Pat Frank - Mr. Adam

When I awoke Marge was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me. She leaned over and kissed me and said, “I’ll say I’m sorry if you’ll say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s a dream of a morning,” she said. “It’s spring. Birds and everything.” Some robins were trying out their voices, and the sun was beating in through the open window, and the breeze from the park smelled of growing things.

It was ten o’clock. We put on our robes and went into the living room and picked up the morning papers. “I’m running up a little breakfast,” Jane called from the kitchenette. “How do you want your eggs?”

“Poached, honey,” I yelled back. “Marge too. Where’s Homer?”

“Oh, he went out for a walk in the park,” Jane said.

“He did? How long ago?”

“He went out at nine. Said he’d be back for breakfast. Isn’t it a glorious morning?”

“Perfect. How did he look?”

“I’ve never seen him look better. He absolutely sparkled. He looked like a schoolboy going out to buy candy for his first date.”

“That’s fine,” I said. Marge looked at me, her head cocked on one side. “Yes, isn’t it,” she agreed.

“The eggs will be ready in two minutes,” Jane yelled.

I picked up the Post and glanced from headline to headline. No matter how much I concentrated, I couldn’t retain a word or a phrase. “Hadn’t you better go out and find Homer?” Marge suggested sweetly.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. “He might be on any path in Rock Creek Park, and we’d just miss each other. Anyway, he’ll be right back.”

“Do you think so, dear?”

“What’s wrong with Homer taking a walk in the park? He’s often taken a walk in the park.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, dear, so long as he comes back.”

Jane brought a plate and put it on my lap. Two eggs, nestling on buttered toast, stared at me like accusing yellow eyes. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry. I put the plate aside. “Don’t you think you had better go out and find him now, dear?” Marge suggested again. I didn’t like the way she said “dear.” It was like a knife blade sliding across my throat. I didn’t like anything about this morning. I felt that the sun, the birds, the grass and the buds were all laughing at me. I noticed that Jane was watching me, and that little beads of perspiration were standing out on her face, and that her fingers were tightly intertwined.

I got up and said, “Yes, I think I’d better go out and find him.” I dressed in a hurry. It didn’t seem necessary to put on a tie.

Out in front of the hotel I looked carefully up and down the street. Wouldn’t it be smarter, I thought, just to wait here for him? There were a dozen roads and pathways that led into Rock Creek Park, in the space of a few blocks, and he might be on any one of them. I tried waiting. I waited for five minutes. Any second, now, he will turn up. Any second I will see that red head bobbing along. I started walking toward Connecticut Avenue, changed my mind, and went in the other direction. Back of the hotel a road curved through the park, and I found myself hurrying down this road. I walked perhaps a half-mile before I stopped. This is stupid, I told myself. This is utterly stupid. He’s probably back at the hotel right now, and Jane and Marge are laughing at me.

I walked back to the hotel. “Did you see Mr. Adam come in?” I asked the doorman.

“No, Mr. Smith. I saw him go out, earlier, but I haven’t seen him come in.”

“What did he do when he went out?”

“I don’t think I noticed. He just walked away.”

“Did he meet anybody?”

“Let me see. No, he didn’t meet anybody. He just walked away. Of course, Mr. Smith, he might have come back through one of the other entrances. Maybe he came in through the terrace, and the swimming pool. If he went walking in the park, that’s the quickest way back, you know.”

“Oh, certainly,” I said. “Thanks.” Naturally, if he went walking in the park, he’d return through the back. He’d probably come back while I waited outside. If he came through the back, the desk clerk would probably have seen him.

I went over to the desk and asked the clerk if he had seen Mr. Adam this morning.

“Why yes, Mr. Smith,” he said. “I saw him about nine. He left an envelope for you. He said you’d be down later to pick it up.” He reached into a letter box and brought out an envelope and handed it to me just as if it were an ordinary envelope.

“Thanks,” I said. I suppose I smiled. People always smile when the desk clerk hands them an envelope, even when it’s an eviction notice, or an advertisement, or a bill. I put it in my pocket, and my legs carried me to the elevator. I said, “Five, please,” as if nothing had happened.

The operator said, “Aren’t you feeling well, Mr. Smith?”

“Oh, not so good,” I said. “Not so bad but not so good.”

I found myself standing in front of the door to 5-F. I thought, maybe it’s only a note saying he’ll be a little late, and I’m making a fool of myself. I thought, maybe I’d better open it here before I go in. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at it. It was a hotel envelope and on the face of it was scrawled, Steve Smith. That didn’t tell me anything. I thought, if he’s running away, the quicker I find out about it the better. I started to open it and then put it back in my pocket. You’re yellow, I told myself. I took it out of my pocket again. I opened the door and walked into 5-F.

“Well?” Marge asked.

“He didn’t come back?” I said. She didn’t answer. “He left a—there was a letter or something down at the desk.” I tried to open it, but I didn’t seem to be making any progress.

“Let me have it!” Marge demanded. She took the envelope from me, and slid a sharp thumbnail under the flap and it popped open with no trouble at all. Inside was a single sheet of paper, with writing on both sides. She spread it out on the table, and I read it over her shoulder. Homer had written:

Dear Steve,

Please consider this my resignation from N.R.P. Under the Constitution and by other laws I have got as much right to resign as anyone else, and I resign, as of now.

I hate to do it, because I know it will get you into trouble. You have been a good friend, and believe me if it gets you into trouble I am sorry, but I am sure you can get out of it.

I might as well tell you, because you will find out soon enough. I am going away with Kathy. We are going away and we are not coming back. I tried my best to do my duty, and I wouldn’t have minded so much if Senator Knott hadn’t been picked as Mother Number One. That was too much. And as Kathy pointed out to me, the first A.I. child might very well inherit all the bad traits of both Senator Knott and me, and I don’t feel that we have the right to impose any such thing upon the world.

I am inclined to agree with Mr. Pogey that the world is, and by rights ought to be, extinct. And so long as it is going to be extinct, why prolong the agony?

I am sorry to leave Mary Ellen and little Eleanor, but there is money enough to care for them. I think Mary Ellen will understand that my only chance for happiness is to resign and go away with Kathy. She is the only one who has the courage to help me. So, goodbye, Steve.

P.S. Give my love to Marge, and tell Jane goodbye for me.

I picked up the telephone. “Who are you going to call?” Marge asked.

“I have had it!” I told her. I think I spoke without undue passion, and with determination. “I have had it, and I am going to call the airport, and we will get on a plane to New York right away. We’ll retire to Smith Field and pretend none of it happened.”