The Resort

by Sol Stein

  “He said loyal marksmen.”

  Stanton said, “I understand our local people have put a recording device on your phone. I’m sure they’ve told you that all you have to do, Dr. Brown, is lay the phone down quietly. He’ll go on talking, but you don’t have to listen as long as we’re recording it.”

  “Mr. Stanton,” Margaret said, “if your wife were on the receiving end of phone calls like that…you have a wife, I presume?”

  Stanton nodded.

  “She’d be upset by phone calls like that.”

  “Damn right,” Stanton said.

  “But you see,” Margaret said, “I’ve been a physician for twenty years. I’ve become inured to crackpots. It’s an occupational hazard of anyone who’s involved with the public on an intimate basis. I am not shockable, not by words. But I am concerned about threats of physical harm. I’ve met those people face to face. So has my husband. So has my son. More importantly, right now my obligation is not only to my patients but to my most important patient, Stanley. I’m not going to leave him either here or in a hospital and traipse off to California. If you want further affidavits, fine, but I’m not going anywhere till Stanley’s well.”

  Mr. Lynn looked as if he’d been waiting for this moment. “Doctor Brown,” he said, “one of the reasons I am here today is I have the authority to offer you and your husband accommodation in the Witness Protection Program after you testify. Your son could go with you.”

  It was Henry who stood up. “Are you crazy?”

  In the weeks after Cliffhaven, when he seemed to be on the precipice of a nervous breakdown, Henry’d raised his voice a good deal. Margaret had given him a tranquilizer to take three times a day, but he’d given them up almost immediately because they made him feel sleepy.

  “Change our identities?” Henry said a bit shrilly. “Move somewhere else?”

  Margaret, distressed by Henry’s momentary loss of control, intervened.

  “Surely,” she said, “even if we were willing, a physician with an active practice could not—”

  “Doctor Brown,” Lynn said, “I assure you we’ve thought of the expense as well as the complexity in your case. Your husband has a thriving business. You have a practice and hospital connections. Nevertheless we’d be willing…”

  “Never!” Henry said.

  “Of course not,” Margaret added, gently taking Henry by his arm and urging him to sit.

  “Well,” Lynn said, addressing himself squarely to Margaret since she seemed in control of herself (she isn’t Jewish is what he thought), “I’m certain one of your hesitations is that the tampon incident would come up. I don’t see any reason why you should volunteer that story. I certainly would arrange for the U.S. Attorney not to examine you on that point unless the defense brought it up.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would the defense bring it up?” Margaret asked.

  It was Stanton’s role to be the nice guy in the sister act. He leaned forward and said, “Doctor Brown, I think it is only fair for you to know that an agreement has been reached with Daniel Pitz’s attorney. Since he was only employed at Cliffhaven for less than one day and during that time hadn’t harmed anybody, the government has agreed to exchange his testimony for a…”

  Henry, standing again, his eyes blazing, said, “I know it! Say it!”

  It was Lynn who said it. “For a suspended sentence. His testimony will be invaluable.”

  “Then you can’t have mine,” Margaret said, motioning to Henry to please sit down.

  “I’m afraid we will,” Lynn said. “You see, under the law we have to advise the defense of the witnesses we will call. The moment Clifford’s lawyer sees Dan Pitz’s name on that list, he’ll question Clifford privately about Pitz and learn that the tampon idea was Pitz’s. It is inevitable that the defense will bring it up to try to impeach Pitz as a witness, whether or not you are present. However, having you as a witness will enable us to make it clear that Clifford and the others were present, that Clifford was in charge of the interrogation, and that Pitz was merely trying to show off to Clifford by coming up with something shocking. Now, Dr. Brown, before your husband gets upset again, let me say that the affidavit you gave in California about your experiences at Cliffhaven is a cornerstone of our case. Since this is a criminal prosecution in federal court, the government, I’m afraid, can compel your attendance at the trial to testify, and that if you refuse, you can be fined and imprisoned, and the trial adjourned until you agree to testify. You are welcome to check this with your personal attorney, of course.”

  “I can’t believe that,” Margaret said.

  “Nevertheless,” Lynn said, “it is the law.”

  “I can say ‘I don’t remember’ over and over again. That won’t help you, will it?”

  Lynn coughed ever so slightly. “It is a felony to lie on the stand, Dr. Brown. Moreover, and please do check this with your lawyer, the response ‘I don’t remember’ can be prosecuted as a false declaration under Title 18 of the U.S. Code, 1623.”

  “I thought this was a free country,” Margaret said.

  “It is,” Stanton intervened. “And we’ll surely try to get the man who wrote that threatening letter to you.”

