by Jon McDonald
After Sevaric’s death I refused to set foot ever again in the warehouse. I confined myself to my chambers for weeks. I refused to take meals with the family, and I would not speak with my father. Twice I tried escaping, hoping to head for Paris, but each time my father and his men caught up with me and forced me home, driving me deeper into my seclusion.
My father decided he needed to move the wedding up to September, incorrectly believing that the love of a true woman would be my cure. Never was there a more recalcitrant groom. I have to admit that I was most cruel to my poor bride. She does not deserve me, and I pray that one day she might find herself a true lover. For my part, I shall never seek, nor do I expect to find, the quality of love that I so richly experienced with Sevaric. I have been told that in time wounds heal, pain fades, and yes, even love will diminish. I have, as of yet, not found that to be true.
It has been just over half a year now since I lost all that I was, or ever hoped to be. I exist - yes just exist. Each day I awake, move through my duties of the day and retire once again - alone in my own bed. I have not returned to the pond, nor ever expect to. I abide with that sweet woman whom I honor as my wife, but do not love. And our childlessness galls my father; and I feel that it is just retribution for his hateful actions towards me.
I am now up to date with my story. I do not know if this is the end of my narration or not. I know there is no end to my sorrow. These few lines have given me comfort as I wander back in my mind to the time in my life when I was truly alive. I do not see how I can endure the remainder of my time here on earth, and long solely to be reunited with my Sevaric in our special place. Only time, and God’s will, can reveal when that will be.
I will put these pages aside for now, and later, if there is anything of importance to report I shall return. If not, then I turn this poor narrative over to my destiny and remain….
Warin of the House of Thann
Twenty-second of August 1347
I awoke this morning with a pain so deep that I can hardly breathe. It is one year ago today that Sevaric was taken from me. But I must not dwell on that now. There is no time to waste. The plague has ravaged our area. With great sorrow I must report the death of my two sisters, my mother and my wife. My father is not well, and will probably not survive.
While I am still well, I feel that I must flee this area. I have requested, and been invited, to reside with the brothers at the Ascenseur Monastery. It is my understanding that all there are still well, and they have carefully sealed themselves off from the surrounding pestilence. They are self-sufficient and require no outside assistance to continue in their good health. I am very grateful that they will allow me to join them.
It is time now for me to depart. I shall report more later if there are any further developments of consequence.
Ninth of September 1347
How much anguish can a single person endure? All around me is falling into ruin. My father did, indeed, perish. The infection has entered the Monastery and many of the Brothers have fallen victim to the plague. For some reason, I have been spared. I do all that I can each day to tend to those who are ill, but there is no treatment, and I fall into bed each night exhausted from my duties. And it is a great effort now to write even these few brief words. I can write no more this evening.
Third of October 1347
There is little time left now. I, too, have become a victim of this disease. I am covered in blisters and can barely drink even a small amount of water, though I have a high fever, and at times find myself falling into delirium.
I feel my life has prepared me well for my end, and I look forward with such great joy to my final release. Oh, my beloved, Sevaric, I shall soon be with you.
(The following is written in a hand other than that of the author of this manuscript)
Tenth of October 1347
Sevaric, I am with you now.
What the World Needs Now
Fresh
David Bentham Greene knocked on his Professor’s office door. “You wanted to see me, Sir?” David asked, peering into the darkened, hallowed chamber.
“Yes, yes,” a voice boomed from deep within the inner sanctum. “Come.”
David stepped inside, his eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom of the book lined office, lit only by a small, leaded pane window, silhouetting the Professor like a black paper cut-out. David was surprised to see three figures seated on high backed chairs lined against the wall close to the Professor’s desk. They were so rigid and unmoving, David at first thought they were some sort of an art installation.
“Take a seat,” the Professor indicated a chair opposite his desk.
“Is this about my last paper? I know it could have been better I suppose, but I….”
The Professor waved David’s concern away with a dismissive gesture. He then leaned back into his chair, put his hands together over his chest, and closed his eyes. David turned to look at the three men, still unmoving and not speaking a word, though they stared at him with a quiet intensity. What was going on here?
“Sir, was there something in particular you wanted to see me about? I’ve got a squash date shortly.”
The professor opened his eyes, and suddenly leaned forward on his desk, urgently back to business. “So tell me lad, what exactly do you plan to do with this gift of a Harvard Business School education?”
David was surprised by the question and glanced again towards the three men. “Do these gentlemen have something to do with that question, sir? Are you going to introduce them to me?”
“That depends,” the Professor answered, squinting as he answered.
“On what?” David was now about to lose patience with what he perceived as a perverse game.
“On your answers to a few questions.”
“Very well, ask what you like.” David had a feeling he was going to miss his squash date.
