The Wide House

by Taylor Caldwell

  Stuart glared at him. His intuition, which had no reason, understood. But his lusty mind violently rejected anything so horrible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! It’s all gibberish! Mirrors, by God! What has your blasted young bastard of a brother to do with mirrors, for God’s sake? Look, you: I get fed up with living, and with problems, and wish myself dead, momentarily. But that passes. I never really want to die, though I get sick in the belly at times just because I am alive. But all that passes, like any other bellyache. One must go on living.”

  Robbie shook his head. He said quietly: “But Bertie doesn’t want to go on living.” He hesitated. Then he admitted a thing extraordinary for this young man of rationality: “There are some things which cannot be put into words. They must be felt. With the emotions, if you will.” His mouth became wry at uttering the loathsome word. “I feel—things—about Bertie. I had a sort of talk with him, about two months ago. He didn’t say much. It was more his—look. And then I knew it was no use. Nothing could ever make Bertie desire to live. It isn’t emptiness, Stuart. It is more than that.”

  “But what does the young devil want?” cried Stuart, and his cry was a protest against the horror he felt in his warm and tempestuous heart.

  “I have just told you, Stuart. He wants nothing. And he can’t bear living, knowing he wants nothing. I—I can’t explain it. I am telling you this very badly. I have no words for it. But I know it is there, like a nightmare, in his mind.”

  “But why should he feel like that?” demanded Stuart.

  Robbie shrugged wearily. “I don’t know,” he almost whispered. “I don’t know. Perhaps he was born that way. Bertie is pliant. He agrees with everything. He is charming and amiable. He is always pleasant and consenting. Why? Because, I think, he finds nothing important enough to oppose or to fight or to deny. I have listened to him agree to two entirely different opinions, nodding his head, as if his heart were in it. But—nothing was in it. He is not even not interested. It is something even more negative than that.”

  Stuart contemplated this ghastly idea for several moments. Then in a stifled voice he asked: “How is he now?”

  “He has been drinking steadily for several weeks now. Ever since we had that talk. He is desperately ill. He hardly eats. He just lies in his bed, and drinks. My mother wanted, at last, to prevent him from getting his drink. I told her it was no use. He would find a way to get it, if he had to get out of his bed and steal it. Nothing would stop him. He would be like a drugged man, or a mesmerized one, searching for the one thing which keeps him alive. We can only let him drink, and die. That is what he wants. Who are, we to say that it is better for him to live? Understanding what he is?”

  “You would let him commit suicide?” asked Stuart, aghast.

  Robbie shrugged again. “That is what he wants. Oh, I suppose we could get him over this, for a while. But he would return. It would just prolong his agony.”

  He sighed, and it was a strange sound from him. “So, there it is. I can’t leave him, now. I was to go to Harvard, as you know, after Christmas. I have given up the idea, temporarily at least. I shall stay with Bertie.”

  Stuart was deeply concerned. “But why do that? You’ve planned on it, haven’t you? You need to go?”

  But Robbie was indifferent. “Yes, I suppose so. But it can wait I can keep on with Judge Taylor. I really don’t need to go, I suppose. It isn’t absolutely necessary. There were some courses in philosophy in which I was interested, as well as on law. At any rate,” he added, with a bleak smile, “I can be a lawyer without going to Harvard. In another two years, the Judge tells me, I can be admitted to the bar in Grandeville without all the other preliminaries.”

  Stuart stared at him with a new sharp interest. The lad was human after all. But he could not help saying sarcastically: “Now, isn’t that against all ‘reason’?”

  Robbie smiled again, and there was something boyish in his smile. “There you have me. But sometimes, I am afraid, there are things stronger than reason.”

  All at once Stuart liked him, with quite a rush of warmth. He put his hand affectionately on the youth’s shoulder. “How old are you, Robbie? Eighteen? Well, you still have plenty of time. Look here, if you ever need anything, will you tell me?”

  Robbie regarded him steadily. “Stuart, why do you bother with us?”

  Stuart pressed his hand strongly on the other’s shoulder, then withdrew it.

  “Damned if I know,” he said frankly, and with a grin. “Just a cursed meddler, I suppose. I’m not really fond of any of you, damned if I am!”

