The Will

by Harvey Swados

  Funny thing. All through this, Kitty sat quietly, hardly moving or even breathing, but very cool, not at all eager like she was when Ralph first brought her here. She didn’t say one word, didn’t try to persuade me. Last night for the first time, I had the feeling that she was more a spectator than a participant.

  April 3

  Watched Kitty again today, talking to that kerchiefed house-wife in front of the supermarket. She seemed more vivacious with the girl than she was with Ralph and me the other night. Made up list of books for R. to get me. Passed it down to Kitty—looked at me queerly when she saw the fiction. Said nothing for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever read Madame Bovary?” When I admitted that I hadn’t, she said, “I’ll bring that too.”

  April 7

  Ralph came up with my books and made a crack: “Any time you’re ready to climb down off your high horse, the Baby Carriage Brigade will welcome you with open arms.”

  I didn’t understand until he explained that the young women of Happy Valley were culture-hungry, with, even a Great Books course going.

  There are so many meetings in the development that you can’t tell which is which. Sometimes they go up the driveways with books under their arms—Those must be the ones Ralph was kidding me about. Funny that he should complain about the continual get-togethers of those young married couples. Hard for me to understand his bitterness. Doesn’t he want our neighbors to be as happy as the rich? Why does he mock at them so? Is he afraid that once he relaxed he’d be just like them? I don’t dare say it for fear that he’ll fly out at me.

  April 11

  Much less barbell work today. In fact have been unable to hold to my schedule for weeks. Am spending more time with the books, and watching what goes on outside (see Kitty quite often), and less with the weights. Who needs all those muscles? Right now I need more brains.

  Note, about Kitty: saw her yesterday with two young women. The regular, who always wears the scarf, and another one pushing a blue stroller with a baby boy in it. Talked animatedly for a while, Kitty pointing over here at our house.

  Thought for a minute she was going to point up here directly at me—I’m sure Kitty knows I’m watching her. Hamming it up for my benefit. Then they began writing something on their shopping lists, laughing. Even without binoculars I could tell they were exchanging phone numbers. What next?

  April 14

  Ralph was mean to me, about the books. Am trying not to be childish, but to put it as simply as I can. He told me that he was sick and tired of running back and forth to the library; that the branch library didn’t have everything I wanted, and sometimes he had to go to the main library, and got a parking ticket there, and almost ruptured himself lugging the books. If I don’t leave the attic, meet with him and Kitty to negotiate seriously—now that my twenty-first birthday is approaching—he’ll cut off my library privileges.

  He is putting the squeeze on me. If I don’t come down he won’t deliver my next batch of books. I said, “If I come down and we talk some more, will you have the books for me?” He said, “Yes.” So I said, “What about in the future?” He replied, “That’s one of the things we’ll talk about.”

  I think I can see what’s coming.

  April 16

  Went downstairs to pick up my books today. Amazed to learn, from something he let slip, that Ralph has been reading my science books after I have finished them. He majored in literature at college, read many novels, is very bitter because all the reading didn’t do him any “practical” good. Now he feels that if only he knew as much science as I, he’d do far more with it than I have.

  Then he said flat out, “No more books unless and until you see things my way. Your birthday is little more than nine weeks off. That is our personal deadline. Everything must be regulated well before then.”

  I said, “Ralph, you are blackmailing me.”

  He drew his eyebrows together tight in that way he has. But then he smiled, as if he was reminding himself of how firmly he had the upper hand, and he shook his head slowly.

  He said, “Kid, I don’t care any more what you think about me, or even what you say about me. As long as you do what I want.”

  He turned to Kitty to ask her if she agreed. Instead of replying directly, she simply shrugged, as if she couldn’t care less.

  I said, “Ralph, I have an encyclopedia in the attic. There’s enough in it to keep me busy for a long time. Don’t do me any more favors.”

  He bent back his fingers and cracked the knuckles. “Reading is a habit, like smoking.”

