Sustenance

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Then you wouldn’t go back?” Bethune asked, wanting to be certain he understood.

  “I don’t think so, no; but who’s to say how I will feel in five more years, or even ten. I say that because I think Axel’s right: this isn’t going to be over in a year or two, and when it is over, who knows what the country will look like?”

  “He’s got a point,” Young said.

  Bethune made a number of notes, then looked at McCall. “Well? What about you?”

  McCall drank the last of his coffee and said, “I have no idea. Not one.”

  “Hey, no fair,” said Jesse Praeger, trying to sound more jovial than he felt. “We’ve all answered the question. It’s your turn now.”

  “But I am answering the question,” McCall said, and got up. “I have nothing more to say,” he said, “so I’ll leave you to your discussions. Thank you all for your engaging conversation, as my mother would have said. Gentlemen. Ladies,” he said, and left the living room to reclaim his jacket from the coat-closet off the foyer.

  “Well!” Julia announced.

  “Wash, do you want to say anything?” Pomeroy asked, determined to keep their colloquy going.

  “Not yet,” said Young. “My situation’s a little more ticklish than yours. I’m going to have to think about it a while. I’ll arrange a time to talk to you, Bethune.”

  “That’s fine with me,” said Bethune, and would have gone on but he saw Elvira Praeger go pale. “What’s wrong?”

  Elvira trembled and suddenly bent over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m expecting, and sometimes I have a bad response to food.”

  There was a general buzz of surprise, most of it delighted, a bit of it not; Szent-Germain watched Elvira with concern.

  “That’s wonderful news,” said Mary Anne, her stiff posture giving way to something more welcoming; her enthusiasm silenced the others. “When are you due?”

  “The first week in October, I’m told,” Elvira answered, still hunched over.

  Charis went to Elvira’s side. “I have some phenobarb in the bathroom. Would you like a pill?” For the first time she felt genuine sympathy for Elvira.

  “That’s nice of you, Charis,” said Jesse, “but I’ll make sure she gets a hot brandy toddy at home.”

  “Yes,” Elvira said, doing her best to sit up straight. “I think I’d better just go home. Jesse?”

  As if this were a signal, the sound of the elevator rising in answer to McCall’s electronic summons grabbed everyone’s attention.

  “Yes. I think I’d better go,” said Pomeroy. He addressed Bethune. “Do you have what you need?”

  “Almost all,” said Bethune, accepting his defeat with good grace. “I’ll follow up by telephone if there are any other questions that come up.” He got to his feet. “Let the Praegers go down with McCall. There’s not much room for more. They can send the elevator back up, and we’ll figure out who goes next. I think I’ll take the stairs.”

  Mary Anne got up and looked around the room. “Do you want some help clearing up?” she asked Charis.

  “Thanks, but I can manage. I’ll soak the dishes over night and wash them up in the morning. There’s enough room in the fridge for the left-overs.” She resisted the urge to gather up the abandoned coffee-cups, recalling her mother’s strictures on taking care of guests.

  Young got up, and spoke to Pomeroy. “I’ll walk down with you. I have some thoughts about The Grimoire I’d like to talk over with you.”

  “Yeah,” said Pomeroy, standing aside so Jesse Praeger could help his wife to stand. “Okay.”

  “I’ll wait in the foyer,” said Young, nodding to Charis as he left the living room. “A fine evening, Professor.”

  “Thank you, Wash,” she responded, unaware that she had taken Szent-Germain’s hand until she was shaken with another jolt of desire, when she let go of his hand with unusual haste.

  “Better hurry, Praegers,” McCall cried out from the foyer. “The elevator’s almost here.”

  “We’re coming,” Jesse barked, anxiety making his voice gruff. “Can someone get our jackets from the coat-closet?”

  “I’ll do it,” Szent-Germain offered, and went to fetch them. He took the two almost-matching garments from their hooks and stepped back into the lobby to hand them over to the Praegers.

  “Thanks,” said Jesse, taking care in helping Elvira with her jacket.

