Tapestry

by Belva Plain

  “Whew!” Ben said. “How much did you eat, for Christ’s sake? You puked up enough for a horse.”

  “I don’t know. Three pieces of pie,” Hank mumbled. “It came on me all of a sudden.”

  “Shouldn’t wonder. Here, rinse your mouth and go lie down. You look green.”

  Tony stuck his head in at the door. “Kid sick?”

  “Ate too much. Tell you what, I’ve got to run across to the courthouse for a couple of minutes. Can he lie down in the office? By the time I get back, hell be okay—now that he’s puked it all up.”

  “Sure. Come on back here, Hank.”

  Hank had never been in the office. He’d only had quick glimpses of it when the heavy steel door opened to let somebody in or out. In his misery now, as he followed Tony, he had an impression of a chilly place, concrete and bare, with a large battered desk, a safe, and a few wooden kitchen chairs. Across the room in the rear, a curtain hung on a rod. Tony pushed it aside to reveal a cot with a blanket folded at the foot.

  “Here, lie down, kid,” he said, covered Hank with the blanket, and drew the curtain.

  The blanket was thick and warm enough to stop the shivering. He lay quite still, feeling the warmth. Ahead and above, close to the ceiling, were two small windows with strong bars. It was like being in a cell, except for the curtain that separated the dim little space from the rest of the room. He wondered why the windows were barred. He began to feel eased, now that his stomach had been relieved. With ease came embarrassment over the mess he had made. He was thankful he hadn’t got any on his clothes, otherwise he would have had to go home and change; no, Ben would just have gone down the street and bought him some clothes … he was sleepy … he closed his eyes …

  When he opened them, he heard voices from the other side of the curtain. One was Tony’s.

  “Nah, the kid’s asleep. He got sick. Wouldn’t know what we’re talking about anyway. Just a kid.”

  “Okay. If you say so.”

  Then a third voice. “So, I was telling you, the big guy’s worried.”

  “Bad as that?” Tony sounded surprised.

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “I didn’t figure he would be.”

  There was a long pause. A chair scraped on the concrete, making a cold vibration down Hank’s spine. Someone struck a match.

  “Ben worries him.”

  “You’re kidding. Ben does?”

  “Yeah. He’ll be subpoenaed.”

  “So?” That was Tony again. “What about it?”

  “Don’t be a jerk.” The voice was exasperated. “He won’t know how to handle it, that’s what about it.”

  “Ben can handle anything. Why do you think the big guy’s kept him around, coddled like a baby?”

  “Because he’s smart with figures, that’s all. Can keep them in his head. But he’s liable to scare on the stand.”

  Hank wanted to let them hear his indignation. Ben scared? What are you talking about? Ben’s not afraid of anybody! But he kept still. They would be very angry if they knew he wasn’t asleep.

  One of the men, not Tony, inquired now, “What’s his program today?”

  “The usual Wednesday route.”

  “He’s over at the courthouse now. Be back any minute,” Tony said. “You see the big guy this morning?”

  The third man said quickly, “What’s it your business? What do you need to know for?”

  “Oh, nothing, nothing,” Tony apologized. “Only asked.”

  “So don’t ask. Just keep the spaghetti coming and keep your mouth shut.”

  “Of course, of course,” Tony said.

  Chairs scraped. They were leaving.

  “Unlock the door. See you around.”

  The door closed, its weight making a muffled thud, and then the lock clicked.

  Hank closed his eyes. What was all that about? he wondered. All that talk about the big guy. What big guy?

  When the curtain was drawn back, the rings clinked so that he could pretend to have just been awakened. He opened his eyes, yawned widely and stretched.

  “I guess I slept,” he said, smiling up at Tony.

  “I guess you did. Feeling better?”

  “All right now, thanks. It was awful, though.”

  “Well, don’t overdo the pie next time. Come on out and wait for your dad.”

  Ben was just coming in. “Hank! Feeling okay again, are you? Sure, you look like yourself. Okay, I just have to make one phone call and then we’ll be off. It’s a great day out.”

