Tapestry

by Belva Plain

  Paul didn’t answer the taunt. How the hell had they strayed into this subject anyway? He cut into a slice of avocado. He only wanted to eat and be left alone.

  But Donal went on playing with him. “You will never convince me that Blum isn’t a warmonger too.”

  Heads were turned in Paul’s direction, so he had no choice but answer. “He foresees the danger. It’s a pity no one else does, or did when Hitler reoccupied the Rhineland and thumbed his nose at the world.”

  “They had to let him do it. Do you realize that France has fewer than half as many men of military age as Germany has? The situation is hopeless.”

  Now Hank joined what seemed to be turning into an attack on Paul. “War is always hopeless, although people who should know better may not agree.”

  “You agree, of course,” Donal said. “And I don’t blame you. You’ll have to fight if it comes.”

  And Dan joined in. “Well, I may be too old to go, but I’m dead set against all the preparations that are being talked about in this country by certain elements.”

  Me, Paul thought.

  “All our lives, Hennie and I have been fighting pacifists, if that’s not a contradiction.”

  “Then you’d better keep on fighting,” Donal said. “Let Germany alone. Let’s let Hitler get rid of the Russians for us. After that, we can learn to live with him.”

  Paul put down the fork. Never mind the gentlemanly control. Gloves off.

  “Live with him? And with what’s been done in Germany this week, and what’s happening in their streets this minute while we sit here?”

  “Highly exaggerated, just as Emily said. I’ve spent a lot of time there, and let me tell you, the streets are orderly. There’s less crime on them than on ours.”

  “I’ve been there, too, and that’s not what I saw.”

  All conversation had ceased except for the passage of words between the two men. Meg looked nervous; she was trying to catch Donal’s eye and not succeeding. Leah and Bill had caught each other’s eyes and had evidently passed some signal, because Leah, loudly and deliberately, called for attention.

  “Are we ready, everybody? The cake’s coming in. Bill, will you turn off the lights?”

  Poor old Dan, Paul thought. All this anger on your birthday.

  The cake was now carried into the candle-lit room. Just as if nothing had happened to jar the mood, everyone stood and sang “Happy Birthday.” Dan made a wish. What did one wish for when one was almost seventy? Probably for some more years.

  The lights were turned back on, revealing the cake as a spun-sugar marvel, and champagne was poured. Leah raised the first glass.

  “To Dan, who’s been father to us all.”

  Then Dan stood. “To everyone here, my thanks and love. And to the world around us, the great gift, the only gift, peace.”

  Paul couldn’t resist an amendment. “To a just peace and to the destruction of the tyrants in Germany.”

  “So we are all to go to war now. Is that it?” asked Donal.

  “Certainly not.” Dan said at once.

  “Well, then you had better pay attention to what’s happening in Washington.” Donal spoke with vehemence. “It’s still undercover, but I can tell you they’re readying big aid for nothing. Hitler will crush England overnight whenever he decides to.”

  “I believe you’re right,” Hank said.

  Paul shook his head. “I sit here and listen to you, Dan, and to you, Hank”—he nodded toward Donal without speaking his name— “all so staunch for peace and no preparedness, but for entirely opposite reasons. Don’t you see what strange bedfellows you are? You, Dan and Hank, you at least are men of goodwill. Don’t you see that sometimes, terrible as it is, wars have to be fought or at least prepared for in order to survive?”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that,” Donal said, giving slight emphasis to the “you.”

  “Why me?”

  “I should think you’d be standing pat with Dan and Hank. It’s known that Jews don’t like to fight, isn’t it?” He looked about. “No insult intended, I assure you. It’s merely a given. You might even take it as a compliment.”

  From a surprising quarter there sounded a thin little voice, as Agnes spoke. “You sound like Father Coughlin, Dad. You ought to stop listening to him.”

  There was an audible intake of breath around the table. Faces, all except Donal’s, on which a high flush spread, looked disbelieving.

