The Child Buyer

by Hersey John.

  Mr. BROADBENT. But I gather that on the whole you and your father—

  BARRY RUDD. At that particular moment I had a feeling of intense yearning for his love. I wanted his strong arms around me.

  Then all at once the full horror of the child buyer's proposal came over me.

  Senator SKYPACK. Horror? You don't seem to realize what kind of a deal this is. In a class with getting an appointment to West Point. Better even. Horror!

  BARRY RUDD. At first the feeling wasn't explicit. I remembered a little girl in a Sunday-school class I was in several years ago who had a shriveled hand. Then I remembered being chased through the parking lot of the shopping center on Sycamore Street, last year, on my bike, by these big boys, and they kept calling me a queer. Tou know you're a queer, don't you?' I didn't want to fight. I thought that sticks and stones couldn't possibly hurt my bones as much as those taunts did, though I had no idea what they meant. I thought of my childhood fears: When I was three I was afraid of what I called 'polo'—infantile paralysis. Then I was terrified that the Russians would drop a 'hydrant bomb.' Being bitten by a big dog. Being run over. Fire. Spiders. I lay in my bed and wondered if I was going crazy. It had been drummed into me—I remember Miss Songevine used to din this into me—that precocious children grow up abnormal, neurotic, headed for imbecility or insanity. Early ripe, early rot. The Bible says, 'Much learning doth make thee mad.' Seneca: 'There is no great genius without some touch of madness.' Burton, in The Anatomy of Melancholy, speaking of men 'out of too much learning become mad/ Moreau de Tours, Lombroso, Langc-Eichbaum—'scientists' who 'proved' the relationship between brilliance and madness; Miss Songevine threw them at me. I felt doomed. Doomed. And in a minute I was overwhelmed by the Great Fear. I was terrified that if I went to sleep again I wouldn't wake up in the morning. I put my hand on my chest to feel my heartbeat—was it steady? I turned my head on my pillow to listen for the rush of blood pumping in my ear. I heard a dog howling in the distance—telling me of death, death.

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  THE CHILD BUYER

  Then I desperately tried to save myself by classifying the creatures of this earth. Phylum One: Protozoa, the unicellular animals. Classes: Sarcodina, Mastigophora, Sporozoa, Infusoria. Phylum Two: Porifera, the sponges . . . And eventually I fell asleep. I waked up early, by habit, alive. I'd been getting up with Venus—usually to get a couple of hours of work with Dr. Gozar in the lab before breakfast. No Venus that morning, though: it was raining. Upon wakening I found the grip of my hand very weak. I felt as if Fd been running all night.

  Senator MANSFIELD. All right. Thank you, sonny. Now, I think that's about all we have time for today, and we have the weekend coming up ahead of us. Is there anything farther you want to ask or add this afternoon, Mr. Broadbent?

  Mr. BROADBENT. No, sir, as far as I'm concerned we could call it a day.

  Senator MANSFIELD. We will stand in recess then, until ten o'clock Monday morning.

  (Whereupon, at 5:10 p.m., Friday, October 25, the hearing was recessed, subject to the announced recall of the Chair.)

  MONDAY, OCTOBER 28

  (The Committee met, pursuant to call, at 10:05 a m - * n Executive Session, in Room 429, Capitol Offices, Senator Aaron Mansfield presiding. Committee members and counsel present.)

  Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Skypack asked for this Executive Session before we go down to the big room. So we'll be in order. Senator?

  Senator SKYPACK. I just wanted to tell you people I did some thinking over the weekend about the kind of stuff we had to sit here and listen to in our hearing on Friday, and I just want to serve notice, and I wanted this on the record, serve notice that I'm going to do everything I can to get that arrogant little twerp before we drop these hearings.

  Senator MANSFIELD. 'Get'? Just what do you mean?

  Senator SYPACK. Show him up. Make him go, for one thing. Him sitting there and saying he doesn't choose to go along with the child buyer, with his plan!

  Senator MANSFIELD. I'm rather surprised, Jack, I was very impressed with the boy. Charming. You mean you want to try to force his parents' hand? Make them sell?

  Senator SKYPACK. You damn tootin'. I mean, you heard what the buyer told us, what they're doing down there. If this country's going to sit back and let the enemy outthink us, outrocket us, outeducate us. I'll tell you, I'm going to get him.

  THE CHILD BUYER

  Senator MANSFIELD. What do you think, Peter?

  Senator VOYOLKO. Huh? Me?

