Then he shut out Preston Haller from his mind and said, “You fly?”
Max Blake looked away from the window. “Yes,” he said. There was something in his face, but Adam could not read it. It was new. “I’m launching a rather large project,” he said. “A book. It will require extensive research, and the most elaborate sort of organization. It will also, by reason of this, require a collaborator. I’ve decided you’re as good as anyone else for the job.”
Adam stopped combing his hair.
“Well,” Blake said gruffly, “are you interested, or aren’t you?”
“Interested? Of course,” Adam said. “I mean, my God, it’s a hell of an honor, and I certainly appreciate—”
“Then pack your bag.” Blake pulled up his sleeve and studied his wrist watch. “I should like us to be on our way within a half hour. There’s a plane from Farragut at 12:40.”
“Hey, hold on, Max! Wait a second.”
“I have no time for waiting,” Blake said, “particularly in such dismal surroundings. Either you wish to collaborate with me on a book, or you do not. If you do, then you will stop sputtering and mooning about in front of that mirror, pack at once and accompany me to New York. If the prospect of sharing a name credit with Max Blake doesn’t interest you, on the other hand, then—”
“Max, didn’t you get my letters?”
“I did.”
“Well, I mean—you read them, didn’t you?”
The stubby man kept pushing at his ring. “Yes, yes,” he said.
“Then you ought to know, you ought to understand—I can’t go with you to New York. I can’t go anywhere, not right now.”
“Nonsense!” Blake’s voice was loud and angry. “I took you for an adult, Cramer. Surely you don’t suppose that what you are doing here has the remotest importance!”
Adam stepped back, recoiled as though physically struck. “You’re joking, aren’t you, Max?” he said slowly.
Blake stared for a moment, then, in a somewhat altered tone, said: “Well, perhaps a bit. I have an obsession with rudeness, as you know. Polite people always seem to wind up in unholy ground.” For the first time, he smiled. “Anyway, I thought you’d become adjusted to my manners.”
Adam relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just been a while, I guess. And I have been working like a bastard.”
“I know,” Blake said, and the smile vanished.
“But, it’s been going beautifully. They’ve accepted me here, and integration has been stopped; at least for the time being.” Adam adjusted his coat. “Max,” he said finally, because the question had been burning inside him, “aren’t you going to congratulate me?”
Blake glanced away.
“I mean, it’s—the whole thing’s perfect, really. Exactly as we discussed it. I think I’ve been doing an excellent job.” He paused, waited, waited hungrily for the crooked grin and the gruff words.
“I am not in the habit of asking people to do things,” Blake said. “But I’m going to ask you to reconsider your decision. After all, you’ve proved your point, haven’t you? Not that it needed proving: I told you long ago that people were sheep. Your work is finished. Why go on?”
“Finished?” Adam grinned. “My work is just beginning! I’ve made contacts in half a dozen other states. The organization is building all the time; it’s building, growing stronger. Fellow in Alabama called me long distance yesterday, wanting to start a chapter in Mobile. He can get a state charter. Hell, Max—there’s no telling how far this thing can go! Did I write you about the university?”
Blake shook his head slowly.
“White Citizens College!” Adam said. “No kidding. I’ve got a promise of funds from this guy Shipman I told you about, and we’ll be ready to lay the foundation in a few weeks. Also, I’ve found another way to corral the herd, and it’s working: the fluoride gimmick. You know: ‘They’re poisoning our water and charging us for it!’ ” He laughed softly. “Half of Farragut will shift over to our side when I bring this out.”
He went to the bureau and withdrew a newspaper.
“I’ll pick up five thousand of these this afternoon from the Orange press. Guy in the Council, Holliman, runs it. Take a look—and don’t laugh, because this is the kind of thing that’s dragging them in. I spent two hours with the PTA—with quite a few of them, anyway—and all I talked about was Frobenius! And you know what? They loved it!”
Blake glanced at the newspaper and tossed it aside. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose and then replaced the glasses. “Very—impressive,” he said.
“Well, it wasn’t all me. You helped an awful lot.”
“Don’t say that!” Blake began to breathe heavily. “I am going to be frank with you now,” he said. “I want you to stop what you are doing here. I want you to stop and leave the South immediately.”
Adam froze.
“Why?” he said.
“Because you must!” Blake’s shirt front was stained dark with perspiration now. The muscles in his throat were moving. “Do you have any idea of the notoriety this nonsense has attracted? It’s on the front of every newspaper in California!”
“Well?”
“Is that what you’re after? Notoriety?”
Adam looked at his former teacher, and tried desperately not to believe the thoughts that were crowding upon his mind.
“I can answer that best,” he said, “by quoting a guy who lives in Westwood and teaches political theory: ‘Today’s notoriety is tomorrow’s fame.’ ”
Blake frowned. “That doesn’t matter,” he said, “never mind all that. The fact is that you’re making a perfect ass of yourself. This whole, this whole thing—is ridiculous!”
