According to Their Deeds

by Paul Robertson

  “Yes. Derek’s set.”

  “What will we do with it?”

  “I don’t know,” Charles said. “It’s very nice. We could just have it in the showroom. It would fit right in.”

  “And will you tell me about your other adventures this afternoon? Mr. Jones, and Lucy Bastien?”

  “They were adventures. But first, dear, I want to figure out the answers to all the questions you would ask.”

  EVENING

  Dinner was over. The kitchen window was open to the evening air.

  “What did Odysseus do to deserve such a punishment?”

  Dorothy handed him a plate.

  “He made Poseidon angry.”

  Charles put the plate in the cabinet. “Was that wrong?”

  “No, it was Greek.” She turned the water on in the sink and set a pot in it to fill. “I should have soaked this. It’s hard as a rock.”

  “What did you do to deserve that?”

  “I burned the rice.”

  “Please. Allow me.” He took the scouring pad from her.

  “Gladly, dear.”

  “Can you think of any place in classical Greek literature,” Charles said, “where someone suffers on behalf of someone else?”

  “Like you’re doing for me with the pot?”

  “Oh, maybe on a more epic scale.” He scrubbed, hard. “Although this does seem Herculean.”

  “Alcestis. Do you remember? King Admetus was about to die, but Apollo talks the Fates into giving him a reprieve as long as he can get someone else to die in his place. He thinks maybe one of his aged parents will, but they won’t. Finally his wife, Alcestis, says she will.”

  “I don’t think I remember this at all,” Charles said.

  “There is a play by Euripides. As she is being taken to the underworld, Admetus realizes that Alcestis is better off than he is. He has to mourn for her, and his life will always be filled with sorrow and strife. But she will never suffer again.”

  “So she doesn’t suffer on his behalf.”

  “In Greek mythology,” Dorothy said, “everyone suffers. Hercules happens by on the day of the funeral, tears open the tomb, wrestles Thanatos, the god of death, to the ground and makes him let Alcestis go.”

  “So they all get to suffer on through life together.” He gave up on the pot and left it to soak. “If a person does something wrong, what can they do? Do they have the stain forever?”

  “Well, of course not.”

  “Exactly. There are two options: punishment and redemption. In the case of someone like Karen Liu, I know what the punishment would be. She would probably lose her position in Congress, and possibly go to jail. It would be worse than what happened to Patrick White.”

  “If those checks really represent a crime.”

  “Which we don’t know for sure,” Charles said. “But assuming they do, what is the alternate to punishment? What would redemption look like for her?”

  “Everything she’s done in Congress,” Dorothy said. “You think she’s accomplished lots of good things.”

  “Legally, that doesn’t matter. But should it morally?”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “It makes a difference to me. If I have to decide what to do with the papers, should I consider that her good works outweigh the bad?”

  “That’s not exactly what redemption is.”

  “No,” Charles said. “And that was where my question came from, about one person suffering for another. That’s what redemption really is.”

  “In the case with Karen Liu, who would suffer for whom? In real redemption, not just anyone’s suffering would count.”

  “No. It would have to be someone who’s earned the right.”

  “I think your queen is in trouble, Charles.”

  “She has been from the fifth move, Derek. That’s the problem with bringing her out so soon.”

  “You’re usually more conservative with her.”

  “I thought I would try to upset your expectations.”

  “In this case, Charles, perhaps you shouldn’t have. There.”

  “Then . . . there.”

  “It doesn’t help. The lowly pawn moves . . . and there, you can’t save her now.”

  “Perhaps. I’ll try this.”

  “Wait. Let me see what that does. Ha! Very clever. And that means... at least I take your knight. Poor fellow. Nothing of his own doing, was it, Charles? The queen makes a mistake, and the knight pays for it.”

  “They are all in it together, Derek. Don’t ask for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee. And there. That’ll make up for it anyway.”

  SATURDAY

  MORNING

  The sky was a maze of light-punctured clouds. A clever beam could break through the shifting layers, evade fast-moving curls and strands, and attain the streets of Alexandria. An especially bright ray landed on the bookshop’s steps at the same time Charles did.

  The brightest light was already inside.

  “Hello, dear,” he said to her.

  Dorothy looked up from behind the counter. “Was everything all right?”

  “Yes. Packages are mailed and staples are bought.”

  “Thank you. And do you have any plans for the rest of the morning?”

  “If nothing else comes along,” he said, “I have some work to do in the basement. It looks like some of Morgan’s inventory orders from Briary Roberts came in yesterday afternoon. Do you have anything you’d like me to do?”

  “I’m low on change in the cash register.”

  “I will go out and get you some. And have we sold anything yet this morning?”

  “I hesitate to tell you, Charles.”

  “Oh, good! It must be something fun! What is it?”

  “A Complete Shakespeare.”

  “What outrageous fortune!”