  “You want to bet?” interjected Henry.

  Stanton smiled. “The Bureau doesn’t bet.”

  “As for Stanley,” Lynn said, “if you’re concerned about his welfare, I’m sure Mr. Stanton can arrange for the Bureau’s local office to have someone with him at all times, here or in the hospital, while you are in California.”

  “He needs medical attention,” Margaret said, “not a policeman.”

  “I’m certain you can arrange for another physician whom you trust to be on call,” Lynn said. “We can probably even arrange for you to be compensated for the additional expense. We can promise you that you won’t be gone more than three days, including travel time. You do realize that you must go.”

  It is normal for governments to be brutal, Margaret thought.

  “I’m glad we have that resolved,” Lynn said. “And now,” he turned to Henry, “I’d like to raise the other subject. I understand from one of my colleagues that you’ve consented to give an extended interview on your experiences at Cliffhaven to U.S. News and World Report.”

  Henry wasn’t surprised that they had found out.

  “I’ve discussed that matter with the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of California, and we agree that an extensive interview by you given before the trial would greatly impair the government’s case.”

  “How?” Henry asked. “I’ll tell nothing but the truth, exactly what happened, step by step.”

  “Don’t you see,” Lynn said, “that by doing so you will provide the defense with opportunities for a fishing expedition? The whole truth can give the defense all kinds of handles for impeaching your testimony. When you freed the people in the lockers, you gravely injured one of the staff members. You beat him brutally with a club, though he in no way injured you. Don’t you see how that might look if the defense attorney brought it out? You set fire to a protected wilderness area, causing millions of dollars’ worth of damage. Why are we not prosecuting you?”

  “You didn’t make a deal with me,” Henry said.

  “Of course not, but it can be made to look as if we did. We much prefer that your testimony be carefully organized and gone over when you return to California, and that you discipline yourself to speak to the agreed matters under questioning by the prosecutor and in cross-examination by the defense.”

  Stanton said, “It’s for your own good, Mr. Brown. We want to put these people, Clifford and the others, in jail where they belong. We’re on your side.”

  For a moment Henry seemed detached, as if he were remembering something. When he spoke, Margaret noticed with relief, his voice had its normal pitch.

  “I had the impression from The Los Angeles Times,” Henry said, “which I had sent to me for several weeks after we returned, that some considerable part of t
he California citizenry was more concerned about the number of perpetrators still at large, presumably in California, than about what happened at Cliffhaven.”

  Lynn coughed. “It is perfectly natural for people to be concerned about their safety. I think there’s enough evidence that at least some of the people who worked at Cliffhaven were criminal types—”

  “By criminal types,” Henry interrupted, “you mean types who would commit crimes other than crimes against Jews?”

  Lynn had tried to get a fix on Henry Brown before leaving Washington. He had not expected that much belligerence.

  “The Los Angeles Times,” Henry continued, “is looking to the police power of the state to clean up the residue of the Cliffhaven mess—I think they used those exact words in an editorial. Maybe that’s good. Maybe that’s better than The New York Times, which addressed the conscience of humanity three times on the subject of Cliffhaven.”

  “Surely,” Lynn said, “the conscience of humanity is outraged by what happened.”

  “I agree,” Stanton nodded.

  “In my judgment,” Henry said, “there is no historical evidence that the conscience of humanity exists at all. I mention these two important newspapers merely to describe two attitudes toward the events at Cliffhaven that leave me cold.”

  For a moment Margaret thought Henry’s voice was slipping again, but she was wrong.

  Henry said, “That’s why I’ve chosen to give my testimony my way. Tape-recorded and complete. On the record for people to read no matter what happens at the trial. Moreover, Mr. Lynn, I don’t intend to drop the matter after the trial. I’ve never had a penchant for public speaking. I have one now. I will speak to Jewish groups, church groups, mixed groups, student groups, anyone who will listen. I will engage a public-relations firm that knows how to do these things and tell about Cliffhaven on radio and TV—”

  “Mr. Brown!” Lynn was standing. “I hate to disabuse you, but in another three months your story will be very old news. No one will listen. The trial is the place for you to make your record.”

  “I am not naïve, Mr. Lynn. I know what happens at trials. I saw Clifford’s limousine deliberately career straight through those people, but in court all that might prove is that his driver may be guilty of vehicular manslaughter. Clifford could deny having anything to do with it!”

  “I want to assure you,” Lynn said, “that I personally intend to see to it that not one clause of the grand jury indictment against Clifford is thrown out. I have the full backing of the administration for my position on this case.”

