“Gosh,” said Candy, “I don’t know what to say.”

“He who
knows
need not speak; he who
speaks
does not know,” said Pete Uspy, . . . “give me the keys.”

Candy fished them uncertainly out of her bag. She was wondering if she shouldn’t tell him about Derek, and leave a message of some sort; but then she decided she would write a letter of explanation as soon as she reached the Cracker camp.

“The small one is the mailbox key,” said the girl, handing them over. “I’ll be writing to someone there . . . a friend of mine. Will you give him the letter when he comes to see me? His name is Derek.”

“Of course,” said Pete Uspy, “that shall be as you wish. Now we must get you a dry shift.”

He got up and went again to the receptionist’s desk, where he spoke briefly to the attentive woman. Then he returned to Candy.

“Good,” he said, “she will give you dry.”

“Oh that’s wonderful,” said Candy.

Pete Uspy remained standing.

“Now I must go,” he said. “I have much work before me this night.”

“How will I know your friend at the camp?” the girl asked anxiously.

“Ho,” said Pete Uspy, “you will know him—
he
will know you, that much is certain. Do not worry, I will contact him that you are coming.”

“Well,” said Candy, standing and shaking hands, “thanks for everything.”

Pete Uspy shrugged.

“Is nothing,” he said, “is mere appearance.”

“Well, you
did
save me from the jail and all those other things,” Candy insisted.

“That is my pleasure,” said Pete Uspy. “Now I say good night to you. Write to me before you return.”

“Oh yes, I will,” said Candy, “I’ll write as soon as I get there!”

“Good,” said Pete Uspy, turning to go. “Good night, and
bon voyage!”

“Good night,” said Candy, feeling again that tinge of wistful regret she always felt when she parted with anyone. She stood for a moment looking after him, before she was aware that the receptionist was trying to get her attention from the desk. She went over.

“Here is something dry and serviceable for you to wear,” said the receptionist, handing the girl a folded garment. “You can change in the dressing room behind that alcove.” She indicated with a nod a small door nearby.

“Thank you very much,” said Candy cheerfully, and she crossed over to the dressing-room door and went inside. She began to feel a growing excitement about her work with the Cracker group. Inside the dressing room, she slipped off her skirt and panties.

“These prissy little panties are still wet!” she said, squeezing them into a tiny ball and giving them a kiss. Then she took off her sweater and brassiere and put on the simple garment, a sort of formless sackcloth shift with three buttons at the top. There was a mirror in the dressing room and she studied her appearance in it. She loved the simple garment. It must have been such a garb as this, she reflected, that Joan of Arc had worn to her execution. She began to feel quite like a saint. Wrapping her other clothes in a bundle, she went into the foyer again and to the receptionist’s desk, presenting herself there as though to be inspected.

“It looks very nice,” said the receptionist, perhaps slightly more interested than she should have been.

Candy did a little pirouette of joy, twirling the skirt just above her sweet knees.

“Oh, I feel younger than I have for years!” she cried. “And alive, really alive for the first time in my life!”

She handed the bundle of clothes to the receptionist.

“Here,” she said, “I
won’t
be needing
these!
Give them to someone . . . to some very
old
person, to someone still living in the Stone Age!”

She was ecstatically happy in her new garb. It was made of a heavy sort of canvas sackcloth, shaped somewhat like an inverted funnel, and came almost to her ankles.

“Now tell me
all
about the Crackers!” she gaily demanded.

“Well,” said the receptionist, “I’m afraid there isn’t time for
me
to tell you, I see your transportation to the airport has just arrived out front. But here . . .” She took some booklets and folders out of her desk and gave them to Candy. “You can browse through these on the plane.”

“Oh wonderful!” said the girl, glancing through them. She was going to read a bit aloud, but the receptionist took her up again:

“I think you’d better go now,” she said, “so you’ll be in good time for your plane.”

“All right,” said Candy with real cheer, “thanks so much for everything, for having me, and . . . for
everything!”

She leaned forward and kissed the receptionist.

“Good-bye,” said the receptionist, “and good luck!”

“Good-bye,” said Candy, running a few steps, and turning to wave, “good-bye, good-bye!”

Then she hurried on, calling out ahead of her to the car in front of the Foundation:

“Wait for me! Here I come!”

