Sustenance

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “The Embassy?” Julia echoed, her face distressed; she was fishing her crocheting from her large purse. “What is this nonsense about the Embassy?”

  Bethune wondered if Praeger intended to rattle him; he expected more outrage from Julia. “As a matter of fact, it does. We’re getting some increasing pressure from the intelligence boys, and it’s not going to let up any time soon. We need to be prepared for more surveillance and invasions of privacy. We already know that our overseas phone calls are being tapped—well, that’s likely to increase. Since this interest could have importance to you, I thought it would be best if I could talk to all of you at once.”

  Again the group went silent. Finally Pomeroy spoke up. “Can you tell us about it? Why did you go to the Embassy? Or is it all secret?”

  “Some of it is secret, yes, and some of it is confidential. But there are a number of things we can and should discuss. I’ll be glad to explain as we go along. And I will explain anything you want to know as much as I can. But before I do, there are some things I need to know for my end of the legal system; I need to represent each of you according to your best interests as you see them, which means I need to clear up a few matters,” he said with his usual aplomb. “I’ll be able to handle things more efficaciously if I have a couple of answers. Since I was discussing the Frosts’ and the Kings’ case at the Embassy, I got the answers from the Kings and the Frosts when I reported to them after the meeting. Moira Frost suggested it might be a good idea to have this information from all of us. Boris King and Moira Frost are hoping to demonstrate that their dismissals were without basis, and therefore they should be restored to their positions and provided recompense for the time they have had to live here. Some of you may want to initiate similar actions if King and Frost succeed. In any case, I’ll speak to Happy and Steve when they get back, but for now, we can deal with it here, while we’re all together.” He took a moment to smooth the ends of his tie back inside his jacket, then went on. “I know how long you’ve all been here, so for those of you who have been away from the US for more than twelve months, I have to find out a few things.”

  “I’ve been here eleven months,” said Mary Anne. “Do you want me to stick around?”

  “That’s close enough for government work,” said Bethune with heavy sarcasm. “Sure. We’ll include you.”

  “I’ll go make coffee while you get your answers,” Charis said, standing and starting toward the dining room and the kitchen beyond. “I’ve got a few things to eat as well; I’ll set them up for you. You don’t need me here: I haven’t been here long enough to participate.”

  “Thank you,” said Julia as if she had been about to collapse of thirst, a sure sign she was nervous about the meeting.

  “I’ll have everything in place in twenty minutes,” Charis promised, and went into the dining room, closing the door after her.

  Bethune looked at the Bjornsons in their Victorian trifoil chair next to the fireplace; the third seat around the main column unoccupied except for Axel’s hat and Julia’s shawl. “Why don’t I start with you?”

  Julia was ready to argue, but before she could, Axel said, “Fine,” and lit his pipe. “Ask away.”

  Bethune nodded, becoming more business-like as he straightened up and prepared to write on his pad of paper. “Okay. Let’s refine this a little more. Please take time to think about your answer so I can have a sense of perspective about your position.” He looked around the room, taking stock of everyone. “Here goes: if your case could be resolved to your advantage within the next year, would you return to your home in the US?” He had labored to pare the question down to something concise but without bathos. Now he would find out if he had succeeded; he nodded to the Bjornsons, anticipating a well-reasoned response from Axel. “Why don’t we start with you?”

  Axel started to speak, but was interrupted by Julia. “Of course we’d go home!” Julia exclaimed, dropping her crocheting; it lay like a small octopus at the foot of the trifoil chair. “Wouldn’t we,” she added when Axel remained silent. Gradually her face crumpled as she realized that her husband did not share her longing for home.