  “Oh I’m sure,” Henry said, “that the President is once again anxious about the Jewish vote. I’ll tell you something, Mr. Lynn. Neither you nor the President are going to be members of that jury. Those jurors don’t have to give a damn about the Jewish vote. I’ve seen several persuasive stories to the effect that Clifford is probably going to get a very light sentence because of the difficulty of proving many of the items in the indictment beyond a reasonable doubt. Mr. Lynn, I have no reasonable doubt I was in the lockers. I saw the plaques that kept score. I know why there were no children visible anywhere. But the assembling of proof! I don’t want my legacy to be a trial that whitewashes what happened there!”

  Lynn, seeing that his tack was not working, thought to try another, especially since—he darted a glance at his watch—the cab would be arriving momentarily to take them back to the airport.

  “Mr. Brown,” he said, “why not ask U.S. News to simply hold off their interview till after the trial? That’s reasonable, isn’t it?”

  Henry laughed. “Because they’re in the news business, not in the post-mortem-of-a-trial business. I already broached the subject and that was their answer. Before, or not at all.”

  “Well,” Lynn said, standing, “you certainly defeat the popular mythology that Jews have no guts. I’m sure Mr. Stanton agrees with me. My concern is not to wreck the trial by undue disclosures in the press. I could of course have the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District ask the judge to slap a gag order on you and US. News. You’d be in contempt if you proceeded with the interview prior to the trial.”

  “I am in contempt,” Henry said.

  Margaret observed a slight smile on his lips, perhaps too slight for the others, who knew him less well, to notice.

  “If I were you,” Lynn said, “I shouldn’t want the court to come to that conclusion. I trust you’ll discuss this among yourselves and phone me tomorrow.”

  When the cab honked to announce its presence, Henry and Margaret saw Lynn and Stanton to the door.

  “Please don’t get wet on our account,” Lynn said, as they went down the stone steps and entered the waiting taxi. Through the window he raised a hand, waving it just a mite. To show we are all friends, Henry thought.

  As the door closed on their departing visitors, Henry asked Margaret, “Do you see what I’m doing as crazy?”

  “No,” she said. “As aftercare.”

  Margaret led the way to their chairs in front of the fireplace. Henry stared at the flames. A fire used to make him feel comfortable.

  Margaret, worried about his recent silences, said, “Has it any use?”

  “What?” Henry asked.

  “What you’re planning to do.”

  Henry seemed lost in thought, alone somewhere. Finally, Margaret interrupted him. “Human nature,” she said, “will never change.” She sighed. “All we do in intensive care is police the body better.”

  They heard the cowbell they had put at Stanley’s bedside. He needed something.

  Margaret was immediately on her feet. “I’ll go.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Henry said.

  Margaret was about to say that Stanley probably only needed something he couldn’t reach, but it was just as well that they both went.

  All Stanley needed was to have his water pitcher refilled. The medication he took was dehydrating.

  They sat on either side of the bed, silent until Henry said, “I’m glad, in a way, they’re forcing you to testify.”

  Her eyes queried his meaning.

  “Oh,” Henry said, “Cliffhaven was a Gentile invention. I think it’s time the innocent among the Gentiles confront the consequences of such inventions. We Jews after all are only the victims.”

  Stanley, lying between them, said, “We half-and-halves get caught in the middle.”

  “Yes,” Margaret said, patting her son’s hand.

  On their way back down the stairs, Henry stopped at the landing. He watched Margaret go down the rest of the flight.

  At the bottom she stopped, then said, “You never answered me. Will you do the interview and all those other things?”

  Henry’s every instinct was to say of course, but there was a vast difference now. Speaking out could dominate his life. He had never volunteered for committees, never been the chairman of anything. He was a private person on the verge of becoming a public person, a condition from which it was impossible to retreat. If they knew your face, even if they couldn’t place it, they would pump your hand. You were theirs.

  The fear he remembered came in dreams. He would be standing on a rostrum somewhere, hundreds of faces looking up at him, waiting for him to speak, but his vocal cords would not respond. It was a childish fear. Awake, he was the executor of his own will.

  Margaret, looking up at him on the landing, must have known how important the moment was. He would not be coming down the stairs like a naïve Moses carrying tablets nobody would pay much attention to. He had been born into the Devil’s best century. America was not immune. He was not immune. Men who had come out of the trees did to each other what no apes did. He couldn’t change their natures, but he must tell what he knew, for hope was the only medicine that would not become obsolete in time.

  As he came down the rest of the stairs to Margaret, she said, “You will.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Of course,” he said at last.

  Sol Stein, The Resort