  “Please keep its slings and stones to yourself. Alice is not in on Saturdays, and I refuse to play your games.”

  “But it is who I am, dear.”

  “Then try not to be.”

  “That is the answer?”

  “Yes, and I would like you to leave now, at least until you get it out of your system. You could go get my change. I need ones and fives.”

  “I’ll go.” Charles smiled. “I know a bank, where the—”

  “Stop. Do not say anything else.”

  “For you, my love, I will be silent. My kingdom to be hoarse!”

  Dorothy giggled. “You are incorrigible.”

  The sun had seized more of the sky by the time he again approached the front steps. He opened the door and stepped over its bright threshold.

  “Congresswoman!” he cried. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Thank you!” She glowed in emerald and gold, as if a beam of light had even found its way to the middle of the room. “I loved this!” She held the Proverbs Garden like evidence at a trial. “I just loved it.”

  “I’m so glad,” Charles said, just reaching the floor.

  “And I want to buy it.”

  He finally reached her. “You can get less expensive copies.”

  “I want this one,” she said. “A copy wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Then I’m honored.”

  “And I just loved talking to your wife.”

  “I always do, too,” Charles said.

  “Now I want you to show me more of your store.”

  “Then I need to take you downstairs.”

  “These are the old books.”

  The whole political exterior slid away. Karen Liu was as purely amazed as John Borchard had been.

  “There are so many . . .” she said.

  “About three thousand.”

  And finally she said, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t really either,” Charles said. “The books just speak for themselves.”

  “They do.” She began to recover. “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Thirty years.”

  “How did you
start?”

  “Dorothy and I were just out of college and just married. We decided to give it a go.”

  “Why books?”

  “Well, let’s see. I was in history and Dorothy majored in English. We wanted to stay in Alexandria. And we both liked books.” He smiled. “And it worked, despite our youth and inexperience. We started out of our house, and it took about five years to build up to a storefront.”

  “Did you have anything to start with?”

  “I had four books that my grandfather owned.”

  “And now you have all this.”

  “We made a few fortunate discoveries early on. Prices have risen over three decades, so we rode the ups and downs and put the inventory together. Now we have to compete against the Internet, but it makes it easier to find things ourselves.”

  “What is all of this worth?”

  “We could say about ten million, but it’s very soft. It could drop by half overnight if something changed the market.”

  “That is amazing. I have never had a head for business.”

  “You’ve had your own successes, of course,” Charles said.

  She was done being amazed. “Yes. I have. Mr. Beale, when you were starting out—what compromises did you have to make?”

  “I had to settle for less than I wanted many times.”

  “What if there had been an offer for help, but it meant compromising? What if the only other choice meant giving up on ever having a store?” She was the most intense, and tense, that he had seen her. “Do you understand what I’m talking about, Mr. Beale?”

  “I’m glad I never had to make that choice. Besides, I’m a different person now than I was then. I think I can only answer for what I’d do now. What would you do?”

  “What would I do now?”

  “What would you do now,” Charles asked, “if you had to make a choice like that?”

  She said flatly and firmly, “I would turn it down.”

  “I hope I would, too.” Then, just as firmly, he said, “Please tell me about Patrick White.”

  It was hard to tell what was going on inside her.

  “We’ve been friends a long time,” she said, not so firmly.

  “A professional relationship?”

  “We met at a Bar Association luncheon the first year I was in Congress. He became my unofficial advisor on judicial matters.”

  “And you were friends?”

  “We were kindred spirits. For both of us, the Law, and the legal system, was our lives. And occasionally, Mr. Beale, for social gatherings, a lady may appreciate a gallant escort. Even me.”

  “Even you.” Charles sighed. “Then I especially convey my regrets.”

  “It is very regrettable.” She was especially grim.

  “But I take it you still communicate?”

  “We still have a few things in common, even now.”

  “You mentioned that on the telephone,” Charles said. “I understood there was some connection between you and Mr. White, and I think also John Borchard and Derek. Mr. White described a bill that Mr. Borchard wanted to pass through Congress.”

  “The Sentencing Reform Act. Yes, that is part of the connection between us all.”

  “Mr. White was against it, but you allowed it through your committee.”

  “Another compromise, Mr. Beale. I’m not proud of it. Patrick White was very disappointed.”

  “But you had to make a difficult decision,” Charles said.

  “It went against my values and it still troubles me very much.”

  “What could you do about it now?”

  Karen Liu took her time to answer. “That law makes it difficult for judges to use their own judgment. It’s very hard on people convicted of crimes, and those are the people I want to help.”

  “Hey, boss.”

  Charles was startled, more than usual; but Karen Liu nearly hit the roof, far from her head though it was.

  “Angelo,” Charles said. “Good morning.”

  “Do you want for me to go to any of the places today?”

  “You could call and see if any are open on Saturday. Congresswoman, this is Angelo, my employee. Angelo, this is Congresswoman Liu.”