◘ ◘ ◘
The lawn from the summer house stretched out and down a gentle slope towards the pier – the mooring for the family yacht - on the most exclusive northern shore of Long Island Sound. Ancient shade trees were poised like stately dancers at comfortable intervals across the lawn. An appropriate balance of shade and sun graced the Greene family estate. A classically inspired marble walkway and balustrade with a broad band of graceful steps led down from the house to a refreshing fountain entertaining water lilies, papyrus and koi. One could sit on the broad edge of the fountain and contemplate the setting sun, or admire a sprightly sailing regatta on a white and breezy summer afternoon, while listening to the soothing splash of dancing water.
Grandmother Chase always had tea in her wisteria covered gazebo near the water’s edge with a charming view of the sound and the stalwart lighthouse. She admired the delicate spray of violets Bunson had so artfully arranged on the tea tray. She was nibbling on a perfect square of thinly sliced cucumber sandwich as she prepared her little speech for David who would be entering Harvard as a freshman this September. David, still in his tennis outfit, knew he was being summoned for an important communication. It was always either his father or his grandmother who would purvey the official family manifestos. And as the first day of university was just around the corner, David figured this would be the speech on the duties and responsibilities of manhood - it was time to leave childish things behind and assume the rights and privileges of being a Greene.
“Have you considered your course of study?” Grandmother asked, pouring David his first cup of tea.
“Business,” David responded. “I was thinking of an undergraduate major in the liberal arts, with a post graduate BA in Business.”
Grandmother nodded approval, then considered, “I hope this study of arts is not too liberal,” she commented, peering over her spectacles with just a twinge of concern.
“It’s simply what a general education is called, Grandmother. No need to worry about stampeding Bolsheviks taking over Harvard yard.”
“I am greatly relieved to hear that. This nasty busine
ss in Europe has quite unsettled the horses and the servants. Just imagine - a war to end all wars. I’ll believe that when I see it. Those Huns are crafty devils. I don’t believe for one moment they won’t start up their nasty business again sometime in the future if they are defeated as expected. I don’t trust that Kaiser, with his walrus mustache, any more than I do those heinous Russian revolutionaries. Poor Mother Russia. I grieve for the poor unfortunate Royal family. What butchery.”
“I feel a great deal more for the poor sops struggling in the French trenches, Grandmother. Our boys, I’m sure, will be making a significant difference to the outcome of the European war.”
David could see that his grandmother was struggling with some thought.
“What? I can see you want to say something,” David observed.
“Well, I just wonder if you have any idea to what lengths your Grandfather had to go to make sure you were not called up? He told me not to say anything to you, but it just seems so unkind, now that he is gone, not to let you know what he did for you.”
“You mean….?”
Grandmother nodded and tapped the side of her nose. “As president of the local conscription board he was able to…. I think you understand.”
“Does Madame wish to be refreshed?” Bunson inquired, prepared to top up the teapot with hot water.
Grandmother was startled by the interruption. “Oh Bunson, thank you, no. In fact, you may take the tea tray with you.”
“As you wish.” The ever inscrutable Bunson removed the tray and retired to the house, but not before giving David a disapproving glance. It was clear he had overheard enough of the conversation to draw his own conclusions, and he had no hesitation in showing how he felt about the situation. But only David was allowed to see his response.
Grandmother tucked away a stray strand into the mass of hair atop her head, secured by menacing black bobby pins. She settled back into her wicker chair and turned her attention back to the young David.
“Now then, let’s discuss your future.”
◘ ◘ ◘
The Professor continued, “What we need to determine is whether you have the proper…. How shall I put this? – credentials.”
David was puzzled. “Meaning?”
“As you know, if you wanted to enter a dog in the Westminster Dog Show the American Kennel Club would have certain requirements for entry into the competition. There would be breed requirements; there would be acknowledgements of sire and dam; there would need to be proof of past competitions. I think you understand what I’m getting at.”
David smiled. “You can rest assured that I am of class A1. My pedigree is unassailable. In fact, if you were to do even the most cursory research you would find that there is a Harvard department chair endowed by my family from the middle of the last century.”
“I am extremely gratified to hear that, Mr. Greene,” one of the three gentlemen finally spoke up.
Another also added, “Yes, most reassuring.”
“So again, my question - what are your plans for the future after your graduation?” the Professor pursued.
David smiled, feeling more confident now. He crossed his legs and leaned forward towards the three gentlemen. “Well, that somewhat depends on what my options are and what I am offered.”
“Understandable,” the first gentleman responded. “And how would you feel about a berth at a new investment division on Wall Street?”
“I might consider such an offer, if it was attractive enough.”
“We need fresh ideas. We need dazzling perspectives. What we need right now are the very best and brightest - young bucks with drive, the right connections, and a desire to become extremely rich.”
“I might just be tempted.”
◘ ◘ ◘
Riding the Wave
David tried to focus as he swiveled out of bed and fumbled with his feet to find his slippers. He slipped his left foot into the first slipper. “Ugh, what was that?” he leaned over and again tried to focus. He finally realized he had vomited over the side of the bed last night into his slippers. “Disgusting….” He searched for a cigarette on the bedside table. He retrieved the lighter from the floor. He tried to stand, but was wildly unsteady, tripping forward and landing in a chair by his dresser.
