Wide Is the Gate

by Upton Sinclair

  The one thing he couldn’t afford to do was to bring publicity upon himself; and the weakness in every plan lay just here. The whole field of the conflict was flooded as with searchlights and anyone who stepped into it became a marked man or woman. Especially would that apply to a grandson of Budd’s, a son of Budd-Erling, an about-to-be-discarded prince consort. Let him show up at any embassy, any headquarters of Reds or Pinks, any airplane factory or shipping-office, and instantly the spies of the enemy would be on his trail, and newspaper reporters would be haunting the gates of Shore Acres—and also of the villa which Irma Barnes Budd had rented in Reno.

  Lanny was in the position of a rabbit in a wire cage: he went round and round, poking his nose between two bars, and then between the next two bars, and so on until he had come back to where he started. There just wasn’t any way to get out; the brains which had devised the cage were better than the brains of the rabbit. Lanny could break with his class, and with five out of his six families in America—all except Hansi and Bess. He could give up his sources of income and of information, and embark on a career as a Pink or a Red agitator; on that basis he might stand a chance—only a chance—of buying a military airplane and getting it to Madrid. But certainly he couldn’t do it and remain a member of the international privileged classes. He might spend part of the money bringing over some trusted friend such as Jerry Pendleton and putting him to work on the job; but at once the Gestapo and the O.V.R.A., Il Duce’s secret service, would set, to work to find out where that trusted friend had got his cash, and it would be difficult indeed for Lanny to meet him or even to exchange notes with him without suddenly having the blaze of the searchlights turned upon him. Confronting these problems, Lanny realized more clearly his father’s position, and why Robbie had said he would be risking bankruptcy for the Budd-Erling Corporation if he sold planes to be used in fighting Fascism.

  XIII

  Distracted by this tangle of problems, the traveler returned to New York, where his first act was to buy and read some of the Pink and Red papers, full of the latest news about Spain. One of the items was the announcement of a Spanish Relief Committee, formed for the purpose of shipping medical and food supplies to the straggling Spanish workers. The regular Red Cross wasn’t doing a satisfactory amount, so it was up to sympathizers in all the outside countries. No license was required for the sending of antiseptics and bandages, tinned milk and other foods; and these were bound to grow scarce in Madrid and Barcelona, for Franco had seized the agricultural parts of the country, while the Loyalists had the industrial parts. Medical supplies might save the life of a wounded man and enable him to go back into battle; so this was a kind of military help after all!

  Such were the arguments advanced at a mass meeting which Lanny saw advertised in the left-wing papers and which he stayed in town to attend. One of the speakers was a clergyman, the pastor of a church frequented by people of that way of thinking; a gentleman who applied his Christianity here and now, he had become chairman of the committee, and now he made what is known as the “collection talk.” He certainly made a hit that night, for while listening to his eloquence Lanny Budd suddenly made up his mind what he was going to do with his money.

  Next morning he went into a stationery store and bought several sheets of paper and a couple of strong manila envelopes, one a little larger than the other. He asked the use of a typewriter for a few minutes and addressed the larger envelope to the clergyman, marking it: “Personal. Deliver only to addressee.” Also he wrote a note:

  “The enclosed is to be turned over to the Spanish Relief Committee. The giver wishes to remain anonymous; the return address on the envelope is fictitious. The giver will be in your church next Sunday morning and requests you to acknowledge receipt of the gift at that service. Please preach on the subject ‘The Degeneration of the Christian Religion in Spain and the Calamity It Has Brought upon the Spanish People.’”

  Having mailed Harry’s check to his bank in New York, Lanny now went there and wrote a counter check to himself. He received twenty-five new, smooth, and shiny thousand-dollar bills and slipped them into his breast pocket. After looking around to make sure he was not followed, he walked to the nearest postoffice, wrapped the bills in a couple of sheets of paper, sealed them in the smaller envelope, and sealed that in the larger. This he duly registered, giving the name of John T. Jones, 47634 S. Halsted Street, Chicago—he hoped that was far enough out to be fictitious! He put on a special delivery stamp for good measure, and went away chuckling at the thought of the shock which was coming to that worthy clergyman.

  XIV

  That evening, in Shore Acres, the prodigal son phoned to his father’s home, saying: “Robbie, I want you to do me a favor. I am inviting you and Esther to come to church with me next Sunday morning in New York.”

  “Is it one of your Pink churches?” inquired the long-suffering and forewarned father.

  “You will call it that,” replied the son, “but that is not why I am inviting you. It is for a very personal reason which you will understand when you are there. It’s a small favor to grant, and it’s rather important to me.”

  “Are you planning to enter the Pink ministry?” inquired Robbie, anxiously, for really he never knew what to expect next.

  “Come and you’ll find out.”

  It was a church very much like the First Congregational of Newcastle, and the audience was much the same, having no visible signs of “radicalism.” Robbie had had to give up his golf and have breakfast at seven-thirty to get there, so it really was quite a lot to ask. Lanny was waiting on the steps, and the three went in and listened to prayers and hymns much the same as at home. Esther always had a hard time getting her husband into a church, so she was grateful for this, but at the same time wondering what could be coming.

