Sustenance (33 page)

“But you’ll take me home when it gets fixed,” she prompted in an unusually quiet voice. “Won’t you?”

“It will depend on what’s happening in Europe as much as what’s going on at home.” He nodded to Bethune as he bent to pick up his wife’s crocheting to return it to her. “Does that help, to any degree?”

“It probably does, and I thank you for your candor; I know it wasn’t easy,” said Bethune, scribbling as quickly as possible. “I think this is something I’ll have to bring up to the Frosts and the Kings. I should have thought of these problems before now. But what if it were possible to have the scale of resolution you want—hypothetically—would you return to the US?”

“Would I return to the US if all the furor over Communism and Communist sympathizers ended?” Axel shrugged. “Since it can’t happen in a year or two, no, I wouldn’t. The deliberate creation of fear and anger in the general populace has led to all kinds of infringements on the Bill of Rights, and assaults on the Constitution as well. I went through it once, I don’t intend to go through it twice.” He stared at Bethune. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Well,
I would,
I would go home, and as soon as possible,” Julia announced, no longer taken aback by her husband. “I’d be on the first plane that would get me to New York.
Anywhere
in New York. Poughkeepsie would do.” She began to sob, her head on Axel’s shoulder. “I don’t care about the Committee or Hoover or all the rest of it.”

“Do you want to leave Paris?” Elvira asked, sounding incredulous.

“I can’t stand Paris,” Julia sobbed, shoving her crocheting back into her purse.

“For God’s sake,” McCall exclaimed. “Axel, do something about your wife.”

Winston Pomeroy held up his hand. “Come on, people, let’s keep this civil. We know how to disagree if we must, don’t we?”

Julia shot Pomeroy a look of loathing and prepared to excoriate them all. The slight pressure of her husband’s hand on her arm stopped her. She wiped her eyes with a tissue and swallowed hard twice. “Mister McCall, I take offense at your tone.”

McCall chuckled. “Just don’t have another tizzy.”

Axel glowered at McCall, and was about to say something cutting, but Pomeroy got in ahead of him.

“Not to belabor the point, this is difficult for all of us, and we need to be willing to hear one another out, without bickering about what each of us thinks. We may disagree, but let’s give Bethune the answers he needs to help us. What do you say?”

Fortunately, Charis chose that moment to open the dining-room doors wide, indicating the buffet. “Help yourselves. There are chocolates in the pink box, fruit tarts and cheese on the trays. Simple crackers are in the basket, and pastries on the tiered tray. Help yourselves.”

Julia strove to wipe her eyes and got up, standing as if daring anyone to mention or even think about her display of homesickness. “That’s very nice of you, Charis,” she said as grandly as Edith Evans playing Lady Bracknell. “Are you coming, Axel?”

“In a moment,” he said as he set his pipe in the nearest ashtray.

Young and McCall were quick to get up, and each watched the other as they made for the dining room.

The Praegers were already on their way through the door, Elvira laughing as she claimed a linen serviette and a butter-dish for her selections. Jesse said something to her in a whisper and she gave him a roguish smile.

The Bjornsons went to the cheese-tray, Axel looking eager to sample some of the array that waited next to the basket of crackers.

McCall watched them with a cynical smile; he picked up a serviette and butter-dish, and went to the table where the foods were laid out. “Snazzy,” he said to no one in particular, and reached for a small, sugar-dusted cream-puff.

Mary Anne poured her coffee first, then went to look over the delicacies offered, starting with the chocolates.

Winston Pomeroy gave a low whistle. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, Missus Treat.”

Coming in from the foyer unnoticed, Szent-Germain went up to Charis, who was still standing in the dining room doorway. “It’s astonishing, watching those two,” he said quietly, watching the Praegers. “I don’t think I can remember being that young.” He had been thirty-three when he was executed, and four millennia ago, that was an older age than Jesse was now.

She almost yelped, then turned toward him, his nearness setting off her craving for him. This no longer alarmed her as it had at first, but now there was something else in her response to his presence, something that was as disquieting as it was enticing. “Grof. You’re … earlier than I expected.” She tried to decide whether she had heard him come up the stairs, since he clearly had not used the elevator. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, resisting the urge to lean back against him as she shifted her thoughts away from his presence to the issues before the Coven. “I don’t suppose you want a snack?”