  Meg’s voice quavered between reprimand and apology. “Agnes! Your father never listens to Coughlin!”

  “Oh, yes,” the child said calmly, “he does all the time. He just doesn’t want you to know.”

  Paul felt a flash of comprehension. The odd little girl had never met her father’s expectations, and knowing it, she was now throwing down the gauntlet. With comprehension came sympathy, and Paul gave her a look of kindness before he returned to his attacker.

  “I’m sure I don’t know about liking to fight,” Paul said carefully. “I don’t suppose many men really like it, but when we have to, we do it, like everyone else.” He thrust his napkin into a ball and put it on the table beside his plate. “I did my share in the trenches in 1917, and so did Bill. Hennie and Dan lost their son, as you very well know.… Oh, I understand what else is in your mind, Donal Powers! You think this war that’s coming in Europe is a Jewish issue. Well, think again. True, we are the first to suffer and we’ll know extraordinary suffering, but do you think all would be peace if the Jews had never existed? No, Christians’ values, too, your morals and families and homes, will be destroyed. Millions will die because of those maniacs and the world will be altered—”

  Paul’s anger was choking him, but he had to finish. “So to hell with everybody. To hell with helping England. Just let’s go on trading with Germany. It’s so profitable, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t agree at all with Paul’s politics,” Hank said unexpectedly, “but he’s right about that. What we should do is declare an embargo on Germany. Starve her to her knees and her senses. That’s the real alternative to war.”

  “Embargo? Germany?” Donal’s expression was quizzical. “That’s an odd remark from someone who’s been making a fortune out of Germany.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hank said.

  “A fortune. Your money’s quadrupled. You didn’t know? Paul never told you?”

  “What can you be talking about?” demanded Hank, looking from Donal to Paul.

  “I’m talking about your stock.”

  “What stock?”

  “Why, the original company that first bought your grandfather’s patents! Didn’t you know it was taken over by a German conglomerate? It’s been selling in Germany for years! I put the deal together myself. I’m really surprised you weren’t ever told.” And Donal shot Paul a look of triumph.

  “What are you saying?” Dan cried. “My patents, my inventions? What is this? Paul, you knew about this?”

  Paul opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Yes, I knew. But there was nothing I could do. I’m only a trustee, remember? Empowered to invest the income but not the principal.” He turned to Hank. “That’s how it was left in your father’s will.”

  “You could have told us,” Dan said furiously. He was almost hysterical.

  “I didn’t want to be responsible for your heart attack, Dan. There was nothing at all that anyone could do about it, except Hank, and he had to be twenty-one.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve been twenty-one for more than a year.” Hank was equally furious.

  “Perhaps I should have,” Paul admitted. “Frankly, I didn’t think of it. We haven’t been seeing each other much lately.” He was trembling. “This is no place for such talk. This is an outrageous imposition on Leah and Bill. I have an office. You can see me there anytime, any and all of you.”

  He knew he should stop, but he couldn’t help himself. “And you, Donal, what you did here today, when you knew how it would hurt Dan, hurt that good man—�
�� He stammered. “But what should I expect from a man who can see good people slaughtered, such injustice—”

  “Unfortunately, injustice is the way of the world,” Donal replied. “It’s life. Sometimes the good have to suffer with the bad. I’m sorry if I’ve made Dan suffer. It wasn’t by intention.”

  Donal’s face was still painfully red. Meg’s hands were making rapid little movements with her necklace, her fork, and her glass. Marian, with an appalled expression, turned in her chair toward Paul. His heart pounded so that he could scarcely catch his breath. He stood up straight. It was the first time in his life, a life bound by good manners, that he had done what he was about to do. But there was always a first time.

  He bowed to Leah and then to Bill. “I beg your pardon, but I must stop this discussion. It will be better if I leave the room.”

  “He was spoiling for it,” Bill Sherman said.

  Paul admitted, “Well, I was too.” Having cooled off during the last hour, he had begun to feel contrite about his outburst.