  “Is this an uncommon problem for her?” Szent-Germain asked, and quickly added, “I hope you do not mind my asking.”

  A bit nonplused, Jesse answered, “Elvira’s been having a rough time. Her doctor’s not worried, but I am.”

  “Episodes like this one should not last much longer,” Szent-Germain said, and, seeing Jesse’s startled expression, he went on, “My brothers’ wives were often afflicted with similar discomforts.” It was the truth, as far as it went; Szent-Germain did not mention that those events had taken place more than four thousand years ago.

  “I didn’t know you had brothers,” Jesse said as he pulled on his own jacket.

  “I don’t, anymore,” Szent-Germain replied.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” said Jesse, then helped Elvira toward the elevator, where McCall was waiting.

  Julia Bjornson came into the foyer as the elevator began its descent. “Axel and I will ride down with Mary Anne and Mister Bethune,” she decided aloud. “Axel, my coat, please.”

  Watching the Coven leaving, Szent-Germain turned to Charis. “What about you? Would you go back if you had the chance and the circumstances were right?”

  She lowered her voice a little. “A month ago, I probably would have said yes.” She finally dared to meet his gaze. “Now, I don’t know. Pomeroy’s right; it wouldn’t be like before, no matter how hard we tried to make it so.” She attempted a smile, then gave it up as a useless effort. “What about you? Would you go back?”

  “To the US?” He saw her shake her head. “You mean to my native earth in the Carpathians? I do go there from time to time, but it’s nothing like it was when I was a young man, and never will be again.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said in a rush of confusion. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  This time his fleeting smile was kindly. “Well, I started it, as you Americans say.”

  His response surprised her, and she stood very still, her attraction to him growing more insistent, fed by his nearness and his obvious concern for her. “Not really,” she made herself say, and moved away from him as more of the Coven gathered in the foyer, ready to depart.

  TEXT OF A MEMORANDUM FROM D. PHILETUS ROTHCOE IN ANNAPOLIS, TO LYDELL BROADSTREET IN BALTIMORE, DELIVERED BY CIA COURIER THE DAY IT WAS WRITTEN.

  April 18 th, 1950

  Dear Coordinator Broadstreet,

  Let me extend my heartiest congratulations on your promotion, and express my confidence in your enhanced leadership.

  Now that I am back home, I have augmented my report on my meeting in Paris with Tolliver Bethune, attached to this memo, along with copies of the amended filings Bethune has made in regard to the attempts of his clients to recover back-pay and professional damages for wrongful termination of employment. He appears to support the decisions of some of the group he represents who are disinclined to return to the US, but still believe they are entitled to remuneration from their various colleges and universities. I must tell you that from what I have learned, the members of this group are sincere in their claims—these are not nuisance suits—and may therefore require the attention of the courts, which would shine a light on their plight, and that would not benefit us or the HUAC.

  There is also more information on the so-called Grof Szent-Germain being sent to me, and which I will provide you as soon as I have the photostats of the report in hand. There is reason to suspect that some of his shipping company has been engaged in smuggling, a continuation of activities left over from the war. If that is all there is to it, the Europeans will remedy it in their own way, but if it goes beyond tolerable limits, then
I will be prepared to act to guarantee that this “Grof” cannot continue to profit from his criminality.

  I am scheduled to return to Europe on April 24th, and before that time I believe we should meet and review any developments that have been brought to your attention or to mine so that I might make the best use of my scheduled ten days abroad.

  Sincerely,

  Phil Rothcoe

  Part Three

  LYDELL GEROLD BROADSTREET

  TEXT OF A LETTER FROM HAROLD TREAT IN NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA, USA, TO CHARIS LUNDQUIST TREAT IN PARIS, FRANCE, SENT AIR MAIL SPECIAL DELIVERY, ARRIVING FOUR DAYS AFTER IT WAS POSTED.