  The preacher came into the pulpit and began as follows:

  “My friends: My subject this day is the Degeneration of the Christian Religion in Spain and the Calamity It Has Brought upon the Spanish People. I have chosen this theme at the request of a gentleman who has promised to be in the congregation. I have never seen this gentleman and do not know his name, but he has paid a high price for the favor he asks. As most of you doubtless know, I have become chairman of the Committee for Spanish Relief, and recently I spoke at a mass meeting in which I called for funds to buy medical supplies so badly needed by the besieged Spanish people. Next morning a messenger brought to my home a special delivery registered letter, and when I opened it I found an anonymous note, together with twenty-five crisp one-thousand-dollar bills. I repeat, lest you cannot believe your ears, twenty-five thousand dollars in cash to help save the lives of wounded Spanish soldiers, and to feed their wives and children. Nothing quite like that has ever happened in my life before, and I wish to acknowledge the gift and thank the unknown giver from the bottom of my heart. I shall see to it that his generosity is made known to the people of Spain, so that they may understand that there are still believers in freedom and real democracy in the American Republic, and that the heroic Spanish fighters are not entirely deserted in their hour of dreadful trial.”

  Lanny and his parents listened to truths about Spain which he knew well, but which the parents had never heard before. When it was over and they came out, Robbie said: “I get the point, son. Thanks for inviting me.” Esther was deeply moved, and exclaimed: “It was kind of you, Lanny; and your father will benefit it in spite of himself.”

  25

  O FREUDE, HABE ACHT!

  I

  Lanny settled down at Shore Acres and devoted time to the occupation of child study. He played the piano for his little subject and taught her to dance; showed her swimming-strokes in the indoor pool and took her pony-riding over the estate. He made her speak French with him, and reminded her of that pleasant land concerning which her memories had begun to fade. He was careful to include the grandmothers in some of these affairs—always both, playing no favorites. Between times he read what was happening in the world,
and now and then went into the great city, where the new shows were opening and where human life was fermenting and pullulating as in a vat of mash.

  Something new was coming out of this vat, and no one could be sure just what. New kinds of aerobic bacteria swarmed in it, and made war on the old familiar kinds; some brewmasters were certain that the new kinds were better than the old while others were sure they were poisonous. As from the beer brew or the wine vat there rise incessant bubbles, so from this human fermentation were given off a steam of ideas, a clamor of argument, uncountable millions of printed and spoken words. Men shouted at one another on street corners, they hired halls and denounced and raged, and thousands of other men and women came to applaud or to jeer according to their choice. In the daytime most of them had to work, but many argued even while they worked, and some managed to make arguing their work; “agitators” they were called, and they earned their living by making speeches or printing papers or organizing others to protest.

  There was a part of the great city known as Yorkville, lying east of Central Park, where the Germans were numerous; here the Nazis shouted and paraded and sold their papers. Farther south was a tenement district known as Little Italy, where the Fascists did the same. Just east of Union Square the Communists had their headquarters in an old factory building. The Socialists had a center in the Rand School near by, and farther, downtown the Jewish Socialists had a newspaper with more readers than there were Jews in all Palestine.

  Now all these groups had got their eyes fixed upon Spain; they followed the progress of the war with strained attention, and paralleled it with a propaganda war all over the city. When a great German steamer came in to its pier, bringing Nazi propaganda in various languages, or when it went out loaded with munitions to be transshipped to Portugal, the Reds came swarming to “demonstrate,” and the Nazis fell upon them with clubs and blackjacks. The police, many of whom were Irish and bitterly anti-Red, stood by and enjoyed the show. The mayor of the city, part Jewish and half Italian, had been a Socialist not so long ago, and the Red papers denounced him as a renegade, while delegations of the workers called upon him to demand that he enforce the law.

  Neither side in this struggle was content with words; both knew that it was time for action, and both opened what were in effect recruiting-offices for their side. It was against the law to enlist men for service in foreign armies, but there was nothing to prevent men from going if they wished, and there was no law against giving them information and advice or even funds to help them on their way. There was being organized in Madrid what was known as the International Brigade, a counterpart to Franco’s Foreign Legion. Young Germans, young Italians driven into exile had a chance to get at their home enemies on foreign soil, and they were coming by squads and platoons. All that New York press which is called radical was full of their doings, and Lanny would clip items and forward them to Rick; when he received a letter from Raoul, full of news, he made copies and sent them not merely to Rick and Trudi, but also, anonymously, to papers which might print them. Now and then he would attend a meeting, going in quietly and attracting no attention. As a criminal returns to the scene of his crime, he went back to the church where he had hired a sermon. When one of the church workers picked him out as a likely prospect and asked him if he would care to join, he replied: “I am a stranger in town,” and slipped away.

  II

  Toward the end of October Hansi and Bess returned to their home and Lanny spent several days with them. They were nearer in their ideas than previously; in a time of war differences seem less important than agreements. Lanny told the story of his adventures, and Bess inquired: “Do you suppose they would welcome us in Madrid?”

  “Good Lord!” he said. “They would give you the keys to the city.”

