by Max Grant
* * *
Settled into a booth in an unlit corner of the Starlite, we got our drinks ordered and she started the ball rolling.
“So do you want to tell me more?”
“There isn’t much of a story really. I was born and raised on a truck farm in the shadow of the Shenandoah Mountains back east in Virginia.
“ I was a year out of high school when the Japs hit Pearl Harbor and two days later I was at the Marine Corps recruiting station down to Roanoke. And I ended up here.”
She had a few questions about my time in the Pacific, and we kicked that subject around for a while until she asked, “What kept you from going back home?”
“I don’t know. After leaving it just didn’t seem like the place to be anymore. Maybe it’ll be a good place to go back to some day.”
“Then how did you end up in Los Angeles?”
“Well, I worked a security detail in my last year in the Corps and before I mustered out in San Diego I’d given some thought to joining a force somewhere out here. LA seemed like a big market for a beginner.”
“Did you find the job?”
“That’s just it. There was a lot of competition from all directions. Anyways I was a little tired of being told what to do so I thought I’d try striking out on my own and give that a shot.”
“How’s it been working out?”
“Well, mostly it’s for hunger. But I have to admit it gets interesting at times. And there seems to be a fair potential for business in this town if I can just expand my contacts.
“Like law enforcement in general, it should have a bright future. People seem never to run out of ways of scamming and victimizing each other. My own existence has been kind of tranquil, not counting the island hopping. I guess these days I just have to find my excitement vicariously in the drama of others.”
She wasn’t talking about herself and appeared in no mood to run out of questions. The conversation finally got round to the war and we were talking about how it ended.
“Yeah, the devastation we wrought on that place was incredible.” I told her. “We firebombed to rubble every major urban area in the country except Kyoto. The atom bombs were a fairly paltry contribution to the overall carnage. But they apparently gave the desired shock effect. There was more than one old boy out there in Nishi Kyushu told me what a deliverance those two events were. More than a few believed the A-bombs saved the country from utter destruction by bringing a quick end to a war that had been dragging on way too long.
“The way I look at it, if they couldn’t accept the concept of defeat or surrender then we had no reason to show any restraint. And that’s pretty much the way it played out up to that point.
“We seemed to encounter a lot more relief than resentment during the occupation. The civilian population around us had been eating poorly for years and it sure showed on ‘em. But they’re a hard working race and they bounced back pretty quickly. They had that shipyard there in Sasebo back in operation by the time I left, and I’m sure it’s been growing ever since.
“There’s an awful lot of unexploded ordnance over there. I’d hate to be the guy on the backhoe.”
“Did you encounter any Soviets over there during the occupation?” she queried.
“No. I can’t say as we did. The Boss did a good job of keeping them out of Japan. From what I’ve heard they’ve hunkered down there on the north end of the Korean peninsula and we’re not having much luck convincing them to leave. Lucky for Japan I guess that they didn’t have to suffer that. Those poor Koreans just seem to have no luck at all: first the Japanese, now Russians.”
“Sure, but what do you think about their contribution to the war effort?”
“Who? The Soviets? Never saw any evidence of ‘em out there in the Pacific, but from what I heard they threw a lot of men at it over there in Europe. I guess their peace pact with the Nazis didn’t get them very far,” I chuckled. “So, what do you think?”
“I’ve always been a great admirer of their revolution. They’ve made great strides since they got rid of the monarchy and replaced that old feudal society with their new system of equality.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. Equally poor and terrified from what I’d heard. It sounded like little Ruthie had grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth.
“So what’s your story?” I inquired.
“Well like a good quarter of America, I was born and raised in Brooklyn. I finished high school there and put in a couple of years at Barnard. But I missed the city and transferred back, taking up a degree in general arts at City University of New York. After that I decided to specialize in Educational Psychology. I took a couple more degrees, finishing up with my Doctorate at Cornell, and that’s what got me out here. It’s my first job. I’ve been at it a few years now, slowly moving up the ladder.”
She added, “Have you been to New York?”
“No. Can’t say as I have. Closest I ever got was a couple of fast rides to the Jersey beaches.”
“Cape May?”
“No, landing practice at who knows where.”
“Oh. Well, getting back to the USSR, I think there’s a lot we could learn from them,” she opined.
‘Like what, fratricide and starvation?’ I thought. “I can’t say that I really know anything about them at all.”
“It’s remarkable what they’ve been able to accomplish, given all the obstacles they’ve faced: the ignorance, the reaction, foreign interference. Of course the war set them back tremendously.”
“Didn’t I hear something back when I was in school about a Great Terror, you know, trials and purges and labor camps?”
“Well, you didn’t read about it in the New York Times,” she laughed.
“Likely not,” I agreed.
“Yes, those were some unfortunate times, but apparently necessary for the growth of the revolution. They certainly wouldn’t have cleaned house without a good reason.
“I’m hoping we can adopt the better parts of their system. The New Deal was a good start, but I think we need to expand on it for the common good. I’ve been hoping our two nations would be getting closer together, but that just doesn’t seem to be happening, what with all the reactionaries operating in Washington these days.”