  Senator MANSFIELD. How did the boy strike you?

  Senator VOYOLKO. Fat. He's too fat. He eat too much.

  Senator SKYPACK. You can't tell me that boy doesn't know all about the bombing—

  Senator MANSFIELD. Stink bombing. You and Mr. Broadbent seem to insist—

  Senator SKYPACK. Bomb, stink bomb—what's the difference? What's it matter what's inside—gunpowder or that sulphur-and-acid mixture or whatever they use these days?

  Senator MANSFIELD. Seems to me there's quite a difference. Boys make stink bombs. Seems you're familiar with the materials yourself, Jack.

  Senator SKYPACK. That's beside the point. The point is, by his own admission he was in the lab there with that goon just before the bomb was tossed. The cops nabbed him red-handed when his own house and home was being shmcarcd. In trouble with that girl. Broadbent hints around about the child buyer and a morals rap—my God, what about this precocious little fiend? I think we got to think about stiffening up the state J.D. laws, you take a case like this.

  Senatoi MANSFIELD. May I ask what you intend to do, Jack?

  Senator SKYPACK. I don't know yet. I'm just going to sit back and mull for now—But I don't think we ought to fool around. I think we ought to get that delinquent punk in, for one thing.

  Mr. BKOADBENT. He's here. He's right downstairs. I intend to call him, second witness this morning.

  Senator SKYPACK. All right. Who's first?

  Mr. BROADBENT. The buyer.

  Senator SKYPACK. All right. I want you to take a good strong line now.

  Senator MANSFIELD. Perhaps I ought to remind you, Jack, that I'm still Chairman of this Committee. ... I mean, we

  no

  Monday, October 28

  ought at least to work out our tactics together. I'm inclined to give the kid a little leeway—

  Mr. BROADBENT. I think I should tell you, Mr. Chairman, I hold with Senator Skypack on this. I mean this country ... we can't afford . . .

  Senator SKYPACK. You bet your life we can't afford it.

  Senator MANSFIELD. Peter, I wish I could get you to express—

  Senator VOYOLKO. You take and put the kid on a diet. Then sell him. Get a better price, I bet you get a better price.

  Senator SKYPACK. I told you I wanted to serve notice, and I've served it. So let's get down there and get to work.

  Senator MANSFIELD. Very well. I just want to say, though, Jack, I hope and trust we won't rush things. Keep an even keel. I'm not at all convinced—

  Senator SKYPACK. You haul your keel, Aaron, and I'll haul mine.

  Senator MANSFIELD. I guess we can adjourn to Room 202, five or ten minutes.

  (The committee moved to the designated room and came to order, in Ordinary Session, at 10:19 a.m.)

  Senator MANSFIELD. We will be in order. I must give a strict warning to our visitors this morning, we've never been this jammed in here, and we want quiet and orderly behavior so we can conduct our business without interruption. Now, Mr Broadbent, you tell us you're calling Mr. Jones first off.

  Mr. BROADBENT. Please bring in Mr. Wissey Jones.

  Senator MANSFIELD. Sir, you have been sworn, so please just take your place over there. Thank you.

  TESTIMONY OF MR. WISSEY JONES, OF UNITED LYMPHOMILLOED CORPORATION

  Mr. BROADBENT. This morning, Mr. Jones, the Committee would like to hear about certain events that took place on Fri-

  THE CHILD BUYER

  day, the eighteenth—your visit to Miss Perrin's classroom at
Lincoln Elementary, where, as we understand it, you first observed the boy Barry Rudd, and your interview later with the boy's parents, and with him, at his home. And I would like to add, sir, before starting the questioning, that we are anxious to help in any way we can to bring this matter to its desired conclusion. We—

  Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, I don't believe you're authorized—

  Senator SKYPACK. We think if the general public had any idea of the patriotic and beneficial nature of the experiment your company is conducting, that the sympathy that has been drummed up in the press for this boy, largely because you happen to come from out of State—

  Senator MANSFIELD. Senator Skypack, we'll follow good order here, please. You may take up the questioning, Mr. Broadbent.

  Mr. JONES. I wonder if I could make a modest suggestion before you kick off, gentlemen?

  Senator MANSFIELD. Please.