  “We wouldn’t take any money from them,” added Hansi.

  “They have plenty of money,” replied the other. “What they lack is planes and tanks.” He added: “I think I’ll take Alfy and his chum when they have finished their training. So we may meet there.”

  At this time General Franco’s armies had lifted the siege of Toledo and were about to start northward toward Madrid. Bess said: “We had better hurry, or we may be too late.” Her husband exclaimed: “Oh, God!”

  They were three thousand miles away from danger, but they shuddered at the thought of bombs being dropped upon the homes of civilized and enlightened people. They sat in front of a log fire in a comfortable old house, but their peace of mind was ruined by the vision of comrades from a score of nations lying out in windswept trenches of the Guadarramas. They had money in the bank, fame and friends, an art which they loved and cherished, but they dared not permit themselves to enjoy these blessings, because the civilization in which they had been reared was trembling on the brink of a terrifying abyss. What security could there be for any civilized person in any part of the world when bandits were permitted to seize the resources of nation after nation, to murder all the free-minded people and set all the wage-slaves to work producing mass destruction? Planes and bombs to wreck cities, submarines to torpedo steamships, monstrous tanks to roll over farmlands, crush human beings, and blast everything in their paths! You wanted to go out and ring an alarm bell—but who would heed it? This was a world of half-blind people who made a religion out of total blindness, and elected to power and responsibility only those who could see nothing, and would let nobody tell them what lay in front of their noses.

  III

  Lanny took a steamer to England, for he had picture business there, and Alfy had written that his training was near completion. Lanny wanted to see Rick and tell him the news, also try to help Nina over a period of anguish. When a man acquires friends he adds not merely to his joys but to his sorrows, and he must expect to take the bitter with the sweet; especially when he chooses his friends among those who are self-doomed to trouble.

  There really wasn’t the slightest necessity for an English lad, heir to a title and a fine old estate, sensitive and intelligent, in the midst of a promising university career, to drop all these blessings and go off to a foreign land and engage in the most hazardous and nerve-racking occupation known, the manipulation of a fighting-airplane in battle. But some Englishmen are like that. Wherever there is injustice being done in the world, you may look to find some Englishmen opposing it; even when the wrongs are being committed by their own government, they lift up their voices in protest, they win the verdict of history and save the good name of their country.

  Here was this tall and slender lad, not especially robust—but then one didn’t need physical force to handle a plane. He was all on fire with his cause; at last he was going to be able to do something, instead of merely sitting and complaining while the world went to the devil. He had had fourteen years in which to learn to hate the Fascists; it meant that he had begun very young—but they all did that in this household of advanced intellectuals. Alfy said nothing about his chances of coming back, nor did the other members of the family, but of course they knew that the chances would be slim. Nobody spoke any word that sounded like heroics. Alfy said: “England has got to fight them sooner or later, and some of us might as well start the ball rolling.”

  What he talked about was the technicalities of the new trade he was learning. He discussed problems of ballistics and of N.A.C.A. cowls; engine valves made of tungsten, hollow and filled with potassium nitrate and sodium nitrate to carry off the heat; wing-loading ratios—he was flying a “pursuit” with a ratio in the upper thirties, and it “came in at ninety,” meaning that its landing-speed was ninety miles an hour. He discussed octane ratios which were high and getting higher all the time. He asked Lanny about American military planes; the Boeing, which had put the others out, and then the Douglas, which seemed to have put the Boeing out, and now the Budd-Erling, which was putting them all out.

  Lanny told the sad story of his failure with Robbie; there was no need to spare anything, for the family had known Robbie since the days before Alfy was born, a
nd Rick had shared in the problem of handling him—not very successfully. Alfy told his friend not to worry; he was sure the Spanish government forces would have plenty of good planes. He was flying as many different types as he could get hold of, and also learning the mechanic’s job, for in wartime you never knew what emergencies might arise. Alfy’s idea was to get to Madrid, and if he succeeded, his commanding officer would be Major Ignacio de Cisneros, husband of Constancia de la Mora. Alfy wanted to know if she had said anything about her husband or the planes he flew. A pity that Lanny had sepnt so much time in the Prado, instead of going out to the aviation fields and seeing what they had. Lanny said: “They weren’t showing very much to strangers right then.”

  When the weekend was over, Lanny took Nina’s small car and drove the lad some fifty miles to the private aviation school in which he was getting his training. There was a flying-field with hangars, and a group of young fellows, among them the stocky and red-headed chap who was Alfy’s partner. They employed a brand-new language which had to be interpreted to any outsider, American or English. The “feel” of the place made Lanny recall that training-camp on Salisbury Plain to which Robbie had taken him and Rick in the summer of 1914, a few days before the outbreak of the great war. The planes were three times as fast as those old biplane “crates” made of wood and wire and canvas, but the spirit of the pilots was the same, and Lanny shivered when he thought how closely the world situation resembled that of the day when they had learned of the murder of an Austrian archduke and duchess. The statesmen of Britain were nearly all the “old gang,” and had learned from 1914 just enough to shake their nerves and make them ready to give way before every threat of war.