The Just And The Unjust (38 page)

Frowning, Bonnie said to the lifted telephone, 'No, I can't. No. Never mind about me.' She wore a plain white blouse and a short flaring black shirt. She looked pale and tense; and Abner, feeling an inarticulate concern for her, came across the room and sat on the edge of the desk. He took her free hand between his.

Turning her mouth from the telephone, Bonnie murmured, 'Don't sit there. You're all wet.' She tried to draw her hand away, and then let him hold it. She moved her head wearily and closed her eyes. 'Oh, Mother, no!' she said. 'I can't tell you now. I don't know. I have to go back. I'll call you when I can.' She hung up.

Through the door, left open a little, Abner could look across Mr. Rawle's office and through a second half-open door into the lighted Board Room. Leaning forward, he could see Mrs. Ballinger, her stout bosom hung with a fussy cascade of black ruffles, sitting as chairman at the head of the oval table. Her face was sunk in lines of vexation and discouragement. She slumped dejectedly, opening and closing on the table her hand, whose fingers bore a number of old-fashioned diamond rings. From the general movement in there, it seemed plain that the meeting was over; and it could not have ended to Mrs. Ballinger's satisfaction. The view of her was cut off by Alfred Hobbs whose grey hair was disordered above his stern face. He went, balanced like a stork on one leg, and Abner could see that he was angrily pulling on one of a pair of rubbers.

Still holding Bonnie's hand, Abner said, 'It's over, isn't it? What happened?'

'Yes,' said Bonnie. She took the hand away. 'I can't leave, though. I'll have to help Mr. Rawle with a statement he's preparing. I don't really know what's going to happen. Mr. Hobbs tried to force a resolution censuring him.'

'Don't worry about it,' Abner said.

'How can I help worrying about it?' she said impatiently, 'I'll lose my job. I haven't any tenure.' She bit her lip. 'I'm just as bad as the rest of them. All I worry about is what's going to happen to me.'

'We fixed up what was going to happen to you last night,' Abner said. 'I'm sorry about Mr. Rawle; but if you want to know, I hope you will lose your job. That would be fine. We won't have to argue any more. Now, I'm going to get an application when I get back to the courthouse. You can just tell your mother you're getting married.'

'And I can just tell you I'm not!' Bonnie said. She jerked her chin up bitterly. 'Ab, haven't you any sense? I told you not to come over here now. You just have a genius for picking a time when —'

'You don't have to do anything now,' Abner said. 'I'll bring the application form over to-night; and all you have to do is fill in your part of it. By the new law, you also have to go down to Doc Mosher for a serologic test for syphilis, because we have to file the reports with the application. If I don't get it started, we'll still be fooling around —'

'Ab,' she said, 'I won't have you treating me this way! You seem to think I haven't anything to say about it —'

'You do nothing but say,' Abner said. He had meant to speak placatingly; but what she said, sinking in, began to sting; and in an eruption of anger he could not help pointing out to himself that, as a matter of fact, it was
she
who seemed to think that
he
hadn't anything to say about it. She seemed to think she was the only one with any worries. She seemed to think he had no right to open his mouth until, at her good pleasure, she told him he might.

Abner opened his mouth; but Bonnie had already turned to walk away with a movement for which the hostile word was flouncing. She could not have been looking where she was going, for at the door she nearly collided with Jesse Gearhart who had been coming out through Mr. Rawle's office. 'Oh, beg pardon, Bonnie,' he said.

She said with difficulty, 'I'm sorry.' She stepped aside and went by him; and Jesse came slowly and heavily into the room. 'Here's your stuff, Ab,' he said, holding the folder out. 'Much obliged.'

'That's all right,' Abner said, swallowing.

It was not the moment Abner would have chosen for a talk with Jesse; but because he did not know what if anything Jesse had heard, he felt like a fool; and in order not to appear like one, it seemed necessary to say something more. He said, 'I didn't mean to make a fuss about it this morning, Jesse. It wasn't an ordinary case; and it seemed better to try to keep it as quiet as we could —' Abner found himself remembering what his father said last night about people having rows; and he had just had a row with Bonnie; but you couldn't say that he brought it on by being a little remote, or apathetic, or — he searched for the last word, the one he liked least — phlegmatic! He didn't like it any better now. It was a word that seemed to him somewhat fancy, not a word he would be apt to use himself; but if he had to use it, he would probably apply it to someone like Jesse — the flat lifeless hair, the grey lumpish face, the pale fishy eyes.

