Norwell told him he had nothing to lose but a little "face." He pointed out that with Alfred retired, and with his (Norwell's) help, Jim would have a new lease on life. He expounded at length on Jim Latham's untapped ability. "He'll work to prove to you a Latham should run the Yards, and he'll work harder than anyone else because he hates you. But maybe," Norwell said reflectively, "like me, he'll end up thinking you're a hell of a man."
Yale had grinned at him and said with a burr in his voice, imitating Norwell's rich accent, "I never knew a Scotchman could be so talkative. You convinced me some ten minutes ago."
Norwell chuckled. "I guessed I would. I knew if you thought you were a latter-day Socrates, you couldn't resist the chance to justify even your enemies."
Yale craned his neck to see the clock on the dresser.
"It's quarter of nine," Anne whispered. "Twenty-four hours from now we will be walking in the Buxton County Courthouse."
"You don't have to whisper," Cynthia said, leaning on her elbow. "I've been awake for an hour. Look, the sun is coming out. Our last day together will be a beautiful one." She looked at them, trying to smile through the tears in her eyes. "it's funny but you know I'm quite attached to you two."
Anne hugged her. "We're all attached, sister . . . attached with unbreakable links."
13
The day before Yale's trial, Agatha telephoned Pat Marratt. "It occurs to me, Patrick," she said into the silent phone that echoed Pat's surprise, "that you might like to take an old lady to lunch." She heard Pat's grunt of annoyance, and listened patiently while he temporized, trying to probe the reason for Agatha's call.
It occurred to Pat that Yale might be using this means to try and patch up their relationship. He wondered if Agatha was being used as a go-between. Even Liz had been working on him lately, especially after that disgraceful affair at the supermarket when those women Yale was living with had been practically raped.
"No matter what you may feel," Liz told him, "I think, for your own peace of mind, you should talk with Yale. Everyone in Midhaven is enjoying our misery. Some of our so-called best friends are gloating over what everyone is calling 'the Marratt affair.' Yale is our son, Pat. Can't we disagree with him privately?" Liz had begged. "Can't we present a united front to the world?"
Pat had been exasperated. "You must be losing your mind, Liz. I didn't start this. Have you read that damned book of his? I honestly can't believe sometimes that Yale is any part of me! Believe me, Liz, if he wasn't your son, and you read the stuff he writes . . . you would say this man is dangerous! He not only tries to deny that any God exists except man, but he writes a thing like that Second Commandment. How in hell does it go?" Pat thought a minute. "'Man must be taught to challenge and excoriate any concepts that deny the ultimate divinity of man.' Those are crazy, dangerous words." Pat sighed. "I'm not a religious man and I may be content to just accept the idea that there is a God, but I sure as hell could never advocate anything that would destroy all organized religions. Men are basically rotten . . . without religions of some kind and the fear of God the world would go to hell. I've given it a lot of thought. Yale may be a genius . . . but I can only conclude that he is partially insane. If he isn't, why does he persist? Why does he insist on letting this thing come to a trial and making a laughingstock out of the Marratt name? The whole business could have been squelched easily. I would have even helped him. All he had to do was to get rid of that Jewish girl. She was the last one that he married. Yale told me himself that he married the blonde girl in India. Baker told me that would make that marriage the legal one even though it was a Hindu ceremony. That damned Carnell girl has been a noose around his neck ever since he met her. She has no claim on him. The kid is hers, not Yale's."
Pat told Liz that he had called Rabbi Weiner. "He's a good sort," Pat said inconsistently. "He told me that even her own people have ostracized her. You'd think that she would have better sense and clear out."
Pat remembered that Liz had said, "You are so blind, Pat. If you had let things alone years ago . . . all this wouldn't have happened. Yale would have married her, and probably would have been working with you right now."
He wondered if Liz was right. Lately, he had been having moral twinges that handicapped his usual straight-line thinking. Christ almighty, couldn't Liz understand that in trying to get that girl out of Yale's life, he had been doing it for Yale's own good. Some day Yale would wake up. When they put him behind bars for a while, and let him cool off, he'd probably come to his senses.
