Дональд Уэстлейк - Brothers Keepers

“No,” I said. “No.” I shook my head, and the faces fell, and they clustered around Mr. Schumacher and me at the rear of the chapel to hear the worst.

When Brother Oliver approached I introduced Mr. Schumacher. “He wants to join us,” I said, feeling very much like the small-boy-with-puppy (“He followed me home. Can I keep him?”), and added, “He’s a Travel agent.”

“No longer,” said Mr. Schumacher. “I’ll Travel no longer. I’ve come home, Brothers, if you’ll have me. May I be one of you? May I?”

Everyone seemed a bit taken aback by Mr. Schumacher’s intensity, and also, perhaps, by the fact that both Mr. Schumacher and I were staggering just slightly. I myself didn’t feel drunk anymore, but my footing and tongue were both still less than certain.

However, Brother Oliver handled the situation, I thought, very well, saying to Mr. Schumacher, “Well, certainly you can stay as long as you like. After you’ve been here a day or so, we can talk about your future.”

“Precisely,” said Mr. Schumacher. Apparently that was his favorite word.

Brother Flavian suddenly burst out, “But what of our future? Are we going to lose ?”

“We’ve done our best,” Brother Oliver told him, and I noticed that no one was looking directly toward me. “If it’s God’s will that we leave this place, then there must—”

“But it isn’t God’s will!” Flavian insisted. “It’s Dimp’s will!”

Brother Clemence said, “Flavian, there comes a time when it’s pointless to rail against fate.”

“Never!”

Brother Leo said, “I agree with Flavian. We should have been more determined from the outset. We should have been more belligerent.”

Several Brothers responded to that, pro or con, and it looked as though some rather heated discussions were about to take place when Brother Oliver loudly said, “In the chapel ?” Looking around, he said, “There’s simply nothing else to be done, that’s all. It’s all over, and there’s nothing to be gained by arguing among ourselves. Particularly in the chapel.”

“Precisely,” said Mr. Schumacher.

There was a little silence after that, with everyone looking sad or bitter and with Mr. Schumacher shaking his head as though annoyed with himself for not somehow rescuing us. And then I took a deep breath and said, “Once more.”

They all looked at me. Brother Oliver said, “Once more what, Brother Benedict?”

“One last try,” I said. “We have till midnight, this day isn’t over yet. I’m going to go talk with Dan Flattery.”

“Flattery?” Brother Oliver spread his hands. “What good can that do? We’ve already tried to reason with the man.”

“I’ve had dealings with him,” I said, “of a sort, in the last few days. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do or not, but I have to try. I have to. I’m going out there now.”

Brother Flavian said, “I’m coming with you.”

“No, I—”

“And me,” said Brother Mallory.

“ And me,” said Brother Leo.

“And me ,” said Brother Silas.

Brother Clemence said, “I think it’s time I saw this Flattery demon for myself.”

“We’ll all go,” said Brother Peregrine. “Every last one of us.”

Brother Oliver looked around at us in dismay. “Travel? The entire community?”

“Yes!” cried Brothers Dexter and Hilarius and Quillon. “But — but how?” Brother Oliver seemed to reel under the complexity of it. “All of us? On the train?”

“Wait!” said Mr. Schumacher, and we turned to see him standing very upright, one finger pointing up in the air. “ I am the hand of Fate,” he announced. “What has my life prepared me for, if not this moment? Sixteen — seventeen, with myself. Transportation for seventeen, New York to — Where?”

“Sayville,” I said, in a hushed voice. “Long Island.”

“Sayville,” he repeated. “Was that a phone I saw, where we came in?”

“Yes.”

“Precisely,” he said, and marched off, the rest of us in his wake.

In the hall, as we moved in a cluster toward the scriptorium, Brother Quillon moved to my side and said softly, “I saved you some pie.”

“Thank you,” I said, touched and delighted. “Thank you, Brother.”

“Your friend,” he said, nodding ahead toward Mr. Schumacher navigating the turns of the hall, “seems a bit unusual.”

“I have to tell you,” I said, “he’s been drinking.”

Brother Hilarius, on my other side, said, “Brother Benedict, I have to tell you you’ve been drinking.”

“On the airplane,” I said, as though that excused it. “It was something of a depressing return.”

“No doubt,” he said.

Behind me, Brother Valerian said, “Brother Benedict, excuse me, but aren’t you clinking?”

Clinking. “Oh, yes,” I said, remembering my souvenirs. All at once, the notion of distributing empty whiskey bottles as mementos of my Journey seemed a less than felicitous idea. Apt, perhaps, but not quite fitting. “It’s just some bottles,” I said, and from then on walked with my arms against my sides, to muffle the music.

Brother Thaddeus watched in astonishment as we all trooped into the scriptorium. While several Brothers explained to him what was going on, Mr. Schumacher went to the phone and dialed a number from memory. We stood and watched and listened, knowing we were participating in what was for us an alien rite.

Mr. Schumacher whistled softly between his teeth. He tapped his fingernails on the surface of the desk. He seemed less drunk and more efficient, and all at once he said, “Hello. This is Irwin Schumacher of Schumacher and Sons. Is Harry there?” He listened, his mouth twisting in annoyance, and then he said, “ I know it’s New Year’s Eve. Do you think I can be in the business I’m in and not know when it’s New Year’s Eve? Let me talk to Harry.” Another pause, with more tuneless whistling between his teeth, and then, “Harry? Irwin Schumacher. — Fine, and how are you? — Terrific. Listen, Harry, I need a bus. — Right now, round trip tonight, New York to Long Island. — No, sir, none of that at all, it’s a religious order. — Harry, have you ever known me to have a sense of humor? — Right. It’s a pickup at the monastery, Park Avenue and 51st. Going to Sayville, Long Island. — Tonight. — Precisely. Charge it to the firm, Harry. — Right. Oh, by the way, Harry, this is my last call. I’m retiring. — Yeah, I guess you could call it a New Year’s resolution. I’m through with Travel, Harry. — That’s right, pal.” Holding the phone to mouth and ear, he looked around at the rest of us and this room with a big beaming smile on his face. “I’ve found my home at last,” he said. “So long, Harry.”

It was a real bus, with a real driver in a real uniform. Mr. Schumacher signed some papers on the driver’s clipboard, Brother Oliver gave the Flatterys’ address, and we all climbed aboard for our Journey.

It was now nearly seven o’clock. In the interim, I’d washed off the Travel grime, emptied my pockets of all those little empty bottles, eaten several pieces of Brother Quillon’s pie, and drunk enough coffee to make me both reasonably sober and totally jittery.

Although I suppose I would have been jittery anyway, all things considered. When I’d made my decision, back in the chapel, to try Dan Flattery one last time, I’d visualized the two of us in private confrontation and I’d thought it just possible that somewhere in our reluctant relationship I could find a handle I could grasp to turn the man around. But that intention had become lost almost at once, and now with seventeen of us on our merry way I had no idea what we hoped to do or how we hoped to do it.