Jesse, standing still, by a motion of the head acknowledged the apology, or at least, the excuse, taking his due; but at the same time and by the same motion, he thanked Abner for offering it; and then, still in the same motion, he disembarrassed them both of the whole matter, implying that they need think no more about it. Since none of this could be expressed in words, Abner was astonished both by the feat, whatever it was, of unmistakably conveying it; and by the delicacy of perception that told Jesse when to hold his tongue.

Abner saw with confusion that he knew nothing at all about Jesse. He knew the face that he had just thought of as phlegmatic; and he knew a half a dozen stories or parts of stories — or even, mere epithets: Van Zant saying in passing, but positively, 'He's another son of a bitch.' They were all more or less defamatory, the relations of Jesse's enemies: but out of them Abner manufactured his idea. He had not even troubled to see whether the idea squared with the evidence of his senses, whether his picture of Jesse corresponded with what he could see. The picture was that of the politician of popular legend, tough, cynical, and corrupt; yet if Abner asked himself when he had noted those qualities in Jesse, he could not answer. He had certainly never seen Jesse in that well-known room, little and smoke-filled, trafficking in offices, dividing booty, making deals with similar scoundrels at the cost of the just and the upright. Indeed, when you considered this familiar figure, a difficulty presented itself. How did such a man, who must by definition be disliked on sight and distrusted by everyone, win himself a position of power? Jesse said, 'Ab, what do you think about this?'

'I think it's too bad it happened,' Abner said. Granted that the wicked man in the little smoke-filled room — like Lucius' 'gangsters'; perhaps, like a good many other every-day fantasies to which nothing had yet happened to attract Abner's critical attention — was at variance with plain facts, Abner still found it difficult to be easy with Jesse. At Jesse's question he was filled with uncontrollable suspicions; something baulked in him again at the note of consultation, which must be meant for flattery, and must mean that Jesse wanted something. Abner realized that his tone bristled. To cover it up, he said, 'What's the board think?'

'I don't know that we're really thinking as a board yet,' Jesse said. 'We're thinking as individuals; so, of course, we don't agree. Going home to lunch?'

'I haven't time,' Abner said. 'We resume it one-thirty.' He looked at his watch. 'I'll run down to the Acme and get a sandwich, I guess.'

'Can I give you a lift? I'm going that way.' Abner was sorry that he had not brought his car. 'All right, thanks,' he said. He took up his hat from the bench and Jesse opened the door.

'Yes,' Jesse said, when they were out in the rain, 'we haven't reached any agreement yet. One attitude is that Mr. Rawle is personally responsible, and we'd better clean house. I don't know how fair that is.'

They got into the car and Jesse started it. He had the old man's driving habit of doing dangerous things-calmly and ill-considered things with great care. He came out the drive into Academy Street without looking for oncoming cars; but when he got himself in a position where such a car, if there were one, would have the most trouble to avoid hitting him, he stopped and peered around. Slowly starting again, he then observed a car turning in half a block ahead. He was well out toward the middle of the street, so when he put his brakes on with no warning and no apparent reason, a laundry truck that left the kerb and came up close behind had to swing away, missing him by a miracle. The shaken driver yelled through the rain, 'Whyn't you stick your hand out, stupid!' but Jesse was not perturbed. He said to Abner, 'Strike you Rawle's to blame?'

'I don't know,' Abner said, somewhat shaken, too. 'I suppose you have to trust someone. I should think the point would be what was best for the school system. Whether this shows Rawle isn't able to run things —'

'You like him?'

'Why, yes,' Abner said. 'I hardly know him.' He felt himself stiffening again; for it crossed his mind that Jesse, who knew all about Bonnie's position, might think — Abner didn't know what, exactly.

'Would you be interested in helping him?' Jesse said. He had been driving faster; and, passing a car, he cut in in front and carefully slowed down. Abner instinctively looked over his shoulder. Collecting himself, for the other driver had fortunately been paying attention and was able to get his brakes on in time, Abner said, 'Well, sure. But I don't see exactly what I could do.'