  May 10 th, 1950

  My dear Charis,

  Awkward though it may be, I want to thank you for returning the divorce papers so quickly, fully executed and notarized, with only the most minor of alterations to the matters in dispute. I’m glad you see the wisdom of not drawing this out any longer than necessary. Your attorney, Mister Bethune, has been the soul of reason in his concerns, and has not sought to drag out our negotiations with needless haggling and recriminations. There is no reason for either of us to create unnecessary impediments to a sensible concession to all portions of this settlement, especially in regard to the welfare of our boys. We can come to an agreement about alimony without too much difficulty, I’m sure. Mister Bethune can advise you regarding what would be reasonable, just as he can in matters touching on your contact with the boys. You may tell Mister Bethune that I said so, if you are willing to bring up the matter.

  Speaking of the boys, I will provide you my usual report on them and their activities, as is my custom: David took a fall from the neighbors’ tree, and had the good fortune to land in some garden-trimmings; he is bruised, but nothing worse. I’m afraid to admit it, but my mother is spoiling him shamelessly, which he laps up like chocolate milk; he’s becoming very good at getting his own way. Arthur has recently taken an interest in chess, and my father is teaching him the fundamentals of the game, so it would appear he has an aptitude for it, and a good head for the strategies for the conduct of the game, as well, which is most promising. As he gets older, he can turn this interest to good use if he decides to pursue it, and it will decrease his distress at not being able to participate in sports. David has no interest in chess thus far, though that may change in time. At present, sports are beginning to hold his interest. He saw a movie last week that took place in Hawaii, and he was fascinated with surf-board riding. As much as I look forward to his participating in sports, surf-boarding is not one I’m inclined to encourage. Baseball, or football, if he develops the size for it, would be the games I would think he would most enjoy. He may choose tennis, but that lacks the camaraderie that I am convinced he would like. He’s too young to make any final decision in this regard, but I am looking forward to discovering at what sport he will excel; these next five years are going to be crucial in that regard. Maybe I should take him golfing the next time I have time for a round. It’s not the kind of game most boys like, but he’s his father’s son, as you used to say.

  My parents are going to take the boys on a road-trip this summer, to give them something nice—a Treat, you might call it—to make up for not being able to bring them to Europe for a visit with you. They will be going up the Mississippi and over into the Dakotas, North and South. The weather will be hot, but not so severe that they will not be able to enjoy what they see. David has said he wants to see Old Faithful in Yellowstone, and Arthur is eager to visit the Museum of Natural History in Chicago on their way back: you probably remember his fascination with dinosaurs, which has increased of late. They plan to be gone a month. My parents are very pleased to be able to help their grandsons, and so when they heard that Dr. Feldon—you don’t know him; he has been supervising Arthur’s physical therapy—had vetoed a long airplane flight, they came up with this alternative, which has the added advantage that it gives me a good block of time for fieldwork. If this trip goes well, we can discuss the possibility of a trip to France in ’51 or ’52. I realize this is a disappointment to you, but I’m convinced that you have no desire to do Arthur any harm by requiring him to undertake something that is inherently dangerous to him. Don’t worry: in time we will work out something that will be less cumbersome for all of us.