  Mr. JONES. I always make it a habit, when I become interested in purchasing a specimen, to visit the public library patronized by the child. You'd be amazed at what turns up in a library. I have done so in Pcquot, and the suggestion I would make is that you invite Miss Elizabeth Cloud, the librarian, to testify here in these matters. Miss Cloud is a hunchback; she has a sufferer's face and a most intriguing forehead. I'm inclined to be attentive to foreheads, and hers is truly a collector's item. Lines that seem to have been cut by a sensitive etcher's acid run every which way on it, and each one seems to express a feeling or a fate: one might almost read her fortune in those lines, the way a gypsy can read a hand. At any rate, I doubt if anyone in Pequot knows Barry Rudd better than she does, and she can give you insights through his choice of reading—

  Monday, October 28

  Senator SKYPACK. She dig out the pornography for him to read? Paperbacks?

  Mr. JONES. I think you should talk with her, gentlemen.

  Senator MANSFIELD. Mr. Broadbent, will you follow up on this Miss Cloud?

  Mr. BROADBENT. I've already passed a note out, sir. We're phoning our investigator in Pequot, and he may be able to drive her right up this morning.

  Senator MANSFIELD. Alert of you, Mr. Broadbent, thank you. Proceed.

  Mr. BROADBENT. Now, Mr. Jones, about your visit to Miss Per-rin's class. Please just start right in and tell us in your own words.

  Mr. JONES. I've done enough visiting to make allowances for the sudden change of atmosphere that took place in Miss Per-rin's room on my entrance. It's remarkable what an upheaval will take place in a classroom when a visitor enters. Children the teacher can barely control when she's alone in the room suddenly become goody-goody because they have an outsider to impress, and others who are usually docile sense her nervous abstraction and see a chance to slide out from under her thumb. I spent the first few minutes, before I even began to watch the Rudd specimen, weighing this shifted atmosphere. Miss Perrin has a deep sense of her own unworthincss, and she reacts badly to being watched. I saw her speaking sweetly to a boy named John Sano, a friend of the Rudd specimen, but at the same moment secretively pinching him alongside a shoulder blade.

  Mr. BROADBENT. What was the class doing?

  Mr. JONES. It being the beginning of the school day, the class had a weather session, and very soon I could sec the Rudd specimen's dominance of the classroom. He's the teacher there, and it's a sign of a curious combination of brokcn-spiritedness and magnanimity in Miss Perrin that she doesn't resent him. In the midst of the usual cliches of weather forecasting, with the

  THE CHILD BUYER

  little girls especially trying to inject a whiff of pre-pubertal sex into their talk of fronts and precipitation, in unconscious imitation of TV weather queens, the Rudd boy, perhaps for my benefit, slipped in radiosonde, hygrothermograph, psychrometer. It was just a lot of talk, excepting his part. Anyone could see that it was raining outside. But your average school, you know, is like a daily television program these days, and the children are at once actors and audience. Rudd breaks that pattern, however, from the opening minute in the morning: that's my first impression. He's there not just to imitate and watch, but to learn and teach.

  Mr. BROADBENT. Any other impressions?

  Mr. JONES. Yes. He's bored within an inch of his life: this we'll eliminate at United Lymphomilloid, believe me. . . . Miss Perrin droned along with a standard brand of old-fashioned mother's-milk classroom courtesy. 'Excuse me, Paul, I didn't see your hand. . . . I'm pleased to see this group working so well —especially pleased to see Molly working so well. . . . Let's see who's wide awake. I know friend Jock isn't wide awake, because he watched Meet McGrmv and Divorce Court again last night, didn't he? What was it, Jock? Ten thirty? Eleven? . . . David didn't hear what I said a minute ago, I guess. He still— doesn't—hear. . . .' And the Rudd specimen sitting there obsessed, it seems, with clocks, watches, calendars. Time fleeing from his voraciousness! Once his impatience came vomiting out: Miss Perrin was pressing Jock, a slow one, to connect a word in a reader with the literal-minded family-magazinish illustration above it, and Rudd blurted out, Tor goodness sake, Jock, hurry up! Ars longa; vita brevis!' 'My gracious,' Miss Perrin said. Want to know what it means?' Rudd asked. The tactlessness of a quick one. He was just trying to push Jock off the can, I think.

  Monday, October 28

  Senator SKYPACK. Sounds just like him, pushing normal young men around.

  Mr. JONES. I didn't say 'pushing around/ Senator. And I don't think it's necessarily 'normal' to be Jock. I mean the Jock I saw that day.

  Senator MANSFIELD. I gather, in fact, sir, that you were favorably impressed by the Rudd youngster.

  Mr. JONES. I was, I must say, favorably struck, I mean from a U. Lympho point of view, by his reaction to something that happened during social studies.