'There's one thing,' Jesse said. 'If we have a hearing, it would be more or less formal; a lot of testimony and so on. Would you care to act as his counsel?' Turning his attention soberly from where he was going, he looked at Abner. 'I don't think you'd be expected to do it for nothing,' he said. 'It would take time and be a good deal of trouble. We couldn't afford much; but —'

'I don't mind about that part of it,' Abner said, rubbed the wrong way again, 'but I'm not up on the law in the case. It would be all new to me; and I don't see how I'd be much use to him.' He paused, trying to keep still; but Jesse continued to drive without looking where he was going, so Abner said hastily, 'Car coming out there, Jesse.'

'Oh. Thanks. Didn't see it.' Jesse avoided the car by a few inches. 'Well, what I was thinking, Ab, was that, after all, you were the one who prosecuted Field. It wouldn't really be a matter of law, I think. It's knowing how to question witnesses and so on. I think you could do him a great service. Mrs. Ballinger and I are pretty much alone at the moment; but I don't think we'll be helpless by any means. The Department of Public Instruction can be brought in on it; and I know Ed Holstrom, the County Superintendent, thinks Rawle's a good man. Well, would you think it over and let me know, Ab? We're meeting again this evening, and Holstrom will be there then.' He slowed down in the thickest traffic of Broad Street; and Abner said, 'This will do me fine, thanks, Jesse. Why, I don't know that I need to think it over. I'll do what I can.'

Jesse said, 'Well, I certainly appreciate that, Ab; and I know Rawle will. I'll tell them, if it's all right with you.' He stopped, holding up a long line of cars, and Abner jumped out.

'I'll call you later, then,' Jesse said.

One or two of the drivers behind began to blow their horns indignantly; and Abner waved a hand, and crossed the pavement to the Acme Lunch. With the immediate pressure of Jesse's presence removed, he could not understand why he had said he would — except that it was hard to know what else to say when you were asked to help a man who was in trouble.

7

In the Acme Lunch there was one vacant place at the end of the counter. Going to it, Abner found that Everitt Weitzel sat next to him. Everitt was finishing a bowl of cornflakes and milk. Peering up sideways, he said, 'Well, Ab, coming down in the world?'

In court, in his neat tipstaff's jacket, Everitt had an air of authority and importance; but when he put the jacket in his locker, he put the air away with it. He was an obliging and gentle old man. The minor court-attendant jobs were dealt out to the deserving and necessitous. It was policy, since the purpose was vote-getting, to select a member of some lodge or association who was well-liked and who, through illness or misfortune, badly needed the small salary. As a likeable person, as the recipient of political favour, as a sufferer from considerable troubles, the selected man tended to be affable but anxious, to be free with little jokes and slow to contradict, to be philosophic and yet melancholy because of his life's ups and downs.

Everitt said, 'That Jesse you were with? I noticed him there upstairs this morning. I guess Field's making a lot of trouble for the School Board. Well, if a fellow wants some of that, he ought to take them a little older; that's what I say. Get a superior article, too. They ought to be properly developed for best results.' His amiable coarseness had the sad overtone of age, the half-heartedness of a discussion now purely academic, in which he obligingly catered more to what he knew was the normal interest of other men than to his own. 'They going to fire Mr. Rawle?' he asked. 'I don't know,' Abner said. 'How about some service here?'

'Willard's sick to-day,' Everitt said. 'There's more than one man can do. Hey, Al, you got company!'

The boy in the dirty chef's apron who was pressing half a dozen hissing pats of meat on the hot griddle with a spatula turned his sweating face and smiled. 'Be right there, Mr. Coates.' Abner said, 'A ham and egg sandwich and some coffee.'

'It's mainly a matter of politics,' Everitt said. 'Perhaps it shouldn't be; but it is. Somebody has an eye on Rawle's job. That's the size of it. I don't think Mr. Hobbs gets along very well with Jesse.' The workings of the system which had found him his own job were familiar to Everitt, and he was cautious about criticizing them; but a man had a right to speak his mind. As long as he didn't get too positive (as though he were trying to run things), and didn't make remarks that, if repeated, would offend and anger those to whom he should be grateful, he was free enough.

Abner watched the progress of his ham and eggs in a skillet over the gas flame. He said, 'I don't know, Everitt.' Everitt's art of being meek, but with dignity, was a good art, and took skill and judgment; but, supposing he had any skill and judgment, Abner wondered if he wanted to use it that way — to get and keep a job. His situation there, he saw, had points in common with the situation he had got himself into with Bonnie. In both cases he wanted what he wanted, but on his own terms. When you were as old as Everitt, you probably found that what you wanted could never be got that way. The only things you could have just the way you wanted them were those things you could give yourself.