I Will Fear No Evil (39 page)

“Thank you for telling me, Tom. I’ll never let Anton guess. But he’ll find me easy to kiss if he wishes to . . . now that I know that she shared lovingkindness with him. Abrupt change of subject: Tom, is that pretty little stream polluted? It looks so clean.”

“It’s clean. Clean as a creek can be, I mean. I know because I found out about this place through the company lending it to our guild for a picnic. Some of us went swimming after the farm super told us it was okay.”

“Oh, wonderful! Because I want to swim. I last went swimming in natural water—old swimming hole style, I mean—let me see . . . goodness! More than three-quarters of a century ago.”

“Eunice, I don’t think you should.”

“Why?”

“Because it can be polluted another way. Dropouts. Not all the dropouts are in the A.A.s; any wild countryside attracts them. Like this. I didn’t make a fuss but when you walked down to the bank by yourself, Fred had you flanked one side and me the other.”

“Well, heavens, if you can keep me safe on the bank, you can keep me safe in the water.”

“It ain’t quite the same, truly it ain’t. I was a few seconds late once, I won’t be again. Some dropouts are real nasty weirdos, not just harmless nuts.”

“Tom, why argue? I want to get into that water, feel it all over me. I intend to.”

“I wish you wouldn’t . . . Joan Eunice.”

She jerked her head around at the last two words. Then she grinned and pouted her lower lip. “Okay, Tom. Darn it, I’ve handed you three a leash you can lead me by any time you see fit. And yet I’m supposed to be boss. It’s comical.”

“It’s like the Secret Service,” Finchley answered soberly. “The President is the top boss of any . . . but he gives in when his guards tell him not to do something.”

“Oh, I wasn’t complaining; I was wryly amused. But don’t jerk that leash too much, Tom; I don’t think Eunice would stand for it and neither will I.”

“I’m hoping you won’t pull on the leash as much as she did. If she, uh—well, things coulda been different.”

Fred said, “Tom, don’t cry over spilt milk.”

Joan said quickly, “I’m sorry. Boys, I think the picnic is over. Maybe someday we can all have that swim somewhere safe and just as beautiful.” (Eunice, can you swim?) (Red Cross lifesaver—you knew that, it was in my snoopsheet. Never went out for the team, though; cheerleader was more fun.) (I could make a comment.) (Look who’s talking! No-Pants Smith.) (Who taught me?) (You didn’t need teaching; you have the instincts.)

19

A short time later they were again in the car. Finchley said, “Home, Miss Smith?”

“Tom, I can’t hear you.”

“I asked did you want to go home, Miss?”

“I understood that part but this intercom must be out of order. I heard something that sounded like ‘Miss Smith.’ ”

There was a silence. “Eunice, do you want to go home?”

“Not until dinnertime, Tom; I want all of this lovely day I can have.”

“Okay, Eunice. Do I cruise? Or go somewhere?”

“Uh . . . I have one more item on my list, and there’s time enough for anything you three may want to pick up, too, so check around.”

“Will do. Where do we take you for what you want, Eunice?”

“I don’t know. I lost touch with such matters years ago. Tom, I want to buy a present for Mr. Salomon, something nice but unnecessary—presents should be unnecessary, a luxury a person might not buy himself. So it probably would be a men’s shop that stocks luxurious unnecessaries. Abercrombie & Fitch used to be that sort—but I’m not certain they are still in business.”

“They are. But let me ask Fred and Shorty.”

Shortly Finchley reported: “There are a dozen places a that would do. But we think The Twenty-First Century Stud has the fastest stock.”

“Roz. Let’s giddyap and get there.”

“That is, if you don’t mind their prices. ‘Twigs and leaves.’ ”

“I don’t mind; I’ve met thieves before. Tom—all of you. I came out of this operation with more money than I had last year . . . and it’s a nuisance. I’ve played the money game and I’m bored with it. Any time any of you can think of a good way to help me get rid of some—a
good
way, I said; I won’t be played for a sucker—you’d be doing me a favor to tell me. Hugo, are there any poor people in your church?”

His answer was slow. “Lots of them, Eunice. But not
hurtin’
poor, just Welfare poor. I’d like to think about it . . . because it don’t do a man no good to plain
give
him what he ought to root for. So the Book says, in different words.”

“That’s the trouble, Hugo. I’ve given away money many times, and usually did harm when I meant to do good. But the Book also says something about the eye of the needle. All right, think about it. Now let’s go see those thieves. I’ll need a man to help me. Which one of you dresses the most far-out when you aren’t in uniform?”