Pat finally agreed to meet Agatha at the City Club at one o'clock. He found her sitting in the lounge talking with a dark-complexioned man who had a decidedly semitic nose. Angrily, he decided that Agatha was just trying to get his goat. She introduced him with a twinkle in her eye, observantly noting that Pat's jaw was twitching. "This is Saul Angle. He is defending Yale tomorrow. I thought that you would like to meet him, Patrick."
"Listen, Agatha, I have a great deal more to do than to discuss the peccadillos of my stupid son with his lawyer. I don't give a damn what they do to Yale. The quicker this thing is forgotten by the newspapers the better I will like it. I understand that bigamy is good for five years in prison. Maybe that is what he needs to bring him to his senses."
While he was talking, Pat sensed that Saul Angle was examining him casually. "You really don't need me, Agatha," Saul said, looking at Pat. "I'd prefer to eat my lunch in a calmer atmosphere. Besides, Mr. Marratt has to be careful with whom he associates these days." His smile was sarcastic. "I understand that there are all kinds of odd fish in town for this trial tomorrow."
"I need you, Saul. Patrick, if you can't afford it, I'll pay for the lunches. But let's not stand here and haggle. Have the decency to take us into the dining room. I'm an old lady. I like to eat my meals on time."
Sipping a Scotch on the rocks while they waited for their lunch, Agatha extolled the merits of liquor for the aged. "Makes me feel twenty years younger. I kind of get into the spirit of things when I've had a little nip." She nudged Pat's arm. "Aren't you excited? I can't remember when Midhaven had so much publicity. Peoples McGroaty told me that there must be at least five thousand people in town for the trial. Every room for miles around is sold out. I hear they are putting up some of the reporters in the old Army barracks in West Haven. All kinds of foreigners have come to Midhaven. They have heard rumors that this trial may be fought out on classic issues."
Pat scowled. "Classic issues, baloney! These people are here for just one thing, sex. They want to roll in it; pour it over themselves. They hope to hear all kinds of juicy things. They want to see what a bigamist looks like and what kind of women would live with him. Add to this that Yale and his women go around naked and think nothing of it, and you inflame everyone's imagination. It sounds like a Roman orgy." Pat stared at Saul. "I've heard of you, Angle. You're a pretty smart lawyer. Why do you want to get mixed up in this mess?"
Saul smiled. "I could say that I came to exonerate myself. If Yale is a modern Jesus as some reporters are saying, then it is fitting that a Jew should defend him." Saul ignored the dark anger in Pat's face. "Actually, I am interested in the moral principles involved. If you have read the book that Challenge has published, you will remember the Sixth Commandment. I think it goes something like this: 'Challenge believes that Man is the measure of all ethical and moral values and the test of validity in man's ethics and morals and written laws should be that they exalt and confirm the dignity of man.'" Saul sipped his martini. "Now it is obvious that wasn't written by a lawyer, but it is an interesting idea. In the case of Yale's marriages, I think it may be a worthy defense, even if we do lose and who knows, we may win!"
Pat shook his head. He was out of his depth, and he admitted it to himself. Bigamy was a sexually disgusting thing. It violated common decency. Only animals indulged themselves that way. Sure a man might play around a bit, but to want to live with two females day in and day out . . . such a man must be a sap. Yet, Yale bothered Pat. Th
ere were obviously quite a few men who were impressed with what Yale was trying to do. This Saul Angle for one, and then there was Harry Cohen. There you are, Pat thought, I'm accused by Yale of being antisemitic, yet I really admired this fellow Cohen, even when he was fighting me hardest. Take this fellow, Angle. He's obviously a pretty sharp cookie and I can't say that I dislike him. It just shows that Gentiles and Christians can get along. The smart Jews don't expect to mix socially with you . . . and certainly don't want to intermarry any more than we do. They have their ways and we have ours.
Yes, Pat thought, Yale obviously could sway diverse kinds of men. That John Norwell, for instance. One look at him and you'd guess Norwell wouldn't go for that Challenge crap; yet Norwell had capitulated. Of course, Yale had been smart enough to see the handwriting on the wall and re-elect Jim Latham president. But it was peculiar that a man like Norwell would defend Yale.
"He's a breath of fresh air," Norwell had told Alfred Latham. "I may be old but I decided not to close the window."