  “A long-standing enmity, I suspect.”

  “Leah’s told you?”

  “As a matter of fact, she hasn’t. But it’s not hard to deduce from the evidence.”

  Paul smiled. Sherman hadn’t risen as high as he was in the legal profession without being observant.

  “I should have buttoned up my mouth.… I’m sick over the way Dan had to find out about the stock, though. I truly had every intention of straightening the matter out with Hank and never letting Dan know.” He sighed heavily. “Now the damage is done for good.”

  “No, Dan’s reasonable. Emotional, but amenable to reason. Give him a few days to get over the shock and then talk to him. He’ll understand. I’m sure he will, Paul.”

  Fortunately, the house had so many rooms and halls that Donal and Paul had not even seen each other since they left the dining table. The women had all rallied to lighten the atmosphere; through the open double doors Paul could see and hear Meg at the piano; Hennie and Meg’s twins were singing, while Marian appeared to be having a chat with Emily. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, he tried to tell himself. All’s well that ends well.

  In the usual flurry of departure, with thanks and good nights and coats, Paul and Marian found themselves with Donal and Meg and their family at the closet in the downstairs hall. While her husband held out her sable coat for her to put on, Meg’s eyes appealed to Paul. In deep distress, she spoke to the air.

  “Why do things have to happen like this? We came here to celebrate.… It was going to be lovely.”

  Neither man answered.

  She pleaded then, “Won’t one of you say something?”

  It was Paul who responded. “I’m sorry, Meg. Things just got out of hand.”

  “You overreacted,” Donal said sharply. “You take that political stuff too seriously. You always did.”

  This effrontery rearoused Paul’s anger. But he kept his manner quiet.

  “It wasn’t necessary to let Dan know about the stock. I can forgive that least of all.”

  “So now it’s forgiveness! Holy forgiveness!” And Donal glared.

  Never on your part, Paul thought. You’ll go to your grave still hating me because of the millions you missed when I wouldn’t agree with you that time in Paris. But he did not reply.

  It was as if Donal had hold of a rope and was unable to let go. “Holiness goes with your do-gooder image, of course.”

  Meg pulled at his sleeve. “Donal, please … Timmy, Tom, girls, go out and get in the car.”

  Donal shook her off. “You’ve always thought that you were better than anybody else,” he said to Paul. “It’s written all over you.”

  He wants to fight. He wants this to escalate, Paul thought with some astonishment. And he made retort.

  “Better than you, at any rate.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Marian whispered. After her nervous habit, she was snapping her purse open and shut, open and shut. “Paul, I want to go home.”

  “Of course,” Paul said, aware at once of her fright. He moved toward the door, which the children had left ajar.

  Donal stopped him. “Just a minute. What did you mean by ‘better than you’?”

  “What do you think I meant?”

  “Suppose you tell me, you superior gentleman.”

  “Very well. I meant that you’re a fascist—which fits with the rest of your way of life.”

  “My way of life? Do I sit at a dinner table with my wife at one end and my mistress—or pardon me, former mistress—at the other end? And you dare talk of my way of life?”

  Over the drumming in his head, Paul heard his wife’s gasp.

  “Why, you’re the lowest—” he began.

  Donal interrupted him. “The upper classes! Sneak away to Paris in high style with your lady, leaving your wife at home, then when you’re tired of the lady, marry her off and take your unsuspecting wife to dine with the newlyweds. The upper classes!”

  Marian began to cry. Paul heard her; he couldn’t look at her. Meg sat down with her face in her hands. The two men, standing beneath the crystal chandelier, were squared off. It came to Paul that if there were weapons at hand, a murder would surely result; this was the way it happened, even to people who thought themselves civilized. Rage took over, so that he no longer cared what he said.

  “Maybe it’s just as well that we bring everything out into the open. I may not always have done what I should, but at least I have no man’s death on my conscience.”

  “Oh,” Meg said.

