Root of His Evil (2 page)

“Sweet corn on the ear, sir. Would you care for some?”

“No, just asking.”

“The corn all comes from our selected farms, and the contract specifies that it must be pulled the morning of delivery, and arrive by special truck. If you like the dish, you might try the Mess o’ Karb Korn on the a la carte—three large ears, cooked to order and served right out of the pot. The order includes drawn butter and a Karbtassle brush. It’s really quite good.”

“It’s a socko sales talk.”

“Would you care to try it?”

“I’ll try it, but no silver handles, no drawn butter, and no Karbtassle brush. Now listen to what I tell you. That corn goes in the pot
in the husk.
Six minutes in the pot, put it on a plate, and bring it over. Give me a double hunk of regular butter, and
that’s all.
The idea is, I don’t want you to take trouble with it. I want it as is. Do you understand me? No Karbnificence.”

“Did you say—
in the husk?”

“Indian.”

“Oh.”

“And besides it stays tender. And it stays hot. If Montezuma had 50,000 slaves to serve his table, you could certainly trust him on this.”

“Yes, sir.”

When I went over to the counterman they gathered around me like flies. “What does he want?”

“Korn on the Karb.”

“Boil three, Charlie.”

“Not so fast.”

I then explained how the order was to be cooked, and Charlie’s eyes almost popped out. He picked up three ears in the husk and shook his head. “One for the mule, girls. This is a new one we got.”

That was a big laugh, but I kept thinking it was a very peculiar way for a company spy to act. So I decided to find out what he was, but first I would have to know his name.

I filled a water glass and went up behind him. As I reached over him to set it down, I spilled a spoonful of it on his shirt, where his coat was hanging open. He jumped, but I had my napkin ready, and before he could say anything I was apologizing and wiping the water off. Then I pretended there was some on the inside of his coat, and began wiping that off. As I did so, I turned down the inside pocket, and there, sure enough, was his name, written in by his tailor. It said: Grant Harris.

I went to the pay telephone, took the receiver off the hook, and came back. “Pardon me, are you Mr. Grant Harris?”

He looked up, very surprised, and I stood right over him, looking down into his eyes so I could see everything they did. “Why yes. Harris is my name. Why?”

“They’ve been trying to locate you. Mr. Roberts is on the line. He wants to speak to you.”

Nobody was on the line, but if he went over there and got no answer, I could pretend they must have hung up. What I wanted was to see how he reacted to that name Roberts when I spoke it that way, suddenly, because Mr. Roberts was general manager for Karb’s, Inc. He didn’t react at all. His face screwed up, and he looked at me as though I must be crazy. “Roberts? I don’t know any Roberts.”

“He’s on the line.”

“I don’t know him, I didn’t tell anybody I was coming here, so it must be some mistake.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“What for?”

Not once did his eyes give that little flicker that a man’s eyes will usually show when he is trying to hide something, so I felt all the more strongly that the girls were wrong about him. I went to the phone, pretended to hold a little conversation in case he was looking, hung up, and then went and got the corn. I put down the plate, butter, and the little platter with the three ears, still in the green husks. “May I remove the husks for you, sir?”

“No, thanks, but you can watch, so you’ll know how next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

He began stripping the corn, very neatly, as though he had done it that way often. “...Why aren’t you watching?”

It came like a shot, and his eyes were drilling me through. They were big and perfectly black, but now they were hard, as I found out they could be when there was reason. “I
am
watching.”

“Me, you’re watching, not the corn. I’ve been keeping book on you in that mirror.”

“I’m sorry if I—”

“What is this, anyway? What was that phony call?”

Now there is such a thing as knowing when to stop the fooling, and besides I couldn’t help having some admiration for the way he had caught me, even if I felt very silly. “All right, I’ll tell you.”

“Please do.”

“They thought you were a company spy.”

“Who did?”

“The girls. You asked some questions.”

“Oh. So I did. Oh, now I begin to get it. That’s why they’re all watching us out of the corner of their eyes, is that it?”

“Yes. So they picked me to find out.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know. They often rely on me.”

“Because you’re a pretty slick little spy yourself, maybe. How did you find out my name?”

“I found out all I wanted to know.”

“Such as?”

