The Rebellion of Yale Marratt

by Robert H. Rimmer

  But now instead of being shocked he was only sadly amused. At Harvard, and even more in the army years, he had come to wonder what essential element was missing in the average marriage. He discussed it once with Mat Chilling in India. He remembered Mat's surprise when he insisted that whether Mat knew it or not the ideas embodied in "Seek the True Love" pointed to a more flexible marriage system. He told Mat that, logically, an abandonment of the taboos that society had used to regulate monogamous marriage would be a freer exchange of marriage partners on the basis of established custom. He quoted Bertrand Russell's views to Mat.

  "I think," he remembered telling Mat, "that modern suburban marriage is a deadly form of poison. A man and woman have to be practically vegetables to expect happiness as they live out their narrow lives in what amounts to little more than solitary confinement. Years ago people lived in bigger homes, surrounded by grandparents and aunts and uncles. Marriage was based on a community of larger interests. Today, two people marry and by the time they are middle-aged they live a life circumscribed by the walls of a small house and the only slightly larger world of the man who paces wearily back and forth to a dull, uncreative job. Over it all hangs the religious threat and man-made taboos on sex. It's a life you wouldn't prescribe for the already insane.

  Mat had smiled. "Maybe you both overstate the particular problem and understate the wider problem, Yale. I feel the problems that bother you are simply the byproduct of a larger problem; the vast increase in the populations of the world, and the frightening slowness of educating this new mass. Established theological religions, or, even worse, state and nationalistic religions, capture these groping minds at an early age and dogmatize the masses. The problem varies from country to country depending on the extent of industrialism. Here in India the religious domination will give way to a state domination. Nevertheless, the sexual and teleological life of the individual Hindu or Moslem has an affinity with the plight of the American suburban marriage that worries you. I see the basic affinity to be the emotional and intellectual immaturity of millions upon millions of people. The leaders some day will find that a kind of Gresham's law has occurred among the populations of the world. The governing heads of the world will come, by their very predominance, from these masses. At a time when the world will need men that are educated with a wide cultural-historical perspective, we will have leaders whose very narrowness of outlook will presage a return to tribal, non-individualistic living."

  Yale often thought about the long discussions with Mat. Lying on his hotel bed, glad that had he refused to go out to Sam's house and spend the evening drinking, he remembered Cynthia's mentioning that Mat had written a book. He must get hold of the manuscript. He wondered what Mat's reaction would be to his multiple marriage. Would he have approved? Probably not . . . so far as Cynthia was concerned. Probably not in any event. Mat would have attributed it to the same immaturity he inveighed against. Or could Mat really disapprove? Wasn't he actually living out the thesis Mat had implied in his "Seek the True Love" ideas? By refusing to accede to social taboos, Cynthia, Anne, and he could prove the essential humanity of man. The accepted solution . . . the solution that society would condone . . . would be for him to divorce either Anne or Cynthia. Perhaps, he thought, it was the accepted solution because it was the easier one. It was simpler in the last analysis for man to create unhappiness than to control his emotions in a search for happiness. Divorce, war, murder, bigotry, and hatred of all kinds were the easiest solutions for the immature. They simply required quick emotional response, no weighing of alternatives. Yale fell asleep, fervently hoping that Anne and Cynthia wouldn't want to take the simple way out.

  Carrying his travelling bag filled with rupees, Yale was in Sam Higgins' office at nine-thirty. The automatic elevator opened into an outer office presided over by an efficient looking receptionist. Sitting behind an expensive mahogany desk, she looked up at Yale, puzzled when he asked for Sam Higgins. "Which Mr. Higgins do you wish to see, Senior or Junior?"

  Yale explained that he had an appointment with the young Mr. Higgins. The girl flipped a switch on her intercom. Yale heard Sam's voice. "Send him in.

  Following the receptionist's directions, Yale pushed open the plate glass doors neatly lettered in gold with the wording "Samuel Higgins, Inc., Investments." Threading his way through the desks in the outer offices, Yale noticed the bustling activity. He estimated that Higgins must employ several hundred people. The place looked prosperous.

