Irving Wallace - The Man

Dilman frowned, and looked at Spinger. “Reverend, is there anywhere I can see you alone for five minutes?”

“We can go to my study in the rear,” said Spinger.

Permitting Spinger to lead him out of the living room, Dilman could hear Rose offering to heat Beggs a pot of coffee, and Beggs accepting with thanks on the condition that he could drink it standing at his post.

Dilman trudged after his friend, until they came to Wanda’s bedroom.

“She’s waiting,” Spinger whispered.

Dilman nodded. “Paul, you’d better not go back. I told him we’re having a conference. Can you keep yourself out of sight for a little while? It won’t be long.”

“I’ll go to our own bedroom.”

Dilman lingered until Spinger had gone, then he started to knock, but suddenly restrained himself. He did not want Wanda to call out. Instead he turned the knob several times, rattling it, and went inside.

She was at the window pulling down a shade, her back to him, when she heard his entrance. She came around slowly, smiling, and Dilman’s heart quickened at the sight of her. Although he had telephoned her every evening from downstairs in the past week, he had not seen her for what seemed an eternity.

He stood motionless on the far side of the tastefully decorated bedroom, enjoying the sight of her. He was positive that no woman on earth at thirty-six was at once so youthful and so serenely mature. Her brunette hair was swept back from her refined cameo face, each diminutive feature crinkled upward in genuine pleasure. Her softly draped chartreuse blouse clung to her small bosom, and her slim, forest-green skirt accented her shapely legs. She appeared taller than her five feet three inches, and she looked definitely mulatto rather than white. Dilman would not allow himself to believe that he was shading her in his mind’s eye to make her duskier, because he wanted her that way, and wanted what he planned to be possible.

Wanda Gibson spoke first. “Doug, I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to-to see you.”

He crossed to her, embracing her more spontaneously and closely than he had in months. He enjoyed her soft hands behind his neck, and he kissed her cheek, and then her lips. “Wanda, I can’t tell you how much-how difficult it has been without you.”

She disengaged herself. “We’re together right now. That’s all that matters.” She took his hand and led him to the love seat before the portable television set. “How were you able to get away, Doug?”

They both sat down, and he said, “I wasn’t able to, but I did. The Secret Service, the advisers, the press, they keep you on a leash like an unruly pet. I sneaked away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it twice.”

Her brown eyes had been studying every movement of his face, he knew. “Doug, you’re not sleeping,” she said. “I can tell.”

“I’m not eating, or living, or thinking, either. From early morning till night you’re on a roller coaster, it feels, going, going, and when you try to sleep, you’re still going, like there’s no place to get off. Why did this have to happen to me? I’m the wrong man for it, Wanda. I’m not geared to it. I try not to let anyone know, but I’m scared and confused.”

“Doug, you are as well prepared for the position as any man on earth. We’ve been through all that.”

“In the House, in the Senate, it was different,” he said. “What you did was part of shared responsibility. Your ayes and nays were in chorus, not solo. But as Harry Truman once said of the Presidential desk-the buck stops here. No one to pass it to, Wanda. End of the line. Certainly, I understand what is going on. None of the legislation has any mysteries. It’s the final responsibility that’s getting me down. You turn around, to hand some document to someone else for the final decision, and you know what? There is no one there. Yours is the final decision. That’s what is so damn oppressing.”

“I don’t think that is your worry at all, Doug.”

He was taken aback. “No? What do you think is my worry?”

Wanda bent toward him, took a cigar from his coat pocket, and began to unpeel the cellophane. “Your color,” she said simply. She handed him the cigar. “Here. You need it. Besides, I like the fragrance. It’s more you, and like old times.”

He bit off the cigar end, and she lighted it. He viewed her through the first cloud of smoke. “My color,” he repeated dully.

“That’s always the worry with you,” said Wanda. “If you were white, you might be shocked and a bit overwhelmed by the job, but you’d fall into it, manage it. Now what you’ve always been trying to-oh, not to have it noticed by anyone-hide-has been exposed to every person in the country, in the whole world, and that’s what is scaring you. That’s it, Doug, and don’t deny it. You are afraid you can’t make ordinary mistakes like other ordinary human beings. You are afraid of making Negro mistakes in front of your white peers.”

Her bluntness startled him. He was immediately defensive. “Well, there’s some truth in what you say, but I think you’re exaggerating it, Wanda.”

“I’m understating it, Doug. I know your strengths, and you know them, too, and we don’t have to go into that. You can’t hide your blackness any longer, not by putting your head in the sand, not by losing yourself in the crowd, not by being a yes-man so no one will remember you have a voice. I won’t discuss this part of you in relation to your family, or to me, or to your work in Congress. It’s not the time for that, and I have no right to bring it up when you are so engulfed by other demands. But, Doug, there you are, there you are in the White House, and nothing can change it. The whole wide world knows the color of your skin, and like it or not, they’ve got to accept it, and, more important, so have you. Once you accept that in your mind, you can begin to act as a human being. Then I think you won’t be so troubled.”

Momentarily he was annoyed with her, because she was speaking the truth, and he did not want the truth, least of all from her. “Act like a human being?” he said. “Do you think anyone’ll let me? Don’t you read the papers, any more, or listen to the radio?”

“Doug, I know what’s going on, exactly. Our people are singing Moses, they’ve got Moses, and that’s an unfair pressure for you. And the bitterest whites are hating more than ever, and persecuting us more than ever to get their hate out of their systems, because they can’t get at you. And the in-betweens-I listen, I overhear them-they don’t know what to think. They feel threatened and uneasy because your presence makes them feel like members of a minority for the first time. They don’t believe you’ll rule as a white, like T. C., but as a black man, and they’re worried you’ll make their precious pure-white Christian land into a Dark Continent. They should know how little they have to fear from you.”

Dilman winced at the last. He fought to keep his dignity and manhood in her eyes. “Wanda, believe it or not, I only want to do my job now, do it, get it over with, and go back to where I came from. Yet it seems no one will let me. The Negroes want this and that because I’m Negro. The whites want this and that because I’m not white. T. C.’s gang wants me to be T. C., when I’m not him at all. You want me to be-to be something else. God, even my own son-”

He broke off, lost in misery, and she waited, and then she said, “You saw Julian?”

“He came to the office today. I had to talk to him about his grades and about doing better in school, something more important than ever now. So I had to listen to that Negro-versus-white-school business all over again. I know, Wanda, I know what you’ve said, but there it is, and he has to do well. I told him he was spending too much time with the Crispus Society, and he owed more time to himself and his future. Well, I thought we had it settled, and then suddenly he had to see me again, in the middle of the afternoon, so important it couldn’t wait. So I saw him. You’ve never heard anyone so unreasonable and agitated. Now it wasn’t the Crispus Society he was defending, but those damn Turnerite hoodlums. Sure they got the raw end of the stick down in Mississippi, and there’ll be more of that. But it’s not a Federal matter.”