A Tangled Web

by Judith Michael

  “He was sucking on your tongue? That’s gross.”

  “Right. It was.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Knocked him down.”

  “Knocked him down?”

  “Well, I pushed him and he fell backwards. There was this hassock behind him, you know, and he fell over it.”

  “Was he mad?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Well, what did he do?”

  “He called me things. And everybody laughed.”

  “At Joey?”

  “No! At me!” Her voice fell away. “They said I was stupid and a tease and a cunt. And they made this circle around me and you know, kind of danced? And I was in the middle, and they were saying cunt, cunt, cunt . . . I hate that word. It was so awful; they were so mean. They were never like that before.”

  “Not to you. Because you always sort of hang around them, like you like them. I hate it when you do that.”

  “I don’t like them, not really. I mean, I mostly hate them. And I never went with them after school or anything, when they asked me, but, you know, I couldn’t stand it if they laughed at me all the time the way they did last night. The way they laugh at you. And they really are cool, Penny, and I really do wish I was like them and they liked me.”

  “They turn lovemaking into fucking.”

  “What? That’s really weird. What does it mean?”

  “They make it not loving. You know, ordinary, like a handshake. Or scratching an itch.”

  “An itch!” Barbara giggled. “Who says it’s like an itch?”

  “My mother.”

  “Oh, you’re always talking about your mother! I mean, she’s really nice, but she doesn’t know anything about sex; she’s too old.”

  “She knows everything. About sex, too, I’ll bet; she and my dad are always kissing. And one time he had his hand here, you know, sort of moving his fingers over it, and my mom said, ‘Wonderful hands,’ real low, and gave this little laugh like she was so happy, and I wished I could feel that way . . . someday. They thought they were alone, you know, in the kitchen, and lots of times, on Saturday and Sunday mornings, their bedroom door’s shut and one time Cliff and I listened and we heard them talking and making all these . . . sounds, you know?”

  Garth tightened his arm around Sabrina as she rested against him on the window seat. “Maybe a soundproof door?”

  She smiled. “I think as long as it’s part of our loving each other, there isn’t anything she shouldn’t hear.”

  “And I knew they were . . . doing it,” Penny finished triumphantly.

  Barbara sighed. “I never get to hear anything like that. My parents don’t kiss much, at least not that I can see. And they close their door at night, and they get up early, before me. It’d be neat to hear them sometime. I guess they don’t do it a lot.” There was a pause. “She said it was an itch?”

  “It shouldn’t be like scratching one, she said. But when kids do it, that’s what it’s like. And she said it was like something else, too . . . I forget. Oh, like an after-school sport.”

  They giggled. “Soccer and Softball and gymnastics and fucking,” Barbara said, her voice rising. “They could put it on the bulletin board and we could check off which one we—”

  “Ssssh!” Penny said.

  Barbara’s voice dropped only slightly. “But wouldn’t you like to try it? I mean, find out what it’s really like? I mean, they talk like it’s the greatest thing and I don’t know what they’re talking about and it makes me feel little, like they’re grown up and I’m still a baby.”

  “My mother says we should wait to find somebody we really love and share things with him; then it would be making love instead of, you know, fucking.”

  Garth kissed Sabrina’s cheek. “What a smart mother Penny has,” he murmured.

  “She didn’t say that!” Barbara exclaimed. “Did she? Does your mother really say ‘fucking’ to you?”

  “Sure. Well, not a lot, she says it’s not a good word, but you know, one time I said the kids at school were talking about fucking and masturbating and . . . you know. So we talked about it.”

  “Well, it’s easy for her; she can talk about itches and stuff because she doesn’t have to go to school with those kids, so what good is that?”

  “She says they’re infants,” Penny went on doggedly, “and the reason they laugh at us is probably because they’re scared but they can’t admit it.”

  There was a pause. “She thinks they’re scared?”

  “That’s what she said. That they got in too deep and don’t know how to get out and don’t know where they’re going. Something like that.”

