“That’s the clinching argument. You can’t run a business on noble thoughts and stay solvent for long in this world. How long would you stay in business if you paid no attention to profits and losses?”
“That’s just what I mean. My company has a factory in Venezuela. Yo mismo hablo un poco español. Es muy necesario para las negocias. Sure, there are problems. The communist menace is real. But if it weren’t for us, hundreds of men would have no means of supporting their families. When we transfer a plant manager from here to go there, we have to provide a home for him on a par with what he is used to here. That’s only fair. But often the locals don’t see it that way. They hold it against us, even though we are giving them jobs they wouldn’t have otherwise.”
“And a man has an obligation to his stockholders. What in the world would you tell them if you spent their retirement dividends on a charity in some foreign country? That’s the church’s and the government’s business, not ours. We donate to the church and pay big taxes to the government. Fair is fair, I say. What’s wrong with letting them look after that?”
“Besides, it wouldn’t work. If you gave workers there even half of what our workers here demand, they wouldn’t know what to do with it. Probably drink it all up, and then where would they be?”
“You’d have to charge more for your product here in the US.”
“And your profits would plunge.”
“And you’d be out on your ear after the next stockholders’ meeting.”
“You couldn’t stay in business without massive revisions to import duties.”
“The only person qualified to advise a businessman is another businessman with a good track record. And if he is a competitor, you do the opposite of what he tells you and you can’t go wrong.”
The two men chuckled.
“No, a man makes a fool of himself when he tries to tell a businessman how to run his business. After all, we hire the scientists not as business advisors but as employees to make our products more saleable.”
“They’re good men, most of them. Just ignorant of what makes the world go round. When you build them a well-equipped laboratory, give them some work to do for you, and turn them loose, they’re as happy as kids in a sandbox.”
“And think of all the great publicity you get when you award a post in your business to some kid graduating from your alma mater!”
“There’s all too much truth in that,” moaned Steve, reaching for Kay’s hand.
“They belong in the laboratories we build for them, not on center stage,” concluded one of the men, getting up to refill his martini goblet.
Just then a pert young woman of about thirty years of age flew up to Steve and declared, “Dr. Pearson! I just have to tell you how much I enjoyed your address. I confess I took offense at some of your remarks, but I can overlook them especially since you really didn’t say a word against enjoying life. In fact, as I heard it, everything you said could be construed as your idea of how to really enjoy life.”
“I guess you could put it that way.”
“Yes indeed. I simply cannot suffer those prophets of doom who are constantly harping about our imminent destruction. What are they missing? I’m sick and tired of their whine. The doom they predicted years ago is no closer now than it was then. But still they don’t change their tune. Why should we all hate life the way they do? If God wanted us to hate life, why would He have created us? So if, as they say, it is inevitable that we will destroy ourselves, shouldn’t we be enjoying ourselves all the more between now and then? Que será, será! Why shouldn’t we all enjoy life while we have it, you in your way and I in mine?”
Then, looking straight at Kay whose flushed cheeks enhanced her youthful attractiveness, she added, “I can see you also believe in enjoying life while we have it. Your wife is very lovely. Don’t tell me that’s totally accidental. Well, thank you for your time. My husband gets so jealous when I spend a few minutes in conversation with another man.”
She vanished into the guests as quickly as she had appeared from their midst.
At that particular moment, Dr. Pearson must have looked unwell because the couple now approaching him backed away at the sight of him. But he looked up just as they were retreating and said, “No, Dr. Eriksen, Mrs. Eriksen. Please do be seated. We would be honored to get to know the parents of such a fine son.”
He stood up, and Kay with him. They shook hands with the Eriksens.
Dr. and Mrs. Eriksen, aware of how depleted Dr. Pearson was, were especially moved by his cordial reception of them by name.
“Thank you very much. My wife, Ann, and I will bother you for only a few minutes.”
Gesturing for them to be seated, Dr. Pearson said, “We are very glad for the unexpected privilege of meeting you this evening. Meeting your son, Rolph, gave us a bright ray of hope earlier today.”
“That doesn’t surprise us. God has given us a son whom Jesus possesses.”
“A miracle of grace,” Steve responded as Kay nodded warmly.
“I suppose, Dr. and Mrs. Pearson, that you have had your of fill of vapid compliments by now. However, driving here from the auditorium, my wife and I agreed that you converted what could have been one more disastrous evening into just exactly what our school and community need to hear now.”
“Thank you. Kay and I felt disaster in the air, too.”
“Our son, Rolph Jr., told us of his aborted meeting with you this noon, but he glowed when he told us you said you’d see him again.”
“Yes. We are determined to see him again, God willing. I am at a loss to explain why Mr. Pfister was so eager to curtail our time together when we, not Rolph, were the ones who initiated it.”
Mrs. Eriksen broke in. “Now you know what my husband’s constituency had in mind when they elected him to the school board. They thought that because he had already single-handedly reconfigured our hospital board to be more oriented toward patient care than toward profit-making, he could turn our gaudy high school showpiece into an actual institution of learning.”
“I don’t mean to be too critical,” commented Kay, “but how would you have found enough people around here to elect someone on that platform?”
“You wouldn’t have,” admitted Mrs. Eriksen. “I’m sure he was elected on his reputation.”
“Well,” explained Dr. Eriksen, “you see, the movement for my candidacy was initiated by a handful of sincere people who adopted the slogan ‘From an empty showcase to a real schoolhouse.’ They approached me and almost forcefully drafted me to run for the school board. The slogan may have won the election for me. In principle, who would not want a showcase turned into an honest-to-goodness school house where the students actually learn something useful, not just have a good time? In any case, I was elected by a slim margin, and, much as I am verbally respected, I have made almost no headway in converting our slogan into any kind of a plan of action.”
“It sounds to me as if it amounts to resolving the tension between the spirit and the flesh simply by guaranteeing that the spirit will always be subservient to the flesh,” observed Kay. “I don’t envy you, but I deeply admire you.”
“That is the issue in a nutshell. Those of us whose spirit is still willing are finding our flesh growing weaker and weaker. How do you face the same intolerable abuses day after day without finding yourself starting to tolerate them little by little, just to survive, just to stay sane? Some days I see myself as a living contradiction, saying one thing and doing something else, ‘warring in my members,’ as St. Paul says, against what I am firmly convinced is true. On the positive side of the ledger, a few really good teachers have joined our staff mainly through our efforts. But how does even a good teacher motivate the spoiled, lazy, self-serving, offspring of affluence? For every victory you win as a good teacher, they tell me, you suffer more defeats than you can count. The administration sees me as a curiosity at best, an enemy at worst, because in their view I am stuck in an outmoded and far too regimented view of the p
urpose of a high school education. Strides have been made since my time, I am told, in the psychology of education. The idea now is to encourage individuals to discover their own strengths and then to give them plenty of room to develop them on their own. It’s called ‘respecting each person’s individuality.’ To me, this is a recipe for disaster in an affluent and self-indulgent society like ours, where our children face so few real challenges and material deprivations. You said it so well. