Rafael Yglesias - The Work Is Innocent

“Yeah,” Leo said. “And also so that it’s clear that the United States is responsible.”

Aaron looked at Leo, his face slightly puzzled. “You mean because of the embargo?” Leo said yes, and Aaron continued. “Well, you know it’s hopeless to try to prevent people from misunderstanding and believing that this is a betrayal of Cuba. From both sides. Fidel will be outraged. I expect to be attacked by leftists. Certainly nothing will prevent reactionaries from being delighted that Sartre and the intellectual world are attacking Fidel.”

“But, Aaron, don’t you think you should make it clear that, at least, you are not doing that?” Louise pleaded.

“Frankly,” Leo said, “I doubt the sincerity of the other people.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron didn’t conceal his knowledge of what Leo meant by this statement, he merely used the words to invest his anger. “Are you talking about Sartre and the others who signed the petition?”

Richard wished that Leo would take the hint and back off, but Leo said that he did. “Are you crazy?” Aaron asked, searching the room with his eyes for support. “You can’t mean that. You’re talking about people who have been active in the left for longer than you’ve lived. Some of them”—and Aaron rattled off a series of Spanish names whose rhythm alone meant powerful Communism to Richard—“are responsible for the Revolution itself.”

Leo made a face and twisted in his chair. “Not most of them,” he said. “Not the ones who will attract American interest. All anybody is going to get out of it is that Sartre has rejected Fidel.”

“Leo!” Aaron snapped the word out as if it were a command. “Don’t fall into that old Communist Party bullshit.”

“It doesn’t matter what people will think,” Richard said. They looked at him as if surprised by his existence. He felt foolish suddenly. “I mean, nothing is going to convince people who are already reactionary that Fidel jailing poets is a noble act. It’s better to address reasonable people reasonably, right?”

Leo smiled with regret at having to restrain his sarcasm. “The point about being revolutionary, Richard,” he said gently, “is that you try to convince people of the correctness of one’s opinions.”

“Yeah. But not by lying.” Richard lost his timidity while Leo spoke. He smiled at Leo with unrestrained malice.

“Come on, man,” Leo said, disgusted. Louise reproved him, also, saying, “You know, Richard, that Leo wouldn’t suggest Aaron lie.”

“The point,” Aaron said, and waited for their attention, “is that I can’t temper my judgments in anticipation of how they may be interpreted. That leads to bad writing. I shall say what I think and if that’s misused, it’s unfortunate but unavoidable.”

Richard, of course, remembered and thought over only this aspect of his father’s problem. It was obvious to him that his family had always stood for writing the truth in clear, fearless prose, and Richard was surprised that Leo and Louise even attempted to get around that maxim. From every discussion of political tactics that Richard remembered the family having, the point was made over and over: the Rosenbergs should never have attempted to conceal that they were members of the Communist Party; indeed, no one during the McCarthy period should have adopted that defensive posture, no matter how terrifying and hysterical the country’s anti-Communism was. Only the Soviet Union inspired people to conceal their true ideology behind metaphors of patriotism, because they were ashamed of the mockery they had made of socialism. Richard remembered Leo arrogantly saying that movements must not blindly support other nations, that revolutionary movements depend on their own people and resources for truth and success. It was impossible for Richard to reconcile that with Leo saying Aaron shouldn’t publicly criticize Fidel for wrong acts.

He walked home with Joan, pleased that his brother had stumbled and crossed into the reactionary camp. “Well,” he said, with little explosions of nasty laughter, “my brother, the madcap student revolutionary, who used to ridicule the Old Left for its behaving like an old maid defending her virtue, has become a Stalinist at twenty-five. I should have thought he’d have lasted until his forties at least.”

Joan didn’t respond and Richard, guilty that he was enjoying this imagined score over his brother, was bothered by her silence. When they were home he said, his voice bluffing confidence, “Weren’t you amazed by Leo’s behavior?”

“No.” She glanced at him and then walked about nervously, straightening the room.

Richard said, “I take it that you agreed with him or something.”

“Richard,” she said with sudden urgency. “You’re feeling a little crazy about this, aren’t you?”

“Huh?” He was shocked. She looked meekly and hopefully at him and he sensed that it was important to say no more on the subject.

Joan told him that night that she felt it was bad for her to live off his money and that she was going to get a part-time job. He enjoyed a brief pretense of being manly and protective but was even more thrilled by her long speech that having her own money was healthier for their relationship. After it was settled, he said, “Well, we’re straight out of a New York Times article or something.”

“What?”

“You know. Front page of the second section. YOUNG COUPLES FOUND TO REJECT OLD WAYS.”

“We’re not doing anything special.”

“I know. I wasn’t being egotistical. That’s what I meant. We’re right in the cultural flow.”

“Don’t say that. That’s depressing.”

“But it’s true. You go off to women’s meetings while I wash the dishes.” What pleased him was the idea that he had secured love so early. He lay awake beside her telling himself he needn’t accomplish anything else. The world would shortly reward him for the smarts it took to survive feminism and the gross commercialism of publishing. I live with honor, he thought, conscious only of the words’ romantic glow.

Joan left the house early to look for work and Richard found himself playing over the political discussion of last night. He was filled with confident, contemptuous judgments of the political people he had met, all of whom he thought of as being summed up in his brother’s person. He admitted to himself that he was disappointed in them for no other reason than the surprise of learning that they were not only no smarter than he, but just as self-indulgent and bourgeois. He felt nasty thinking it, but he refused to shut up the undisciplined, irrational criticism: kids don’t make revolutions.

After the first rush of feeling superior to political people, Richard began to feel nauseous and bored. He was aware only dimly that these intense shifts of feeling about politics were due to the complications of making judgments based on his emotional ties to his family. When he noticed that his belief of the inadequacy of young movement people was accompanied by contempt and that when he had believed in his brother he then felt guilt and self-righteousness, he thought suddenly, I’m mimicking my father and brother. And was so appalled that he instantly decided this was examining himself too closely and could only lead to total passivity. He had to take his own judgments on faith. If they were due to others originally, that couldn’t change them now.

His father’s article appeared without Richard thinking anything more about it. He thought of it as a purely family matter and, when he and Joan were invited to dinner at Mark’s apartment, Richard was unprepared for the question that a young woman asked him immediately after they were introduced. “Why doesn’t Leo confront your father about his article?” she said aggressively, but with a charming, self-satisfied smile.