She heard Fred laugh. “Eunice, it’s no race. You should
see
the getups Tom wears. A Christmas tree. A light show.”

Finchley growled, then said, “Don’t listen to him, Eunice.”

“He’s probably jealous, Tom. All right, if there is parking inside or near this shop, you come help me.”

As they passed through the second gate Finchley said, “Crash belts, Eunice?”

“I’m wearing the Swedish—and it’s comfortable now that Hugo has adjusted it. Could we get along with just it and the collision net if we didn’t go so fast? Or does that make me ‘Joan Eunice’ again?”

“Uh—Will you wear the forehead strap?”

“All right. It’s just that I don’t like to be tied down all over. It reminds me—well, it reminds me of the way the doctors kept me strapped down after the operation. Necessary, but I hated it.” She did not mention that a forehead strap was what she disliked the most.

“We heard about that—musta been horrid. But you need the forehead strap. Say I’m doing only a hundred, a slam stop could break your neck. If you don’t wear it.”

“So I wear it.”

“I don’t see the light on the board.”

“Because I haven’t put it on yet. There. Did the light go on?”

“Yes. Thank you . . . Eunice.”

“Thank
you
, Tom. For taking care of me. Let’s mush. I wasn’t pulling on the leash, truly I wasn’t.” (Says you. Boss, you’re mendacious, untruthful, and a fibber.) (Where did I learn it, dearie? They’re sweet boys, Eunice—but we’ve got to work out a way to live so that we don’t have to clear everything with forty other people. Good servants are priceless—but you work for them as much as they work for you. Life should be simpler. Honey, how would you like to go to India and be a guru and sit on a mountain top and never have any plans? Just sit and wait for your grateful chelas to gather around?)

(Might be a long wait. Why not sit at the bottom of the mountain and wait for the boys to gather around?) (One-track mind!) (Yes. Yours, you dirty old man.) (Conceded. But I try to act like a lady.) (Not too hard, you don’t). (As hard as you ever did, little trollop. I was called ‘Joan Eunice’
once . . .
and the issue had nothing to do with sex.) (You’d be surprised how much sex had to do with it, Joan.) (Well . . . from that point of view, yes. But as long as they call me ‘Eunice’ I’ll go on believing that I’ve ‘done just perfect.’ Honestly though, good servants can be smothering. Take Winnie. She’s a darling—but she’s underfoot every minute. Eunice, how the devil can we manage that ‘actively female’ life you want—sorry, we want—with so much chaperonage?)

(Take a tip from Winnie.)

(How dear?)

(Let her in on your plans. Then she’ll keep your secrets and never ask a question, just as you do for her. Try it.)

(I may have to. I’m sure she won’t talk . . . and will happily listen to anything I need to spill. But, Eunice, if I go outside the house, it’s going to be hard to keep Tom and Hugo, or Anton and Fred, from guessing. You saw the elaborate maneuver I had to use today.)

(You didn’t have to, Boss; they won’t talk.)

(Perhaps they won’t, but I don’t want them even to
think
. They’re beginning to think I’m an angel—named Eunice—and I’d rather keep it that way.)

(Boss, they know darned well that Eunice is no angel. Even Hugo knows it . . . because Hugo is the smartest of the four, even if he is an illit. Knows people. Understands them from having been there himself. Forgives them their transgressions and loves them anyhow. Boss dear, they loved me the way I was, feet of clay and all—and they’ll love you the same way.)

(Maybe, I hope so. I know I love you more, knowing more about you and things I never suspected, than I did before we consolidated. Immoral little wench. What’s this about you and Fred and Anton? Did you really?)

(Wondered when you’d get around to that. Those good-night kisses did start out just friendly. Brotherly. Fatherly in Hugo’s case. Never got past that with Tom, as we were always either under Hugo’s eye. or Jake’s, or both—I just knew darn well a
man
was kissing me. But Fred and Anton weren’t much chaperonage for each other and they were both charged up over me. So, when a chance turned up, I thought ‘Why not?’)

(Pure charity, eh?)

(Was that sarcasm, Boss? Anyhow, they took me home late one night. Not a blood donation call, just working late with Jake when we were very rushed getting things arranged for you. The ‘warm body’ project. I invited them in for a Coke and a snack, as usual. Only it turned out Joe wasn’t home.)

