Arthur Hailey - Overload

“There were a couple of times on that TV show when you looked angry, ready to blow," she said.

"But I didn't. I remembered the stupid rules." It wasn't necessary to explain the management committee's "moderate line" decision. He had told Ruth about it the same day it happened and she was sympathetic.

"Birdsong was baiting you, wasn't be?"

“The son-of-a-bitch tried." Nim scowled, remembering. "It didn't work."

Davey Birdsong, who headed an activist consumer group called 11power & light for people," had been on the TV talk show too. Birdsong had made caustic comments about Golden State Power & Light, ascribing the basest motives to everything the company did. He had implied that Nim's personal objectives were no better. He also attacked GSP & L's latest application for an increase in rates, on which a decision was due soon. Despite all these provocations, Nim had kept his cool, reluctantly staying within the guidelines he had been given.

"This morning's Chronicle says Birdsong's group, as well as the Sequoia Club, will oppose the plan to develop Tunipah."

"Let me see."

She passed the paper. "It's on page seven."

That was something else about Ruth. Somehow she managed to stay a jump ahead of most others in keeping herself informed. It was characteristic that, as well as preparing breakfast, she had already been through the Chronicle-West. Nim riffled pages and found the item. It was brief and told him no more than Ruth had done already. But it gave him the idea for a course of action which made him impatient to be at his desk. He gulped the rest of his coffee and stood up.

"Will you be home for dinner tonight?"

"I'll try to be." As Ruth smiled gently, he remembered how many times he had said the same thing, then for some reason failed to show. Irrationally, as he had in his car the evening be had gone to Ardythe's, he wished that once in a while Ruth would be less patient. He asked her, "Why don't you blow up occasionally? Get mad?"

"Would it make any difference?"

He shrugged, not knowing what to make of her response, nor how to answer.

"Oh, there is one thing. Mother phoned yesterday. She and Dad would like us to go over for dinner a week from Friday and take Leah and Benjy."

Inwardly Nim groaned. Going to the home of the Neubergers, Ruth's parents, was like entering a synagogue; they proclaimed their Jewishness in myriad ways. The food was always announced pointedly as kosher; there were reminders that the Neubergers kept two separate sets of utensils and crockery, one each for flesh and dairy food. There would be a prayer over bread and wine before dinner as well as a ceremony over washing hands. After dinner would be solemn prayers which the Neubergers, in Eastern European tradition, referred to as "benching." If there were meat at table, Leah and Benjy would not be permitted to drink milk, as they liked to do at home. Then there would be the not-so-subtle pressures, the wondering aloud why Nim and Ruth failed to observe the Sabbath and holy days; glowing descriptions of bar mitzvahs the Neubergers had attended, along with the implication that, of course, Benjy would attend a Hebrew school so his bar mitzvah would take place when he reached thirteen. And later at home, because the children were the ages they were, and curious, there would be questions for Nim to answer, questions he wasn't ready for because of the ambivalence within himself.

Ruth invariably kept quiet at such times, though he wondered occasionally if her silence wasn't really an alliance with her parents against him. Fifteen years ago, when Ruth and Nim were married, Ruth made clear she didn't care one way or the other about Jewish observances; it was an obvious reaction to the Orthodox strictness of her home. But had she changed? Was Ruth, beneath the surface, a traditional Jewish mother, wanting for Leah and Benjy all the trappings her parents' faith demanded? He recalled what she had said a few minutes ago about himself and the children. "In fact they idolize you. Whatever you say, it's as if it came from God." Were the words an artful reminder of his own Jewish responsibility, a silken nudge toward religion? Nim had never made the mistake of taking Ruth's gentleness at its face value; beneath it, he realized, was as much real strength as any person could have.

But apart from all that, Nim knew there was no valid reason not to go to Ruth's parents, as she asked. It didn't happen often. And Ruth demanded very little of him, ever.

"Okay," he said, "Next week's pretty clear. When I get to the office I'll make sure about Friday and phone you."

Ruth hesitated, then said, "Don't bother doing that. Just tell me tonight."

" Why?

Again a second's hesitation. "I'm leaving right after you've gone. I'll be out all day."

"What's happening? Where are you going?"

"Oh, here and there." She laughed. "Do you tell me everywhere you go?"

So there it was again. The mystery. Nim felt a stab of jealousy against the unknown, then rationalized: Ruth had a point. As she had reminded him, there was plenty he didn't tell her.

"Have a good day," he said. "I'll see you this evening."

In the hallway, he put his arms around her and they kissed. Her lips were soft; her figure beneath the housecoat felt good. What a damn fool I am, be thought. Yes, definitely, sex tonight.

Despite his haste in leaving home, Nim drove downtown at a leisurely pace, avoiding the freeway and using quiet streets. He employed the time to think about the Sequoia Club, mentioned in this morning's Chronicle-West.

Though it was an organization which frequently opposed the programs of GSP&L, and sometimes thwarted them, Nim admired the Sequoia Club. His reasoning was simple. History showed that when giant industrial concerns like Golden State Power & Light were left to their own devices, they paid little or no heed to protecting the environment. Therefore a responsible restraining force was needed. The Sequoia Club filled that role.

The California-based club had achieved a national reputation for skill and dedication in fights to preserve what remained of the natural unspoiled beauty of America. Almost always its methods were ethical, its arguments judicious and sound. True, the club had critics, but few failed to accord it respect. One reason was the Sequoia Club's leadership, which, through its eighty years of existence, had been of the highest caliber, a tradition which the incumbent chairman-a former atomic scientist, Laura Bo Carmichael-was continuing. Mrs. Carmichael was able, internationally respected and, incidentally, a friend of Nim's.

He was thinking about her as he drove.

What he would do, he decided, was make a direct personal appeal to Laura Bo Carmichael concerning Tunipah and the other two power plants which Golden State Power proposed to build. Perhaps, if lie argued the urgent need convincingly, the Sequoia Club might not oppose the projects or at least would be moderate in opposition. He must arrange a meeting as soon as possible. Preferably today.

Nim had been driving automatically, paying little attention to street names. Now he noticed, at an arterial stop, that he was at the intersection of Lakewood and Balboa. It reminded him of something. What?

Suddenly he remembered. The day of the explosion and power failure two weeks ago, the chief dispatcher had produced a map shoving life-sustaining equipment in use in private homes. Colored circles on the map denoted kidney dialysis machines, oxygen generating units, iron lungs and similar apparatus. At Lakewood and Balboa a red circle had warned of a person dependent on an iron lung or some other kind of powered respirator. The equipment was in an apartment building. For some reason the memory had stayed with Nim; so had the user's name -Sloan. At the time, be recalled, be had looked at the small red circle and wondered what Sloan was like.