Pat realized that his thoughts were wandering. A bad habit that he had developed lately. He knew that it was caused by uncertainty. He was disgusted with himself. Agatha was telling Saul about the oil leases that were among the Latham Shipyard holdings. "They were what interested Yale," she said, "and alerted him to the Latham deal. He wants to buy a drilling company." Agatha smiled. "Yale told me that he has that odd tingling feeling. You should be proud of your son, Patrick."
While Pat was impatient to discover why Agatha had asked him to lunch, he decided to wait for her to broach the reason. "I understand, Agatha," he said, trying to flatter the old lady, "that Yale owes everything to you. If you hadn't backed him in this Latham deal, he would never have made it."
"He owes me nothing." Agatha snorted. "He had already made his first million dollars when he called me and asked me whether I thought he could hold a corner on Latham stock. I went along for protection. He could have done it without me. Of course, I did have the fun of teaching him about the market . . . but that was years ago."
She didn't say: You damned old fool, Patrick Marratt. You should thank God for giving you a fine, idealistic son . . . and, Agatha thought, amused . . . two fine daughters-in-law. Three times blessed and this stubborn man cursed his fate.
Agatha remembered a few nights ago talking with Yale in the big kitchen. Anne and Cynthia had gone upstairs. She told Yale that she wanted to stay up for a while.
"When you are as old as I am you don't waste time sleeping," she said. She sat in one of the old-fashioned rockers that Anne and Cynthia had placed near the hearth. She watched the logs that crackled in the fireplace and warmed her thin blood.
"I've been happy here," she told Yale. "I didn't realize what a lonely life I have been living in Belmont. Cats are all right but they are in business for themselves even when they jump, purring, into your lap. I like the life you are trying to live. You keep my old brain buzzing with ideas. I don't know how I managed to live alone so long."
"You'll never be alone again, Agatha," Yale said, sitting on the flagstone hearth, watching her as she rocked. "Only one thing, I want you to know. I want you here, not because you are rich, but because you are a lovely woman." Yale grinned, "Of course, Cynthia and Anne will tell you my trouble is that I love all women." Yale stood up and kissed her cheek. "I hope that Cynthia and Anne will grow old just as gracefully as you have . . . and of course, just a little bit cantankerous . . . it adds spice."
After Yale had gone upstairs, Agatha touched her withered cheek where he had kissed her. She felt sorry for Yale, and she knew that she cared deeply what happened to him. In the past few weeks, under the pressures he had created for himself, she detected a little weariness and discouragement. She prayed that Anne and Cynthia would stick by him. They would have to have courage, too. It wasn't easy for young women to share their man.
And look at myself, Agatha thought. I worry about the lives they will lead, and all my life I have been lonely and unloved. Why had she lived so long, she wondered? Here she was approaching eighty-one years and she couldn't remember a day of bad health. Was there a God who had been exceptionally kind to her? Or was it just luck and a strong constitution. If there was a God who was personally interested in his creations, why had he picked her for such good fortune? She had done nothing to merit the gift that had been bestowed on her. She had lived her life selfishly . . . alone . . . for herself; dedicated to making money for the Lord knew what reason. If I were God, she thought wryly, I wouldn't be pleased with Agatha Latham. Maybe God had shown his displeasure by withholding both love and wonder from her life until her eightieth year. Now, by giving her a glimpse these past few months of the love and happiness that Yale, Anne, and Cynthia had achieved with each other and with their children; by dropping her into the magic realm of living, thinking, probing minds bent on the wonderful search and discovery of the essential humanity of man; by letting her find in the last moments of her life, a purpose for living . . . if there was a God, he had revealed how barren her life had been. If there was a God, Agatha thought, then he must be pleased with Yale Marratt who perhaps denied Him by saying that Man was God, but actually exalted Him if God cared at all for the creature called man.
Watching the glow of the fire that night, feeling the ghosts of time past that Cynthia and Anne had preserved in the old house . . . Agatha made her decision. . . .
"I've spent the past two days having my head examined," she said, smiling ironically at Pat, who made no comment but was tempted to say that in view of her actions lately it was a good idea.
The waiter arrived with their lunch. Agatha waited until he had placed the dishes on the table. Pat was chewing on a piece of steak when she continued: "Saul, since Pat is enjoying his meal so thoroughly, let him read those letters."