  Robbie laughed.

  As he went towards the doorway, Stuart accompanied him.

  “Look here now, Robbie, you’d best stop your ideas about Bertie. They won’t do you a bit of good, I’m thinking.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Joshua Allstairs crouched over his cane and looked long and thoughtfully at his visitor.

  The past seven years had not increased the old man’s benevolence though it had had that salubrious effect on his piety. Time, too, had shrivelled his wizened frame even further, and he bore an even more startling resemblance to an ancient spider. His terrible musty house, so dark and haunted, loomed about him like a cavern in which he crouched malevolently. Everything about him was shadowy except for his bright and predatory eyes which fixed themselves immovably on Sam Berkowitz.

  “Ah, yes,” he murmured. He nodded his head and smiled benignly. “Yes, Mr. Berkowitz, you may smoke if you like. Though I do not indulge in the noxious weed, for moral and other reasons, I have no objection if others wish to jeopardize their immortal souls.” He smirked slightly.

  Sam lit his pipe slowly and gravely. He leaned back in his stiff chair. He regarded Mr. Allstairs with gentle reflectiveness. In his turn Joshua scrutinized the other. Why had this abominable creature visited him, written to him begging for a few moments of his time? Joshua licked his lips. He prepared in advance to enjoy himself.

  Sam sighed a little. He made his face smooth and masklike, and then smiled at his host.

  “It is a small matter of business,” he said apologetically. He appeared embarrassed. “I shall not take up your time too long, Mr. Allstairs.”

  “I am not going to the banks today,” said Joshua graciously.

  “But I shall not take up your time too long,” repeated Sam. He looked down at the toes of his boots. “Mr. Allstairs, this may seem strange to you. But I must ask you a question. I understand that you haf in your possession several notes given to the First National Bank, the Broadway Bank and the American Bank, in New York, by my partner, Mr. Coleman, in the amount of $21,000?”

  He said this blandly, and his brown eyes now narrowed sharply upon Joshua.

  Joshua was taken aback. His face wrinkled until it resembled the dried meat of a mummified nut. His eyes glittered at Sam inimically. Then he cleared his throat, and said pompously: “Mr. Berkowitz, sir, this is a most extraordinary question. Indeed, most extraordinary. And, you will agree, quite astonishing, also. I do not know where you have gotten your information.” He paused, tentatively. But Sam’s expression was still bland and unreadable.

  Joshua was infuriated. “I can’t understand this, sir! You will realize that I am astounded. Business transactions are not usually the common knowledge of—uninterested parties.”

  “I,” said Sam seriously, “am an interested party.”

  Joshua stared at him. Then he grinned. “Yes, yes, of course. Please pardon my impetuous words, Mr. Berkowitz. I understand that what affects your partner inevitably affects you. He coughed gently. “But I am afraid you are under a misapprehension. Not about the notes, which I assume you believe I possess, but in your assumption that I would enlighten you about them.”

  Sam puffed slowly on his pipe, and was silent. He rocked one knee which was crossed over the other. He was not disturbed. Joshua regarded him with malefic emotions. His claws tightened on the head of his cane.

  Then Sam spoke again, still very g
ently: “I haf reason to believe, Mr. Allstairs, that you possess these notes. You must not ask me who has informed me. I shall not tell you. But I know you possess them. The only one who does not know this is Stuart.”

  Joshua glared at him. He sucked in his lips. His head sank a little deeper into his bent shoulders. Now he was all evil.

  Sam smiled kindly. “I also know that you purchased these notes, sir, at a discount, as the banks who held them were greatly embarrassed during the panic, and they must haf their money. You bought them, though they were not due.”

  “They are due in another two weeks!” cried Joshua, before he could prevent himself.

  But Sam only nodded seriously. “Yes, I know this. And doubtless you will press for payment.”

  Joshua did not speak, but his whole withered face became alight with a wicked radiance. Sam nodded again.

  “I am prepared to buy those notes from you, Mr. Allstairs, at a profit to yourself.”