  Axel drew on his pipe. “I’d want to, I suppose, yes, if the case were truly resolved advantageously, and I had my job back without conditions or limitations, but given the tenor of the times, I doubt such a thing could occur in a year. I’m beginning to think that we’ll need a decade to work all this out. There are too many politicians making political hay out of Red-baiting; that’s not going to stop any time soon. So long as Joseph McCarthy is in the Senate, Communists will be an issue—longer, if Hoover keeps on at the FBI. He’s blowing the whole question out of proportion, but it keeps his name before the public, and gives him a strong negotiating position with Congress. It’s helping his agency, this Communists-in-the-pantry stance, of course, but it’s also silencing a lot of leftist opinions.” He hesitated, then went on, “I sometimes wonder if there aren’t financial influences at work here, making the whole matter of Communism a device of the financial industry, in order to gain control of the commercial interests of the US. By discrediting socialism and Communism, they create an environment that makes it possible for capitalism to establish itself as the only acceptable choice for the country.”

  This was the kind of discussion the Coven had regularly, and most of the members were glad to be on familiar ground. “He’s got a point,” said Young. “If you hanker to be rich, you’re going to want to keep a lot of folks poor.”

  “I’d have to say I think you’re right, Wash, little as any of us would like that kind of exploitation. We need to think about how many compromises we might have to make for the chance to return to our former positions, if the hold of the major business interests becomes greater than it is now. The trouble is, a lot of politicians would jump in with both feet, given so much graft as that could create. It wouldn’t be good for the country, but I don’t know that there is much that can be done about it. The Republicans are doing all they can to buffalo Truman, and who knows if he’s up to the fight. I think that the big money institutions want the unions reined in permanently, and the government is more willing to put business interests ahead of social ones,” said Jesse Praeger, getting into lecture mode, and was about to go on, but Axel interrupted him.

  “Maybe in five years, if Congress stops grandstanding about Communists, it might be possible to rebuild public confidence in unions, and progress, and liberals!”—he made a dismissive gesture punctuated with a snap of his fingers—“but as things are now, I’d reckon it will be a decade before we can safely go back, and maybe not even then.” He turned toward his indignant spouse. “That’s what it appears to be, Jul,” he said to her.

  “But you’ll take me home when it gets fixed,” she prompted in an unusually quiet voice. “Won’t you?”

  “It will depend on what’s happening in Europe as much as what’s going on at home.” He nodded to Bethune as he bent to pick up his wife’s crocheting to return it to her. “Does that help, to any degree?”

  “It probably does, and I thank you for your candor; I know it wasn’t easy,” said Bethune, scribbling as quickly as possible. “I think this is something I’ll have to bring up to the Frosts and the Kings. I should have thought of these problems before now. But what if it were possible to have the scale of resolution you want—hypothetically—would you return to the US?”

  “Would I return to the US if all the furor over Communism and Communist sympathizers ended?” Axel shrugged. “Since it can’t happen in a year or two, no, I wouldn’t. The deliberate creation of fear and anger in the general populace has led to all kinds of infringements on the Bill of Rights, and assaults on the Constitution as well. I went through it once, I don’t intend to go through it twice.” He stared at Bethune. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Well, I would, I would go home, and as soon as possible,” Julia announced, no longer taken aback by her husband. “I’d be on the first plane that would get me to
New York. Anywhere in New York. Poughkeepsie would do.” She began to sob, her head on Axel’s shoulder. “I don’t care about the Committee or Hoover or all the rest of it.”

  “Do you want to leave Paris?” Elvira asked, sounding incredulous.

  “I can’t stand Paris,” Julia sobbed, shoving her crocheting back into her purse.

  “For God’s sake,” McCall exclaimed. “Axel, do something about your wife.”

  Winston Pomeroy held up his hand. “Come on, people, let’s keep this civil. We know how to disagree if we must, don’t we?”

  Julia shot Pomeroy a look of loathing and prepared to excoriate them all. The slight pressure of her husband’s hand on her arm stopped her. She wiped her eyes with a tissue and swallowed hard twice. “Mister McCall, I take offense at your tone.”

  McCall chuckled. “Just don’t have another tizzy.”

  Axel glowered at McCall, and was about to say something cutting, but Pomeroy got in ahead of him.