  Ben sat down at the desk to use the telephone. He had a hat on, pushed far back on his head, and his forehead was sweating. Hank noticed things like that. He watched people.

  “Donal? Okay, I went over all the books again.… I don’t know yet.… I’m a little worried, sure. Why not? Well, naturally … The Treasury guy is pretty sharp, you know.”

  Then Ben fell silent and listened. The voice at the other end of the wire sounded, from where Hank sat, like radio static. It went on for quite a while. Finally it stopped and Ben spoke again.

  “But I’ve told you, Donal. I thought I made myself pretty clear. I just don’t want to be in this business anymore. It’s as simple as that. Nothing against you—for God’s sake, you know that! You’ve been good to me, and I appreciate everything, you know that too. What? What? What did you say? Oh, you can’t mean that, Donal!”

  Static sounded again across the room. Yet, unintelligible as the words were, Hank was sure that they were furious.

  “I know I like the money.” Ben’s free hand, gripping the desk, showed white knuckles. “I never said I didn’t, did I? But I’m a professional. I’ve got two degrees and I want to use them to do bigger things, stretch my mind. There’s nothing wrong about that, is there? It shouldn’t be hard to understand— What? What did you say?”

  A fierce croaking sounded from the telephone. Ben sat up straight and threw his hat on the floor.

  “Now listen, Donal. I don’t deserve this from you. I’ve given you the best that’s in me, we’ve played fair and square with each other, and you know it. That’s no way to talk to me. Don’t I have the right to quit, for God’s sake? Shake hands, part friends, go my own way? For Christ’s sake, Donal, be reasonable … Yeah … Yeah, I said I’d stick with you till this is over. How many times do I have to tell you? Did you think I’d walk out on you in the middle of a mess? Listen to me, as God is my witness, I’ll see you through this and give you my best with all I’ve got, the way I’ve always done. After it, though, I’m through. I really am, and nothing’s going to change my mind.”

  The voice that answered on the other end was quieter now. With the receiver at his ear, Ben began to nod as though in approval.

  “Why, yes,” he said. The frown between his eyes eased away. “That makes more sense. This has nothing to do with our friendship, just because I go my own way. Sure, Donal. Well, I feel better hearing that. Today? The Acorn, that’s my first stop. Then Rainbow Inn for a quick look at the books. Oh, I’ll have time. There’s no traffic that far out. It won’t take more than thirty minutes at the Rainbow. There’s nobody there in the middle of the afternoon. Okay. Take care, Donal.”

  “Did you have a fight with Donal?” Hank asked.

  “Well, sort of. But he calmed down. It’s okay. Don’t worry, kid. You look worried.”

  “I didn’t think you and he ever fought. Are you really not going to work for him anymore?”

  “No, I’ve had enough. It’s time for a change. A nice change. It’ll do us all good. Come on, kid.”

  The fine car hummed as it rolled down the highway. Hank watched Ben’s hands make the slight turn of the wheel that brought the car around the curve at forty miles an hour. He had already memorized the movements of the shift and knew, in advance of a looming hill, how Ben was going to slide into second gear while his foot depressed the clutch. In just five years, he would have his own driver’s license. He couldn’t wait.

  They turned off down the main street of
a neat little town, past the usual row of Woolworth’s, the A&P, a gas station, a school, and, at the corner, the police station. Diagonally across from the latter was the Acorn. Hank had been there before. It was a simple place with sawdust on the floor; the specialty was steaks and chops. On the second floor was the room where they shot craps late at night with the shades drawn. Ben hadn’t made a secret of it.

  “People like to gamble,” he’d said. “I personally never do, it’s not in my nature and I hope it won’t be in yours. No,” he’d said, “I’ll correct that. I don’t hope, I know it won’t. Not with your background and the education you’re getting. But as long as so many people like to, just the way they like to drink, they might as well make whatever money’s to be made out of it. At least, that’s the way they figure it.”

  He stopped the car. “I’ll just hop out and pick up some papers. You can wait.”