  Joshua gaped at him. He threw back his head, so that his twisted neck was visible, like a bundle of ropes. He could not control himself. He cried hoarsely: “‘Buy them’ from me! No one shall buy them from me! I would not sell them for twice the money! Do you think, you crawling Jew, that I would give away my long-awaited chance to do vengeance on that godless blackguard? Do you think I have waited so long to be thwarted now?”

  Neither his evil sparkling eyes, his color, his madness, nor his vicious words, had any disturbing effect on Sam’s equanimity. Sam merely gazed at him quietly, as if he had made the most ordinary of remarks.

  His quietness, his air of gentle waiting, had their effect on Joshua. He gasped a few more times, and then was suddenly still. He stared at Sam a long time.

  “Why do you wish to buy these notes?” he asked.

  Sam said, looking at him steadfastly: “That is my affair, sir. But I haf said: I am Stuart’s partner. You haf not forgotten?”

  Joshua worried his lips. He sucked them in and out. He bent over his cane. His ancient head trembled as though in a palsy. Then, all at once, he began to smile, and that smile was more malignant than ever.

  “Ah,” he said, very softly. “I see. You are not insinuating, sir, that you are weary of Mr. Coleman’s conduct? His debts, his crimes, his putting your firm in constant jeopardy?”

  Now Sam’s eyes became hard and motionless, and unreadable. He said: “You may assume that, sir.”

  Joshua studied him. And then the vilest expression flashed across his shrivelled features. He began to chuckle. The chuckle rose to a virulent cawing. He rocked back and forth in his chair. He looked at Sam cunningly.

  “I thought so! I thought so! I warned him, years ago! I warned him that a Jew was a dangerous partner! Not, Mr. Berkowitz, that I am condemning you. Oh, dear no! I am really admiring you. You, like myself, have been looking for your opportunity. Is that not so?”

  “You may assume that, sir,” repeated Sam. He smiled. His look became confidentially amiable. “But all this, Mr. Allstairs, is entirely between ourselves?”

  Joshua nodded, delightedly. He leaned closer to Sam. “I am aware of many things, Mr. Berkowitz, which would surprise you. I know all the affairs, and debts, of the Grandeville Supreme Emporium. I know that you have not yet weathered the storm of the panic. I also know the exact amount which is in your private name, in the banks. Mr. Berkowitz, I admire you. You are a cautious and expedient man, and a thrifty one. Doubtless Mr. Coleman’s extravagance and criminal negligences have infuriated you.”

  “Doubtless,” agreed Sam, with a sigh.

  “And you wish to rid yourself of him?”

  Sam inclined his head.

  Joshua leaned closer to him. “You need a partner, Mr. Berkowitz, a silent partner.”

  Sam reflected, briefly, that a silent partner would be very good indeed.

  “How much, Mr. Berkowitz, when Mr. Coleman is safely Out of the way?”

  Sam did not speak. Again, his eyes narrowed shrewdly upon the other.

  Joshua nodded, with admiration. “Mr. Berkowitz, as your banker, I have long admired your business acumen, your genius. I know it is you who have made the Emporium what it is, what it could be, if you were rid of Mr. Coleman. I know how much more you can do. That is why I have asked if you might consider a silent partner.”

  “I would consider such a partner,” admitted Sam. His voice became earnest, even eager, but very cautious also.

  Joshua nodded again. He rubbed his hands together. “It will be easy to do. I shall present my notes to our admirable and reckless friend, and will force him out of the Grandeville Supreme Emporium. Then I shall be your silent partner.”

  He looked at Sam with delighted and affectionate conspiracy. “I think, Mr. Berkowitz, that this solves our problem to our mutual satisfaction.”

  Sam was very quiet. He pulled placidly on his pipe. His eyes, now, were bits of shining brown stone.

  Joshua became impatient. “It is all solved, Mr. Berkowitz.” He grinned. “I realize, of course, that this causes you to pause, to think. You had intended, had you not, to present these notes to Mr. Coleman, and throw him out yourself, leaving a completely free field in which you would have no partner at all?”

  Sam looked away. He appeared embarrassed.

  Joshua shook an arch finger at him, and chuckled deep in his throat.