  Rage mounted and mounted. “There’s been too much hidden … ugly suspicions.” Paul put a finger in front of Donal’s face. “You had a violent quarrel the day Ben was killed.”

  “You’re out of your goddamned mind!”

  “Oh, no, I’m not! Ben told you he was going to leave you, to resign. It’s none of your business how I know, but I know. That quarrel was never mentioned in the investigation, was it?”

  Meg jumped up from her seat. “Please, Paul. I can’t stand this. Look at Marian. Stop it, both of you.”

  Donal repeated, “Out of your goddamned mind!”

  “I’m sane enough to see that you knew a lot more about Ben’s death than you admitted.”

  Meg put her hands to her temples. “Oh, God, I can’t believe the things I’ve heard!” She whirled on Paul. “Look at Marian, I said. Don’t you see you have to take her home? Look at her!” Meg screamed.

  Marian was standing still in the glare of the light, still as if frozen, while tears slid down her cheeks out of staring eyes. Terrified, Paul grasped her arm.

  “Are you all right? Wait at the door, I’ll get a cab, get home—”

  Something exploded in Marian. Pushing him violently out of her way, she ran to the door and out into the street. Paul ran after her.

  “Wait! Marian!” Coming abreast of her, he tried to take her hand, but she flung him off.

  “Get away from me, don’t touch me!”

  The cry rang out through the empty street. It was a cry of anguish, a witness to some awful and unexpected death; it struck a sickening fear in Paul. What was she going to do? Throw herself in front of a speeding car? And he stayed close at her back as she ran in her delicate slippers, her heels tapping like hammers on the pavement.

  At the last intersection before their street, she paused. Paul held his breath, as she seemed to be considering where to go; for a few moments he thought she was about to enter the nighttime wilderness of the park, there to do—what? What, then, would he do? He had a panicky vision of police cars and ambulances, of questions and answers: Yes sir, it’s a total collapse because I—

  But she turned into their street. They entered the building and rode up in the elevator together. Relief at having reached home without disaster now cleared Paul’s head enough for him to start thinking about how he was going to handle the situation. He had not long to think.

  “You come in here! I want to talk to you.” Marian’s face, neve
r colorful, was green-white, death-white, but her eyes were dry.

  He followed her into the library. She closed the doors—so that the maids would not hear, he understood—and slapped his face so hard that his eyes teared.

  “You bastard! You filthy bastard!”

  It was the first time he had heard her use the word. And he stood quite still, allowing her to slap his other cheek. She was entitled to her fury.

  “Have you nothing to say to me?”

  “Yes. I want to say I would do anything if I could undo the hurt you had tonight.”

  “What he said, of course, must be true.”

  “The facts are true, but not the interpretation he put on them.”

  “Interpretation! Calling mud by another name doesn’t turn it into chocolate. A whore is a whore, even when her name is Leah.”

  He didn’t answer. Let her spew it all out first. After that he would try to explain. Yet how did you begin to explain the indescribable? Laughter, lonesomeness, sexual delight, moods, attractions, passing needs …

  She demanded an answer. “Do you realize how you’ve shamed me, and cheapened our marriage, allowing me to sit at that woman’s table, sitting there in my innocence while she, that dirty thing, was laughing at me? You and she, laughing at me?”

  “No, no. She—we— No one ever laughed at you, Marian. Listen, listen. It was just a thing that happened accidentally. You’re not all that innocent, you know these things happen and are then over and done with. I don’t say it’s right, but a lot of things in this world aren’t right.”

  “I am never going into that house again, do you hear me?”

  “You don’t have to,” Paul said quietly.

  “How did it happen? Did you travel on the same ship?”

  “You don’t really want to know all the details, Marian. It’s over with. She’s married, you and I are married—”

  “Don’t count on being married to me much longer, Paul. I asked you, were you on the same ship?”

  He sighed. “Yes. The Normandie. I didn’t know she was going to be on it.”

  “What difference does that make? So the affair began on the ship? In your cabin or hers?”