This banter wasn’t getting me anywhere, but it seemed like a necessary preliminary if I was maybe going to learn anything from this girl.
“I imagine there’s a lot to learn from history. People always seem to be forgetting it,” I ventured.
“Exactly,” she said. “People throughout the ages have made numerous attempts to achieve a just society.”
I was having a hard time making up my mind if she actually believed this stuff, or if she was just parroting the standard lines the Party handed off to dopes. I decided it was time to try something to get her trust.
“So, yeah. Everybody wants that. Equality. No rich, no poor, everyone contributing, everyone making a living. Working together. One for all and all for one.”
“That’s right!” she yelped. “I’m surprised you would see it that way.”
“Well, it’s an ideal. Difficult to achieve in this imperfect world we live in. But maybe something worth striving for.”
“I couldn’t agree more! Well, what do you propose be done?”
“Right now I suggest we think about paying the tab and getting out of here. This is on me.”
Begging off with some baloney about an early morning stake-out, I folded her into a taxi home.
I gave Ruthena a rest for a couple of days and called her back on the following Monday. She seemed willing to play the game and I was curious where it might lead.
We went out a few more times and batted the subject around some more, mostly over dinner. It was becoming apparent that she was giving me the recruiter’s soft touch, so I played the dummy and let her think she was getting me on the hook.
* * *
One evening Ruthena told me, “There’s something about you. Je ne sais quoi. There’s more to
you than meets the eye.”
“Mais certainment. Et toi aussi.”
“Oh, you speak the language of love?”
“Sure do, just not in French.”
Before long we had graduated to the occasional dinner at her place followed with a few too many drinks and a tumble in the sack. She wasn’t the sweet and demure little consort I’d grown accustomed to in Japan, and I was having a difficult time catching her rhythm. Despite the drunkenness, she made love with an intensity that bordered on desperation. Her little needs and demands were varied and constant, but all in all she was a good sport and gave as good as she got. I was starting to like this fine animal just a little more than I had intended.
So I should have known better when on a particular Saturday night I decided to turn the tables on our usual pillow talk. I made a play at drinking entirely more than usual, and launched into neat little speech about loyalty, the flag, God and country and all. I got in some good words about individual freedom, the importance of family, and the benefits of free enterprise. And maybe as to how we didn’t need any heavy-handed government types telling us how to live.
It didn’t take long before she started to sour.
“You must have just been the good little boy, huh?”
“I suppose you could say that.” I grinned and dug her in the ribs. “And you must have been a naughty girl.”
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact I was. But that’s not the point I’m making.
“You seem to have arrested your development before that point where one adopts critical thinking, the ability to look beyond the established wisdom at unconventional truths.”
“Such as?”
“Well, that the common good trumps the individual, the family clans, the church, the capitalists, and all their organizations. We need government to exercise a firm grip and keep people on track to a better future. Without the state, everything devolves into all kinds of anti-social behavior and there can be no progress.”
I wiped the smart-assed grin off my face and stared intently into her eyes. “And I believe that state power is innately evil, that it is wielded by inveterate sinners, if you will, and that it necessitates rock-solid protections for our people, like our Constitution, that limits the reach of the government. You know, the Bill of Rights and all that. Our government works because it is subordinate to the rights of individuals, families, private organizations, and the states.”
“So,” she responded. “You have been giving these things some thought. Noble thoughts, but you’re naïve I’m afraid. You see the current textbooks are misleading on these points. School children are now taught the notion that the Constitution empowers the state, quite a significant departure from the Founding Father’s intent. But they weren’t enlightened socialists, so it is our duty to correct their flaws.”
“Still, you haven’t been able to alter the Constitution,” I countered.
“True, but the beauty of it is that we don’t need to. Our power stems from the people we’ve placed and the masses that trust them, not some outdated founding document. We are placing more and more judges who recognize the Constitution as the fluid blueprint for governance it should be. These individuals recognize that the Constitution requires reinterpretation as the times progress. Setting new precedents is what it’s all about now. You know, progress.”
Now her cards were coming onto the table face up.
“Many good folks out there have been publishing warnings about these kinds of thing, what you might call the Red menace,” I argued.
She let out a short haughty laugh. “And you’d be hard pressed to find them if you were to go out seeking them. These outstanding literary works seem to have flown off the library shelves into the hands of private collectors.”
Ah, so she wanted to bring up the handiwork of that aged troll Maeve and her ilk. I almost called her on it, but had no desire at the time to totally tip my hand. Better that I stayed true to her image of me as an unrepentant patriotic dullard with some hope for conversion.
It didn’t take long for the conversation to degenerate into an alcoholic haze. She’d been pounding them back pretty hard all evening. Possibly it was her way of coping with her apparent inability to turn down another roll in the hay. I was starting to feel the booze pretty hard myself when, in mid-sentence, her head dropped onto my shoulder and she passed out.
She awoke as I carried her off to bed and the love-making was a little off key this time.