Adam knew that his own face was growing hot and red, and he had the same angry, hopeless, terrified feeling he’d had so often in the past when his father had snatched books from his hands and exasperatedly commanded him to be a boy, a boy, to be a regular boy (“Why don’t you get outside, for the love of God, and stop this slouching around! You want to be sick, is that it? You want to stay sick the rest of your life?”), and he found that he wanted to cry.
“Max,” he said, and tried to steady his voice, “what’s wrong?” And in his mind, the words that were not words rushed: Professor Blake, don’t look at me that way, please don’t. Can’t you see, I did it just as much for you as for myself. I wanted you to be proud. I wanted that, so much, because no one has ever been proud of me before, not ever. But you helped me. You gave me faith in myself. You believed in Adam Cramer, Max, and I loved you for it and I was grateful. Please don’t look at me that way! I haven’t failed. I haven’t failed! Don’t say I have and take away the single thing I’ve loved—I love you! Love me back, please. Max!
“Everything,” Blake said.
“How?” Adam could not control the tension. “It’s gone exactly as we planned it; every—”
“We planned nothing!” Blake said, in a voice too loud, too nervous. “You planned! I have no part in this, no part whatever, and I forbid you to mention my name again! Is that clear?”
Adam did not move. He could not.
“You have caused me acute embarrassment,” Blake said. “As a result of that newspaper article my position at the University has actually become precarious.”
“What newspaper article?”
“Letters!” Blake said. “I have received dozens of them! Phone calls, telegrams. Even the privacy of my home has been invaded—all because of this. All because you chose to take some innocent theorizing literally. This,” he stammered, “this is a mistake.” He was breathing more heavily than before. “A great mistake!”
Suddenly the man who had sat in the leather throne and ruled the air was gone; that man existed now, along with Marty, in the shadow-world of the empty lot and the river and the streets at dusk where the guys played ball and tried to hold the night away; the world that never really was; and in his place was a sweaty little man with glasses, scared of his j
ob, scared—
—of me, Adam thought.
“Why is it a mistake, Max?” he said, looking at the man’s reflection in the mirror.
“Because it won’t work.”
“But it is working. You said so yourself, earlier. Or don’t you remember? No; I guess you don’t. The conversation has been a little diffuse. Anyway, if it does work, then is it a mistake?”
Blake’s mouth opened and closed. The perspiration glistened on his face like a fine coating of oil, and now he seemed physically a different person from the one who’d walked in and arrogantly surveyed the room a few minutes ago.
“Well?”
“Of course, of course it is. It’s wrong—”
“Wrong?” Adam threw back his head and laughed. “Wrong! Oh, Max. Really.”
“Listen to me!”
“Quote,” Adam said. “ ‘The only actual wrong in the world is our belief in the concept of wrong.’ Unquote. Whoever said that, Max? Or this. Quote: ‘The words good and evil are technical terms and have no business in the general vocabulary; a law should be passed by which only professional pragmatists are allowed to use them.’ Unquote. You see. I did listen to you. In fact, I memorized everything you ever said, every priceless little epigram.”
“Adam, please. This is a serious matter.”
“No! Max, I almost get the feeling that you’re concerned! But that couldn’t be, because you never get concerned. Quote. ‘I regard the world as a cheap burlesque in which the girls are all knock-kneed and the comics have but one routine; and I am doomed to watch this repetitious show because I can’t be sure that things aren’t worse outside.’ Unquote. I got a million of ’em!”
Blake had begun to pale visibly, and this shocked Adam.
“Go out and conquer the world, Max. If anything is worth doing, it’s that. You said it. I’m doing it. Following your own blueprint, too. And you want me to stop! Because I’m failing, because you’re fond of me and don’t want to see me get my feelings hurt? Is that it?”
“It’s part of it, yes,” Blake mumbled.
Adam stared at him coldly. “As they say in these parts, Professor Blake, that’s a plain crock of shit. Let me straighten you out. You came in here with a problem. You thought that you’d managed to convince me that you were an intellectual giant: a bored, cynical, knife-brilliant guy who’d seen everything and didn’t give a damn for any of it. The Dark Socrates! I’ll admit you played the role to perfection. And you were right: I was convinced. Pres caught on early and told me you were a phony—you remember Preston Haller—but I argued. For one thing, I didn’t believe him; for another, it would have been pretty hard to admit that I’d been fooled so easy.
“So I went on believing. And you knew it, too. In the Blake-ite sect, Adam Cramer was Apostle Number One!
“It was all you really needed, wasn’t it? As long as you had me—or somebody like me—sitting at your feet, things were dandy. That way you could pretend you were something special—you could pretend you really were Max Blake, Genius First Class. Sure. I’ve heard that actors sometimes fall into the parts they happen to be playing. Why not? Acting, writing, painting—they all come from incipient schizophrenia, don’t they? By God, you know, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure you did believe in the legend—just as strongly as I did! And that’s probably why you were so convincing.”
“I will not listen to this!” Blake exclaimed furiously.
“It was a perfect setup, I’ll say that,” Adam went on. “It justified the life you were leading, and filled in almost all of the holes. With your little band of idolators, you never had to think much about the truth—which was that you were a two-bit professor without the creative talent to do, or the guts to undo, anything worth while. Or, like Pres said, a phony.”
