“I’d be out of shape to do anything the rest of the day!” His fist hits the table, a thump that rattles the china.
“Same as you planned for me, eh?” Shaddock jeers.
The air goes out of Rance. He slumps. Finally he groans, “Okay, I’m licked. I quit.”
Julia grips his hand. They trade a long look. It seems to encourage him. It proves they have an arrangement, those two, beyond simple lust. If I don’t beat her today, I’ll have to be almighty careful. I wouldn’t put murder past them.
Rance moves his chair to a corner, lights his smelly pipe and fumes away. Gayle joins him. He ignores her. I guess he’s not sulking—yet—so much as he’s trying not to cry. We three who are left go through the solemn farce of eating the nuts.
Afterward Haverner excuses himself and I lead them—the two spectators as well—into the living room. Anselmo is there. Good man, that; wish he were mine. Clipboards and pencils have been provided. On a table stands a locked box. I confront them and explain.
“We’ll have a little arithmetic session today, folks. Nothing but problems any grade-school kid can do: adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing. I haven’t seen them myself. At my request, Mr. Haverner kindly ordered a computer to prepare the test, and the printouts were flown here in this box, which I’ll ask Anselmo to open.” I lift a hand to forestall Julia’s objection. “Yes, I know people have different talents. You can’t blame me for calling a contest I’m strong in. But you’ll have ample time for the work. Till tomorrow sunrise if you want. What you must do is get every problem right. A single wrong answer means you’ve lost. The solutions are in a sealed envelope which we’ll check when we’re done.”
“Suppose you make a mistake?” Rance says spitefully.
“Well, then Mrs. Petrie and Mr. Shaddock are home free.”
I can afford to laugh. Me make a mistake with numbers? I live by them! Arithmetic was always easy for me—in school they called me phenomenal at it, though they never appreciated me properly otherwise—and the years in business have only sharpened my skill.
Shaddock glowers. Julia’s stare is cool. Oh, you’re a sly bitch, all right, you.
Everybody is startled at the size and number of the long sheets that Anselmo passes out. Everybody but me. I specified things like fifty figures to add together, ten-digit long division, stuff that’ll twine around in their heads like worms.
“You can send for coffee, food, tobacco, whatever you wish,” I say benevolently. “Only get Anselmo to lead you when you go to the restroom, so we’ll be sure nobody peeks at somebody else’s—ha—exam.”
Julia sighs and settles in. The pencil shivers in Shaddock’s fingers. He’ll never make it, and knows that, and knows I know it, and from time to time his bloodshot eyes reach over to hate me, but he won’t quit.
I get busy myself, seated straight in my chair, clipboard on lap. It’s pleasant work—automatic after a while. There’s no sound except the scratching of pencils, the rustle of paper, an occasional muttered oath from Shaddock. Before long, Rance rises, stretches, says a sullen “No spectator sport, this, hunh?” and slouches out. Gayle patters behind him. I wonder if they’ll pass the time fornicating.
How is it to fornicate with Julia?
Imagine her naked on a bed of flowing numbers. I’m sure she’s better than Gayle, besides being better-looking. Gayle has that in-heat quality, doubtless she’s more experienced, the little tart, but Julia projects this aristocratic image, like she always knows exactly what’s she’s doing, and—
Hoy! Almost carried a three there. It’s four, actually.
Julia’s doing well. She goes confidently ahead, then checks and rechecks each result. I’m afraid she’ll last the course. Shaddock’s pencil wobbles.
A mighty good secretary was lost in you, Julia. Should I offer you a job? No, you’d be too clever about looking after Number One. Everybody does, yes, but I have to make sure my employees are less smart than me. You, I’m not sure but what you’re my equal, in your underhanded female way.
It’d be good for you if I got you in bed. Bring down your pride. If I made you do exactly what I wanted, you’d see that you are less than dust in the sight of the Lord.
Suppose you last out this day; you’ll have something diabolical cooked up for me. Only, suppose I got Haverner to lend me his recordings, photographs, micro-camera movies….
