The Devil's Advocate: The Epic Novel of One Man's Fight to Save America From Tyranny

by Taylor Caldwell

  So Durant made himself whisper: “Traitors, eh? And spies?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve known about ’em for some time. What shall we do?”

  “Nothing. Just watch them.”

  The sergeant moved in the darkness. “I’m sorry, Major, but I thought at first you were with them.” He laughed roughly. “It makes it better that you know, too, and that you’re with us.”

  “But we mustn’t let them know we know, Keiser.”

  “Major, I’ve been in this business too long to let my tongue wag. And, Major, we mustn’t let them catch on that we’re watching them, must we?”

  He helped Durant to remove his coat and boots. “Sent to keep an eye on ’em, Major?”

  Durant answered carefully: “You know that no man lets another man know anything, Keiser, so why do you ask me?”

  Keiser nodded. He straightened after he had assisted Durant into bed, and saluted. He then went silently from the room and carefully shut the door behind him.

  I have a friend, thought Durant, when alone. But for his sake and mine we must pretend to be what we appear to be. No whispering together again, no glances. We know each other, but we must never recognize each other.

  He began to drowse. His last thought was an angry regret that Grandon was no friend and that Bob Lincoln was a very able actor. They had guessed who he was. He was in worse danger than ever.

  When Durant awoke after his brief and uneasy sleep it was to a sensation of profound despondency and dullness. He was accustomed to these storms in himself, knowing that they had their starting points in a forgotten or half-forgotten incident of no real importance but which had impinged upon some secret and acute nerve in his emotions. Now, however, he knew the cause of his intense wretchedness and hopelessness, and he reflected that the psychiatrists were fatuous when they declared that in the knowing of the source of mental anguish is the cure of the anguish. On the contrary, Durant thought. If a source remains obscure, reason can assist in the dispelling of a melancholy mood. Once known, the cancer bared, despair adds to the original dejection. “Ignorance is bliss” was a much sounder aphorism, and a much older one, than “knowledge is power.” For if knowledge is impotent, and can point out no avenue of escape, its very awareness of its importance and imprisonment increases its hopelessness.

  Durant told himself that too much had happened to him in too short a time. There was a quality of disorientation in his despondency. For a few seconds, after awakening, he did not know where he was or even who he was. He was not the unimaginative kind of man who, when confronted by an appalling set of facts, can throw aside his bedclothes and “rise resolutely.” That attitude might have its heroic aspects, but it has in greater measure its stupid ones. Durant began to see that the Army had quite a valid argument in its contention that witless men make the best soldiers. In more intelligent days, the American people had understood that witlessness ought not to be part of a President’s character. In its degeneracy, the nation had forgotten this and had elected one sinister dolt after another.

  Durant lay among his tossed sheets and blankets and thought about the old maxim: “A people deserve their government.” If so, then they deserved what they had now, and who was he, the Chief Magistrate, and all the thousands of nameless Minute Men, to deny them the torment they had willingly brought upon themselves from 1933 on? They had not protested against a military dictatorship; in fact, less than two decades ago, they had vociferously approved of it, had lent themselves heartily, and with slogans, to its establishment. All the records of history had been there for them to see, all the warnings of the Founding Fathers that national militarism, and any oligarchy of soldiers, leads to slavery and decline. Soldiers were sometimes necessary, in the event of an actual, but not artificial, attack. But always, until the rise of The Democracy, civilians had used the checks and balances system of keeping the witless and the doltish subservient to sound and civilian administration, using arms and uniforms only in dire emergencies and then abolishing them.

  The pale gilt sun of the morning poured through the windows of Durant’s bedroom. He saw the pliant and ruddy gold of a willow tree near the glass and heard, as he had never heard in the city, the clamor of busy birds, the chattering of chickens, the lowing of cattle. Again, he was struck by the incongruity of the peaceful sounds of a placid countryside and the dark terror which ruled the cities. Nature, apparently, ignored the man-pariah who attempted, over and over, to destroy the earth which nourished him, and always he was defeated by something more enormous, more intelligent, and more eternal than himself. If there was any comfort at all to be found in the dreadful world of today it was not to be found in the ugly man-exile, the intruder who had just enough consciousness to become a murderer and a horror in the universe. That comfort lay in the gigantic rhythms of nature, in the unawareness of other creatures that man existed.