Max Blake tensed, then suddenly relaxed. His face remained pale. He seemed to be drained of emotion. Seated on the bed, he looked very small, and very weak, to Adam.
“Of course, down-deep you knew that it was all in fun. When a man professes to believe in nothing, as you did, he’s considered either a fool or a genius. You were obviously not a fool. So it wasn’t too difficult persuading people you were a genius. But you never dreamed anyone would take you seriously—actually think of putting your lack of principles into practice! Good God, everyone knows that this is just talk! Everyone knows that the really important things are money and jobs and the rent paid up and three good suits and insurance—
“So you were troubled when I took off. You were shocked and worried at my letters, although you probably didn’t believe them. Then you realized that it was true. Somebody had taken your routine seriously and was actually carrying it out! Worst of all, this somebody was going around mentioning your name. The newspapers were picking up on it.
“It would never do. You knew you’d have to leave your ivory outhouse and stop this crazy hooligan before he got you into trouble with the faculty.
“The problem was—how to swing it? After all, the disciple was only doing what the Master had told him to do.
“But it wasn’t really a problem. It was a choice. In order to keep the illusion of the Great Amoralist, you’d have to stay home and applaud; any other course would screw it up. So it came to a question of values. Who was more important to you—Blake the god or Blake the man? Because one of them had to go.
“You made your choice. Of course, you tried to hang onto both when you swept in here with the big book proposition, but it was a lost cause, and you knew it would be.”
Outside, the late morning heat pressed up against the windows and made invisible snakes swim over the streets. An occasional auto horn moaned, but there was otherwise no sound.
“Now I suppose you’re not talking because you think I’m sorry for you. You’re wondering if I’m sorry enough—and disillusioned enough—to call everything off and maybe go shoot myself, or something. Right? I mean, it’d be pretty horrible, wouldn’t it, degrading yourself like this in front of a mere boy and all for nothing? God, then you wouldn’t have anything left! No idolators, no pride, no job. No nothin’.”
Blake sat tensely; his eyes were moist and wild behind the heavy glasses.
Adam grinned and walked close to the bed. He lit a cigarette, dropped the match into a glass ashtray, and said: “What would you do, Professor? Where would you go?”
“Stop it!” Blake cried. “Stop it, Adam, please. I don’t care what you think. Perhaps some of it is true. That doesn’t matter now. I’m asking you as a friend—”
“Quote. ‘A friend is one who, after he has stabbed you in the back, will be moved to select a tasteful tombstone.’ Unquote. Try asking me as an enemy, instead. Only remember, ‘One is judged by the quality as well as the quantity of his enemies.’ Or look: why not go right to the bottom and beg me. Be pitiful. Be pathetic, even a little comical. Maybe I’ll be so disgusted I’ll give up. Well, aren’t you going to beg?”
Slowly Blake said, “Very well. I beg you.”
“I don’t know, I don’t think you have your heart in it. I tell you what, though. Try it on your knees. That might help.”
Blake’s eyes flashed. His right hand clutched the edge of the mattress, and Adam could see that the little flexible bones across his knuckles were white.
“Okay, forget it. I thought this meant something to you. Apparently it doesn’t, though.”
“I’ll pay you,” Blake said. “I’ll give you whatever you ask, within reason.”
“A bribe? Gee, I don’t know. There’s something so cold and businesslike about it. Besides, it wouldn’t really solve the situation. For you, that is. I mean, let’s say I took your money and promised I’d be a good boy. What assurance could you have that I’d keep the promise? A crazy guy like me, I might do anything! You’d worry day and night, lose all kinds of weight, ruin your health—no. I’ve decided that I can’t swing it, Professor Blake. I am sorry for you but I think that if I just sort of keep on with this thing, it’ll be good for you. In the long run
. Without a job, you’ll be free, and maybe that’ll force you into doing the things you want to do . . . Of course, it’ll be tough at first. But—”
“Please!”
Adam thought of going further, but he looked again at Max Blake and knew that it would be pointless. The man would, literally, do anything, just as he’d promised.
“May I ask what you intend to do?” Blake said.
“You’ll find out, Max. Just keep reading the newspapers. And watch for your name, because I’m going to spread it around like manure on a lawn. You’re going to be famous—just like Frankenstein. I can see the headlines now! ‘Professor Blake’s Monster Goes Wild Again!’ Or: ‘Cramer reports, All I know I learned from my teacher, Max V. Blake. He’s the man who deserves the credit.’ Think of it: all your wonderful epigrams, your philosophy, everything, in print all over the world! Think of it, Professor, and remember that whatever happens, you helped make it happen. Now get out of here before I throw up.”
Adam pulled the door open. He grasped Max Blake’s arm and pushed him into the hall; then he slammed the door.
Joan limped toward him with the cup of coffee, managing, as always, not to spill any. The coffee was too strong and too bitter for Adam’s taste, but it was hot and it helped.
“You ask me,” the toothless man named Harold said, “it served him right.”
“What’s that?” Adam said.
“. . . wouldn’t of dared to come down to school. It was him started the whole thing off again! Him and that Green kid. I say that was plain asking for it.”
The Intruder Page 29