The Resort (40 page)

“In my judgment,” Henry said, “there is no historical evidence that the conscience of humanity exists at all. I mention these two important newspapers merely to describe two attitudes toward the events at Cliffhaven that
leave me cold
.”

For a moment Margaret thought Henry’s voice was slipping again, but she was wrong.

Henry said, “That’s why I’ve chosen to give my testimony my way. Tape-recorded and complete. On the record for people to read no matter what happens at the trial. Moreover, Mr. Lynn, I don’t intend to drop the matter after the trial. I’ve never had a penchant for public speaking. I have one now. I will speak to Jewish groups, church groups, mixed groups, student groups, anyone who will listen. I will engage a public-relations firm that knows how to do these things and tell about Cliffhaven on radio and TV—”

“Mr. Brown!” Lynn was standing. “I hate to disabuse you, but in another three months your story will be very old news. No one will listen. The trial is the place for you to make your record.”

“I am not naïve, Mr. Lynn. I know what happens at trials. I saw Clifford’s limousine deliberately career straight through those people, but in court all that might prove is that his driver may be guilty of vehicular manslaughter. Clifford could deny having anything to do with it!”

“I want to assure you,” Lynn said, “that I personally intend to see to it that not one clause of the grand jury indictment against Clifford is thrown out. I have the full backing of the administration for my position on this case.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Henry said, “that the President is once again anxious
about the Jewish vote. I’ll tell
you something, Mr. Lynn. Neither you nor the President are going to be members of that jury. Those jurors don’t have to give a damn about the
Jewish vote. I’ve seen several persuasive stories to the effect that Clifford is probably going to get a very light sentence because of the difficulty of proving many of the items in the indictment beyond a reasonable doubt. Mr. Lynn, I have no reasonable doubt I was in the lockers. I saw the plaques that kept score. I know why there were no children visible anywhere. But the assembling of proof! I don’t want my legacy to be a trial that whitewashes what happened there!”

Lynn, seeing that his tack was not working, thought to try another, especially since—he darted a glance at his watch—the cab would be arriving momentarily to take them back to the airport.

“Mr. Brown,” he said, “why not ask
U.S. News
to simply hold off their interview till after the trial? That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

Henry laughed. “Because they’re in the news business, not in the post-mortem-of-a-trial business. I already broached the subject and that was their answer. Before, or not at all.”

“Well,” Lynn said, standing, “you certainly defeat the popular mythology that Jews have no guts. I’m sure Mr. Stanton agrees with me. My concern is not to wreck the trial by undue disclosures in the press. I could of course have the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District ask the judge to slap a gag order on you and
US. News.
You’d be in contempt if you proceeded with the interview prior to the trial.”

“I am in contempt,” Henry said.

Margaret observed a slight smile on his lips, perhaps too slight for the others, who knew him less well, to notice.

“If I were you,” Lynn said, “I shouldn’t want the court to come to that conclusion. I trust you’ll discuss this among yourselves and phone me tomorrow.”

When the cab honked to announce its presence, Henry and Margaret saw Lynn and Stanton to the door.

“Please don’t get wet on our account,” Lynn said, as they went down the stone steps and entered the waiting taxi. Through the window he raised a hand, waving it just a mite.
To show we are all friends,
Henry thought.

As the door closed on their departing visitors, Henry asked Margaret, “Do you see what I’m doing as crazy?”

“No,” she said. “As aftercare.”

Margaret led the way to their chairs in front of the fireplace. Henry stared at the flames. A fire used to make him feel comfortable.

Margaret, worried about his recent silences, said, “Has it any use?”

“What?” Henry asked.

“What you’re planning to do.”

Henry seemed lost in thought, alone somewhere. Finally, Margaret interrupted him. “Human nature,” she said, “will never change.” She sighed. “All we do in intensive care is police the body better.”

They heard the cowbell they had put at Stanley’s bedside. He needed something.

Margaret was immediately on her feet. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll go, too,” Henry said.

Margaret was about to say that Stanley probably
only needed something he couldn’t reach, but it was
just as well that they both went.

All Stanley needed was to have his water pitcher refilled. The medication he took was dehydrating.

They sat on either side of the bed, silent until Henry said, “I’m glad, in a way, they’re forcing you to testify.”

Her eyes queried his meaning.

“Oh,” Henry said, “Cliffhaven was a Gentile invention. I think it’s time the innocent among the Gentiles confront the consequences of such inventions. We Jews after all are only the victims.”

Stanley, lying between them, said, “We half-and-halves get caught in the middle.”

“Yes,” Margaret said, patting her son’s hand.

On their way back down the stairs, Henry stopped at the landing. He watched Margaret go down the rest of the flight.

At the bottom she stopped, then said, “You never answered me. Will you do the interview and all those other things?”

Henry’s every instinct was to say
of course,
but there was a vast difference now. Speaking out could dominate his life. He had never volunteered for committees, never been the chairman of anything. He was a private person on the verge of becoming a public person, a condition from which it was impossible to retreat. If they knew your face, even if they couldn’t place it, they would pump your hand. You were theirs.

The fear he remembered came in dreams. He would be standing on a rostrum somewhere, hundreds of faces looking up at him, waiting for him to speak, but his vocal cords would not respond. It was a childish fear. Awake, he was the executor of his own will.

Margaret, looking up at him on the landing, must have known how important the moment was. He would not be coming down the stairs like a naïve Moses carrying tablets nobody would pay much attention to. He had been born into the Devil’s best century. America was not immune. He was not immune. Men who had come out of the trees did to each other what no apes did. He couldn’t change their natures, but he must tell what he knew, for hope was the only medicine that would not become obsolete in time.

As he came down the rest of the stairs to Margaret, she said, “You will.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course,” he said at last.