  In a minute or two he reappeared with a ledger under his arm. “My night’s work. Sometimes I’d rather go over this stuff in comfort at home. Well, here we go! Out to the sticks. A grand day for it.”

  It was really beautiful here. There were almost no cars and they could speed along as if they were flying. The fields were so quiet! White little country houses looked as if they were asleep. There were swings on the front porches, but no one was in them. Hank supposed they were all far out of sight, working in the fields; planting, mostly, this time of year. The little he knew about farms he had learned at Uncle Alfie’s place.

  “We’ll almost be passing Uncle Alfie’s, won’t we?”

  “Not far. If we had time, I’d take the detour, but then we wouldn’t make it to the ballgame tonight.”

  “My father died at Uncle Alfie’s house, didn’t he?” Hank knew quite well that his father had died there, but something made him want to talk about it.

  “That’s right,” Ben said.

  “Did you know my father very well?”

  “A little.”

  “Were you there when he died?”

  “Yes.” Ben took a hand off the wheel and laid it on Hank’s arm. “What do you want to talk about that for? Dead is dead and it’s a wonderful day. Think positively.”

  “That’s what Grandpa says.”

  “Well, he’s right. Dan has a good outlook on life, although I don’t always agree with him.”

  “I know, why don’t you?”

  “Well, sometimes I think he tends to be too serious.”

  “Like taking me to see Journey’s End?”

  “Well, yes. To my way of thinking you’re too young to be thinking about the trenches and the killing.”

  But he hadn’t been too young. He had thought very deeply afterward about the awful cruelty—the stupid cruelty—and it had made him decide not only that he would never fight, no matter what, but that when he grew up he would do whatever he could to keep men from doing such awful things to each other.

  “Didn’t you have a better time when we saw Douglas Fairbanks in The Thief of Baghdad?”

  “I liked that too. You can’t compare them, Ben.”

  Ben glanced at him and smiled. “What a nice kid you are! I’m glad you’re my kid, even if you’re like your grandfather. No, I have no worries about you, at least. None at all.”

  No worries about you, at least. Then he did have other worries, even though he had denied them.

  The frown came back between Ben’s eyes as if, suddenly, in the midst of happy talk, he had remembered something.

  They rode on in silence. For a time Hank kept his thoughts to himself. Finally he had to speak.

  “When I was lying down before,” he said, “they thought I was asleep. They said you were worried or scared or something.”

  Ben was startled. “Who said?”

  “Some men. They were talking to Tony. They said something about you going to court, that you’d be scared. I was pretty darn angry to hear that.”

  Ben seemed to be thinking. Then he asked whether Hank could remember anything else.

  Hank shook his head. “No, but they had no right to say that about you.”

  “Well, people shoot their mouths off sometimes without its meaning much. You have any idea who they were?”

  “I was behind the curtain.”

  “Of course. You wouldn’t have known them anyway.” Ben bit his lip and frowned again, deepening the parallel creases in his forehead. After a while he straightened his face and looked over to Hank. “Listen to me. I’ve always trusted you. And you’re old enough to understand. Or if you’re not old enough yet, you will be some day. What I want is your promise not to talk to anybody—anybody at all—about what you heard today.”

  “About those men?”

  “About them, or about my talk with Donal. It’s nobody’s business. I can trust you, can’t I?”

  Hank felt solemn and prideful and grown up. “Of course you can, Ben.”

  “Swell! So now let’s drop it. You’ve got a reading list for the summer, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, a long one.”

  “Well, that’s a private school for you! I’m glad I got my way. In that school and with your marks, you’ll walk right into any Ivy League place you choose. Still want to be a doctor, do you?”

  Hank nodded. “Or something else in science, physics maybe or electrical engineering.”

  “There you go! Like your grandpa again. Well, we’re almost there.”

  They were in a region of rich estates. The two-lane blacktop road swerved between cut stone walls, thick privet hedges, and whitewashed fences. Long bluestone gravel drives led to where fine houses stood on top of a rise or lay among meadows and paddocks. Horses and dairy herds grazed in the sunshine.

