The Rebellion of Yale Marratt

by Robert H. Rimmer

  Pat was waiting in front of the barn. Yale held out his hand to him, reflecting as he did that the discussion with Pat would he the first formal business transacted in the office of Challenge Inc.

  Pat was dressed in a light tan palm beach suit. He looked in surprisingly good health, with a white shock of hair neatly framing his tanned face. He ignored Yale's hand and looked disgustedly at his watch.

  "Our appointment was for nine o'clock. I've been waiting for thirty-five minutes. Who in hell do you think you are?"

  "The son of Patrick Marratt," Yale said equably. "Shall we go inside? It's cooler out of the sun." Pat followed him through the empty outer offices into Yale's private office in the rear of the barn.

  Yale motioned at his desk. "Sit behind the desk, if you wish. It gives a position of dominance."

  Pat ignored the sarcasm. He sat in a red leather chair. "I want to get this over with quick. I don't want you to get any idea that because I'm here, I approve of what's going on. In blunt words I am fed up with this nonsense of yours. I'm sick of being greeted by friends with dirty rumors of what's happening within three miles of my house. People saying that my own son is running a disgusting nudist camp . . . that my son is living with two women, and now with this crap . . ." Pat waved his arm. "A mad scheme to change the world, I understand. The first thing I want to know is what is the truth behind these rumors?"

  "Oh, they have a certain validity. Didn't Bobby confirm to you that we were all swimming naked here, yesterday?"

  Pat stared at him grimly. "I didn't see your sister last night. She was supposed to have dined with us but she didn't show up. Now, look here, Yale . . . I never did understand what in hell motivated you . . . but one thing is certain . . . you are not going to ruin my good name in Midhaven. I'm not going to have anyone think that I'm associated with your activities . . . whatever the truth may be." Pat lighted a cigar. He was unable to keep his hand from shaking. "I'm asking you for the truth. . . ."

  Yale raised his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. "Whatever you want to know, Pat. Just ask it."

  Pat wasn't certain how to phrase his question. It was embarrassing to even consider the question of bigamy . . . what kind of people could be involved in such vulgarity? "Are you living here with two women?" he asked.

  "Yes. I think you should know . . . I married Cynthia Carnell. You knew her . . . years ago. . . ." Yale stared at Pat. Pat shifted uneasily in his chair. "My marriage to Cynthia was a civil marriage. I married Anne Wilson in India in a Hindu ceremony."

  "A Hindu ceremony!" Pat exploded, and then looked relieved. "What kind of crap is that? That kind of a marriage has no legality in the United States."

  Yale smiled. "To tell you the truth, I haven't bothered to investigate whether it has or not. The important thing is that it was consummated willingly, and I consider it quite binding." Yale could see that Pat's face was twisted with restrained anger. "Frankly, Pat, it's not right for us to discuss this in a mood of anger." Yale picked up a copy of Spoken in My Manner and slid it across his desk to Pat. "Here, this book will explain it all to you. When you have read it I will be pleased to discuss my accidental bigamy with you as well as our other beliefs that you will find summarized in the Ten Commandments of Challenge."

  Pat looked at him hotly. "Because you have managed to swindle a few bucks, probably with money stolen from the U.S. Army, don't think that you can talk to me that way. Pat shook his head in complete disbelief. "I've never heard such gall in my life. I can't believe that you are my son!"

  Yale felt a twinge of sadness. He wondered if there weren't some way that he could reach through the mire of words, and tell him: "Pat . . . no matter what you have done to me . . . or not done . . . I would like to think that you would at least make an effort to be interested in what I'm trying to do. Maybe not understand it . . . but at least withhold condemnation." Yale wondered why he wanted to appease the bitter man sitting opposite him. For the first time he was aware that the Jesus-factor -- the attempt at complete love and understanding of man -- carried within itself the seed of destruction. Man could hate you because you turned the other cheek. But Yale couldn't help himself, as he asked softly: "Would you like to see your grandson? I think he looks a little like you."

  Pat looked at him incredulously. "Grandson . . . you mean bastard, don't you? I'm not interested in seeing the result of any of your wild oats, thank you."

  Yale stood up. "We seem to be reaching our usual impasse, Pat . . . I guess we have nothing else to say to each other."

