Джон Макдональд - A Flash of Green

“Save Our Bays, Inc., is the only Palm County organization thus far to have taken a public stand in opposition to the bay-fill program.”

He made a suggested head — PALMLAND CONDEMNS VANDALS — and took the copy sheet to Borklund’s office. Borklund scanned it, initialed it, spindled it. He leaned back. His glasses caught the light and reflected the palm fronds outside his window.

“You puzzle me these days, Jim.”

“How so?”

“You seemed so much more clever two years ago. This time I’ve blue-penciled forty clumsy attempts to sneer at Palmland, so clumsy you might as well have underlined them to save me the trouble. Brian has been much more subtle. He’s even slid a couple of things past me that Ben chewed me out for.”

“I’m probably turning into a dull fellow.”

“Are you? This little item you just gave me is slick. Very, very slick. How did you get it?”

“On the phone, from Lesser.”

“And you knew it would be all cleared by the time you got it to me. Funny how it got arranged so nicely. When I suggested we print something, I got turned down. I couldn’t seem to get my point across. I said that if you miss a punch once in a while, it looks like a more honorable fight. You still win just as big, but it looks better. This will make the S.O.B.’s feel better, but it does them more harm than good. So I sit here wondering why you should do them more harm than good. Could you possibly have a piece of Palmland?”

“I think it will be tragic to fill Grassy Bay.”

“But I have the strange feeling they’re going to fill it.”

“You mean you have a sort of a hunch?”

“Get the hell out of here, Wing.”

Haas was in the newsroom. Wing went over and sat on the corner of his desk. “What is your opinion of a free and impartial press, Mr. Haas?”

Brian smiled at him. “It works on the valve theory, Mr. Wing.”

“Would you explain that, please, for the benefit of our viewers?”

“Of course. When gas chambers are used to get rid of excess population, they have to employ a man to turn a valve. Right? Now, this man may not be in favor of gas chambers, and he may get very low pay for valve-tending, but he has to face up to a personal dilemma. It’s such unskilled labor that if he refuses to turn it, somebody else will. This is known as facing reality, otherwise known as the facts of life. He can’t merely pretend to turn the gas on, because when the chamber doors are opened again, they would discover his defection. Right? So all he can do is just turn it on a little slowly, and not quite all the way. This is known as learning to live with reality.”

“God, Bri! Was that off the cuff?”

“Not exactly. It’s sort of a short summary of the lecture I gave Nan yesterday. I lecture her every day now. Free association. The doc recommended it. It’s supposed to be a form of therapy, to release the tensions which are supposed to build up and drive me to drink. I think it’s asinine, but I’m going along with it.”

“We never got to that chess session, you know.”

Haas’s smile was unchanged. “We’ll have to do that some time, Jimmy. I’m too busy lecturing these days.”

“When I popped off the other night, it was because I was...”

“I’m not sore at you, Jimmy.”

“Well... I’m glad you’re not.”

“But I owe you a straight answer, I guess. I’m still a little precarious. After I get my feet braced, we’ll get acquainted.”

“Acquainted?”

“Yes. There’s some things you’ll have to tell me about some day. I’ve detected some contradictions. You could turn out to be a very interesting fellow.”

Wing stared at him. He did not trust himself to say anything. The concealed anger made his knees feel weak as he walked away.

Late on Saturday afternoon, Kat phoned Wing at his cottage and said, “Are you terribly busy? Tom gave me a chore, and I sort of need moral support, Jimmy. If you could spare an hour or so?”

“I can take a break. What is it?”

“Something’s wrong with Doris Rowell. Tom went out there this morning and she wouldn’t talk to him. He wants me to try. I’ve always thought she’s sort of creepy. You know? Would you pick me up? I’m at the Sinnat house.”

“Half an hour?”

“Wonderful, Jimmy! Thanks a lot.”

She was out by the pool when he drove up and parked. The pool was full of children of assorted ages from the Estates. As Kat came smiling toward him he looked beyond her and saw Natalie teetering on the end of the diving board, yelping, as Jigger Lesser bounced high at the middle of the board, trying to jolt her off.

As he opened the door for Kat he said, nodding toward the pool, “How is young love progressing?”

She gave him an odd look. “It’s their business, Jimmy.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

As he drove off, she said, “You sort of sneered when you said it, Jimmy. I didn’t like that.”

“It isn’t exactly Heloïse and Abelard, is it?”

“Are you cross today? To them it is, Jimmy. That’s exactly the point, isn’t it? I’m not going to classify it as a physical infatuation or love or whatever. And I’m not going to sneer at it or snicker at it. Love isn’t dirty unless the people involved believe it is. And they don’t. I don’t want to quarrel, Jimmy.”

“Neither do I. Not with you. Any trouble last night?”

“Rotten eggs against the front of the house. But I wasn’t there to enjoy them. I paid Gus Malta to hose them off this morning. The kids and I are staying at the Sinnats. It was Natalie’s idea. There’s a lot of room. I’m glad that thing got into the paper this morning. Did you get it in?”

“Yes.”

“But none of those letters have been printed yet.”

“I don’t think they will be, Kat. I’m sorry. They’re too sane and reasonable. Just like the Hotchkiss land story. They’d spoil the image of the group of crackpot bird lovers. You said Doris Rowell wouldn’t talk to Tom?”

“He wanted to know who’s coming to stand up for us at the public hearing, and she wouldn’t tell him a thing. He’s very upset.”

As they turned into Doris Rowell’s driveway, Kat made an exclamation of dismay. “Just look at it!” she said. The yard was littered with trash and garbage. There were splats and stains and drippings on the front of the house. The mailbox was broken, and a car had ripped up thirty feet of the hedge.

“Do you think she’s too scared?” Kat asked.

“Let’s find her, if she’s here.”

She did not answer the front door. They walked around the house. There had been a heavy rain early Friday evening. Her skiff was tied to the dock, full of water, the lines taut. Wing called and there was no answer. They went up onto the porch.

Kat grasped Jimmy’s arm suddenly, startling him. He saw the direction of her startled glance and turned and saw Doris Rowell. She was in the dingy kitchen, visible through a narrow doorway, sitting at a kitchen table, doing something with her hands, then lifting a hand to her mouth.

Jimmy rapped on the screen door and said, “Mrs. Rowell? May we come in and talk to you? I’ve got Katherine Hubble with me. Mrs. Rowell?”

He turned to Kat, shrugged, pushed the door open and went in. Kat followed him back to the gloomy kitchen. Doris Rowell’s face was shiny with sweat. She wore a torn shirt and khaki trousers, damp with sweat. There was a heaviness of body odor in the still air of the kitchen. She sat at a table covered with oilcloth in a faded flower pattern. In front of her was half a loaf of bread, the paper peeled away from it. There was a dish of butter, softened by the heat, a big jar half full of red jam, a knife on the butter plate, a tablespoon in the jam. The area in front of her was littered with crumbs and splatters of jam, as was the front of her white shirt. A ring of jam bloodied her mouth, and there were crumbs on her chin.