  “Well . . . I don’t know. They don’t look scared to me. They didn’t look scared last night.”

  “I bet they were, though.”

  “They didn’t look like it. And when Arnie and Vera went into the bedroom, they didn’t, either.”

  “Did you watch them?”

  “They closed the door.”

  “So how do you know they did it?”

  “They said so, when they came back.”

  “So what did you do then? You didn’t come downstairs right away. Did you try anything?”

  “Sort of.”

  “You did? You didn’t tell me!”

  “I meant to. I was going to today.”

  “What did you try?”

  “Uh, coke. They were snorting it.”

  “You did coke?”

  “A little.”

  “How much?”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t look like very much.”

  “Could you feel it? I mean, how did you feel?”

  “It sort of tickled my nose.”

  “But how did you feel?”

  “Nice. Like everything was fine. They stopped laughing at me and they liked me and I felt grown up and . . . good. It was really nice.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Oh, sort of hung out, but they didn’t seem so nice after a while. They got mean, like always, and they were telling jokes that I didn’t get, so I came downstairs and that’s when, you know, they opened the dining room and everybody started eating, so I did, too.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Yeh, it wasn’t, you know, fabulous or anything. It just felt nice for a little while. You could try it and see for yourself, they’d give you some, they’ve got lots. Or, you know, if we wanted to do the rest of it, we could ask Vera or somebody and they’d, you know, tell us where they’d be after school or on weekends.”

  “And do coke, you mean?”

  “Well, sex, too. You know. I mean, I don’t know about itches and all that stuff, but they keep saying it’s so much fun and we could find out what it’s like. They’d let us; they told me they like virgins.”

  “Oh.” It came out as a terrified gasp and Sabrina started up, but Garth held her back. “She doesn’t need us,” he murmured, and slowly she settled back, but her hands were clenched. “I can’t believe they’re saying these things.”

  “So what do you think?” Barbara asked.

  “I guess not,” Penny said, her voice becoming stronger as she spoke. “I mean, I really don’t want to. My mother says those kids are messing up a lot of things because they don’t know who they are or how—”

  “They know who they are! That’s dumb!”

  “No, like, they don’t know what they can be, you know, how they’ll feel about things when they grow up. Really grow up, you know, because there’s all those things waiting for us—love and adventures and stuff—and we don’t know what we’ll really want later on, so we should wait. You know, be really grown up before we do grown-up things. So I guess I’ll wait.”

  Sabrina sighed. Maybe that’s the best thing I’ve ever done. She tilted back her head and met Garth’s eyes, and they kissed, as lovers and parents, and Sabrina felt a rush of thankfulness for everything that was so good.

  “Anyway,” Penny finished, putting forward her last argum
ent, “if my mother ever found out, she’d ground me for a year.”

  “A year! That’s awful! That’s not fair!”

  “I know. She thinks it is, though. She says it’s important for my growing up. And I guess I . . . sort of . . . believe her.”

  “You do?”

  “Well, you know, when she’s talking she makes everything sound like she’s right.”

  “That’s just because she’s your mother.”

  There was a pause. “Maybe it’s because she’s really right.”

  Garth chuckled. “I like the way Penny thinks.”

  “Well,” Barbara said, drawing it out. “Well, I guess . . .”

  “What?”

  “I guess I won’t do it if you won’t. Like, if we did it together we could, you know, talk about it. But I don’t want to do it without you.”

  “Any of it?”

  “I guess. But then they’ll start laughing at me again.”

  “Oh, well. We could talk Chinese at them.”

  “Chinese? How? We don’t know any.”

  “I know a little bit. Lu Zhen taught me; he’s really nice. When he comes for dinner again, I’ll ask him for more words and then I’ll teach you.”

  “It’s a lot harder than French, isn’t it?”