  I said, “I can write for books. The mailman will bring what I want.”

  He smiled. “No more mail. I can’t take chances on arousing the postman’s suspicions. Everything for you goes back marked ‘Address Unknown.’ You might as well face it: I mean business.”

  I almost started to cry. “Ralphie,” I said, “what do you want of me? Why did you pretend that we were going to get along?”

  He became very stern. “Things can’t go on like this. You’ve got to get out, you’ve got to turn up again as though you’ve been away, you’ve got to probate the will. If you read the papers you’d know they’re still looking for you. Nobody can understand why you haven’t shown up to claim the estate. Burgholzer phones me at my office. So do the radio and TV people. They ask me questions: What are you going to do about the estate? Where is your brother Raymond?”

  “Why don’t you tell them and get it over with, if you feel this way?”

  “It’s too late. I’d look like a fool. Or worse, people might accuse me of locking you away like a Mongolian idiot. They might even say I’ve been in cahoots with you against Mel. No, it’s going to have to be done right, and you’re going to have to do your part. You knew the hermit routine couldn’t last forever. The picnic is over, kid.”

  “All you have to do is be reasonable,” I said. “Then I’ll sit down with Martin Stark and work out the whole thing. Otherwise I’ll give out the news, not you. You’ll look mighty selfish and small if I tell it my way.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Ralph sucked in his cheeks as though he had just bitten into something sour. “But what hurts is that you’d rather have me suffer than Mel. You claim to love your family. Which of us did more to harm the family?”

  “That’s not for me to judge. I only want to give Mel his share and you yours, as Papa wanted. I don’t want him on my conscience. Or on yours.”

  “My conscience will take care of itself without your help. Can you get that through your head?”

  All of a sudden I was tired. I said, “Just don’t take it for granted that I won’t do it, Ralphie.”

  What I’d said before hadn’t made him lose control. But now he flew into one of his sudden rages.

  “You wouldn’t be able to do anything on an empty stomach, would you?” He shoved his face up against mine. “Don’t look surprised. Kitty will do what I tell her to. It isn’t just your food for thought that’ll be cut off if you don’t grow up.”

  He couldn’t have meant that. And he must know that I couldn’t have meant my threat. What gets into us, that we’re able even to think such things!

  I can’t write any more tonight.

  April 17

  Still convinced that morally I am right, even if practically Ralph is right. And I think he knows that too. But neither of us dares admit it to the other. Because if you admit half the proposition, the game is almost up. Besides, I suspect that each of us can see some merit in the other’s attitude. After all, we’re not completely crazy. That’s the worst of all, to be aware that you are drifting toward catastrophe, paralyzed by knowledge and by fear of the consequences of what you are capable of doing.

  April 19

  Tried to resume exercise schedule. Must keep in shape for whatever lies ahead, but it’s hard. I’m too worried. Still have come to no decision. Stare out the window for hours. Spring. Kids with kites, window washers working, women airing out rugs, trucks picking up coats and furs for stora
ge.

  April 20

  Surprise. Watched Kitty going across not to supermarket but to Happy Valley itself. Dressed quite chic, not in slacks but in spring coat. Visited her new friends there for several hours, came out in time to cook supper for Ralph. Bet he’d be surprised if he knew. But what should he expect her to do all day while he’s out making money? Scrub floors in a house they’d just as soon would burn down?

  (With me in it?)

  I wonder if Ralph hears the clock ticking as I do.

  April 22

  What a turn I got this morning. No sooner looked out window than it seemed to me the Witness was standing in front of the A & P, radiant and humble, just as she used to. I felt like shouting for joy. Strangest sensation of relief and peace. But it turned out to be someone else entirely, a girl who bore no resemblance at all. She unfolded a card table, propped a poster against it, then set herself to collecting signatures on a petition. Something about the Bomb. Completely different-looking girl. How could I have confused the two?

  Can’t even read the last batch of books Ralph brought.