  Pat didn't move. "I've got plenty to say to you, son." Pat's voice was raspy with anger. "The only reason that I came up here was to see what you intend to do in this Latham business. I don't understand how a sincere, straight-dealing fellow like Paul Downing could get enmeshed in your slippery maneuvering, but I'm telling you that I am not going to stand idly by and see you ruin the Latham Shipyards. I don't own too much stock, but I'm on the board of directors. Alfred and I will fight you tooth and nail."

  Yale picked up the phone on his desk, and dialed the house telephone. Cynthia answered. "Come up, will you, Cindar, and bring Anne with you. Your father-in-law is anxious to meet you."

  Yale put the phone back on its cradle. He stared at Pat intently for a second. "In a few minutes, Pat, two very good and decent young women will walk in that door. They are my wives. They are also co-directors of Challenge Incorporated. Challenge owns one hundred and ninety thousand shares of Latham. Any discussion involving this stock must be attended by them. I am simply financial advisor to this foundation." Yale's voice was low, but his words, minutely spaced, contained a teeth-clicking fury. "If you don't propose to conduct yourself as a gentleman . . . you can leave now! Do we understand each other?"

  For the first time in his life Pat felt a momentary sensation of fear. He looked at Yale, bewildered, recognizing his son, but seeing for the first time another man . . . a man with a frightening messianic sense of mission. The feeling was gone in a second. He smiled at Yale sardonically. "I know how to behave myself . . . with all kinds of women."

  Yale drummed his desk with a pencil. "I'm going to tell you in advance of any newspaper stories. Pat. There is nothing you can do about Latham . . . and nothing Alfred Latham can do. At the moment, between Agatha and me, we have two hundred and fifty thousand shares of Latham stock. Before the week is out we will elect a new slate of officers. If it hadn't been me, someone else would have taken over. Alfred Latham hasn't been doing so well since the war ended, and Jim is just too busy with yachting and playing golf. . . ."

  Yale answered the knock on the door. Cynthia and Anne walked in. Yale introduced them to Pat. Yale noticed that the contrasting blonde and brunette beauty of the girls overwhelmed Pat. He stared at them glumly. Cynthia and Anne sat down rather tensely, facing Yale and Pat.

  "As I was telling Pat," Yale said, "the stock of the Latham Shipyards is in the hands of Challenge Incorporated. In the process of accomplishing this, some outside investors who had very little faith in the future of the Latham Yards started to sell the stock short. To their surprise they woke one day to find no stock available to cover their short sales. Your friend Paul Downing may be an excellent golfer, Pat . . . but he is in this 'slippery' business up to his ears. He thought the stock was bound to fall in price once the buying was over. Thanks to my investment contacts and the careful way Latham stock was purchased, Downing never guessed that the stock would end up in a short supply. He was simply outguessed and outfoxed along with some other short sellers. He might have made considerahle money had he guessed right." Yale paused. He smiled at Cynthia and Anne. "You know, Pat, if you would make an effort you would discover that we are all quite human people in this room. You're not some Doctor Frankenstein who has created a monster. I'm sorry about Downing but he's capable of taking care of himself. Tomorrow Sam and I are going to offer him forty thousand shares at seventy-five dollars a share. That will get him off the hook. I'm taking a chance, too. Alfred Latham or you could try t
o grab hold of whatever stock I let go to the short sellers." Yale's eyes twinkled. "However, I think we can squeak through at the director's meetings."

  Pat's look held consternation. He tried to keep his voice calm. "You mean that you are going to hold up Downing for three million dollars . . . ?"

  "Pat," Yale interrupted, "three million dollars may mean a lot to you. I happen to know that Downing is worth at least thirty million. I know too that he is fooling around in another situation, and he may he a little tight for money. . . ." Yale shrugged his shoulders. "This speculating is an interesting business . . . Downing will have to liquidate a few things. He was really playing a desperate gamble with Latham stock."

  "How much are you making on this deal?" Pat asked, unable to withhold the astonishment in his voice.

  "Challenge, I hope, will clear nearly a million dollars," Yale said. "The foundation already has three million, but I may as well be frank with you, Challenge needs much, much more. That is one of the reasons that I was anxious to talk with you." Yale spoke with complete sincerity.