  “Where wast thou when the foundations of the world were laid?” God had inquired sternly of Job. Had there been contempt, and regret, in that question?

  There was a knock on Durant’s door, and then the door opened and Sergeant Keiser entered. Durant’s first impulse was to smile confidentially at his sergeant and to say something which would strengthen the understanding of the night before. He suppressed the impulse. He might indeed have a friend now, but neither that “friend” nor any enemy must change him. He became impatient, remembering the warnings which had been given him, but he did force himself to give Keiser a mere, indifferent nod and a cool look. Apparently, Keiser understood, for he did not smile or make any overtures. He simply helped Durant to get out of bed and to dress. He remarked only: “Everybody’s disappeared, except the servants around here. Guess the family don’t like us around, Major.”

  Keiser shaved him in the bathroom, in silence. Once their eyes met in the mirror, but it was with careful blankness. Durant noticed how pale and exhausted his face was, and he was conscious of intense weariness. Though he tried to control his thoughts he could not curb his anxiety for his family, and the sense of entrapment all about him.

  His officers were waiting for him in the dining room. As he had done before, he dismissed Bishop and Edwards after one glance. But Grandon was another matter, all gay boyishness and youthful vitality. “Morning, Major!” he cried happily, pulling out a chair for Durant. “Had a good night? Feeling better?”

  Durant, with a strong effort of his will, kept himself from staring at Grandon with infuriated dislike. He knew this dislike stemmed in part from his own mortification at his own self-deception. Looking at that buoyant young face, at the quick and laughing eyes of the lieutenant, and remembering the conversation he had overheard in the night, Durant wanted to curse. He had once congratulated himself on his ability to detect falsity and treachery; now he told himself that he had always been a fool. Then he controlled himself, and ridiculed his own animosity. According to his lights, Grandon was loyal and faithful, a true supporter of the government and its military dictatorship. It was Grandon’s acuteness which had detected something wrong with him, Durant, and in line with Grandon’s loyalty it was Grandon’s duty to watch his new superior officer and to betray him when necessary. Treachery, Durant reflected, was all a matter of viewpoint. He let Grandon unfold the white napkin and lay it on his knees, and he reminded himself that he must be more careful than ever with his officers. So Durant smiled, and fervently hoped that the smile appeared sincere.

  “Family disappeared?” asked Durant, as his officers sat down at the well-set table. He laughed. “I like it better this way. I can’t stand that confounded Lincoln and his wife. In fact, I think I’ll given an order that they are not to eat with us at any time.” He studied this idea, and approved of it more and more. “Grandon, you’ll relay my order?”

  “Glad to,” said the young lieutenant, with enthusiasm. He winked. “But how about Gracie?”

  “You might give an order that Gracie must dine with us at night,” replied Durant, smiling with real sincerity now.

  Then h
e became conscious that Captain Edwards was looking at him, his rocky face harsh and thoughtful. He had dismissed both the captains as mere military robots the day before. Bishop was gulping milk mechanically. It was startling to Durant that Captain Edwards should suddenly display any expression whatsoever, and that his small hazel eyes should have the gleam of a polished stone.

  “Something wrong, Captain?” he asked idly.

  Grandon chuckled. “Oh, Edwards is sweet on Gracie, too,” he remarked airily. “We both like soft white meat, don’t we, Captain?”

  Edwards turned his whole rigid torso toward Grandon without twisting his bull-like neck. “I’m your superior officer, Grandon,” he said. “And when I say I’ll be the one to lay that girl I mean I’ll be the one to lay her. Not you.”

  Durant sat up alertly. Bishop poured another glass of milk and regarded it approvingly. Keiser grinned.

  “Pulling rank, eh, Captain?” asked Grandon. He still was smiling with his youthful gaiety, but his eyes had narrowed.

  Edwards nodded. “That’s right.”

