Contents and Introduction

by Les Weil

  "Why, I could even become a Communist: it's been suggested to me that I could be a patron to the cause; but that doesn't suit me. I respect my father's money! Marx has affected my morality, all right, but Lord! -there's a lot more to me than morality. And then my Communist friends are much too self-sacrificing: no good is going to come of that, surely!

  "A man's first duty is to tend to his own intellectual and spiritual welfare, isn't that so?"

  I had very little to say, and Elder of course was not anxious to be told anything. I never tell, if I can help it. When other people discuss their troubles with me, I like to change the subject or distort the logic with a metaphor, or an enthusiasm. Of course I can proceed straight enough when it is my own duty that calls me. I only hate other peoples' duties.

  Elder and I sat up a little later that night than usual, and we got a little drunk; but the next morning we were back in our routine, and life seemed for a few days as pleasant as it should be. Elder was grim -I was trying to be alert; such enterprises go quite well together!

  Then Elder, after four days, felt obliged to revisit the Birch Creek cabin. Again we found the cars; there were no people in sight. Elder got down and dropped his bridle reins: his horse was trained to stand. I stayed mounted, as Elder walked toward the cabin door; he knocked.

  "Come on out and talk!" he said. "This is absurd!"

  He turned to look at me, and said, "If some of my friends in New York could see me now, I believe they'd be amused!" Then he struck the door with his knuckles, and said, "It's my house, and I'm coming in-"

  "That's okay, Mister," a man's voice said, from the side, and a figure appeared at the corner of the cabin -a tall man in bib overalls, wearing a felt hat. He was carrying a double-barreled shotgun and a pair, of birds: they were sage hens, I saw presently, as he lifted them.

  "Had to have something for the pot," he said, and put the birds down on a wooden box: there were bloodstains on the sides of the box, and a scattering of down and feathers on the ground nearby.

  "Howdy," the man said. "I'm Jim Oates." He was holding the shotgun in his left hand, the barrel tilted down: evidently he was ready to shake hands.

  Elder was looking at him, carefully, and with a certain surprise.

  "Griselda said there'd been somebody stop by . . . while I was off up the country with Fred. That's my cousin, Fred Oates."

  The man was unabashed, and now he smiled. "Come on out, Fred," he said, and another man came around the same corner. The two were dressed alike, and looked alike. They stood together, and presently Jim Oates said, "Me and Fred have been looking around. We kind of like it up here in this country."

  "It's a beautiful country," Elder said; and then: "I'm obliged to ask you and your families to get off my land unless you're prepared to rent my cabin. The rent will be eight dollars a month, payable in advance." He was standing at his ease, with his feet a little more than a foot apart; his arms were slightly raised from his sides, and his posture was that of a man engaged in formal exercise. He looked very capable, in the bleached blue clothes and boots of that country.

  Oates did not move; his head was bent down; he said, "How do I know you're the owner? Anybody could ride by that wants to, and -"

  "You know I'm the owner," Elder said. "I mean -you know it."

  Then Oates said. "An empty house ... I reckon I can't pay no rent for an empty house out in the brush, Mister. We can take care of ourselves. The kids got to be fed -"

  He paused, and raised his head -he looked up at the roof; my eyes followed his, and I saw a boy climbing there: he reached the ridgepole and stood up, grinning down at us; and there was something wrong with him. Ten years old, perhaps, his features lacked bone -the lines of his face were entirely too supple; there had been a want of restraint in his ancestry. "An idiot boy," I murmured, and heard Jim Oates say,

  "That's Fred's boy, Cassius."

  Then I looked at Elder, who was watching the boy also; and Elder's face grew hard.

  "All right," he said. "I understand your difficulties. My policy remains the same, however. If you want to rent the place, you can have it for eight dollars a month. That's a very moderate figure, considering that you get a pasture and a yard for chickens -there's even some lumber that you might use to improvise a chicken coop. Let me know by tomorrow noon whether you'll want to accept my offer. If you can't accept it, you'll have to leave, and if necessary I'll force you to leave. There's a principle involved in this business, and I mean to attend to it."