  "Cynthia, Anne and I would like to have you as a director of Challenge. Cynthia and I have consigned to the past what you did to us. Honestly, Pat, we deeply feel that there is no room for hatred in the world. We feel that we should be able to prove that in small things as well as big ones, we can live together in a God-given humanity." Yale ignored the look of utter amazement on Pat's face. "We'd like to have you 'in' with us, Pat."

  "In with you?" Pat repeated the words with a snarl. "In with you?"

  Yale nodded. "Wednesday, Agatha and I would like to elect you President of the Latham Shipyards. As President we would work with you to merge the Marratt Corporation and the Latham Yards into a new corporate grouping with the over-all name of Marratt Industries. Eventually, Marratt Industries would pick up other companies, not for speculation but to run them as profitable businesses." Yale paused. He noted that Pat was following him intently. He explained that Pat would have complete managerial control, and alignment of any new corporate acquisitions into a tight managed organization. He and Agatha would be responsible for investments. He told Pat that he estimated that the initial merger would create a setup worth at least seventy-five million dollars.

  Then Yale dropped his bombshell. "The entire stock of the Marratt Industries would be owned by Challenge Incorporated. . . ."

  "What . . ." Pat roared. He jumped up, towering over Yale's desk. Anne thought he was going to strike Yale. Cynthia blanched with fear. "I've never listened to such rotten, cheap crap in my life. You must be out of your mind! Do you think I condone your actions? Do you think I would be so stupid as to be involved when this fool's paradise of yours tumbles on top of you? Do you think that after working all my life to create an estate and a nationally known and respected business, I would be so insane as to jeopardize the name of Patrick Marratt by endorsing the actions of a crackpot son and his two whores? You can go straight to hell. . . ." Pat turned and stared coldly at Anne and Cynthia. "I warn you . . . and if you have any sense you'll both get clear of this man. I'll do everything in my power to discredit him. You have divorced yourself from God-fearing people with your rotten orgiastic ideas." Pat strode out of the office. They listened to his footsteps echoing in the empty barn. The last words they heard him shout were: "He'll never get control of the Marratt Corporation . . . not in two lifetimes."

  Yale put his head in his hands. "Well," he said, and he sounded discouraged, "I tried. I'm sorry, Anne. I'm sorry, Cindar. I apologize for my father. . . ."

  "He's a frightened man, Yale," Anne said. "I told you . . . when you started to cross the mores of society . . . you'd cause an eruption. We've only begun . . . you, and your two whores. . . ."

  Yale winced.

  "That's what we are in the eyes of society," Cynthia said sadly. "Yale . . ." She looked at him, tears in her large brown eyes. "Yale, I love you . . . but I think you should quit. I'm getting afraid." She started to cry . . . "Oh, I'm sorry, Anne . . . but don't you see I want the three of us to go on . . . to have a good life . . . I'm afraid that Challenge is going to breed a more virulent hate than the hate it is trying to destroy. Let's be content that we have found the secret of happiness. Let's not try to change the world. I don't think I'm equal to it, Yale."

  Anne sat on the arm of Cynthia's chair. She patted Cynthia's head. She looked at Yale, who seemed to be staring at something beyond the walls of the room. "She's probably right . . . Yale," Anne said softly. "Maybe we should be glad to have accomplished this much . . . and stop, now."

  Yale didn't answer. A fly buzzed around the room. He looked at them both . . . tears in his eyes. "Don't you see . . . Anne . . . Cindar? I can't stop. A month or two ago . . . yes, I could have tried to stop. . . even then I wouldn't have succeeded . . . because you see . . ." Yale said the words slowly: "I've come to believe that the sole purpose of my existence is to fight hatred and prejudice with love. . . . ?"

  "The trouble is . . ." Cynthia murmured, "you can't say what you really mean without using the word fight."

  10

  There was no calm before the storm. That afternoon Liz Marratt called Yale. She demanded to know where Barbara was. As Yale listened to Liz talking excitedly on the telephone he suddenly realized that Barbara hadn't come home since she had left his house. Liz told him that all Barbara's clothes were still in her room. The reason that she was calling Yale was that Pat remembered Yale had mentioned that Barbara had been swimming with them Sunday.