“Anyway, that you’re no company spy.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t think you’re anything, much.”

I only meant to get back at him for saying I was slick, but my remark had the most unfortunate effect on him. His eyes dropped, his face got red as mahogany, and he picked up the corn and started to eat it. I waited for him to say something, but all he did was gnaw around the corn, with even his neck getting red. I went and got his salad. When I got back, he was almost through his second ear. I picked up the other ear and stripped it exactly the way he had. “Just to show you I really was paying attention.”

“Thanks.”

“I never had it that way, but it looks good.”

“What’s your name?”

“Carrie. Carrie Selden.”

“Well, Carrie, I think you’re trying to be friendly, but you hit me below the belt. What made you say that? Was it just a crack, or—did you have something to go on?”

“I had to have
some
kind of a comeback.”

“Yes, but I’m thinking of something.”

“What’s that?”

“Those girls. Why did they pick you out?”

“Oh, they often do.”

“Not for nothing. They thought you’d take my measure.”

“They just thought I’d be careful.”

He looked at me a long time, in a way that made me feel very peculiar, because to me at least there was something unusual about his eyes, something very warm and tender. Then he said: “Well, all I can say, Carrie, is that I find you very baffling.”

“In what way, may I ask?”

“Everything about you seems delicate, and flowerlike, except that really you’re very cold and knowing.”

“I don’t think I’m cold.”

“Let’s get on to this other thing. They’re organizing here?”

“...Why?”

“There you go again, with that fishy look. You ought to do something about your eyes, Carrie. They give you away...Why? I’m curious, that’s all. I’m no company spy, or anything like that. Just an interested bystander. But
interested.
I’ve got my reasons. I’m not just talking.”

“What reasons?”

His lace got very hard and bitter, and what he said next was almost between his set teeth. “Malice. Pure, unadulterated malice. They’ve got it coming to them, plenty.”

“Who is they?”

“All of them. The system.”

“I don’t see any system.”

“All right, I do. The foxholes improve your eyesight, maybe. Anyway, I’ve got interested in this social reform thing, and I’m going into it. I want to see how it works right from the beginning, and here in this restaurant is a good place to start. I want to see how they go about it, this organizing, I mean. Does that clear it up?”

“You sound awfully sore about something.”

“I am sore.”

“Well—sure we’re organizing.”

“A.F. of L. or this other one?”

“...It’s not the other one.”

“How far has it gone?”

“It’s all lined up.”

“When does it pop?”

“That all depends. The meeting’s tonight.”

“Where?”

“Reliance Hall.”

“Third Avenue, up near Eightieth?”

“Yes, it’s over in Yorkville somewhere.”

“Can I get in?”

“If you were a newspaper reporter—?”

“Ah, that’s an idea.”

“They’re letting reporters in later, after the main part is over. I could get you in. Are you a reporter?”

“No, but I could muss up my collar.
Would
you?”

He made that sound very personal, so I quickly said, “Why not?” as though I didn’t notice it.

“...why did you make that crack?”

“If it bothers you all that much, I’ll take it back.”

“You can’t. The truth is, I’m not anything, much.”

“Well, my goodness, you’re young yet.”

“I’m twenty-seven. My farthest worth in the way of accomplishment was to get made a second louie in infantry...Napoleon conquered Italy at twenty-six.”

“Maybe that wasn’t so hot. Maybe Italy didn’t think so.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

The girls lost interest when I said he was a reporter, as that seemed the simplest way out, but I could feel him following me about with his eyes wherever I went. More customers came in, so we didn’t get any more chance to talk. When he left, a half dollar was on the table.

I
TELL ALL THIS
to refute insinuations that were made, that I knew all about Grant, and took advantage of him from the start. The truth is I knew almost nothing about him, and what was said at our first meeting, it seems to me, proves that he acted very mysteriously with me, from the very beginning, and in spite of many peculiar hints, told me almost nothing about himself, and in fact concealed the main things from me. He did that, I know now, from modesty, and from being sick and tired of having people get excited over who he was, and from not being able to see that it made much difference anyway, since regardless of who he was he was not what he wanted to be, or even headed in that direction. However, I should like to make it clear that regardless of his motives, he did practice concealment. Now then, why didn’t I compel him to be more candid? Why was I content to be kept in the dark? That part I shall explain too, when I get to it, and merely say at this point that there was a reason, equally strong to me as his reasons were to him, and yet nothing I need be ashamed of. I want it understood that until the terrible storm broke, Grant and I were practically strangers to each other, intimate and yet barely acquainted. It set me thinking about social customs in a way I never did before, of the importance of introductions and mutual friends and the various guarantees that people receive concerning each other.