  Then he turned, went to his horse, and mounted; he came to my side, and together we looked down at Jim Oates, who now set the butt of his shotgun on the ground beside his left foot. He leaned against the gun: he stared at us, and said,

  "They whipped me off my own land, and there ain't nobody ever going to do that again-"

  His cousin Fred was watching him: the two faces weary, narrow reserved and passionate, and sharp, like the faces on coins.

  "Humn," Elder said. "There'll be no whipping here, I assure you. The Cucamonga Ranch is a center of civilization in this wilderness. Come on," he said to me, and set spur to his horse; and I followed.

  3

  That night, Elder said, "There really is a principle involved. I want to be good and kind, naturally. I sympathize with those people, and I made them a very fair offer. They can pay eight dollars! Damn it, I feel for them beyond the immediate occasion. I can imagine some of the things that must have happened--

  "And still I've got to believe that Property is the foundation of society, and has to be protected. If you like, Property is only Force, given substantial form. Force is necessary. That's evident to me. How otherwise could a society get along? Without force, there's anarchy, and blood in the gutters. All societies are inequitable, and those that achieve for themselves a noble, selfless type --good aristocracts-- are as bad as any. They're likely to be rather handsome societies, of course.

  "People have to be kept in place. Their lives are the blood sacrifice (made for us), and of course they're unwilling victims: we have police to batter their disturbances, and ministers to counsel patience (those liars!), and teachers to take it all for granted ... Our ancestors agreed to the blood compact, and the terms are that some have got to die (that's to be stupid), so that others may live.

  "I've got the system clear in my head, all right: it's the logic of things as they are. I believe I'm speaking accurately -I'm quite unhappy! I must be right, or I'd feel comfortable. Damn it, I haven't had to deal very often with examples. I'd prefer to consider the propositions that might be applied to all cases, and then go read another book, or go to Europe--"

  There was no message from the cabin on the following day, and Elder grew morose; at noon on the second day, he announced that he was going down to the cabin, and we were off again. Elder put his horse to a canter across the uneven ground, and he made an impressive sight, going off ahead of me, his torso with a powerful ease accommodating the motion of the horse's back.

  We arrived, the cars were there, Elder stepped down, and I joined him: Elder started for the door, and Fred Oates came out, closing the door behind him. He was an insecure imitation of his cousin, his body meager and shy, the lines of his face delicate -humbly anticipating a difficult sensation.

  "Hello there, you fellers," he said. "Jim ain't here right now -"

  Elder stopped, and said, "You know why I'm here. Are you in charge of this outfit?"

  Fred Oates appeared to be puzzled, and he said, "I own that Ford over there. I've been having a little trouble -"

  "Where's your cousin -Jim Oates? Isn't that it? Where did he go?"

  Fred Oates shook his head, and stared at us.

  "We'll go in, then," Elder said, and started for the door. Fred Oates backed away, and seemed about to say something--

  "God damn," Elder said, and then there was the voice of Jim Oates coming from somewhere off to the right: "Keep out of there. You want to talk to me, you, come over to where I am.

  Then he appeared
, out of the willows by the creek, carrying the shotgun at the ready, like a hunter waiting for birds to break cover. He came slowly toward us, and stopped about twenty feet away. As we turned to face him, we had Fred Oates behind us, and the cabin (which to my sense was bristling now). I began to smell the water of the creek -the air was dry, and I could hear the sound of running water, in my brain, far back.

  "I ain't afraid of you," Jim Oates said.

  "That's why you're carrying a gun, I suppose," Elder answered.

  "I know what I'm doing," Jim Oates said.

  Elder nodded, and then smiled, winningly: "You do well enough," he said. "You've sheltered here for almost two weeks and it's not going to cost you a penny. That's doing very well, I believe. My Grandfather would have had you in the county jail by this time. All I plan to do is get you off the place. I want you to pack up and leave, in about the next twenty minutes."

