Algis Budrys - Some Will Not Die

“In the first place…” he began, forcing the words out against the barrier of Bob’s obvious patient waiting until he left an opening to be attacked through, “Ted’s brains are what gives him the right to sit in on meetings. He belongs there a hell of a lot more than I do, let me tell you! In the second place, Ted did not butcher his way through the West Side—he helped to take care of one small part of it. And I know damn well he didn’t enjoy himself, because I was with him—which you weren’t, sonny. And if he gets an idea that’s going to make life safer for all of us, we’re damn well going to follow it. Dad’s getting old and we might as well face it. He listens to Ted, and so does Jack Holland. Personally, if Ted wants to push north—”

He stopped and stared helplessly at Bob, whose eyes had widened and who was half-laughing at him for giving himself away.

“All right, so he does intend to lead a force toward Boston. So what? His reasons are damn good ones!” Jim blurted, trying to bolster his position.

“I’ll bet they are,” Bob said, and turned away as though he had won the argument conclusively, leaving Jim standing there fighting off the unfounded conviction that he really had.

“James Garvin, I’ll thank you to stop cursing at your brother,” his mother said angrily from the doorway.

“I was not…” Jim began, and then blew the breath out of his throat and shrugged hopelessly. “All right, Mom,” he said, and went past her into the apartment with an apologetic look that was strongly tinged with frustration. He hung up his rifle and went to his room, where he sat down on the bed and stared angrily at the wall until dinner time.

Ted and Mary were eating with them that night, and through the first part of the meal, Jim sat uncomfortably between his father and Bob, hoping the present silence would continue but knowing that this was extremely unlikely with Bob in the mood he was. Ted was eating quietly, and Mary, sitting beside him, was her usual controlled self.

Jim bit off a piece of cornbread viciously, drawing an amused side-glance from Bob, who, as usual, missed nothing going on around him and who was probably enjoying the situation considerably.

Finally his father pushed his plate awkwardly away and looked up. “Jim, I suppose you’ve told your mother and Bob about what we decided at the meeting today?”

Jim grimaced. “I didn’t get a chance to tell Mom. Bob’s got it all figured out for himself, of course.”

His father shot him a quick, surprised, yet understanding look which was gone immediately as he turned to look inquiringly at Bob. Jim noticed that Ted was still eating with even, wasteless motions, finishing the last of his supper, and not looking up.

“Well, what do you think, Bob?” Matt asked.

Bob raised an eyebrow and twitched his eyes to Ted before he looked back at his father. “Are you sure it’s all right for me to think while Big Chief’s here to do it for me?”

Oh, no! Jim thought, wishing a thunderclap would come to erase the entire scene. Even his mother looked at Bob with complete astonishment. Jim didn’t dare look at his father.

Ted looked up without seeming to be surprised at all. “Sounds like that’s been building up a long time, Bob,” he said quietly. “Want to tell me about it?”

Jim sighed as quietly as he could, feeling the shocked tension drain out of his father’s body beside him. His mother, too, relaxed, and Mary, who had put down her fork and looked evenly at Bob, started eating again.

He took over, Jim thought. Ted had absorbed the force of Bob’s explosion and removed its impact from them all, and now it was his responsibility, and his alone. And while Matt Garvin held his eyes riveted on his younger son, and no matter what he might feel, he did not speak.

Bob held his eyes level with Ted’s, but Jim could see it was an effort. Finally, he said, “Yes, it has.” His voice was low, but taut and desperate, and for one brief moment Jim caught a flash of what he must be feeling. He had thrown a stone into a pond, made an unexpectedly insignificant splash, and was now somehow in over his head. Jim wanted to smile grimly, but realized that this was no time for it.

“Yes, it has,” Bob repeated, his voice rising. “I’ve been sitting here watching you take over in all directions, and I think it stinks!” His breathing was harsh, his face scarlet. He had put himself in an impossible position, and there was no direction in which to go but forward.

Ted nodded slowly. “I think you’re right.”

And, once again, Bob was helpless.

“I think you’re right because I don’t think anybody should be in my position,” Ted continued, still without changing the quiet level of his voice. “Unfortunately, I seem to have grown into it.”

“With a lot of force-feeding!” Bob shot back, recovering.

Ted shrugged, letting an uncharacteristic sigh seep out between his closed lips. “That’s the nature of the times, Bob. If you’re implying that I’m exercising some sort of pressure, I’d like to ask you where you think I got the authority to back it with. Rather than accept that premise, I’d say that the times are such that they produce the pressure which forces one man to make more decisions than another man. There’s a certain step-by-step logic, inherent in human nature and the peculiarities of human psychology, which ensures that Man will always organize into the largest possible group. Civilization is inevitable, if you want a pat phrase. It so happens that, at this stage, we are in transition from a city-state to a national culture. Such a move always requires that the separate elements be welded into one by force. I’d like to remind you that Greece was nothing but a collection of enlightened but small, ineffectual, and squabbling city-states until the advent of Philip of Macedon.”

Bob saw his opening. His mouth curved into its characteristic thin crook of a smile, and his voice gathered confidence again.

“Heil Berendtsen!”

Ted nodded. “If you want it that way, yes. Though I’d prefer—if that’s the word—an analogy to Caesar. And if you think I enjoy the thought—” His voice hardened for the first time, and Jim paled as he saw something of the restless beast that prowled Ted’s mind of nights, “—then, Bob, I’d suggest that you read your Gibbon more thoroughly.”

“Very pretty,” Bob answered. “Very pretty. Destiny has chosen a son, and all the stars point to Berendtsen! Thank you, I’ll stick to Hitler.”

“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Ted said, and finished his peas.

“Why, you egocentric—”

“Robert, you’ll go to your room and stay there!” his mother exclaimed, half-rising, her cheeks flushed. “Ted, I’m very sorry about all this. I don’t know what to say.”

Ted looked up. “I wasn’t simply being polite when I said he was right, you know.”

Margaret Garvin looked as bewildered as Bob had. “Well. Well,” she fumbled, “I don’t know…”

“Suppose we just finish supper,” Matt said, and for a moment Jim hoped he would be obeyed. But Bob pushed his chair farther back and stood up.

“I don’t think I particularly care to eat here right now,” he delivered, and strode out of the apartment.

“Forgot his carbine,” Jim commented, glad of the opportunity to say something at last.

Ted looked at him, his lips twitching into a thin smile. “Wouldn’t go too well with his attitude right now, would it?”

“Guess not,” Jim admitted. He dropped his eyes to his plate, realizing that he had learned something about Ted Berendtsen today, but was still unable to see what it was that let him project the force of his calm authority as though it were a physical strength.