  When Yale walked into Sam's private office, Sam was talking on the telephone. He waved joyfully at Yale and indicated a chair near his desk. He was the same Sam, Yale thought, in a slightly beefier version. The deep red tan that Sam had acquired, probably on a Florida vacation, couldn't hide the evidences of over indulgence in food and alcohol.

  "Jesus, fella, you're looking good! What have you been doing since H.B.S.?" Sam asked. He hung up the phone and grabbed Yale's hand. Yale wondered if Sam's patronizing way of referring to him as "fella" had started in New York. Sam had the self-assured geniality of the rising young executive. His manner irritated Yale a little, partially because Yale knew that he was too intense ever to develop such suavity. He supposed that Sam's mannerisms proclaimed his belonging to the brotherhood of successful men who by their pre-eminence could afford this off-hand manner with lesser men. Midhaven had its similar coterie; men like Jim Latham and Bert Walsh. Could it be an Ivy League trademark?

  Yale brought Sam up to date. The army, India, China, and back home. He omitted any reference to Anne or Cynthia.

  "You're lucky, fella," Sam said. "I wish I could have had a hiatus from business for a few years. I couldn't get in the service. Punctured ear drum. Of course, it had its compensations for a while. More stray stuff around than one man could handle. How were those Oriental babes?" Sam asked the old cliché about whether you had to do it sideways.

  Yale humored him. For a month or two he was going to need Sam. He listened as he discussed women in general -- laughed as he recalled his own sexual escapades at Harvard.

  "Dammit, Yale, those were the days. No problems except whether they would flunk you out. You didn't even have that one, did you? Boy, I never could figure you out. Well, I got myself married a couple of months after graduation. A beautiful woman, my wife. Clara." Sam sighed. "I don't know what it is, but after a few years of marriage you get a hankering for new territory. Did you see that office out there full of young nineteen- and twenty-year olds? They shake their pert little asses at you all day. It's enough to drive you off your rocker. Clara does it with half her mind. The other half is on some social function or dress fitting or whether she is gaining too much weight. Never thought it would happen but I've got a little dish uptown. An expensive arrangement but, fella, the bedwork has a fascinating variety. Amazing the difference when a girl does it for a living."

  Yale finally brought Sam around to the purpose of his call. Sam watched Yale open his travelling bag. He examined the package of rupees that Yale tossed at him and whistled in surprise as he flicked them.

  "Brand new money! What is it, stage stuff? Or did you rob a bank in India?"

  Yale grinned. He told Sam briefly how he had speculated in foreign exchange. "The problem now is conversion. I couldn't do it in India. It was too ticklish. Army regulations governing finance offices are pretty strict. I couldn't convert in Midhaven. No bank there would handle it without a lot of commotion. The name Marratt is too well known. Actually, I wouldn't care to walk into any bank with the problem. There's a question of taxes. The transaction would be reported."

  "Fella, you've changed from the Yale Marratt I knew," Sam said approvingly. "You always used to be such a moralistic bastard. Never thought you would soil your hands with a grimy business deal. Now, you are even considering gypping Uncle Sam of his share. Brother, you have changed!"

  Yale shrugged. There was no need to argue ends and means with Sam. He had been over that sufficiently with himself. In the final analysis, no matter how you made mon
ey, it was at someone's expense. It would be a fine economic question to determine who had suffered by his fortunate speculations.

  Sam picked up a phone and dialed a number. "How much is the rupee selling for today?" Yale heard him ask.

  "Thirty-three and one third cents on the dollar," Yale said.

  "Check," Sam said hanging up. "How many have you got?"

  "One million," Yale said.

  "Hmmm . . ." Sam sat behind his desk, twisting his ear, staring at Yale.

  "That's three hundred and thirty-three thousand bucks. Nice going. How much did you start with?"

  "About twenty thousand. My own money. I speculated at Harvard a little."

  "I remember. You and that loony Agatha Latham. She is still at it. No one knows how many millions she's got." Sam looked at Yale carefully. Yale could almost hear the wheels turning as Sam figured where he could cut in. "You aren't going to convert it even, you know," Sam said.

  "I suppose not. I want immediate dollars. No waiting."

  "Would you settle for three hundred thousand?" Sam asked, unable to conceal the cupidity in his expression.