* * *
As it developed, I hadn’t need worry about giving up the game that night. She called me late on a Sunday evening and asked me over for a nightcap. After the initial meet we hadn’t seen each other much on weeknights so I was perplexed and more than a little wary as I knocked on her door.
She was already well in her cups when she greeted me at the door.
“How nice of you to come over to see me. It’s me you want to see. Right?” she wheedled.
I had an idea of what was coming. I glided on over to the sofa and plopped into what I hoped looked like a carefree position. She strode over and stood her ground above me.
“I got wind as to how maybe you didn’t just stumble onto me while appreciating new art at the gallery opening.”
I allowed as to how that was actually quite true. I had heard good things about her from friends and was intrigued enough to try to find a way to make her acquaintance.
She wasn’t having it.
“I also heard as to how you went down to San Pedro on a Red hunt. So it seems as if your interest in me is professional. Am I right?”
I mumbled something about how maybe it started that way, but I had really fallen for her in a big way and forgotten all about that other stuff.
This turn of events was rather sudden, and it was starting to look final. I wasn’t happy. The whole escapade was only just starting to pay off and I wanted to keep her in play.
We knocked it back and forth a few more times. She called me a ‘duplicitous bastard,’ a ‘cheap masher,’ and a few other choice names I’d heard before. She had a big run of righteous indignation going and she wasn’t about to let go of it.
Sensing defeat finally I got up to go, but she couldn’t leave it at that. She walked on over and grabbed me by the lapels, glared at me as the color rose in her cheeks, and slapped me. I just stood there looking at her, wondering if she cared to do it again.
She looked kind of shocked and buried her face in her hands, then threw her arms around me and held on until I returned the embrace. We stayed like that for a long time.
Finally she drew her head back and cracked a drawn dismal smile. She stared in my eyes and planted a long one on me. It was a good outcome. But the bedroom antics that ensued felt a little forced. She just wasn’t quite able to muster the enthusiasm she needed to get where she wanted to be. I seemed to be observing the events from outside myself and felt detached.
We freshened the drinks and kept at it for the longest time. I’d had only a few hours of sleep when she woke me in the night and we had another go of it. Sadly, it felt like the last time.
The late summer sun was hot on my face when I awoke with a start that Monday morning. A quick glance at the bedside table showed I’d overslept by a good hour.
She appeared at the doorway dressed and said “I’ve got a meeting, I’m going out. Don’t bother tossing the place. I don’t keep anything here. I’m only dumb about men. Drop the key through the slot on your way out.”
Well, that was that. At least I’d finally learned something from good old Ruthena. If she had a line into the action going down between the docks and the Hollywood set, it was a safe bet that the dockworkers were versant in developments in the education system.
And they probably both knew what was up with the libraries as well, if Lupe was to be believed. There was apparently quite the active web of deceit working its ill will here in the Southland. And a set-up like that can be cracked from any number of openings using any number of routines. There was a lot to t
hink about here.
I called Ruthie a few more times in the ensuing weeks, and she kept up her end of the telephone banter. But we never did manage to arrange to see each other again that fall.
September 1947
Things were slow as usual the next week, and I was sitting around one morning shooting the breeze again with Yuki.
“Did you know your cousin talks funny?”
“Yeah. She said the same thing about you.”
“You never did tell me how you managed to get sprung from that camp ahead of everyone else.”
“No. And I never will. Let’s just say the man was a pig, but he was offering something I was willing to get down in the mud to get. I got some protection too, so I was able to get done what I wanted, which was to prepare my folks for a soft landing when they got out. It worked out. We’re all fine now.”
“Well, I’m sorry I dredged that up. Forgive me?”
“Always, Ray.”
“Oh, it’s Ray now?”
“Yeah, Ray. It is. Besides, I want to do more. I want to help Lupe. I want to help you. I may have been trained to poke at a typewriter, but I can handle more.”
“Military intelligence, huh?”
“More.”
“OK, whaddaya got in mind?”
“Partners. Not in the business. Just in the cases. I want in on ‘em. I’ll keep up the office, no worries there. But I want on the cases. I’ve a feeling there’ll be plenty more, and I want to see these maniacs go down. Besides, the closer I stick to you, the safer I’ll feel.”
* * *
With nothing much new in the way of real casework I asked Yuki to keep up with her research on the studio Reds. She briefed me again on a late-week afternoon.
“Whaddaya got this time, Yuki?”
“Background mostly. Ancient history. Here’s a good one for you. United Toilers of America, a legal front group for the Communist Party of America when they were underground.”
“Toilers, huh. What’d they do? Come home from work and throw pity parties sitting around whining about how tough life is. Jesus. I’m glad I had none of those slack bastards behind me at Tarawa. Pardon my French.”
“Ha! That one gotcha, didn’t it? Well, there’s more. There was a United Communist Party active then too. Apparently there were always two commie outfits back in the early ‘20s, both slaves to Moscow, but they specialized in fighting amongst themselves. At least til’ their Comintern bosses made them lay off. I think she said that was in ’22. Moscow ordered those whiny Toilers to disband, and them and all the other loose ends were herded into the CPUSA.”