O
N THE PLANE,
Candy settled herself comfortably, and thought about the events of the day. It had been a full day for her, and a tiring one; now she was glad to relax. She was impressed by Pete Uspy; his great head and quiet voice were with her still. He had seemed so self-sufficient, and Candy felt that he contained some secret and unspoken power. She wondered if she were falling in love with him, and she quickly turned her thoughts to Derek. No, she would not betray Derek, she
could not
betray him.

She got out the booklets and various literature the receptionist had given her and began to leisurely leaf through them. She suddenly found herself very tired though, deliriously drowsy, and so she let her lovely big eyes close in rest. She dropped into a light sleep almost at once, and began to dream:

She dreamed that she and her father were together in a great wide field of wild flowers on a beautiful summery day. He was lying there reciting poems of Mallarmé but it was as if he himself had written them; and Candy was much younger, and she ran about the fields picking flowers, and though she would sometimes be at quite a distance from her father, she could hear every line he spoke. He spoke the lines perfectly, with exactly the right intonation and feeling for each word. Sometimes when he finished a poem, he would say: “That wasn’t a bad poem. Now here’s another—this is one I wrote for
you,
sweetheart; it came to me in a
flash—
in a terrible, beautiful flash just as I was releasing the sweet powerful seed from my testis that made you!”

“Oh Daddy,” she would cry peevishly, “it
isn’t
for me—it’s for some other little girl!” And she would feel very sad, and standing before him with her pretty head bowed she would hold her tiny bouquet of flowers down in such a way that everything seemed helpless and pathetic. Then as she slowly raised her head and a big golden tear began to tumble down her cheek, she would say: “It’s for
Mommy!”

“Oh you silly sweetheart!” Daddy would cry gaily, holding his arms out to her. “It’s for
you!
For you alone! You’re my mommy and my sweetheart and my little darling girl!” And she would fly to his arms and nestle there while he began stroking her hair, her neck, her shoulders . . . and then she awoke, feeling cool and refreshed for the first time in her life, she thought, but blushing a little when she recalled the part about “the sweet powerful seed of my testis.” It was true poetry, and she wished so much that she could share it with Daddy. Perhaps she could call him from the Cracker camp; but no, of course he would never understand, not in a million years, especially not in his present condition. But she
could
tell Derek; he would understand, and her heart warmed and throbbed with the idea. She mustn’t forget it, she told herself.

When the big plane touched down at Mohawk, Minnesota, a few minutes after nine, Candy straightened her shift, saw to her facial appearance—she had removed all her makeup, but her lips were naturally as red and full as a great crimson gash—and flounced her lovely ringlets a few times before leaving her seat.

To her joy, there was a jeep to meet her at the edge of the simple airstrip. It was clearly marked along its side: C
RACKER,
and there were several young people in it already, who dismounted and came genially forward to welcome her. They introduced themselves and helped her into the jeep. “Well, let’s don’t sit here yakking,” said one of them, “I’ll bet this Cracker could use some chow!” “I’ll say!” said Candy, quick to take hold of their exuberant spirit. And they were off like the wind, flying along the dark country roads outside Mohawk. The top of the jeep was down, and it was a lovely moonlit night. Soon they were singing, joyfully, at the top of their voices:

“We are the Crackers, the Crackers are we!

True to each Cracker as Crackers can be!

We’ve got to build, boys and girls,

for a world of peace!

A world of peace, a world of peace,

without silly police!

without silly police!

QUACK—QUACK! CRACKER!

QUACK—QUACK! CRACKER!”

It was a rousing tune, and Candy was quick to join in the merriment—rocking her body back and forth in unison with the others, and singing happily. These kids were lots of fun, she decided.

Mohawk is a coal-mining region and they passed a number of small mining towns en route to the camp, which was, as it turned out, situated just on the edge of one of these small villages—for that was the nature of the project which Candy had joined: to help with mining. The mines were shorthanded at this particular moment, and just when the country most needed its every ounce of coal to step up steel production and get cracking on the clean-fallout missile program.

The camp consisted of two large tents with many-tiered bunks; one tent for boys, the other for girls. Besides those, there were two small tents: the chow-tent and the rec-tent, the latter containing simply a Ping-Pong table and half a dozen paperback books.

Candy was shown directly to her bunk after being welcomed by those who had not been at the airport to meet her.