Well, Julia, here’s the proof. You wouldn’t like your husband to know you’ve been rutting with that Rance beast, would you? Unless you cancel your own game, resign in my favor…. Ah, yes, I understand about your daughter’s problem. We can work something out. In return for that favor …
No, better not. It is a sin. Besides, I might fail in bed, which is embarrassing. I admit to myself, because you want me to be honest, Lord, I admit the reason I domineer over my wife, and find endless fault with her, is so I won’t have to try copulating. Of course, the real blame is hers, the way she’s let herself get unattractive.
No gratitude in her. I’ve done my duty. I’m still doing it. She has a fine home, the best food, her own car, a fantastic clothing allowance, doesn’t she? And two sons, who are good boys at heart, I hope, though I worry about Bob, his long hair and wild clothes. He could go the hippie route…. How did I fail him, if I did? Was I too merciful? Dad never had pity on me. It was up before daybreak to milk the cows and swill the pigs before walking a mile to the schoolbus stop, and after school the same, and summer vacations were because we really had hard work to do, and as for Sundays, Dad considered our pastor too lax.
(Even so, why did he christen me Elias? Elias Nordberg! How many hours altogether did I waste, explaining I was not a Jew?)
How we struggled to hang on to our flat gray piece of South Dakota, and how I hated every minute and swore over and over to myself (teen-ager’s tears in a haystack, a cornfield, a stinking chickenhouse that must be cleaned) that I would break free, and how good for me the discipline of it was!
1,287,416.
Matt Flagler shambles in. Anselmo shushes him and eases him out. On the way, he gives me what he imagines is a significant look. He hasn’t shaved and I catch a stale whiff of him. The creature.
The problem. He did prove to be a reliable executioner. (Farsighted of me to take him out in the woods, well beyond earshot, and make him demonstrate on targets that he really is a good rifleman.) But that was his only value. As blabbermouth or blackmailer he’s dangerous.
Should I have him get rid of Gayle Thayer? She knows too much herself. But she’s timid. I’m reasonably sure she can be frightened into silence. And however richly she deserves death for her sins, Lord, you know I am a merciful man who doesn’t like it, who didn’t even like it when I had to arrange about those gooks in Korea.
Matt, however …
Well, I’ll string him along for a while, anyhow, and then decide. Julia’s my next hurdle, if she doesn’t fail today. I’m afraid it’s a pipe dream that Haverner would release the evidence he has of her misbehavior, to me. Haverner and the Lord help those who help themselves. Now the Lord can’t possibly intend for her to get half a million dollars—or the whole sum, and I nothing, nothing—as the reward for her adultery.
The wages of sin. Yes, probably Matt and I will be having us a little talk this evening or tomorrow.
Lord, I’m sounding like a gangster movie, aren’t I? But you know I’m a righteous man. I’m not perfect, I know better than to believe I’m perfect, but when I fall from grace, my repentance is sincere, and I really don’t think my church could carry on without the contributions I make.
A good master rewards good service. By what you have given me, Lord, I know I have found favor in your eyes. Blessed shall be thy basket and thy store. Oh, my ramming virile Jaguar! Oh, my enthroning to come in my own executive aircraft!
That’s where it’s at, Bob, my prodigal son. Your brother understands (though he seems to feel I owe him a cushy job in the company), why can’t you? This is the atomic age. A bunch of eco-freak old women of bot
h sexes want to take us back to a nature that never was. Well, I’ve got news for them. If we tried it, we billions, it’d be famine, pestilence, war, and death on his pale horse. We’ve got no place to go but ahead. The machine is our destiny. Sure, I like nine holes of golf as well as the next man. I’m the one who appreciates nature, not those Sierra Club bastards. I want to help the human race by developing the land so the ordinary man can drive there and enjoy it at a price he can afford. Those lock-the-door-and-throw-away-the-key wilderness bastards, they’re the snobs, not me. Me, I work to make more energy available. Power. Power. Power.
And is not the laborer worthy of his hire?
I have toiled long in your vineyards, O Lord. I have borne meekly the troubles, disappointments, frustrations, betrayals, unjust hostility and outright paranoia, with which you have tested me. Now comes the day of my reward.
It must.
A million. One lousy million. That’s all I need to start my empire.