  Keep thinking about his deadline. Almost wish it could be taken out of our hands by an act of fate. Do others feel that way too, sometimes?

  April 25

  Thinking all day yesterday, and half the night, about Mel, Ralph, me. But was I really thinking, or simply scurrying about purposelessly like a rat in a maze? Compared to Ralph, I should be in a good position to concentrate. Healthy, alone, no distractions, regular mental and physical exercise, etc. As he says, I’ve got it made. But all I could come up with was a note to him, a sorry makeshift. Recopied it this morning, sent it down to Ralph via Kitty.

  (She is more brisk and impersonal with me than ever. Am absolutely convinced that by now she has no memory whatsoever of that disastrous morning, in fact would be affronted, maybe even amused at my overheated imagination, if I ever alluded to it. Now how do you explain that?)

  Copy of note to Ralph:

  DEAR RALPH:

  I have given much thought to our difficult situation. I believe there is room for compromise if we don’t lose our heads. I must say I am suspicious that you are trying to pry me loose when you insist that our talks take place downstairs. On the other hand I know you wouldn’t come up here, because you regard this as an abnormal place, a hothouse which ought to be eliminated. Maybe for the next little while we ought to try to communicate through Kitty at least to get our separate positions clarified. So here is my first attempt.

  #1. I don’t think I ought to come down to bargain with you under threat of things being regulated one way or the other, as you put it, by the time of my twenty-first birthday. You wouldn’t come up here to negotiate under such conditions, would you?

  #2. I will not be insistent on Mel sharing equally with you, if you will not be insistent on my ignoring him. Maybe we could do something like this: Try to find out his circumstances, his plans and hopes, and see if a portion of Papa’s and Uncle Max’s estate can be set aside to help him fulfill them in his own way. Don’t say No offhand, think about it first.

  YOUR BROTHER

  April 26

  No answer.

  April 27

  No answer.

  April 28

  Much coming and going today. Poor old Sasha roused to howl, how-oo, how-oo: Strange man at the door, obviously not a salesman. Fat, not young, driving a huge car. Was in the front hall with Kitty quite a while. After he left, she promptly made various phone calls—couldn’t help listening, but couldn’t hear much—to Ralph, I’m sure, and afterward to Dr. Stark, I think, and to Martin.

  Later on she came up to talk to me. Can’t explain this easily, it’s only an impression, but Kitty seemed to be blooming, as though the coming of spring had brought new color to her cheeks, or maybe she and Ralph have reached new understanding. Their honeymoon is certainly over—I guess I’m vulgar to think of it so much—there was surely some connection between this and Kitty’s other visit to me.

  When I complimented her on her appearance a very secretive look came over her face. Sly, but satisfied. And I don’t mean that she was behaving at all as she had the other time. In fact she passed it off by thanking me politely, not with embarrassment, but as if it was her due.

  Then she said, “Ralph has asked me to tell you that he was not displeased with your note.”

  Imagine. Took him three days to produce an upside-down, inside-out answer like that! Not only couldn’t he reply in writing, as I had asked him to, he couldn’t even reply positively. But at least it was an opening.

  Kitty added, more spontaneously, that Ralph wanted to discuss my last sentence, but that it couldn’t be tonight, because someone was coming. How about tomorrow afternoon?

  I was confused. If Ralph agreed with my note, why should he expect that I’d come down just to get into another fruitless argument? “During the day? Ralph works.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday.” Kitty laughed. “Don’t you even keep track of the days of the week, Raymond? You should, you know. After all, you’re going to be a man soon.”

  She said it nicely, but just the same, it was a dig. Even more upsetting, it was a reference to Ralph’s deadline, which I thought we were going to cast aside.

  But she turned swiftly and hurried down the ladder, giving me no chance to complain or comment. Over her shoulder she called back something about having to fix up the place for their company.

  Whom was she referring to? They never have company, the way most young married couples are supposed to. It’s weird—they live almost as privately as Uncle Max and Papa did. As I do.