What had he done last night? Same as every other night he reckoned - 55 Club, 21, El Fey, the Cotton Club. Too much booze, too much cocaine. Home after 3am. Did he bring someone home last night? He glanced over at the bed. There was a lump under the covers. Was it the blonde from El Fey, or the red head from the taxi? Didn’t matter. Dexter, his man, would make sure she got dressed, give her cab fare, and send her on her way.
Right now David needed to get his ass in gear. It was already 8:30. It would probably be 9:30 or 10 before he got to the bank. But no big deal, they were used to his tardiness at Bowlingbrook Capital, and with his hot-shot image he could make a few calls, send a few telexes, and leave by 4, having made the firm several million dollars more. It was like he was clairvoyant with the ticker tape. He could hold it in his hands and envision exactly what to buy and what to sell. When the times are good - the times are good. It seemed so insanely easy.
As David was preparing to leave the apartment Dexter came forward and handed him the Wall Street Journal. “Sir, there was a call for you quite early this morning from a Mr. Kramer. Most impolite. I told him you were indisposed. He insisted I tell you that he must be paid in full by three o’clock this afternoon - the full ten thousand,” he added. “Said you knew the address.”
“Thank you, Dexter.” David abruptly left the apartment.
◘ ◘ ◘
Freddy Dillinger, put his hand on the door frame of David’s office and leaned in. “Can I have a word, boss?”
“Not now Freddy - got a splitter. Catch me in an hour or two, okay?”
“Sure, but it’s really important. It’s something you need to know as soon as possible.”
David hesitated, but waved Freddy in. “Okay, what ya got?”
Freddy was all squinched up like a dried apple, even though he was only in his early thirties. His background was accounting, and David thought he was too overly cautions, and not a good fit for the freewheeling and exhilarating chaos of the stock market.
Freddy spread out a group of charts and tables before David. David groaned inwardly. He did not want to face whatever garbage this spoiler had to present.
“Okay, you see here,” Freddy rattled away as he pointed to a table of figures. “We are way over leveraged. The bank has been loaning up to three-quarters of the price of a trade to our investors. If anything were to happen to the market we would be left holding that debt. It’s way too risky. You’ve got to talk to the board about this. Our exposure is frightening.”
“Freddy, Freddy, you are completely missing the point. This market has been stable and expanding for the past eight years. It’s unstoppable. There’s nothing to worry about here.”
“But….”
“Freddy, I appreciate your concern but you are being overly cautious.” David swept up Freddy’s papers and handed them back.
Freddy, glowered but kept his mouth shut.
“Maybe this is not the right place for you Freddy. I’m sure I could find you a nice position in the real estate division. Not so rambunctious as up here. Ya gotta think big to play with the big boys.”
“I’ll think about it.” Freddy made it abundantly clear he did not concur with David’s assessment as he left the office and slammed the door.
This was not how David wanted to start his morning. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small inlaid box. He slipped it into his jacket pocket and headed to the men’s room. He usually waited till after 11 before his first coke hit, but today he was wrestling with the aftermath of a particularly rough night. What was that girl’s name? Oh hell. Never mind. She can’t have been that good or he would have remembered.
When he got back to his desk there was a message from Grandmother Chase. Call
Now! David had his secretary put a call through to her.
“David, dear boy, I must have left you a dozen messages. Why do you never call me back?”
“Well, I’ve been very….”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been busy. I know for a fact you often leave the office early in the afternoon. There must be some time in there you could give me a call.”
“I’m sorry Grandmamma. I have no excuse.” He wanted the path of least resistance today.
“Well…,” she wasn’t expecting an admission.
“What can I do for you today?” David wanted to push this conversation along.
“I just wanted to confirm that you will be at my New Year’s Eve party. There’s someone very particular I want you to meet.”
“Grandmother, it’s only late August, why are you pestering me about New Year’s Eve this early?”
“Oh, I’m pestering you, am I?
Ooops, he had crossed the line there. “You are never a pest. I must have misspoken. Sorry.”
“Well it’s a very important new year coming up – 1930 - a new decade.”
“I promise I will be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
His Grandmother paused for a moment, then launched forward with what was really on her mind. “David Bentham Green it is high time you were getting married. You are almost thirty now. I have a mind to take you in hand myself, young man. If you can’t find a suitable bride I will have to find one for you. There are any number of very good families with suitable daughters….”
“This is not the time, right now, for this conversation. I am at work and have a lot to do today. I promise you I will meet your very special friend at the New Year’s party, and I will keep in mind that I must consult the bride registry as soon as possible. I’m sure there must be a listing in the Times classifieds under Husband’s Wanted.”
Grandmother was so taken aback she simply uttered an “Oh….” and hung up.