Shaddock blinks; his head rolls downward; he jerks it upright and struggles on. But he won’t make it. Rance did too good a job on him, and the harvest is mine. We’ve hardly been at this business an hour. The computer has given us a full day’s work for me, more for anybody less gifted.
I’m afraid the Petrie woman will last the course, though.
Think. Between me and my reward, me and the deeds which will make me remembered a thousand years for my prophet’s vision … nothing except her. That whore, that slut, that bitch, that tramp, that abomination in the sight of the Lord.
INTERVAL SEVEN
Part One
Larry and Gayle stepped out onto the veranda. When he halted at the rail, she did too. Beyond the screen, the grounds sloped upward to wildwoods and the Crag beyond, downward to beach and pier. Grass seemed like a newly washed rug, its woven-in flower patterns almost garish beneath the sun. Trees were the ponderous furniture, but a fuchsia and a hummingbird were playing together. Waters sparkled, heaven reached dizzily high. The air lay mild, scented, full of an enormous quietness.
“Oh, gosh, Larry,” she attempted. “You lost. Your boat, your dream. I’m so fucking sorry.”
He grunted around his pipestem and did not look at her. “You’re sure taking it bravely,” she said.
“No use bursting into tears, is there?”
She leaned against him and stroked his hair. “Hey,” she murmured, “how ’bout we go upstairs and console each other? You know, last night was wonderful. Like being born again. Larry. Lover.”
“No.” Observing her dismay at his curtness, he turned to her and went on in a low, hard tone, “The games’s not done. Can’t you get it into your fluffy head, you’re involved with murderers?”
“Oh, sweet Christ.” She shrank back against the wall. Terror stormed her countenance. “I know, I know. But what can we do except run?”
“That’s no solution. Listen, unless Julia fails today, and I don’t think she will, she’s in awful danger…. Okay, okay, you’re thinking you don’t care what becomes of Julia. Think again, doll. Let Ellis win, and what’re you to him and Matt except a nuisance claim? What if they decide not to risk your blabbing to the fuzz, or the press, or whatever? … Damnation! Don’t pass out on me! Here, here’s a swing, sit down if you feel faint, but listen. Julia—as winner—Julia won’t have any reason to threaten anybody. In fact, if we can help her, maybe save her life—you follow me?—she’d show her appreciation.”
After an effort Gayle could whisper, “What … should … I do?”
“Work on Matt. Jolly him. If you possibly can, learn where he’s hidden that rifle. But sugar-talk him, at least, distract him, try to drop hints that may drive a wedge between him and Ellis. Get the idea? Can you do that?”
“Oh, please, Larry, please, no. I hate that pervert, and I’m scared for my life—”
“You didn’t mind Orestes losing his,” he rapped.
She cowered. The swing creaked to her trembling.
“Don’t hide from the fact.” His words fell angrily; his pipestem chopped. “You may’ve gotten sucked in, not letting yourself foresee the consequences. But later you alibied a murderer, Gayle. Only you can scrub yourself clean of that. Or do you want more killings? Do you want to stay. Flagler’s slave …?”
“Larry, I thought you were gonna rescue me! You said!”
“Till he slits your throat? Look, I’ll do what I can; we’re working together, but you’ve got to pull your share of the load. I can’t be our agent in the enemy camp, can I? That’s you. My job’s to stand by for your protection, receive what information you can get me, and, at the right time, strike the blow that sets you free. But you’d better prove you’re worth saving!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” she wailed. “I will, honest, I will. I love you, Larry. I will.”
“Good. See that you do. Be careful about contacting me. We’d better not keep together like this the rest of the day.” He departed.
She stayed to weep, and had not recovered enough to seek Matt when he found her. “What’s eating you now?” he demanded.
“I, I … oh, Matt, I’m miserable. I’m t-t-terrified and …”
He nudged her sprawled form to make room on the swing and sat down beside her. His gaze was bleared, blinking, and yet intent. “Who’ve you been with? I went out the back way, walked around the servants’ quarters and—holy mother, can’t I let you out o’ my sight for thirty seconds?”
“Matt, I, I, I—oh, please!”
He shook her. “Who were you with?”