  “What an expedient rascal you are, sir! But I admire you! On my word, I admire you. But I am afraid I cannot accede. I want a share in the Grandeville Supreme Emporium. If you are afraid that I shall interfere with the management, set your mind at rest. I have given the matter long thought, sir. When I purchased the notes it was with this idea: that I would be your partner. I trust your judgment, sir. I trust you implicitly.”

  He laughed with more richness. “He thought he could trust you, too. But he is no Joshua Allstairs, the unprincipled lecher!”

  His face changed again, became vile and murderous. “He took my daughter, the only creature I had in all this world. Was he a good husband to her? Did he cherish her? No! He is breaking her heart. He exhibits his shamelessness to her boldly. His loathsome affairs are common knowledge. Think, sir, what this is doing to the heart of a gentle girl, who trusted him, and placed her life in his care!”

  Sam sighed deeply. He looked at Joshua with intense sympathy. “This I know also, sir. I cannot express my regret.”

  Joshua became excited. He throttled his cane, as if it had been flesh. He was beside himself. He lifted the cane and shook it violently.

  “I shall not rest until I have brought him low, until he grovels at my feet in penitence for his outrages against God and man! I have sworn this. I have waited and planned for this. And nothing shall turn me aside!” He struggled for breath. “Only when he is a beggar in rags, imploring mercy, hungering for a crust, shall I be satisfied. When he is ruined, when my daughter is my own again, and her child sheltered in my arms, shall I know forgiveness.”

  Sam listened. His expression was sad and full of sympathy. He nodded repeatedly. “I understand,” he murmured. “It is only to be expected.

  Joshua, exhausted, fell back in his chair. He looked at Sam fixedly. He slowly fondled the head of his cane. He said: “You are a gentleman of heart and perspicacity. You understand me.”

  “Yes,” said Sam, reflectively, “I understand. I sympathize. Nevertheless, you must sell me those notes.”

  Joshua aroused himself again. He was trembling. He cried: “I shall not sell you those notes! Haven’t I made myself clear, yet, and what I want? Are you asking me to deliver my vengeance into your hands?”

  “Yes,” replied Sam, soberly.

  “Then, sir, you are a complete fool, and I must revise my former opinion of you!”

  Sam folded his arms on his chest. “Haf you forgotten, sir, that I may have a little vengeance of my own to satisfy?”

  Joshua stared at him, moistening and sucking his lips.

  Stuart,” continued Sam, “owes me over eighteen thousand dollars on personal note
s. I shall never receive it back. There are other matters, too. That is why I must have his notes.”

  “But cannot you see, you obtuse creature, that we shall have a mutual revenge!” exclaimed Joshua. “Is that not enough for you?”

  “No,” said Sam thoughtfully. “It is not enough.”

  Joshua subsided. He rubbed his chin with his cane. He began to grin again. “It is true, then, that a Jew’s vengefulness is bottomless, and without mercy.”

  Sam’s eye began to sparkle strangely. But he said nothing.

  “He has been your friend. He trusted you. He has been helpless in your hands,” Joshua meditated, deliciously. “He trusted you above all others. He delivered himself to you, without reservation. Yet you would do this to him.”

  “Yes, I would buy his notes. At a profit to you,” agreed Sam.

  Joshua sighed. “Much as I admire you, sir, for your resolution, this cannot be. I am afraid that our revenge must be mutual. I assure you that it will not be the easier for him. I should like to see his face when he understands that his dear friend has betrayed him! Yes, I must see his face. I must be present. That is my one stipulation.”

  Sam stirred a little on his chair. It was the slightest movement, but it was eloquent.

  “I shall pay you twenty-four thousand dollars for these notes. There is no interest due. Stuart has paid the interest promptly. You will haf a clear profit of three thousand dollars.” He added: “No, more than that, sir. You bought these notes for seventeen thousand dollars. That is seven thousand dollars clear profit. It is not little, Mr. Allstairs.”

  Joshua forgot his pleasure in a surge of annoyance. He struck his cane up and down on the carpet. He shook his head angrily. “You are obstinate, sir. I shall not sell you those notes. Even though I lose three thousand dollars in immediate profits.”