  Yale didn't answer immediately. "Look," Sam said hurriedly, "it's no skin off my ass. Take it somewhere else if you want. We don't deal in foreign exchange, anyway."

  "What's your deal?" Yale asked. No matter whom he dealt with someone would get a cut.

  Sam smiled. It didn't pay to be too eager, he thought. "I figure I can make a fast twenty thousand bucks. The other ten thousand will have to be spread around. It won't be simple. I can't buy it personally. My personal dough is tied up. I'll have to handle it through the company. We have a correspondent in Bombay. It will take a week or longer."

  "Okay," Yale said, "with a couple of conditions. I want two predated bank checks. One for two hundred and fifty thousand made out to Challenge, Inc. The other for fifty thousand made out to me. You can date them for ten days from today. That'll give you a chance to clear the stuff before I deposit. The other condition is that I want access to all your general files and a private cubbyhole to work in. I plan to do some investing and I'm a little rusty on current situations."

  "On investments, fella, you've come to the right place." Sam beamed. "But if you'll pardon my asking . . . what the hell is Challenge, Inc.?"

  "I'll pardon your natural inquisitiveness, dear Samuel!" Yale mocked. "All I can tell you is that it is a foundation which as yet doesn't legally exist. You are going to give me the name of your best company lawyer. When Challenge, Inc. becomes a legal entity I am going to work for it as its financial advisor. That's all I want to say about it now."

  "A tax dodge, huh," Sam said. He punched his intercom. "Harry," he said into it, "Come in here." A serious, spectacled man in his late forties walked into the office. "Harry Hawkes, meet Yale Marratt. Harry is our controller and head accountant. Harry . . ." Sam said affably, "with your cooperation . . . and a few weeks' time . . . you are going to be a few thousand dollars richer. . . ."

  Harry grasped the plan quickly. He examined the rupees. "They're not counterfeit, are they?"

  Sam locked the door of his office. "Don't worry, Harry, we'll check that. Right now, you and I have got to count very accurately what looks like ten thousand, one hundred rupee notes. Then you've got to juggle our records a little to cover a couple of bank checks."

  Yale waited until seven o'clock that night before he placed a call to Midhaven. Despite the convincing argument he had given the telephone company manager he was very doubtful whether they would have made any real effort to put the phones in today. He was surprised when the long distance operator gave him the number and then rang it for him.

  Cynthia answered. Her voice was a cautious hello as if she were uncertain as to the efficacy of the new-fangled instrument.

  "What's the matter?" Yale demanded. "You sound as if the F.B.I. might be after you."

  "Oh, it's you, Yale," Cynthia breathed her relief into the phone. He heard her call Anne and then heard Anne's "Hi" as she picked up the extension.

  "Your mother was here today!" Cynthia said. "Next thing, I figured your father would be on the telephone. I was scared to answer."

  "What did you say to her?" Yale asked. He wondered why Liz had come back from Florida so soon.

  "We didn't see her," Anne said. "We were in Midhaven shopping. Listen, you . . . I didn't realize how far out in the sticks we are. It took us an hour by bus. You're going to have to get us a car."

  "That's right," Cynthia agreed. "I don't know why you need your car in New York, Yale. I'll bet it's in some garage right now. What about money? The two hundred dollars you gave me isn't going to last forever."

  Yale heard Anne laughing. "Buying clothes for two women is going to keep you broke, darling. Cynthia and I have decided we're destitute."

  "We're teasing you, Yale." Cynthia giggled. "Seriously, we could use the car."

  "What about Liz?" Yale asked. "If you weren't there, how did you know she came out? I can't figure how she even knew where we were?"

  "Barbara probably told her," Cynthia said. "Do you know what Ralph Weeks asked her? He asked her which Mrs. Marratt did she want? How do you like that?"

  Yale groaned. "What did Liz say?"

  "We don't know," Anne said. "But we've set Weeks straight. When we finished he felt so unhappy he had to have a drink, so we had a few with him. Now he's out in the barn plastered. Cindar and I are staggering. All I can tell you, Yale Marratt, is that you better keep your father away from here. If he shows up here we will take him apart. Won't we, Cindar?"