  Durant said: “Where’s our breakfast? Oh, yes, Edwards. ‘Pulling rank.’ Forgetting I’m your superior officer, too? Maybe I’ll decide to have first run with Gracie. Now, I’m the fickle kind. You can have her next, Edwards, then you, Bishop, and maybe Grandon. Then we can end up with Keiser, here.”

  Edwards and Grandon directed their whole attention to Durant, and he saw their hatred. It pleased him. He rolled up his eyes and mused: “Yes, a nice piece, Gracie. I’m in luck. Think I’ll send for her tonight. Give that order, will you, Grandon? Nothing too good for the Military! That’s our slogan, and a very good one, too.”

  Keiser laughed outright. Edwards had turned crimson, and Grandon had become very white. Bishop looked at them all, his mouth vacantly open. Then Edwards said in a suppressed voice: “Regular Army man, Major?”

  Negligently, Durant answered: “You could say that, in a way. It doesn’t matter. Why?”

  But Edwards only turned his granite stare to Keiser. Durant understood. “Oh, you mean the sergeant eating with us. There’s my arm, you know, Captain. Besides, I happen to like Keiser, and need his assistance. However, if you’d all prefer to eat in the kitchen, without me and Keiser, that’s your privilege.”

  “Discipline,” said Edwards thickly. His hands, on the tablecloth, clenched. “One of us could help you, if necessary.”

  “Frankly, I prefer Keiser,” said Durant, with ease. “Grandon, you won’t forget my order about Gracie. I’m in a mood for a little fun tonight.”

  Edwards shrugged, though all the rugged contours of his face still expressed disciplined rage and affront. “Just so long as I’m next in line it doesn’t matter to me,” he said. “I’m willing to take the leavings of a superior officer.”

  Durant nodded. Then he saw Grandon again. Grandon was still very white, and his mouth had tightened and his eyes were tormented. He was gazing at Edwards with disgust and detestation. His hands were shaking. Why, the idiot is in love with that girl! thought Durant with pleasure. He was even more delighted when Grandon’s murderous gaze turned on himself. He assumed an expression of lascivious anticipation. He said, to Keiser: “How about undressing Gracie for me tonight, Sergeant?”

  Keiser replied with mock solemnity and respect: “Anything to please you, Major.”

  “God bless the Army,” said Durant. “It gives us everything.”

  The kitchen door opened and Dr. William Dodge staggered in, carrying an immense silver tray which steamed. Like a dazed automaton, he put down a plate of ham and eggs before each officer. His hands, so long and slender, were rough and red, the nails broken. He went out, to return with coffee. Then he took his station, blindly, behind Durant, and stood there, bent and voiceless.

  Durant remarked pleasantly on the weather, the food, the house, and the refreshing sleep he had had the night before. He made his voice prattling and amiable. He knew that Grandon and Edwards were wincing. Bishop simply devoured the food, as did Keiser. No one answered Durant. The silence had a vicious quality. It began to unnerve Durant eventually, though he continued to prattle with enthusiasm. Finally even Keiser detected something ominous. He glanced at each face alertly, and with cunning, and smiled. He looked at Durant with amusement, and his smile assured the Major that he would be well protected.

  “I expect, by tonight that many of my command will be comfortably housed on most of the farms hereabout,” said Durant, to the silence. “Of course, three hundred men are too much for even these farms to absorb all at one time. So, they’ll rotate. A month at a time. But this farm is my headquarters, and all five of us will be here for breakfast and dinner and sleeping quarters permanently.” He chuckled. “Something tells me there’ll be considerable excitement on the farms of Section 7 by tonight! And considerable flutter among the farm wives and daughters. Eh, Grandon?”

  Grandon said, only: “Yes, sir.” Durant saw that the young man had not touched his food. This made him exceedingly happy.

  “I’m wondering,” said Edwards surlily, “how Washington’s going to take this.”

  Durant waited a moment, then he said quietly: “I’ve been given absolute power, Edwards. Absolute power. That is the new directive. Each administrative military officer in every Section, beginning yesterday, was given absolute power.”

  Edwards’ face relaxed a little. “Well, that’s good. It’s about time. The farmers have been having it too easy. It’s good news that they’re to feel the bite, too. Always hated the bastards, myself.”