  I heard the door of the cabin opening, and turned my head: it was the woman, looking unhappy, and she said, "Come on, Jim. It's time. He's got a right--

  "Get on back in the house," Jim Oates said.

  She turned -at the window a few feet away, I saw the idiot boy looking out: a white face pressed to the window; there was no expression -the face itself looked disobedient.

  "I ain't going to be run off," Jinn Oates said. “We're about due to move on, but I ain't going to be run off."

  "I see," Elder said. "You've resolved to try me." He looked at me, and said, "You be the witness," and started toward Jim Oates, who turned the shotgun on him.

  "Watch out," he said.

  Elder walked toward the gun, and stopped when he was some ten feet away. Oates was scowling. The slim dark barrel of the gun moved back and forth in a little arc, restlessly, and when it wavered toward me I could see its double eye.

  Elder then leaned forward, like an orator, and said, "You've gone far enough with this, Mister Oates. You could shoot me, and then you'd go to prison or a felon's grave; or you could yield to whatever force I can bring to bear on you. That might be considerable. I suggest you keep your dignity (which I admire), and retreat now--"

  "You bastard," Oates said.

  "Mister Oates, I thank you for your consideration," Elder said, and walked forward casually; and that was a piece of bravery, as Oates recoiled, his long body taking a sinuous curve.

  "Stay away," he said, inquiringly, and Elder was near him -Elder knocked the shotgun aside and leaped in, heavily and swiftly; he swung a blow (his right hand) that struck in Oates' side with a rounded, chunking sound. Elder struck again, this time with his left hand, to the face, and then with both hands he seized the shotgun, and pulled it away from Oates, who had been crumpled.

  Oates was breathing irregularly: then he doubled over, and went down on his right knee.

  "Watch the other one," Elder said. I turned, frightened; and Fred Oates was where he had been, looking ashamed and ill.

  I heard the gun-lock: it was a distinctive sound. Elder dropped the ejected shells on the ground, a pair of deadly little facts, colored a waxy red; he walked to his horse and tied the opened gun (it looked like a broken limb, to my sensitized eyes) to the saddle skirts, working quickly. Then he said to me,

  "We can arrange to let him have his gun back when they're off the place. I don't think there'll be any further trouble."

  Jim Oates was standing once again now, and Elder walked back to him.

  "Get moving," Elder said. "God damn it, you did this to me!"

  Oates was holding his hat in both hands, looking down; now he put the hat on, and said,

  "Piss on you, Mister." He turned his head, gently, and winced; he was expecting a blow. "Go ahead," he said.

  "I will, in a minute," Elder said. "By God, I'll break you in two --"

  "You got the power," Oates said. "You showed it -and we'll leave. Go on and do something worse to me than's been done already, many a time. You owners, may the flies eat the skin off your eyeballs. Owners, scum of the earth--"

  He was standing erect; his right arm extended a little forward. Plainly he was imitating a preacher . . . he was a Christian .. his wife had often gotten him into church ...

  "That's what I think," he said. "That's what we think. Well, hit me . . . haven't I given you cause?"

  Now there were tears in his eyes. "Go on," he said, and he looked suddenly very weak.

  "What do you suppose we think?" he said. "I was born a free man --"

  He hung his head, and grew shy; and presently (while Elder stood motionless) he moved away, toward the cabin; he entered, and left the door open behind him. "Fred," he called. "Me and you can move the mattress ..."

  A little boy in bib overalls came out the front door, and stood watching us; presently other children appeared, and then, at a command from the woman, they went to the cars -there were five small children and the idiot boy. Jim Oates and his cousin came out bearing a double-bed mattress; Fred Oates then carried out a canvas cot, which he packed in the trunk of the Ford, and Jim Oates carried a wooden box of kitchen supplies (the handle of a skillet projecting from a corner), and a dark, smooth wooden bucket. The mother gave an order, and the children got into the cars, as the two cousins linked the cars together with a chain, the Pontiac in front.