(So human nature won—again.)

(You seem to have a low opinion of human nature, Boss darling.)

(I have a
high
opinion of human nature. I think it will prevail in spite of all efforts of wowsers to suppress it. But that’s all it took?
Two
men? Cold sober? And a chance that your husband might walk in? Lovely fallen angel, your story not only has holes; it is inconsistent. I do know something about men, having been one. What they’ll risk, what they won’t. Plenty, that is, for a woman. But two men tend to be wary of each other, and still more so when a husband might show up. Darling, you’ve left out something—this does not sound like a first time.)

(Boss, cross our heart, it
was
a first time . . . and the only time, for I was killed soon after. All right, I’ll fill in the holes. Joe wasn’t likely to walk in and they knew it.
Couldn’t
, as our door was hand-bolted from the inside whenever either of us was there. Joe was even more careful about it than I was, as he had always been a city boy. But they knew also that Joe was not due home until midnight . . . and they brought me home about twenty-one thirty. No hurry, no worry, no flurry. While Joe can’t read, he can tell time—you know those little dummy clocks some one-man shops use? Back at such-and-such a time, and mark the time by setting the hands?

(We had one of those, to tell the other one when he would be back. That night the door opened to my voice, so I looked for the dummy clock and found it set for midnight—and told Anton and Fred that I was sorry but Joe wasn’t going to be home soon enough for a visit.)

(Called attention to it, minx. Sounds like a setup.)

(Well, I knew what I was ready for, once I knew we had the place to ourselves. Oh, shucks, Boss, I’m still trying to be your ‘nice girl.’ I had had my ear cocked for a late arrival with that team for over a month. When Jake asked me to work after dinner, I phoned Joe, just as usual. And set it up under Jake’s nose. Short-talked it—almost another language if spoken by a husband and wife. What Jake heard was me telling Joe that I wouldn’t be home until twenty-one thirty. What Jake didn’t hear, or would not understand, was that I was asking Joe if he minded being elsewhere, in family short-talk code we used if we wanted that favor. It was all right, Boss darling; I made myself scarce for Joe’s sake oftener than I asked it of him. The only question was: Was he painting? Turned out he was not, so I was home free.

(Joe asked if I wanted him to be away all night. What he said was: ‘Roz. Punch or phone?’ Not that Joe
ever
punched me to wake me, but I answered, ‘Judy,’ meaning that it was up to him but I hoped he would punch me, and added, ‘Blackbirds,’ and gave him a phone kiss and signed off. All set, no sweat—knew what I would find at home.)

(‘Blackbirds?’)

(‘Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie’—set midnight on the clock even if you stay out all night, Joe darling. Oh, it could have been ‘pumpkin’ or ‘Christmas Eve’ or ‘Reach’ or ‘solid gold.’ But what I used was ‘Blackbirds.’)

(Did you kids ever talk English?)

(Of course we did, Boss. Joe speaks good English when he needs to. But short-talk settled it in a dozen words. Without giving Jake any hint that I was late-dating him. If I had had Betsy at hand, I would have used hush and spoken standard English. But we weren’t actually working late, not that late. I was using the phone you used yesterday, with Jake only feet away from me. Had to be short-talked.)

(Let me get this straight. Joe set the dummy clocks, saying he would not be home until midnight. Did he come home then?)

(About ten minutes after midnight. Joe wouldn’t embarrass a guest by being too prompt. Joe is a natural gentleman, never had to learn; he just
is
. It was the first thing that attracted me to him, and the quality that caused me to ask him to marry me. An illit, certainly—but I’ll take an illit gentleman over an Ivy-League squeak any year.)

(I agree, beloved. The more I hear about Mr. José Branca the better I like him. And respect him. And regret his tragic loss—meaning
you
, beloved little strumpet. I was just trying to get the schedule straight for what must have been a busy night. Okay, Joe got home shortly after midnight. But early that evening you phoned him and set things up for this date with Anton and Fred. Then you got back into bed with Jake—)

(Oh, dear! Boss, I’ve shocked you again.)

(No, my darling. Surprised, not shocked. I find your memoirs fascinating.)

(Shocked. That schedule sounds like a whore on payday. But it wasn’t that at all, Boss. It was love—love and respect for Jake, love and affection for Anton and Fred, love and devotion and understanding and mutual trust and respect with Joe. If my husband didn’t disapprove, what right have you—or anybody!—to look down your nose at me?)