  “Not to belabor the point, this is difficult for all of us, and we need to be willing to hear one another out, without bickering about what each of us thinks. We may disagree, but let’s give Bethune the answers he needs to help us. What do you say?”

  Fortunately, Charis chose that moment to open the dining-room doors wide, indicating the buffet. “Help yourselves. There are chocolates in the pink box, fruit tarts and cheese on the trays. Simple crackers are in the basket, and pastries on the tiered tray. Help yourselves.”

  Julia strove to wipe her eyes and got up, standing as if daring anyone to mention or even think about her display of homesickness. “That’s very nice of you, Charis,” she said as grandly as Edith Evans playing Lady Bracknell. “Are you coming, Axel?”

  “In a moment,” he said as he set his pipe in the nearest ashtray.

  Young and McCall were quick to get up, and each watched the other as they made for the dining room.

  The Praegers were already on their way through the door, Elvira laughing as she claimed a linen serviette and a butter-dish for her selections. Jesse said something to her in a whisper and she gave him a roguish smile.

  The Bjornsons went to the cheese-tray, Axel looking eager to sample some of the array that waited next to the basket of crackers.

  McCall watched them with a cynical smile; he picked up a serviette and butter-dish, and went to the table where the foods were laid out. “Snazzy,” he said to no one in particular, and reached for a small, sugar-dusted cream-puff.

  Mary Anne poured her coffee first, then went to look over the delicacies offered, starting with the chocolates.

  Winston Pomeroy gave a low whistle. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble, Missus Treat.”

  Coming in from the foyer unnoticed, Szent-Germain went up to Charis, who was still standing in the dining room doorway. “It’s astonishing, watching those two,” he said quietly, watching the Praegers. “I don’t think I can remember being that young.” He had been thirty-three when he was executed, and four millennia ago, that was an older age than Jesse was now.

  She almost yelped, then turned toward him, his nearness setting off her craving for him. This no longer alarmed her as it had at first, but now there was something else in her response to his presence, something that was as disquieting as it was enticing. “Grof. You’re … earlier than I expected.” She tried to decide whether she had heard him come up the stairs, since he clearly had not used the elevator. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, resisting the urge to lean back against him as she shifted her thoughts away from his presence to the issues before the Coven. “I don’t suppose you want a snack?”

  “Regrettably, not just now,” he said, taking a step back from her and almost hitting the door.

  “No. No.” She could feel her pulse going faster, but did her best to ignore it. “I’m glad you’re here. This is turning out to be a … touchy evening. I didn’t think it would be so difficult to discuss when and how we might return to the US.” She nodded to Mary Anne. “I have some fruit in the kitchen, if you’d rather have that,” she said to the older woman. “Or milk instead of cream. I’d offer you a croissant, but the two I have are a day old.”

  “That’s kind of you,” said the librarian. “But I’m sure some stinky soft cheese on a few of those simple crackers will do me fine.”

  Holding a cup-and-saucer in one hand and a small plate of raisin tarts and a couple of shavings of Tete-des-Moins cheese, Bethune nodded to acknowledge Szent-Germain’s presence. “You and I should talk,” he said calmly. “Sooner rather than later. Before Friday, if you can arrange it.”

  If this startled Szent-Germain, he gave no indication of it. “Certainly. Would tomorrow at three be convenient? I’ll be at the press then.”

  “Tomorrow at three at the Eclipse Press offices. I’ll be there,” Bethune confirmed and passed on into the living room.

  Half an hour later, Julia was definitely more composed, the Praegers rather less. Some were on their second cup of coffee; others had had more cheese or a chocolate. Almost all of the Coven was back in the living room; only Young and Mary Anne were still in the dining room, refilling their coffee-cups for the third time. With the exception of the Praegers, the group was more at ease, and Bethune was preparing to continue his questioning.

  Winston Pomeroy put his coffee-cup aside on the occasional table at his elbow and looked around, taking stock of the Coven members. “We should get back to Bethune’s questions. The sooner we do it, the sooner all this is over.”