  Yale heard Cindar say, "Yup." He could tell the way she said it that she was feeling pretty high. "Listen, you two. Leave Weeks' corn liquor alone! I'll call Pat now. Do you love me?"

  "Which one of us?" Anne asked sweetly.

  "Both of you."

  "We'll think about it," Cynthia said. Yale heard her warm laughter. He hung up the phone, smiling. Obviously, he was going to be the target in every conversation with Anne and Cynthia. Two women against one man. They would end up victorious every time. At least they sounded happy.

  He called the operator again and put a call through to Pat's house. It was seven-thirty. Pat would be just about through with dinner. Why had Pat and Liz come back from Florida so soon? It could be any one of three things -- himself, Barbara, or something wrong at the plant. Liz answered. She recognized his voice.

  "Yale, where are you? You get right over here! Pat is furious with you. Why couldn't you have waited to get married until we got home? Sometimes, I really don't know what you young people are thinking of. You . . . bringing a strange woman in here . . . living with her right in this house while your father and I are away. Barbara getting a divorce. Both Pat and I have been worried to death where you are. Then, Pat finding out yesterday that you bought that awful Langley place. You come over here right now. Alone! You better not bring that girl until you've talked with Pat."

  "Liz, catch your breath," Yale said. "I'm not in Midhaven. I'm in New York. I'm not about to come right over. I just called you to find out why you went over to the Langley house."

  "I went over to talk with this Cynthia of yours. Barbara says she's pregnant by another man. If she had any sense of decency at all she would agree to an annullment. I know you are sympathetic, Yale. But that's no reason to marry the girl. Imagine . . . saddled with another man's son. Have you gone completely crazy? What do you think people will say here in Midhaven? And that filthy old man you have living there. Pat fired him years ago because he's such a lush. He was so drunk when I asked him where your wife was, he asked me which one. . . ."

  That's a break, Yale thought. One thing at a time. Wait until the whole story leaks out, he thought. He heard the extension phone click. Pat's voice thundered on the line.

  "For Christ's sake, Yale, I thought that after three years in the Army you would have acquired a little judgment! Get over here. Now! I want to talk with you!"

  Yale tried to control the anger in his voice. "Listen, Pat. I'm
calling you from New York, and the reason I am calling you is to tell you once and for all that you are through planning my life. I'm also telling you to leave my wife alone. You just about destroyed her once. If you ever try anything like that again it will be the sorriest day of your life!" Yale softened the harsh tone of his voice, and said: "The next time I come to your house, Pat, it will be because you and Liz have invited Cynthia and me together. When that happens I expect you'll behave yourself and regardless of your feelings will act like a gentleman."

  He heard Pat's gasp of fury. "My young friend, no one talks to me like that! You can go straight to hell! Try earning your own money! Don't ever come near me unless you're ready to apologize." Liz tried to interrupt him. "Shut up, Liz! I mean it! I've put up with that ungrateful brat altogether too long."

  Yale heard the phone being slammed down. Slowly, he returned his phone to the cradle. So that's that, he thought wearily. When he had placed the call he had hoped to talk with Pat quietly. To let him down gently when he told him that he wasn't going to work for the Marratt Corporation. Somehow Yale had hoped Pat could see his need to develop on his own. The same need that Pat must have had when he started the business. Why did some men hope for immortality through their sons?

  Yale lay on the bed despondent. What was he trying to do, anyway, he wondered? If he persisted in what Pat would only label as "idealistic nonsense," then this was only the beginning of the clashes between them. You either travelled with the majority or you would be trampled by it. Yale wondered whether basically he was emotionally able to live a life based on challenging the fundamental concepts that men lived by. It would mean constant rebuff, plus an ability to overcome the dark depression that seized him when he was rebuffed. But there was no turning back. Something in him, extraneous to any fearful ideas he might entertain, or any rationalization he might evoke for stopping, compelled him to go on. He only hoped that Anne and Cynthia had, or could acquire, his own strong sense of mission. If they didn't no, why think about it . . . If you considered negatives you gave them reality. The fact that Anne and Cynthia were even considering living with him showed their lack of fear.