  Their voices changed; now they were relaxed, with no residue of their earlier tension that had seemed to Sabrina to be close to hysteria. They talked about their French teacher for the school year beginning in just a few weeks, and the sixth grade play, and some sweaters that Barbara wanted to buy because all the girls were buying them. A few minutes more and they were on their feet, talking about food. “Mrs. Thirkell always has something; she’s wonderful,” said Penny. “My dad says she’s like the sun and the British Empire, that she never sets. I guess that means she never sits down, or she’s always there, something like that.”

  “You’re so lucky,” Barbara said. “I mean, having her is like being rich, isn’t it? Or a princess or something.”

  Their voices moved down the hall to the stairs and faded away. Sabrina was laughing softly. “You didn’t tell me about Mrs. Thirkell never setting.”

  “I’d forgotten I said it. How nice that Penny understood it. I hope she understands how much she owes you.”

  “She understands that she got help when she needed it. And she isn’t afraid to acknowledge it. I’m so proud of her.”

  “So am I. But mostly of her mother.” They sat quietly, gazing through the turret’s curved windows at the front yard below, shimmering in the heat. A neighbor, looking wilted, walked a wilted Dalmatian on a long leash; another neighbor gazed at a lawn mower in his front yard, gazed at the sky, then shrugged and put the lawn mower away. “It’s better inside,” Garth said. “It’s amazing how many reasons I find to say that. Which reminds me: Claudia and I will be going to Washington week after next, just for the day.”

  “Yes, she called me. We had a long talk. It was very strange; she asked me how I’d handle them.”

  “Leglind?”

  “And his sidekick. I can’t believe that she really needs help with them.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That she was looking for something that would lead to a public retraction, and she had some ideas but she wondered how I’d handle it.”

  “She didn’t say why?”

  Sabrina gestured slightly with her hand. “It seems that Lloyd Strauss told her I’d had something to do with solving a sex-for-grades scandal last year.”

  “A little more than something, my love. You did it all. Of course Claudia would have heard about that. And she likes you; she told me she values your friendship. Well, did you give her any suggestions?”

  “We talked through a few of them, and there was only one that we thought might work, though we weren’t happy about it. And of course everything could change when you’re there.”

  “What was it?”

  “Well, it was very simple, if you can ever call blackmail simple. I thought she might tell Leglind about the publicity you’re working on for the institute: the donors and so on, and the opening ceremonies with guest speakers and politicians, and that you’d like him to be part of it, but if he’s on record calling for an investigation of the institute as a waste of money, and then the university publicly applauds him for his support, it would sound like a bribe, even though everyone knows how interested he is in science . . . well, you get the idea.”

  “I do. As blackmail it’s very good.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  “Not any more than you do; it’s a depressing way to get things done. It doesn’t even matter that people use blackmail all their lives, mild forms of it—well, maybe not quite so mild—and find prettier names for it than blackmail or bribery or whatever it comes down to.”

  “But what you mostly don’t like is that it probably will work.”

  “That’s the most depressing part. In spite of all the good people who find their way to Congress, the ones who usually leave the biggest impression are the corrupt and craven ones. I know it’s not only Congress, it’s everywhere, and my friends in the social sciences say it’s naive to expect anything else, but still it’s depressing. And Claudia thought it was a good idea?”

  “She thought it sounded more practical than appealing to Leglind’s better instincts.”

  “Since he has none. She’s right. Well, we have an appointment a week from Monday; we’ll know then.”

  “Are you dividing up what you’re going to say?”

  “She wants to do most of the talking. I’m looking forward to it; I’ve never even heard her raise her voice, much less lecture a congressman.”

  As it happened, Claudia did not raise her voice in Oliver Leglind’s office; she spoke so softly that the congressman had to strain to hear her. “We appreciate your seeing us on such short notice,” she said, and watched with quiet amusement as Leglind and Stroud exchanged a quick glance of surprise at the gentle voice issuing from a woman six feet tall with slicked-back gray hair and oversize glasses. “It was, of course, gratifying to hear from Mr. Stroud that we had been exonerated, but it was quite dismaying as well.”