  Angelo’s eyes shifted slightly to notice her. Karen Liu’s reaction was more substantial. She stepped across the room, her hand stretched forward, her eyes full on him. Angelo was not sure for a moment what to do.

  He drew back first like a cornered animal. Then, perhaps not consciously, he bared his teeth and tightened his shoulders, ready to fight.

  Karen Liu didn’t flinch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, “Mr. . . . ?”

  “Acevedo,” Charles said. “You can shake her hand, Angelo.”

  He surrendered, very stiffly, and Charles watched.

  “I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Acevedo,” she said. “What do you do here for Mr. Beale?”

  “Whatever he says to do.” The voice was as hard as the hand.

  “Angelo,” Charles said, “you could ask Mrs. Beale to call any places on the list if you want. If none of them are open, just wait until Monday morning.”

  “On Monday morning is my probation meeting,” he said.

  “Oh, yes, of course we’ll do that first.”

  Angelo nodded, barely, and stepped back onto the bottom step. Only several stairs up did he have a safe enough distance to turn his back on them.

  “Probation?” she said. Her intense stare was now fully back on Charles.

  “Just a formality,” he said.

  “You go with him? Is he under your supervision?”

  “Well, yes. It’s a long story.”

  She thought for a few seconds. “What do you think of having someone under your control?”

  “He’s not under my control.”

  “I understand probation. If you are his supervisor, you have a lot of control.”

  “I don’t like having control over someone else. It goes against my nature.”

  “Not everyone is like that. Please tell me the long story.”

  “I’ll make it short,” Charles said. “Let’s see, it was last summer. I was walking home from the Metro station one night, fairly late, and I was on a dark street, and I met Angelo.”

  The congresswoman frowned. “And he was Hispanic, and dressed roughly, and he seemed threatening to you.”

  “Well, actually, he was holding a knife and he told me to give him my wallet.”

  The frown softened. “All right. Go on.”

  “So I did give him my wallet, and when I got home, I called the police. That was more out of civic duty. I wasn’t hurt and it wasn’t much money, and it was a good reminder to be more careful.”

  “What did your wife say?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell her.”

  “You didn’t tell your wife that you’d been held up?”

  “I just said I’d lost my wallet. But then the police called back the next morning and said they’d found him. Then I had to tell her. We went down to the police station, and there he was, under arrest.”

  “For armed robbery? Why isn’t he in jail now?”

  “Actually, I found out who was assigned as his lawyer, and I talked to that person, and we went to the Alexandria Probation Office and worked out a proposal for the judge. Dorothy and I offered for Angelo to stay here and work for us and we would supervise him for the term of his probation.”

  The frown had softened all the way to bewilderment. Karen Liu was as expressive as John Borchard, even with a much smaller area to work with.

  “Why?”

  “That might be harder to answer.” Charles smiled. “It certainly wasn’t to gain power over him.”

  “You said last week that you preferred mercy,” she said. “Now I understand what you meant. Some people might say they prefer mercy, but not many would put their money where their mouth was.” She shook her head. “And the judge let you do it. There was no gun involved? Just a knife?”

  “It was a very big knife.” Char
les laughed. “I was scared silly.”

  “How has he been as an employee?”

  “There were a few adjustments, of course. He’d never had a job. But he lives in the attic now, and he’s figured out some basic handyman skills, and he’s our night guard and maintenance man and courier.”

  “You’re turning his life around, Mr. Beale.”

  “He’s doing it himself.”

  “How long is his probation?”

  “Three years. We’ve finished the first six months. He has to provide satisfaction as an employee, keep us informed of his location, stay away from former associates, not break any laws, of course, and report to his probation officer every month.”

  Karen Liu seemed satisfied. Charles was released from her gaze, and his eyes wandered.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Yes, Angelo.”

  He was still and silent as usual, framed once more in the stairway door. His rooted stance seemed to show he had been there for a while.

  “Mrs. Boss, she says no place on that list is open now.”

  “All right. I don’t have anything else for you to do.”

  Angelo’s eyes were black reflections of the room. He stood a moment longer, then left before the congresswoman had recovered enough to greet him again.

  “I don’t know what goes on inside him,” Charles said, watching the empty space. “Anyway. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

  “No, Mr. Beale. I think I understand why Derek found you so fascinating.”

  “I’m really not.”

  “I think you are. I like your preference for mercy. I came here this morning to ask you about your talks with John Borchard, and with Patrick White, and especially with Derek. I don’t think you’re going to tell me anything, but I think I am going to trust you. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “I know there is something wrong, Congresswoman. I don’t know very much. But if there is anything I can do to help, I will.”

  “Then let’s leave it at that.”

  “What did you talk about?” Dorothy asked. They were alone in the showroom.

  “Books.”

  “Any books in particular?”

  “I think we both decided to just trust each other, and not ask more questions.” Charles shook his head. “We talked about Angelo.”