  Ben whistled. “Some neighborhood, eh?”

  The blacktop road crossed a highway. At the junction, set back on a perfect lawn among beds of perfect flowers, lay a long, low house with verandas and striped yellow awnings. A small sign at the corner of the lane said RAINBOW INN. Otherwise there was nothing to indicate that this was not a gentleman’s country estate.

  This time, they both got out of the car and went inside.

  “An ice-cold Coke will settle your stomach,” Ben said.

  “My stomach’s fine now.”

  It was dusky in the great hall, after the glare outdoors. One needed a few moments to accustom one’s eyes to it, and then it all came clear: the polished parquet floor, the mirrors, the walnut staircase rising to the second-floor casino, and the dining rooms on either side of the hall, where the double doors, flung open, revealed the bouquets on the tables, the paintings, and the velvet-backed chairs.

  A man in a tuxedo jacket came hurrying from somewhere in the rear. Otherwise the place was vacant.

  “Mr. Marcus! Good afternoon! Good to see you! I haven’t seen you in a long time, young gentleman—I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “This is Hank, Andre. How’s everything?”

  Andre kissed his fingertips. Frenchmen did that. This man was no Tony in shirt sleeves.

  “Perfect, Mr. Marcus, the best month we’ve had. Three times last week we had a state governor at the tables upstairs, from three other states, I mean. Can you imagine? And then there is our friend who comes regularly, they say he will be our next senator—who knows?”

  “Well, you’re doing a good job, Andre. The best food, top entertainment, what more can one ask?”

  “Nothing much, Mr. Marcus. Except good liquor. You forgot to mention good liquor.”

  “That I take for granted here. You’re not running short?”

  “No, we’re in good shape. I suppose you want to step back into the office?”

  “Yes, please. I won’t be long.”

  A car came roaring up the driveway; with a dreadful screech of brakes, it scattered the gravel and halted with a jolt in front of the open door. Ben turned to squint into the light.

  “Now what kind of a way is that—” he began.

  Two men jumped out and bounded up the shallow steps to where
Ben stood, a silhouette framed by the pillars on either side of the door. From behind Ben, near the staircase, Hank peered curiously around him. He thought he saw that the men had bandannas tied around their faces. Afterward, he wasn’t sure whether they really had had, or whether he had imagined it. Everything happened so fast. But he did remember and would never forget the dreadful rattle of guns, which, although he had never heard a gun fired, he instantly recognized. He heard a cry, Ben’s awful cry, and saw him fall backward to strike the floor. He saw the men scamper down the steps, heard the car doors slam, the spurt of gravel, the squeal, the roar … over.

  And all was silence. He didn’t move, couldn’t move. Then people came running down the stairs, up some other stairs and from the kitchen; feet scuffled; a man in a chef’s hat screamed and screamed. Andre knelt with his face in his hands, where Ben lay. It seemed as if a hundred people had begun to babble at once.

  Oh, my God! Shot to pieces—

  Sprayed … look at the walls!

  Good Christ!…

  Did anyone get the license?

  The police!

  Don’t touch him—

  Hank walked to the front. He felt nothing, because it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have happened. Didn’t happen.

  Somebody tried to pull him away. “Come back here, sonny. Don’t look.”

  “That’s his kid.”

  The eyes were open. Ben’s twinkly eyes under the red-brown brows. His mouth was open with the lips drawn back to show the teeth and the gums. The mouth of a dead animal, the fox that had died of some sickness at Uncle Alfie’s place. He was dead. Ben was dead. Of course. What else, with the blood all over his new linen jacket and his polka-dotted bow tie. His hands were flung out, palms up, on the floor.

  But a minute ago he was telling me to drink a Coke, it would settle my stomach.

  Why?

  How?

  And then he heard himself howl, heard his own terrible howling and bawling, and couldn’t stop in spite of all the rushing people and cold water and gentle words and hands. Couldn’t stop. Everything whirled; pinwheels burst before his eyes; they made him sit down, they talked and talked, but he didn’t understand what they were saying.