“Regrettably, not just now,” he said, taking a step back from her and almost hitting the door.

“No. No.” She could feel her pulse going faster, but did her best to ignore it. “I’m glad you’re here. This is turning out to be a … touchy evening. I didn’t think it would be so difficult to discuss when and how we might return to the US.” She nodded to Mary Anne. “I have some fruit in the kitchen, if you’d rather have that,” she said to the older woman. “Or milk instead of cream. I’d offer you a croissant, but the two I have are a day old.”

“That’s kind of you,” said the librarian. “But I’m sure some stinky soft cheese on a few of those simple crackers will do me fine.”

Holding a cup-and-saucer in one hand and a small plate of raisin tarts and a couple of shavings of Tete-des-Moins cheese, Bethune nodded to acknowledge Szent-Germain’s presence. “You and I should talk,” he said calmly. “Sooner rather than later. Before Friday, if you can arrange it.”

If this startled Szent-Germain, he gave no indication of it. “Certainly. Would tomorrow at three be convenient? I’ll be at the press then.”

“Tomorrow at three at the Eclipse Press offices. I’ll be there,” Bethune confirmed and passed on into the living room.

Half an hour later, Julia was definitely more composed, the Praegers rather less. Some were on their second cup of coffee; others had had more cheese or a chocolate. Almost all of the Coven was back in the living room; only Young and Mary Anne were still in the dining room, refilling their coffee-cups for the third time. With the exception of the Praegers, the group was more at ease, and Bethune was preparing to continue his questioning.

Winston Pomeroy put his coffee-cup aside on the occasional table at his elbow and looked around, taking stock of the Coven members. “We should get back to Bethune’s questions. The sooner we do it, the sooner all this is over.”

“Oh, Christ,” muttered McCall, without apology.

“Let’s not start again,” Pomeroy said as if trying to get a classroom to go quiet. This was not as successful as he wanted it to be.

“Come on, Pomeroy,” said Axel. “We can manage to do this properly.”

“You hope,” said McCall.

“Cut it out,” said Young, who had returned to his Oriental chair. “We need to do this.”

“Who’d like to answer my question?” Bethune inquired of the air, making the offer as friendly as possible. “I don’t want to distress you, but it will help me act for you if I know how you feel about this.”

“I would,” said Mary Anne, surprising everyone. She took her place on the gondola sofa near the windows. “I’ve been thinking about this very issue for several days, and I believe that I’m prepared to say that I would go back if—if, mind you—I would not be under constant scrutiny, which may not be possible for some time to come. We’ve been stigmatized, and a superficial apology from the government won’t get rid of the taint. I feel all at loose ends here, and I’m beginning to think that there may not be anything for me in Europe. I’m a capable librarian, but English-language libraries aren’t plentiful here in Europe, and I’ve made a few overtures to private parties in England with vast private libraries, but no luck so far. I may have to try India or Rhodesia, but they aren’t any more welcoming to women in my field than are libraries back home. Who knows what kind of weight a PhD from Northwestern would have there?”

“There’s always Australia or New Zealand,” McCall suggested snidely, and was rewarded by a glare from Charis.

Watching them unobtrusively, Szent-Germain could feel their fear, as if the air had become acidic. The Ex-Pats’ Coven was under increasing strain, and it was taking a toll on all of them. The next year, he believed, would make or break the group. Which way? he wondered; which way?

“Oh, Mary Anne, it can’t be that bad,” Elvira said, doing her utmost to be sympathetic. “It’s frustrating, and sometimes unkind, but you make it sound so … dire.”

“Because it is dire,” said Mary Anne. “Even without the Committee’s interfering, it was getting hard to find a job. The war is over, so women can go back home and be a free maid to a husband coming back from the Front. But mine didn’t come back. He’s in an unmarked grave somewhere in Germany. And surviving on a widow’s benefits is pretty austere. I like being a librarian. I do it well. I’m in no position to do it as a volunteer or a part-timer, and that’s made my circumstances difficult. I did all I could to find a position that would make the most of my skills. But the best job I could find before I left the US was as a librarian at a junior high in Michigan, and that was provisional, requiring that I prove I have no affiliation to or associations with Communist organizations.”

