John Steinbeck - The Winter of Our Discontent

I knew that Tuesday, July fifth, was going to be a day larger than other days. I even think I knew what things would happen before they happened, but since they did I will never be sure whether I really knew.

I think I knew that the seventeen-jewel, shockproof Mr. Baker, who ticked the hours, would come rattling at my front door an hour before the bank opening time. He did before I had opened for business. I let him in and closed the doors after him.

“What an awful thing,” he said. “I was out of touch. I came back as soon as I heard.”

“Which awful thing, sir?”

“Why, the scandal! Those men are my friends, my old friends. I’ve got to do something.”

“They won’t even be questioned before election—just charged.”

“I know. Couldn’t we issue a statement of our belief in their innocence? Even a paid advertisement if necessary.”

“In what, sir? The Bay Harbor Messenger doesn’t come out until Thursday.”

“Well, something should be done.”

“I know.”

It was so formal. He must have known I knew. And yet he met my eyes and he seemed genuinely worried.

“The crazy fringe will ruin town elections unless we do something. We’ve got to offer new candidates. We don’t have any choice. It’s a terrible thing to do to old friends, but they’d be the first to know we can’t let the egghead fringe get in.”

“Why don’t you talk to them?”

“They’re bruised and mad. They haven’t had time to think it out. Did Marullo come?”

“He sent a friend. I bought the store for three thousand.”

“That’s good. You got a bargain. Get the papers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, if he jumps, the bills are listed.”

“He won’t jump. He wants to go. He’s tired.”

“I never trusted him. Never knew what he had his fingers in.”

“Was he a crook, sir?”

“He was tricky, played both sides of the street. He’s worth a lot if he can dispose of his property, but three thousand—that’s a giveaway.”

“He liked me.”

“He must have. Who did he send, the Mafia?”

“A government man. You see, Marullo trusted me.”

Mr. Baker clasped his brow, and that was out of character. “Why didn’t I think of it? You’re the man. Good family, reliable, property-owner, businessman, respected. You don’t have an enemy in town. Of course you’re the man.”

“The man?”

“For Town Manager.”

“I’ve only been a businessman since Saturday.”

“You know what I mean. Around you we could get respectable new faces. Why, it’s the perfect way.”

“From grocery clerk to Town Manager?”

“Nobody ever thought of a Hawley as a grocery clerk.”

“I did. Mary did.”

“But you aren’t. We can announce it today before that crazy fringe gets set.”

“I’ll have to consider it from keelson to skys’l.” [72] keelson to skys’l: The keel is the spine of the ship, providing structural support, and the keelson is a beam or timbers along the keel to add strength. A skysail is the topsail in a square rigger.

“There’s no time.”

“Who had you thought of before?”

“Before what?”

“Before the council burned. I’ll talk to you later. Saturday was a big day. I could have sold the scales.”

“You can make a nice thing of this store, Ethan. I advise you to build it up and sell it. You’re going to be too big to wait on customers. Is there any word at all about Danny?”

“Not yet. Not so far.”

“You shouldn’t have given him money.”

“Perhaps not. I thought I was doing a good deed.”

“Of course you did. Of course you did.”

“Mr. Baker, sir—what happened to the Belle-Adair? ”

“What happened? Why, she burned.”

“In the harbor—how did it start, sir?”

“Funny time to ask. I only know what I heard. I was too little even to remember. Those old ships got oil-soaked. I suppose some sailor dropped a match. Your grandfather was master. I think he was ashore. Just came in.”

“Bad voyage.”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Any trouble collecting the insurance?”

“Well, they always send investigators. No, as I remember, it took some time but we collected, Hawleys and Bakers.”

“My grandfather thought she was set afire.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“To get the money. The whaling industry was gone.”

“I never heard that he said that.”

“You never heard it?”

“Ethan—what are you getting at? Why are you bringing up something that happened so long ago?”

“It’s a horrible thing to burn a ship. It’s a murder. I’m going to bring up her keel someday.”

“Her keel?”

“I know just where she lies. Half a cable offshore.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’d like to see if the oak is sound. It was Shelter Island virgin oak. She’s not all dead if her keel’s alive. You’d better go, if you’re going to bless the opening of the safe. And I’ve got to open up.”

Then his balance wheel started and he ticked off to the bank.

I think now I had expected Biggers too. Poor fellow must spend most of his time watching doorways. And he must have been waiting somewhere in peeking range for Mr. Baker to leave.

“I hope you’re not going to jump down my throat.”

“Why should I?”

“I can understand why you were huffy. I guess I wasn’t very—diplomatic.”

“Maybe that was it.”

“Have you chewed on my proposition?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

“I think six per cent would be better.”

“I don’t know whether B.B. will go for it.”

“It’s up to them.”

“They might go five and a half.”

“And you might go the other half.”

“Jesus, man. I thought you were being a country boy. You cut deep.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Well, what kind of volume would it be?”

“There’s a partial list over by the cash register.”

He studied the strip of wrapping paper. “Looks like I’m hooked. And, brother, I’m bleeding. Can I get the full order today?”

“Tomorrow would be better and bigger.”

“You mean you’ll switch the whole account?”

“If you play nice.”

“Brother, you must have your boss by the throat. Can you get away with it?”

“Just have to see.”

“Well, maybe I could get a crack at the drummer’s friend. Brother, you must be cold as a herring. I tell you that dame’s a dish.”

“Friend of my wife.”

“Oh! Yeah! I see how it could be. Too close to home is bad news. You’re smart. If I didn’t know it before, I know it now. Six per cent. Jesus! Tomorrow in the morning.”

“Maybe late this afternoon if I get time.”

“Make it tomorrow morning.”

On Saturday business came in bursts. This Tuesday the whole tempo had changed. People took time. They wanted to talk about the scandal, saying it was bad, awful, sad, disgraceful, but enjoying it too. We haven’t had a scandal for a long time. Nobody mentioned the Democratic National Convention coming up in Los Angeles—not even once. Of course New Baytown is a Republican town, but I think mostly they were interested in what was close to home. We knew the men whose graves we danced on.

Chief Stonewall Jackson came in during the noon hour and he looked tired and sad.

I put the can of oil on the counter and fished out the old pistol with a piece of wire.

“Here’s the evidence, Chief. Take it away, will you? It makes me nervous.”

“Well, wipe it off, will you? Look at that! That’s what they used to call a two-dollar pistol—top-latch Iver Johnson. You got anybody that can mind the store?”