The Man Who Wouldn't Stand Up
Page 22
They embraced again. This time, when Judith drew away, she kept her fingers locked around his hand. “What are we going to do now?” she asked in renewed despair.
“I love you,” said Arnold “That’s what matters.”
“I love you too, my dear,” said Judith. “But where does that leave us? I don’t know if I have it in me to run off to Fiji or God knows where….”
“Who said anything about running off?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the most wanted man in America right now,” his wife answered. “You can’t exactly walk to work tomorrow morning as though nothing has happened. They’re going to put you in jail.”
“She has a point,” interjected Bonnie Card.
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” said Arnold. “We’re going to adopt children. Lots of them. Black ones. White ones. Boys, girls, in-betweens. A whole goddam army of kids. Fifty musketeers….”
Bonnie held her index finger at her temple and wiggled it. “He’s gone off the deep end,” she said. “All that time on his own must have addled his brain.”
“Nobody’s brain is addled,” said Arnold. “Or at least mine isn’t. Yours with its half-baked ideas is another matter.” He stood up “Adopting dozens of children might be the first good idea I’ve had in ages.”
“Dozens?” gasped Judith.
“Or hundreds. If they’ll let us….”
The Bandit had been right about children, he realized. Children could just as easily be ammunition in his effort to improve the planet, a secret plan B to launch when his own stamina failed. Like a ready-made army. He’d raise his kids to keep up the struggle against the Ira Taylors and Spotty Sptifords of the world. They would be his legion of crusaders against hypocrisy and knee-jerk patriotism. His dozens would do more good than the harm caused by other people’s one or two or nine.
“Since when do you want kids?” asked Judith. “Not that I’m complaining….”
“It’s complicated,” said Arnold. “But I know I want them. I even know a guy I want to send the adoption announcements to.”
That would also repay the Bandit.
Arnold poured himself a glass of wine and downed it quickly. Then he walked toward the entryway.
“Where are you going?” demanded Judith.
“Outside. To apologize.”
“Oh God, honey. It’s too late for that. You don’t understand….”
“Of course, I understand. That’s one of the great things about America. It’s never too late to apologize.”
“You can’t just walk out there like that,” pleaded Judith. “You’ll be lucky if the police snipers don’t shoot you.…”
“This is where having a good lawyer comes in handy,” interjected Gilbert Card. “Why don’t I phone the police and negotiate a surrender. I’ll tell them you want an opportunity to issue and apology before they take you into custody….”
“You really think an apology will do any good at this point?” asked Judith.
“It’s worth a shot,” agreed Gilbert Card. “It worked for Spitford. He’s twenty points ahead in the mayoral polls.”
“And for all those televangelists,” added Bonnie. “And a whole host of politicians.”
“But this is different,” objected Judith. “You can’t just apologize your way out of robbery and vandalism and Lord knows what else.”
Arnold patted her shoulder. “Of course, you can,” he said. “The worst thing they can do is jail you….and then, when you get out, you’re doubly forgiven. People genuinely feel guilty that you went to jail after apologizing.”
“But be sure you actually apologize,” warned Gilbert. “I don’t think you can afford another tongue-sticking incident.”
“No worries,” agreed Arnold. “I’ll be as contrite as the dust.”
Bonnie Card smiled at him—her “I told you so” smile. He didn’t give a damn. If she wanted to live her life at odds with the world, that was her privilege. Arnold had more important rows to hoe.
He waited with the wives while Gilbert phoned the police. The lawyer returned from the kitchen with a thumbs-up. “Once you’re outside, they’ll give you ten minutes,” he said. “But keep your hands up while you speak.”
“I can handle that,” agreed Arnold. “I’ll reach for the heavens.”
He wrapped his arms around Judith and kissed her on the lips. Then he braced himself for the masses.
“Wait!” shouted Judith.
“It’s too late,” he said. “I’m going through with it.”
“Okay, darling. But at least let’s make you look presentable.” She dabbed some water on a cloth napkin and washed the grime from under his eyes. “Why don’t you take a shower, put on some clothes….”
It was another half an hour before his makeover was complete. He wore a light grey shirt and a conservative blue tie. His hair was trimmed and parted on the right. He could have campaigned for governor. For a final touch, Gilbert pinned a tiny American flag to the botanist’s lapel.
“You want some moral support?”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Arnold answered. He thought of the army of crusading children he intended to raise with Judith. “I got myself into this mess. I suppose it’s my responsibility to get myself out of it.”
Then he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jacob M. Appel is a physician, attorney and bioethicist in New York City. He is the author of more than two hundred stories that have been published in major American literary journals including Missouri Review, Southwest Review and Virginia Quarterly Review. His fiction has been short-listed for the O. Henry Award, Best American Short Stories, and Pushcart Prize anthology on numerous occasions. His collection, Scouting for the Reaper, won the 2012 Hudson Prize and is forthcoming in 2013. Dr. Appel also writes about the nexus of law and medicine, contributing to The New York Times, Chicago Tribune, San Francisco Chronicle and many other leading periodicals. He is a graduate of Brown University, Harvard Law School, Columbia University’s College of Physicians and Surgeons, and the MFA Program in Creative Writing at New York University. This is his first novel and the winner of the 2012 Dundee International Book Prize.
Copyright
“The Man Who Wouldn’t Stand Up”
Jacob M. Appel
First Published 2012
Published by Cargo Publishing
SC376700
ISBN: 978–190–888–511–1
Bic Code: FA Modern & Contemporary Fiction
© Jacob M. Appel 2012
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form or binding other than in which it is published.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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Cover design by Chris Hannah
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