  The congressman frowned. He was a small man oddly out of proportion, his arms too long for his torso, his legs too short, his eyes peering narrowly from beneath heavy brows. He had thick hair so carefully waved it was clear it was his pride and joy. Garth knew he could be mesmerizing in front of a crowd, working it to a frenzied pitch with dark tales of government waste so dire it threatened the very core of the American way of life. But he was not swaying a crowd now; he was looking puzzled and a little impatient. “I thought you’d be pleased. I was told that you weren’t happy with us, that you’d told Professor Andersen not to testify—”

  “No one told me any such thing,” Garth said. “I was prepared to testify; Mr. Stroud and I discussed that.”

  “Right. I heard about that discussion, Professor. You seem to think I’m not a curious person. You said if I gave a damn about science. You made some comments about my making up plots.”

  “I did, and I apologize. Those were ill-considered remarks that I regret making. I’m ashamed of them.”

  Leglind was silent. Garth was amused, as he always was at how disarming an apology is. Few people, poised for battle, can charge forward after those simple words: I’m sorry. I’m ashamed.

  “Well, now, that’s generous,” Roy Stroud said. “Not too many people are manly enough to admit their mistakes. But I think the congressman hasn’t been told why you’re not happy with our decision. And why you’re here.”

  “Because you’ve left us hanging,” Claudia said. “We’re in limbo out there where accusations float around but never quite come to earth.”

  “What? I’m sorry, I don’t quite get that.”

  “She means we didn’t say we were wrong about their university,” said Leglind flatly. “But nobody can say that, because there hasn’t been any testimony, and there isn’t going to be any because that�
�s the way you want it. At least that’s what we were told. So if that’s why you came, you’ve made the trip for nothing.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. We came because we want to discuss with you the opening ceremonies for the Institute for Genetic Engineering.” Garth saw the twist of distaste in the corners of her mouth as she spoke the lines she and Sabrina had discussed, painting in glowing terms a picture of national and international attention, of wealthy donors including Billy Koner, of guest speakers who included Nobel Prize winners and political leaders from around the world. She held out a list of names. “They’re confidential for now, but we brought them for you, because of course you belong among them.”

  She paused, then reminded them of Leglind’s call for an investigation of the institute as a waste of money. “So how can we include you in this group of supporters whom we are publicly applauding? Others would say we were trying to bribe you. Everyone knows of your deep concern for science, and of course the institute is on the cutting edge of research and teaching, but still, we can’t ignore your public statements. Of course,” she added, “a retraction now, almost ten months before the May dedication and opening ceremonies, would stand on its own. But that is not in our hands. We came all this way, Congressman, in the hope that you could help us resolve this dilemma.”

  Delicately, almost reverently, Leglind took the list of names and held it at arm’s length. Stroud handed him his reading glasses. He read it several times, top to bottom. “Roy,” he said at last, “you didn’t offer coffee to our guests.”

  * * *

  The Chicago Tribune for August 20 lay on Sabrina’s attic worktable as she worked on the final set of specifications for the Koner Building. It had been ten days since the paper appeared with Oliver Leglind’s statement printed on the front page, and Sabrina still glanced at it now and then as she worked.

  It is the duty of all of us who are dedicated to democracy to study and investigate the information that comes to us. When, in our diligent and relentless search for truth, some information turns out to be false, to protect the reputation and integrity of all those involved, we must be swift to admit our error. Such was the case recently with Midwestern University and its Institute for Genetic Engineering. This institute, on the cutting edge of research and teaching, when opened next year will be a beacon to science and the world. The House Committee on Science, Space and Technology received information questioning the financial underpinnings of the institute and the university’s handling of government grants. The committee would have been derelict in its duty had it not investigated those allegations. Having done so, committee staff found the institute, under Professor Garth Andersen, to be a model for other institutions; it found Midwestern University’s use of government grants to be fully documented. There is much that is wrong in this great country of ours, and it is our duty to find it and root it out, but we must also applaud all that is magnificent, and make sure . . .