  Whoever it is, the company should be here any minute. It’s half-past eight already. Could it be those women from Happy Valley? I can’t believe Ralph would stand for that, or that he’s even aware of their existence.

  April 29

  Much to say. Best to put it in order. First, the company came last night just after I finished my last entry. Turned out to be same man who’d come earlier in the day and talked in the front hall with Kitty. Recognized him the minute he stepped out of his car. Obviously he had made a date to see Ralph. That must have been what the telephoning was about too, although no one else came last night. Didn’t stay long, but after his car pulled out there was much conferencing, and some phoning back and forth. Was convinced that this had some connection with me, but had no way of knowing for sure until this afternoon.

  Soon after lunch Ralph called up to me, casually, but still peremptorily.

  “Ray, come on down!”

  I thought it over. There was nothing to be gained by stubbornness. Besides—I was curious. So I came. They were waiting for me in the kitchen, Kitty had made extra coffee. Everything was almost as pleasant as it had been on our first day. But I had barely settled myself at the table with the coffee-cake (Kitty was outdoing me in the homemaking department) when Ralph went to work.

  “You said you wouldn’t want to negotiate under threat of a deadline like your birthday.”

  I started to get up. “If I’d known you were even going to mention it, I wouldn’t have come down.”

  “Relax.” Ralph was freshly shaved—denim slacks and sneakers, no socks, sport shirt instead of business suit. I hadn’t seen him look so well-rested and self-assured since his arrival.

  “Things are moving rapidly, kiddo. It isn’t a matter of my mentioning it or not. Things may be taken out of our hands. We may be forced to negotiate and get it over with.”

  My heart gave a leap. I was sure that at last he was ready to do what I had been hoping he would: recognize Mel. No doubt there would be conditions. Certainly the recognition must be made to look not as though he was giving in to me, but as though he was responding realistically to what was best for everybody. And certainly he and Kitty would have to get enough out of the estate to enable them to realize whatever dreams had been sustaining them.

  It’s not that I thought of Ralph as uniquely willing to bargain off his ideals, as he conceived them. But I�
��m beginning to think that that’s the way people are. Look at me. If I could have done it with good grace, I would have been ready to abandon my insistence on a share for Mel. That is, if some way or other Mel himself could have turned up and said: Forget it, Ray, I don’t want any. And if I could have had some assurance that Ralph and Kitty wouldn’t abandon me.

  No such luck. Meanwhile, however, here was Ralph, his eyes glittering, and Kitty, looking sleek, very blond, terribly self-assured in tight black velvet trousers and pearl-gray blouse with red scarf.

  “The man that was here last night was a builder. He wants to put up a professional arts building here. A block of offices. He’s ready to pay a substantial sum for this corner. Cash, no haggling.”

  He looked at me expectantly.

  Finally I said, “Well, what about it?”

  Ralph clenched his hands. I could almost hear him counting to himself. “Ray, listen carefully. Without clear title it’s no sale. Who’s the legal owner? he asked. Where’s your brother? How soon does the will get probated? I said, Soon.”

  “Well, I guess that’s true.”

  “It had better be. Once we give Martin Stark the green light for your twenty-first birthday, this builder, this de Angelis, will carry on from there. The search and everything will be taken care of, between his lawyer and Martin Stark.”

  “And where will I go when they tear this house down?”

  “With Kitty and me.”

  I glanced across the table at Kitty. Her face disclosed nothing. She sipped her coffee quietly (she was the only one not having cake) and tipped her cigarette ash into the saucer. I said, “But nothing will have been resolved.”

  “We’ll have the cash. We’ll have liquidated Uncle Max’s worst legacy. Once this dump is pulled down, and we move away, the reporters and the creeps who cruise by here and stare in our windows will forget about us. Then we’ll see if we can work out something fair on Max’s other properties. There are a lot of them, you know. Plenty of room for argument with them.”