Joseph Kanon - Stardust

What Ben noticed most was the noise. The galleries buzzed with talk. In the side rooms, telephones rang almost constantly and aides ran back and forth with messages. When Minot came out to take his place at the table the hum rose even higher, the room busy, anticipating. Ben thought of a Coliseum scene in the old silents, everyone in jerky motion, waiting for the lions.

The first bang of the gavel was startling, followed by a murmur, a second bang, quiet. Minot, his face flushed with confidence, gave the opening speech-a great industry undermined from within, the values and moral fabric of the culture itself at risk, the unwitting comfort extended to traitors in our midst-and then, just a few seconds before the audience could get restive, called Dick Marshall.

“I thought he was going to start with Stein,” Bunny whispered, half to himself.

A logical choice, the strike still daily news, and Stein’s sympathies so well known he would have been an easy first shot, but for once Bunny’s instincts were off, not the point Minot wanted to score. As Marshall approached the table, there was an audible rustling of interest. A movie star, someone, Ben suddenly remembered, who’d once actually played a gladiator.

It was clear from the first moment, Minot’s head nodding with respect, that Marshall had come as a friendly witness, there to add a glow and demonstrate that he was as American as everyone assumed him to be. There were soft questions and patriotic answers, more nods from the committee, Dick’s very presence, his concern, somehow affirming their own. Bunny watched carefully, head on his pyramid fingers. Marshall was Continental’s most valuable name, a marquee favor to Minot. But why call him? Ben looked at his tanned, smooth face. An arm dangling from a chaise. Minot, he saw, was ignoring the Continental row. There were complicit glances at the rest of the audience, direct appeals to the cameras, but he never met Bunny’s eyes, acknowledged the gift. Marshall was his.

“Now you yourself didn’t serve in the military?” Minot said.

“No, I was 4-F. Perforated eardrum.”

Bunny sat up but didn’t say anything, maybe a question not in the script.

“But of course you served your country in other ways.”

“I did what I could, yes. During the bond drive, we raised-”

“Well, I meant more just by doing what you do. Your pictures. I can tell you, when I was in the Pacific, there were times the boys thought you were winning the war single-handed.”

Everyone laughed and Marshall tilted his head modestly.

“I had a little help. About four million guys, in fact. They’re the ones who won it.”

“Christ,” Ben said under his breath.

“Don’t snipe,” Bunny said.

“But I think we can all agree,” Minot said, “morale’s important, too. As someone who did see active service, I can tell you those pictures meant a lot to us. Now I wonder if I can ask you about one of them. In 1943, you were in Convoy to Murmansk. You remember that?”

“Sure. I was in the Navy in that one.”

“Escorting a convoy of freighters, wasn’t it?”

Dick nodded. “Dodging U-boats.”

“Dodging U-boats. Now of course they were all over the Atlantic. And the book the movie was based on-were you aware of this? — was English, about convoys heading for England. Convoy it was called.”

“That was the original title of the picture, too. The first script, I mean.”

“Oh, the original. And were you going to England in the script?”

“Yes.”

“Then all the sudden, Murmansk. Now why is that, do you think?”

“I don’t know. That would have been up to the writer. The director. I just say the lines.”

“The director, the writer-same fella on this picture, is that right? On Convoy to — Murmansk,” Minot said, emphasizing the last word.

“Right. Milton Schaeffer.”

“You ever ask him why he changed it?”

“Just in a kidding way. Made things harder to pronounce, the places.”

“In a kidding way. And what did he say?”

“Well, at the time we were trying to show how all the Allies were in it together. He said this was a way of bringing Russia in.”

“Including a new Russian character.” He looked down at his notes. “Andrei Malinkov. Soviet Naval attache. Dick Marshall couldn’t get through the Baltic himself, is that it?”

Dick smiled. “The idea was, we were working together. He knew the mine fields.”

“Americans and Russians side by side. Just like they were any folks. Let me read you something.” He picked up a paper. “‘We’re not just carrying food. Equipment. We’re carrying hope. They’re taking a terrible beating. We have to help. How can we eat if they’re going hungry?’ Recognize that?”

“I said it. In the picture.”

“It’s in the book, too. Of course then you’re saying it about London. Now it’s-what? Leningrad? You think it’s the same thing? London, Leningrad? Is that what Mr. Schaeffer said?”

Dick gave a side glance to his lawyer, who nodded, a cue.

“He said the suffering there was even worse, in Russia, but nobody was doing pictures about it. This would help draw attention. That we needed to help the Russians.”

“Help the Russians,” Minot repeated. “Well, that we certainly did. The ships in Convoy — excuse me, Convoy to Murmansk — were carrying Lend-Lease. Millions and millions to help those people Mr. Schaeffer said were suffering so much. Know how much of it they’ve paid back? Not one cent. Not one kopek.” He looked up. “Did you ever suspect at the time that Mr. Schaeffer might be a Communist?”

“No, sir,” Marshall said, appalled.

“No, you don’t find that word in the script, not once. Just those friendly Russians. But they must have been, mustn’t they? Why not call them Communists?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe you’d have found that harder to say. Maybe everybody would have found it harder to watch. Better not to tell people what the picture is really about. That’s how they work. How would you feel now about Convoy? Knowing what you know today?”

Another glance to his lawyer, Bunny still, staring ahead.

“I guess I’d ask to be taken off the picture. If, like you say, it wasn’t good for America. All my pictures, I’ve always thought they were a hundred percent American.”

“Mr. Marshall, no one here is questioning your loyalty. We’re just concerned that some people might use it for their own ends. Maybe you need to be a little more careful in the future. Not just say the words. Think a little bit about what’s behind them.” A school principal to a truant.

“Yes, sir.”

Dick lowered his head slightly. Ben thought of him climbing into the fighter cockpit, eager to take on Japan, and saw that the nod had been the real point of the testimony, a kind of salute to the new commander at the long table.

“Anyone else on the committee have a question? If not, I think we can take a short break. You’ll be available to us later, if we need you?” he said to Dick.

“Congressman, I’m here to help. I believe in fighting for Americaand not just in the pictures.”

Ben glanced across at the press section. Everyone was scribbling but Ostermann, his eyes fixed on Minot.

“That was fine,” Bunny said to Marshall. His lawyers were gathering up papers from the witness table.

“Nice to say that about my pictures. Seeing them over there.”

“What he said was that he was in the Pacific and you weren’t. That’s all anybody heard.”

“Still.”

“Never mind, you were fine. The fight line was good. They’re all going to use it.”

“I meant it.”

“That’s what makes it so convincing,” Bunny said, not missing a beat. “I didn’t know where he was going with the 4-F, but it was fine.”