  “Oh, Christ,” muttered McCall, without apology.

  “Let’s not start again,” Pomeroy said as if trying to get a classroom to go quiet. This was not as successful as he wanted it to be.

  “Come on, Pomeroy,” said Axel. “We can manage to do this properly.”

  “You hope,” said McCall.

  “Cut it out,” said Young, who had returned to his Oriental chair. “We need to do this.”

  “Who’d like to answer my question?” Bethune inquired of the air, making the offer as friendly as possible. “I don’t want to distress you, but it will help me act for you if I know how you feel about this.”

  “I would,” said Mary Anne, surprising everyone. She took her place on the gondola sofa near the windows. “I’ve been thinking about this very issue for several days, and I believe that I’m prepared to say that I would go back if—if, mind you—I would not be under constant scrutiny, which may not be possible for some time to come. We’ve been stigmatized, and a superficial apology from the government won’t get rid of the taint. I feel all at loose ends here, and I’m beginning to think that there may not be anything for me in Europe. I’m a capable librarian, but English-language libraries aren’t plentiful here in Europe, and I’ve made a few overtures to private parties in England with vast private libraries, but no luck so far. I may have to try India or Rhodesia, but they aren’t any more welcoming to women in my field than are libraries back home. Who knows what kind of weight a PhD from Northwestern would have there?”

  “There’s always Australia or New Zealand,” McCall suggested snidely, and was rewarded by a glare from Charis.

  Watching them unobtrusively, Szent-Germain could feel their fear, as if the air had become acidic. The Ex-Pats’ Coven was under increasing strain, and it was taking a toll on all of them. The next year, he believed, would make or break the group. Which way? he wondered; which way?

  “Oh, Mary Anne, it can’t be that bad,” Elvira said, doing her utmost to be sympathetic. “It’s frustrating, and sometimes unkind, but you make it sound so … dire.”

  “Because it is dire,” said Mary Anne. “Even without the Committee’s interfering, it was getting hard to find a job. The war is over, so women can go back home and be a free maid to a husband coming back from the Front. But mine didn’t come back. He’s in an unmarked grave somewhere in Germany. And surviving on a widow’s benefits is pretty austere. I like being a librarian. I do it well. I’m in no position to do it as a volunteer or a pa
rt-timer, and that’s made my circumstances difficult. I did all I could to find a position that would make the most of my skills. But the best job I could find before I left the US was as a librarian at a junior high in Michigan, and that was provisional, requiring that I prove I have no affiliation to or associations with Communist organizations.”

  “Gracious, you sound bitter,” said Elvira.

  “I am bitter,” said Mary Anne, her bluntness surprising them all.

  “Sour grapes,” said McCall.

  Pomeroy held up his hands again. “Come on, people.”

  “Why don’t you go next, Pomeroy?” McCall suggested sweetly, expecting a refusal.

  “Okay,” said Pomeroy. “Unless someone else would rather—”

  “Just do it,” said Young. “Then McCall can do his stint.”

  “All right,” said Pomeroy. “If I could go back and have it the way it was, would I?” He stared at the ceiling as if he expected to see an answer appear there. “I don’t know,” he admitted after the greater part of a minute had passed. “Because it could never be the way it was. That’s the part that bothers me. The way it was is gone. Whether it could be possible to come close to what it was like before I had to leave, I would still be changed because of what I’ve been through the last twenty months, and I would remember what it’s been like living here, trying to find work and being watched by agents of the US government, or other governments—unless there’s a way to have selective amnesia. As it is, I’ll always have almost two years of sporadic employment here in Europe in my CV, and that will influence my decisions from now on. I’m not about to forget what my time here has been like, or what brought me to Paris.” He sighed. “I miss Davis. I like the Valley. I like skiing in the Sierra in the winter, and going up Mount Shasta in the summer. I hope I can do those things again one of these days, but I don’t know if that would be enough after all this.”