  Grandon said nothing. He drank a little coffee, then waited, his eyes fixed emptily on the table. Durant, having eaten a remarkably good breakfast, felt renewed. “Let’s go,” he said briskly. “I’ve got to get acquainted with the work in Philadelphia.”

  Dr. Dodge drew back the chair for him. Durant involuntarily looked at the old man, and was again startled. For Dr. Dodge’s eyes were no longer blind. They were alive and glowing, and the dead face was vivid with understanding. Durant was frightened. He shouted: “Get out of my way, you old fool! What are you standing there for?”

  Dr. Dodge bowed his head meekly, but Durant saw him smile as if with immense relief and joy. Durant hurried from the room. Dr. Dodge, moving with incredible speed, opened the door for him. Durant ignored him, more frightened than ever, but he was not able to evade the man. Dr. Dodge, again incredibly, was holding his coat for him. The other officers found their coats, adjusted their caps, briefly inspected their guns.

  Durant stood very still in the hall. He looked steadily into Dr. Dodge’s eyes. Then, as the other officers turned to him, Dr. Dodge’s expression again became blind and empty, and he tottered away.

  “Why don’t they shoot the old crow?” asked Keiser. “Funny look he gave you, Major.”

  The Chief Magistrate couldn’t have picked a worse man than I, thought Durant morosely, as the two cars drove to Philadelphia. He ought to have chosen a regular Army man. I’m certainly making this uniform the most hated damn thing in the world!

  Then he smiled to himself, and understood that this was exactly Arthur Carlson’s intention, and this intention was to include the Army personnel, itself. Durant had exerted his authority upon young Grandon. He hoped, not without some cause, that Grandon, the gay and loyal young military man, would now not only hate him as the archetype of the Army but would come to question, through his infatuation of that young cow, Gracie Lincoln, the very system of which he was a devoted and unquestioning member.

  All in all, Durant was exultant, forgetting the knowledge which had come so strangely to Dr. Dodge. He had avenged himself on Grandon for his emotional disappointment in the young lieutenant, he had established himself as a ruthless Army despot in the minds of his executive staff, and he had absolute power for the first time in a powerless life. He meditated on this for a few moments, and then he was alarmed. How intoxicating power could be, and how self-destroying! Now, for the first time, he became very humble and understanding. If he, reared
in a religious atmosphere, taught all the principles of a dead and betrayed Republic, dedicated to the restoration of a free and just socity, could feel a personal thrill at the idea of power, how much more vulnerable were the multitudes of men who had never had his secret advantages? If it was indeed true, as Tom Paine had said, that “tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered,” then both tyranny and hell have their roots in the primordial human instincts. Man’s deepest insticts, thought Durant, with gloom, are atavistic, evil in that they are atavistic, and are due for some wide overhauling and re-direction. The Church had been battling those homicidal and destructive instincts for countless centuries. In the end, as in this violent, nihilistic world of today, the instincts had won.

  He was driven, today, by Captain Bishop, and sat with Captain Edwards who was disposed to be very friendly and cooperative since the breakfast conversation. He had quite forgiven Durant for having served only three years in the Army, for he was a regular Army man, himself. He listened with tolerant interest to Durant’s accounts of his campaigns in England and France, in which he had been a very reluctant lieutenant. (Durant suppressed the fact that he had been with the Quartermaster Corps.) Durant was very enthusiastic about the sack of Paris (which he had never seen) and his Latin imagination overcame the difficulties of factual experience. Captain Edwards did not question any discrepancies, so colorful were Durant’s accounts based on reading and invention.

  Then Durant, having run out of imagination and realizing that his gaps were becoming wider and wider, questioned Edwards as to the exact powers and duties which were his. He discovered that he had complete authority over the local bureaucrats, who were subservient to the Army and took all their orders from the Army. This knowledge gave him tremendous contentment. Of course, his duties had been defined broadly by the Chief Magistrate, and his administration was loosely confined to the oppression of the farmers, but a little extra-curricular oppression of other groups would not be censored. In fact, as Durant thought about it, the bureaucrats took on pleasing possibilities. It needed only imagination.