We had the big meeting that night, and Lula and I went, and I must confess I wondered if Grant would come, which surprised me, for one does not as a rule think much about customers after working hours. Once in the hall, however, I was in the midst of events which transpired so rapidly and unexpectedly that he was momentarily driven from my mind.

In general, I criticize all labor activities for being most inefficient and slipshod, and the meeting in Reliance Hall that night was no exception. There were 473 girls present, as my records later showed, all anxious to organize and get it over with. But just as most of them had found seats, word came that the girls of the Borough Hall restaurant in Brooklyn, who had previously been lukewarm, had decided to join, and were on their way over in a big bus, and that the meeting would wait for them. Why that had to be was never explained. So we marked time, and there were speeches, the gentlemen from the main council went into a huddle at one end of the platform, and nobody seemed really to be in charge, although a union lady from out of town was in the chair. All this gave time for factions to develop. Particularly there was a girl from the Union Square restaurant, by the name of Clara Gruber, who had a great deal to say about the full social value of our labor, which meant nothing to me, and in a few minutes, a lot of them were yelling for her to be president. This annoyed the girls from the Lower Broadway place, who were going to put me up for president.

So very soon the meeting was split into two groups, one yelling for me, the other for Clara Gruber, and in a very disorderly manner, with names being called. So as soon as I could get the attention of the lady in the chair, I got up and declined the nomination, if indeed there had been any nomination, for there didn’t seem to be any rules or motions or anything you could go by. This made things still worse, and the faction in favor of me threatened to secede. So then I hurriedly whispered to Lula and had her get up and say that if Clara Gruber was going to be president, then I had to be secretary-treasurer. My object in this was that I thought if our side had the money, it didn’t make much difference who was president. So that satisfied Clara Gruber, and she was elected, and so was I, and we both went up on the platform, and the union lady stepped down, and Clara Gruber began making another speech about the full social value of our labor.

She was interrupted by the arrival of the girls from Brooklyn. And then before she could get going, a little man in glasses came in, rushed up the aisle, and joined the huddle of the gentlemen from the main council of the culinary workers’ union. And then he turned around, and without paying any attention to Clara Gruber, he clapped his hands for order, and announced very excitedly that Evan Holden, the big C.I.O. organizer, was going to speak to them, because on a question of that kind jurisdictional lines should be wiped out, and labor should present a united front. So then in came Mr. Holden, and behind him came about ten newspaper reporters, in the midst of whom was Grant. The reporters took seats down front, but I wasn’t paying any attention to Grant at the moment. I was looking at Evan Holden. He was the special representative from International headquarters, and I must say I have rarely seen a more striking-looking man. He was over six feet tall, almost as tall as Grant, about thirty-five years old, with light hair and fair skin. His eyes were dark grey and very commanding. He had on a light double-breasted suit, which somehow brought out his heavy shoulders and the strong way he was built. But he walked rapidly like a cat.

He came marching up the aisle to the platform steps, and took these at one hop. Then he turned and faced the crowd and the girls began to cheer, so there was nothing for Clara Gruber to do but sit down. Then he began to talk. He didn’t talk loud, and he didn’t say anything about the full social value of our labor. He started off with jokes, and he had a sort of brogue which I took to be Irish, so in a minute he had them all laughing and orderly, and ready to listen. Then in the simplest way he told us what we were doing, about how Capital and Labor are really in a partnership, but it had to be an equal partnership, so it seemed that all we were really doing was demanding our rights. So pretty soon he had them very excited and then he said he wanted them to pass a resolution which was something about how we would all stick. And in order to get the resolution passed, he turned the meeting back to Clara Gruber, but from the quick way he peeped at his watch I knew he had done his good deed and wanted to be on his way.