“Gracious, you sound bitter,” said Elvira.

“I
am
bitter,” said Mary Anne, her bluntness surprising them all.

“Sour grapes,” said McCall.

Pomeroy held up his hands again. “Come on, people.”

“Why don’t you go next, Pomeroy?” McCall suggested sweetly, expecting a refusal.

“Okay,” said Pomeroy. “Unless someone else would rather—”

“Just do it,” said Young. “Then McCall can do his stint.”

“All right,” said Pomeroy. “If I could go back and have it the way it was, would I?” He stared at the ceiling as if he expected to see an answer appear there. “I don’t know,” he admitted after the greater part of a minute had passed. “Because it could never be the way it was. That’s the part that bothers me. The way it was is gone. Whether it could be possible to come close to what it was like before I had to leave, I would still be changed because of what I’ve been through the last twenty months, and I would remember what it’s been like living here, trying to find work and being watched by agents of the US government, or other governments—unless there’s a way to have selective amnesia. As it is, I’ll always have almost two years of sporadic employment here in Europe in my CV, and that will influence my decisions from now on. I’m not about to forget what my time here has been like, or what brought me to Paris.” He sighed. “I miss Davis. I like the Valley. I like skiing in the Sierra in the winter, and going up Mount Shasta in the summer. I hope I can do those things again one of these days, but I don’t know if that would be enough after all this.”

“Then you wouldn’t go back?” Bethune asked, wanting to be certain he understood.

“I don’t think so, no; but who’s to say how I will feel in five more years, or even ten. I say that because I think Axel’s right: this isn’t going to be over in a year or two, and when it is over, who knows what the country will look like?”

“He’s got a point,” Young said.

Bethune made a number of notes, then looked at McCall. “Well? What about you?”

McCall drank the last of his coffee and said, “I have no idea. Not one.”

“Hey, no fair,” said Jesse Praeger, trying to sound more jovial than he felt. “We’ve all answered the question. It’s your turn now.”

“But I am answering the question,” McCall said, and got up. “I have nothing more to say,” he said, “so I’ll leave you to your discussions. Thank you all for your engaging conversation, as my mother would have said. Gentlemen. Ladies,” he said, and left the living room to reclaim his jacket from the coat-closet off the foyer.

“Well!” Julia announced.

“Wash, do you want to say anything?” Pomeroy asked, determined to keep their colloquy going.

“Not yet,” said Young. “My situation’s a little more ticklish than yours. I’m going to have to think about it a while. I’ll arrange a time to talk to you, Bethune.”

“That’s fine with me,” said Bethune, and would have gone on but he saw Elvira Praeger go pale. “What’s wrong?”

Elvira trembled and suddenly bent over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m expecting, and sometimes I have a bad response to food.”

There was a general buzz of surprise, most of it delighted, a bit of it not; Szent-Germain watched Elvira with concern.

“That’s wonderful news,” said Mary Anne, her stiff posture giving way to something more welcoming; her enthusiasm silenced the others. “When are you due?”

“The first week in October, I’m told,” Elvira answered, still hunched over.

Charis went to Elvira’s side. “I have some phenobarb in the bathroom. Would you like a pill?” For the first time she felt genuine sympathy for Elvira.

“That’s nice of you, Charis,” said Jesse, “but I’ll make sure she gets a hot brandy toddy at home.”

“Yes,” Elvira said, doing her best to sit up straight. “I think I’d better just go home. Jesse?”

As if this were a signal, the sound of the elevator rising in answer to McCall’s electronic summons grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Yes. I think I’d better go,” said Pomeroy. He addressed Bethune. “Do you have what you need?”

“Almost all,” said Bethune, accepting his defeat with good grace. “I’ll follow up by telephone if there are any other questions that come up.” He got to his feet. “Let the Praegers go down with McCall. There’s not much room for more. They can send the elevator back up, and we’ll figure out who goes next. I think I’ll take the stairs.”

Mary Anne got up and looked around the room. “Do you want some help clearing up?” she asked Charis.

“Thanks, but I can manage. I’ll soak the dishes over night and wash them up in the morning. There’s enough room in the fridge for the left-overs.” She resisted the urge to gather up the abandoned coffee-cups, recalling her mother’s strictures on taking care of guests.