  II don’t know if I should tell you this, but it redounds to you, so I think I should: I’ve had a request to make myself available to discuss the current state of our marriage with an agent of the CIA, here in New Orleans, which has distressed me more than I can say. You’d think I were a common criminal by the way this Broadstreet framed his questions. We are divorcing so that I can avoid this sort of thing, which is another indication of your good sense now, although it doesn’t make up for your folly of speaking out in support of the Soviets during the war; that was unfortunate, though at the time, you were hardly the only American doing so, and I have no wish to be harassed governmental lackeys. My attorney—Douglas Pond; you may remember him from the Neilsons’ Fourth of July party—advises me to comply with the request as soon as I can, so that I will not appear to be dragging my feet. Apparently this Broadstreet is a way up the ladder, and known to be as determined a Red-hunter as that Nixon fellow from California is. Doug is also encouraging me to provide them with photostats of our divorce papers, for as ironic as it may seem, the records of our terms of divorce can serve as a good faith demonstration that you and I are not planning to continue our marriage any longer, and that our estrangement is more than a response to physical separation. In this case, in fact, the distance between us is advantageous to me when questions arise, including the very reasonable terms we are using. He recommends that I provide you with living expenses for the year it will take us to have the case before a judge, and possibly to continue for the year that will be required for my claim of abandonment to be verified. You, being the mother of my children, will not be seen to be without means in a foreign country, which will show that although you have left the country and our marriage, I am not cutting you off. Since I am claiming abandonment as the reason for the divorce, I’m going to have to reveal the reason you have left and are unlikely to return for some years. It is a tricky maneuver, but one that can speed our final resolution of our commitment. Doug is sure that this will work out well so long as neither of us does anything foolish, such as becoming entangled with another person, whose presence could be interpreted as a motivation for the divorce, and not your fleeing the inquiries of the law. If we can present a legal demeanor of making-the-best-of-a-bad-situation, so much the better: polite but not cordial is the posture we should both seek to maintain. If we both keep our heads, our boys will not be beleaguered at school, either by their classmates or their teachers, and I can continue with all my grants and my fellowship assured until we have a final decree, when the matter will be settled. I am glad that this will be a clean break, as you must be, too. Doug has a good friend at the US Embassy in Paris—I gather he’s in the CIA or some similar organization—and Doug has asked this friend to pass on any information that may be pertinent to our case, confidentially, of course, and nothing considered really secret. You needn’t think that this will reflect badly on you. Nothing about his search will show up on your records. This can show the due diligence the courts require, and spares me the inconvenience of having to engage a private detective in France, or similar investigator, which I am persuaded neither you nor I would like such a development.

  You have asked me not to inform you of any events taking place here that you would be sad to have missed, so I will only mention that there is a series of summer concerts of New Orleans jazz planned for the end of July into August. It’s in the newspapers and there are posters everywhere, and I have assumed you are aware of this series of events. I will miss half of it, for it will overlap with my fieldwork. I had dinner with the Swansons last Thursday; Muriel asked to be remembered to you. Their oldest daughter—Penny—is starting her senior year at James Buchanan High School and is planning to go to college; she may
even qualify for a National Merrit Scholarship. She’s got an ear for languages, it turns out, and a skill at translating. Too bad she isn’t prettier, but under the circumstances, it might be just as well. She’ll look better when the braces come off, but there is no sign that she will be other than plain. Muriel wanted me to thank you for encouraging Penny to apply at colleges and universities two years ago. Susan isn’t inclined to go on past high school; she says she wants to get a job and catch a husband, not end up a teacher or a nurse or a fancy secretary for the rest of her life. Susan is afraid, with all the men killed in the war, there won’t be enough of them to go around. Susan is a very useful kind of girl, as you probably recall. She’ll turn sixteen in July, and is beginning to look pretty: fair, curly-haired, and sunny, and unlike many girls her age, she has her feet on the ground, and is realistic about her future. No mooning around about movie stars, and no expectations beyond her reach. I believe she has made a good decision. Not all women are cut out for the scholarly life.

  Sean Pettigrew has been having some of the same kind of problems you did about this time last year, and he is planning to follow your example and leave the country, for he does not want to find himself in Alger Hiss’ situation, which he is convinced he will be if he is detained by the FBI. By leaving at the end of semester, he can spare himself a great deal of trouble. He’s had better luck with finding work than you have, for he’ll be going to Newfoundland on the Monday after the end of the semester, St. John’s offered him a position in their geology department. Jennine is going with him, and the kids. He’s already looking for a house: there’s a realtor who handles out-of-country clients and often works with academics. There’s a rumor that part of his salary in Newfoundland will be picked up by Shell, and that his father will pay his moving expenses. Leave it to the Dutch to cover all their bases: Shell Oil. At least he and Jennine won’t have to follow our example, and divorce for Jeannine and the kids to be rid of the taint of Communism.