The teeth clattered in her jaws. She coughed and moaned. He let her go. Bristles on his chin scraped beneath a stroking palm. “Rance, of course,” he muttered. “Who else? Well, what’d he say to put you in this uproar?”
“Nothing … we weren’t … we …”
He rose. “Come on.”
She cringed. He heaved on her left wrist. “Come on. I said. We’re going for a stroll in the woods.”
She stumbled under his force. They followed the trail for a silent half-mile, until he shoved her ahead of him past a tangle of banyan. Beyond was a space, clear save for moss and punk, walled and roofed by leaves. Sun-flecks touched its gloom, unmoving in a breathless warmth.
Matt gave her a stage leer. “Ah, my proud beauty, at last ve are alo-o-one. You can tell me whatever your heart desires. ” From behind her lifted hands, the puffed and reddened face, words torrented. “Yeah, sure, Matt, honey, sure, Larry and me was talking. It was his idea. He b-b-browbeat me. Wanted to know if I’d told you anything about, about it. He was real mean, a bully; he scared me out of my gourd, no wonder I started crying.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“Nothing! The, the same thing … we said before—”
He yanked her warding arms aside and slapped her, a rhythmic right-left-right-left. The blows smacked loud. A parrot screamed. Gayle only begged him to stop. “You lie, you stupid cunt,” he answered, “you lie, you lie. What’d you tell him? Let’s hear the truth before I really get mad.”
“No, nothing, nothing—”
Matt stepped back and sighed. It was constructed as a weary sound, but he could not hold back all the eagerness. “Okay. Take off your clothes.”
“What? Here, Matt?” Her question was dazed.
He showed her his switchblade. She hurried to obey. Slowly, he unfastened his belt and ran it between his fingers. “We’ll have some correctional therapy till you get less stubborn,” he said voluptuously. “Bend over.”
“No, no, oh, please.”
The leather lashed across her calf. She gasped. “Let’s see your ass,” Matt ordered, “or you’ll be sorry.”
He worked on her with skill that rarely got out of hand and left few marks. She didn’t hold out long.
Afterward he stood, staring down at her where she lay huddled, and drawled, “So you let him in last night, soon’s my back was turned, huh? So you agreed today you’d be his spy, huh? I ought to kill you.”
“Oh, God, no, please, Ma
tt,” she yammered into the earth. “I’ll do anything, I—” The rest was incoherent.
“Well, I’m not such a bad guy.” He sank down next to her. Sweat glistened on his forehead and stained his shirt; its smell filled the little glade. “Make me happy, and I’ll let bygones be bygones. Here. Right off. You know what I like.”
She crept to do his bidding.
Some yards away, crouched beneath a tall, scratchy, insect laden bush, Larry Rance hesitated. For a moment he hefted a dead branch that looked as if it would make a serviceable club. But the wood was rotten and crumbled in his grasp. He released it and, taking the same elaborate precautions as he had used when tracking the others, sneaked back toward the house.
Larry borrowed a boat and fishing tackle, but spent most of the afternoon swimming.
When they returned, Matt and Gayle went to his room. He used a bathrobe sash to secure her ankle to the bedpost, told her that he expected to see the same knot when he awoke, and fell asleep. Eventually she did likewise, on the carpet.
Downstairs, the game continued. About three o’clock Byron cursed, threw away his pencil, and shambled off to his own bed. Julia and Ellis exchanged careful smiles.
He finished in time to dine with Haverner, which no one else did. Well after dark, she, who had called for a sandwich, squared her shoulders and said stiffly, “That’s it. Check the answers.”
When hers, like her opponent’s, proved correct, she drew a single breath and fled upstairs.
Larry knocked on Julia’s door and was admitted. He snatched her to him. Joy blazed from his countenance. “Congratulations!” he roared, and kissed her thoroughly.
But when his hands started to travel in earnest, she resisted. “Not tonight. Please, darling. I’m worn to a skeleton.” He let go. Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I s’pose. All right.”
“You’re sweet.” She returned to her bed, fluffed a pillow against the headboard, sat demure in her pajamas beneath the thin blanket and regarded him with eyes that tonight were like onyx. The lampglow burnished her hair. Through an open window could be seen stars and fireflies, stippling a darkness that the ear found quiet.
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