  "I'm not going to ask you whether it is true or not," Liz said. Her voice sounded deeply disgusted. "But Pat said that you and your friends were swimming naked!"

  Yale made no comment. Liz asked him what in the world had come over him anyway? Had he gone absolutely crazy? Did he have any idea what he was doing to his father? Pat had gone to the doctor's this afternoon to have his blood pressure checked. If anything happened to Pat, Liz sobbed on the phone . . . she would put the blame right where it belonged. How had they ever managed to bring such an ungrateful son into the world? How could he behave this way to his father and mother. And Barbara . . . she was almost as bad . . . divorced . . . travelling around with a wild crowd and now she had disappeared. If only Barbara had sense enough to just stay with her husband. It was obvious that the way she was acting now, and the kind of people she was associating with, she would end up in had trouble. Maybe she had been the victim of foul play. Liz hung up with the admonition that after all Barbara was his sister . . . and Yale was the one who had seen her last. During the entire conversation whenever Yale tried to answer or comment, Liz proceeded to berate him in an anguished tone, reciting a long catalogue of things he had done to shame his father and mother.

  Yale put the phone down, and stared at it blankly. Where in hell could Barbara have gone, he wondered? Somewhere in the conversation, he told Liz that he would try to find Barbara. He promised to call her back. Yale decided to call Bob Coleman. Coleman had been attentive to Barbara yesterday. Perhaps he would know.

  "Sure, I followed her car when we left your place. We went to the Midhaven Yacht Club," Coleman said, when Yale got him on the telephone, "We had a few drinks there. She said that she was going to meet your folks . . . they were supposed to have dinner together with Paul Downing. She seemed all right to me, Yale." Coleman sounded a little peeved at Yale's probing him. "She was reading Mat Chilling's book to anyone who would listen . . . telling them that her baby brother was responsible. I remember her reading the Eighth Commandment of Challenge to a couple of characters . . . and telling them she really believed it. She was a little slopped but I couldn't stop her drinking. She refused to go home. I left her with a gang she had picked up. That was about six o'clock Sunday evening."

  Yale called the yacht club, and talked with the steward The steward remembered that Barbara had still been there around eight o'clock but had disappeared after that. He thought that she had gone off with a group of her friends. A few minutes later he called Yale back with the surprising
news that Barbara's tan Cadillac was parked in the yacht club parking lot. It had evidently been there all night.

  Yale tried to conceal the alarm he felt from Cynthia and Anne. He wondered if Barbara might have gone off on someone's boat. There were plenty of them tied up at the yacht club floats every night in the summer. Mostly, they stayed moored while their owners and friends used them as floating barrooms. Maybe Barbara had gone off with some half-crocked gang? Maybe she was spending the night with some of them on one of the islands in Midhaven Harbor? She couldn't have fallen overboard . . . or drowned. They would have known it by this time.

  He remembered that Coleman said that Barbara was supposed to have dined with Paul Downing and his family. He called Liz back. "No," Liz told him, "by the time Pat and Alfred and Jim Latham finished eighteen holes with Paul Downing and got cleaned up and had a few drinks . . . it was seven-thirty. We all decided to eat at the 'Hare and Hounds' rather than go on Paul's boat."

  It was a dead end. Cynthia wondered if they were responsible. Had Barbara been affected in some way by seeing everyone naked, and reading Mat Chilling's book? Bob Coleman had said that Barbara kept repeating the Eighth Commnandment.

  "If you read that out of context," Anne said, quoting from memory, "'Challenge believes that in the sexual union of man and woman, all men, regardless of race, color or creed, have moments of awareness of the Beauty and the Goodness inherent in every man and woman; and Challenge believes that through proper instruction from childhood, men can learn to transfer this Ultimate Insight into their daily commerce with each other.'" Anne smiled. "You see, without Mat's book . . . and coming on you unexpectedly . . . it sounds kind of wild."

  "How could that affect Barbara?" Yale asked her. "It means exactly what it says."

  Cynthia shook her head. "You are analyzing only in relation to your little world, Yale. Barbara is divorced. She reads something like that. Does she admit that is true? Maybe. Maybe deep inside her she knows it is true . . . but she has lost that kind of love. So I ask you? Does she say that's a lot of tripe . . . and go out and tie one on . . . ?"