  Mr. BROADBENT. Would you describe it, please?

  Mr. JONES. I don't know whether you gentlemen are aware of the unusual relationship that exists between Rudd and Dr. Gozar, the principal of Lincoln Elementary. . . .

  Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, we know about that.

  Mr. JONES. About the early-morning lab work?

  Mr. BROADBENT. Yes, yes, we've heard.

  Mr. JONES. But a really deep attachment, on both sides . . , Well, Miss Perrin's social-studies class was going along in a humdrum way when suddenly Dr. Gozar irrupted into the room, with a wrinkled nose and her leathery lips drawn up with a string. She was holding high in her hands a soaked textbook that had obviously been left out in the rain, and she handled this object as if it were the carcass of a pet, already putrescent yet bitterly mourned, and she delivered a short speech, a sort of funeral oration. Every time she uttered the word 'book' it seemed as if she meant to use another word—'life,' or 'fire,' or 'spirit.' I watched Rudd's face closely. Most of the children, who couldn't be expected to feel anything but joy over the ruination of a textbook, were just made rebellious by the threatening tone of her words. Rudd wore a mask. Only when the word 'book' came again and again out of the old iron jaws did

  THE CHILD BUYER

  a sign show on it—a sort of pulling. It was his book. He had left it out of doors. I found this out later, but I also found out that Dr. Gozar knew it then. And she was an ogre. Relentless. She wound up her speech saying, 'The pupil who is responsible for this negligent act—he knows who he is—will remain after school today and will write one hundred times the following sentence: "I must learn to respect town property." He will write neatly and legibly, please. Here, I'll put the sentence on the board for all of you to see/ What was most interesting was to see how Rudd performed after Dr. Gozar left.

  Mr. BROADBENT. How did Dr. Gozar get ahold of the book? The boy told us about leaving it in the woods, on a log by the millpond of an abandoned knife works.

  Mr. JONES. That's right. I got him to tell me about recovering the book in the afternoon, when I called at his home; he told me the story without a hint of emotion. Do you want me to break in with it now?

  Mr. BROADBENT. All right with you, Mr. Chairman?

  Se
nator MANSFIELD. Yes. Go ahead.

  Mr. JONES. When he first waked up that morning, he told me —he'd had a fearful night, terror-struck, in consequence of Mr. Cleary's taking things into his own hands—he looked out the window of the kitchen, where he and his sister sleep; it's on the street, River Street, and he saw it was raining, and his first thought was that the leaves would no longer be dry for a weasel he'd been observing in the forest to use to reline its nest. That made him think of his book. He wheedled his father into driving him to school early, when his father went off to work at Trucco. At the school he thanked his father for the ride, walked at a leisurely pace to the front door of the school, entered, let the door slam behind him, glanced over his shoulder to make sure his father's car had pulled out of sight, then turned and burst out of the school and went at a run up the hill and out the

  Monday, October 28

  Treehampstead Road into the wooded countryside. He got a stitch in his side—he's candid about his gawkiness and flabbi-ncss—and he had to walk awhile, but when he came to the dirt track cutting through the forest downward to Chestnut Burr Creek, he forced himself to run again. Underfoot, he said, there was a shining wet carpet of leaves of many colors. Here and there branches whipped their loads of water drops off onto his chest. He walked past the ruined knife works and along the edge of the millpond to the log at the upper end. His book lay just where he had left it. He picked it up. The cover was slimy, the cloth of the binding had come unstuck and had curled away from the cardboard underneath, and the cardboard itself was warped; many whole pages and edges of other pages were wrinkled and soaked. The boy said he stood for a long moment staring at the pond, which was smooth and iron-black, with myriad tiny circles of raindrops 'like a celebration of water stridcrs dancing on it'; then he ran away back. When he reached the school the playground was empty. He ran to the front entrance and opened the door cautiously and turned to ease its closing so it wouldn't slam. He was panting, and his chest hurt, and his legs felt, he said, as if they had a deep-sea diver's boots on. He turned away from the door. Dr. Gozar was blocking his way. She stood looking down at him. He said her hips were wide, her shoulders looked narrow, her head seemed very small; she had a towering, trompe-l'oeil perspective; she seemed to him enormous, looking down at him from a great height, her neck bent so her head wouldn't press against the ceiling. But her face was not so far away that he could lose sight of its icy sternness. Mind you, these two people are in love. Passionately. 'What is that you have in your hand?' Dr. Gozar asked in a horrified whisper.