Pat took the papers that Saul extracted from his briefcase and looked at them casually, continuing to eat. There were three letters from different doctors stating that they had examined Agatha Latham, giving her extensive tests. Each letter attested that Agatha Latham had passed numerous mental examinations, and concluded that Agatha Latham was perfectly sane.
One of the letters was from a prominent New York psychiatrist whose name Pat recognized. It stated that he was present when Agatha Latham had dictated the provisions of her last will and testament to Saul Angle. The letter stated that Agatha Latham was sound in mind and body and was under no pressure from outside parties.
Pat knew that there was more to the letters than appeared on the surface, but he waited, egging Agatha on. "Even if you are as nutty as a fruitcake, Agatha, it is no concern of mine." He handed the letters back to Saul. "I hope you didn't arrange this luncheon just to prove to me that you are sane."
"When you are alone in the world, and have accumulated as much money as I have," Agatha said, "there are any number of people who have plans for when you are gone. It is quite possible that there are people who would contest my will. I haven't become rich by taking wild chances." Agatha smiled, obviously enjoying herself. "While what I do with my money is no concern of yours, Patrick, in this case it may affect your life more than a little. . . ." She sipped her Scotch while Pat listened impatiently. "Without going into details, I'm leaving my niece, Margery Latham, securities worth one million dollars. The balance of my estate, approximately one hundred and twelve million dollars, I'm leaving to Challenge Incorporated."
Pat stopped eating and stared at Agatha, astonished. "I don't care what the letters say, Agatha, you really must have a screw loose somewhere. Does Alfred know this?"
"He'll read it in the papers, tomorrow. The reason that I wanted to tell you first, Patrick, is that with this money, and his own investment skill, Yale is going to be able to make Challenge a very powerful force in the world. I believe that rather than fight him, you have the chance to make your declining years a monument to the Marratt name."
Pat's look was incredulous. "What do you mean . . . go tub thumping for this screwball religion of his?" Pat sh
ook his head. "Agatha, I don't believe all this baloney about loving everybody else. In a few years you will be known as a wealthy crank who subsidized a simpleton. Pardon the expression, but your money will be pissed away on a lot of screwball ideas before you're cold in your grave." Pat put his napkin beside his plate. "If you don't mind, Agatha, I've had a bellyfull."
He stood up and looked at his watch. "Frankly, I have an appointment at three o'clock. You and Angle can stay here as long as you like. The lunches will be put on my account." Pat gave Saul a grim look. "I don't know what tricks you may have up your sleeve, but the district attorney assures me that when this trial is over the least thing that will happen is that Yale Marratt will be minus one wife! It may not have occurred to either of you, but my guess is that when Yale's matrimonial balloon is punctured, Challenge Incorporated will crash to the ground along with it."
Agatha and Saul watched Pat stride across the dining room. Saul ordered coffee for both of them from the waiter. "Well," Agatha sighed, a sad expression on her face, "I didn't accomplish much, did I?" Saul looked at her thoughtfully but didn't answer. "What do you think, Saul?" Agatha asked. "Is Pat right? Will you lose? Will Yale, Anne, and Cynthia be forced to separate?"
Saul stirred his coffee. "Agatha, this is a Christian country. Everything that is written in this book of theirs is nothing more or less than an extension of Christ's views. But if there is one thing that Christians have never really learned to do consistently, it is to love one another. In a way, it is unfortunate that the views embodied in Challenge must receive their first test with a thing of this kind." Saul shrugged. "Perhaps bigamy is so repugnant to Christians because it seems so impossible. By the rules that Yale, Cynthia, and Anne have established for each other, it takes a kind of denial that is incomprehensible to most peoople who have never denied themselves; particularly the luxuries of anger and suspicion and hatred. The Jews and the Eastern nations may understand this kind of marriage better because the large, loosely-integrated polygamous households, where they exist, function on a male axis with the father or chief of the tribe in full responsibility. In the Western world where the mother is the chief symbol, bigamy is equated with a form of enslavement. Of course you and I know, having seen it in action, that this marriage of Yale, Anne, and Cynthia exists without compulsion. In fact, its very strength is based on a high degree of free-wheeling individuality. That kind of marriage is something new under the sun. To make it work takes a kind of brain that most people don't have."
The Rebellion of Yale Marratt Page 64