  I observed that Elder had put on an expression meant to conceal his feelings. I imagined that he was feeling shame, for that was a pitiable exodus, and I knew he would hold himself to his program, for he had elected it quite deliberately. As the task of packing neared a conclusion, Elder came to my side, and whispered,

  "It's somehow not fair that there should be so many details to a thing like this."

  At last it was evident that the two families were ready to move, and then Jim Oates came to us; he took off his hat, looked into it (and I fancied I saw a glimmer of shame in his countenance also), and said,

  "I got to ask you to let me have my gun, Mister. I need it this afternoon." He waited a little, and said, "I got to have it, or the kids will go hungry tonight."

  The woman and Fred Oates were watching from the cars, their faces unhappy and concentrated.

  "I reckon I ought not to have said what I said, Mister. That was my fault. I got carried away." And he looked at us unwinkingly, his eyes as bright as jewels. "We need a gun, Mister," he added.

  "I thought it might come to this," Elder said, and for a moment I thought he would refuse the request -his breeding required it, his training coached him all in that one way; and then something worked loose in his expression, and he said,

  "Still --you have a valid position."

  "I won't do nothing on your land," Jim Oates said.

  "I suppose not," Elder said, and started untying the saddle strings lashed to the shotgun. Oates watched longingly; when Elder offered him the gun, he gathered it in, and his fingers were nervous.

  "I really do want to be a reasonable man," Elder said, and now he looked melancholy. "I'm sorry all this had to happen -"

  Oates stared at him (and he had his hat on again now) ; and he said, "That's all right, Mister. I know when I'm not wanted. I'm going--"

  He went to the Pontiac: both cars were loaded now, the children peering out, their faces already showing the boredom of confinement. He started the motor, looked over his shoulder at his cousin seated at the wheel of the Ford, and bent his head down abruptly, as if his own body were part of the mechanism; and the Pontiac lurched forward, straightening the chain.

  While we watched, the Pontiac towed the Ford out of sight.

  Two nights later, as we sat up in the living room, Elder said, "I'm bored. I must be feeling guilty."

  He thought about that proposition for a while, and then he said, "I feel unclean. My principle has soiled me. I felt that I was the Institution of Property . . .

  "That was unpleasant; and I remembered Maule's curse, in The House of the Seven Gables; and Hans Castorp's dream in The Magic Mountain -that elegant Mediterranean people, healthy and noble, and their beautiful life depends on the blood sacrif
ice inside the temple . . . a child with broken bones--

  "Oh, he wakened me, Mister Oates did -I wanted to humble him in the dust. He shouldn't hate me; and he does, without having to think, and while he's in the very act of trespassing on my land. Such things didn't happen to my grandfather, you know. I've been badly treated . . ."

  Two days later, we had our first snow, and I decided to use it as an excuse to leave; Elder stayed on, but he did not stay long, and when he left he went back to Washington, where for a time he carried on an inconclusive negotiation for a place in the national government. At Christmas, he was in New Mexico at his other ranch, and he invited me to join him: I was unable to go, and his letter gave me something to think about. In his dealings with Jim Oates, Elder had elected the difficult way at every turning; in fact, conscience had become a savage guest in the lenient hospitality of his mind.

  I did not see Elder again for several years, and during that time he took up a residence in New York, where he worked as an editor in a publishing house that his family owned. In 1937, I met him in New York, as he was about to take his family on a trip around the world, and in 1942 I found him in Washington, where he had offered his services to the war effort as a dollar-a-year man: he had been given a desk in a building controlled by the Commerce Department. He did not talk about his duties, he had aged rather noticeably, he was very agreeable; we spent several evenings together.

  Late in 1944 he died of a heart attack, and I then learned from a friend in Washington that he had never found a way to be effective there. Among the people who controlled power, it was thought that he was indecisive, and so he had been held to positions of very moderate responsibility -he who had been ambitious; he had wanted to be Secretary of State, like that somber, lucid man whose marble eyes resisted the mild light in the house at Cucamonga Springs

  Charity

  Edward Loomis

  For Harvey Jordan, Byzantium was the holy city, and he wanted to go there when he was free of the war.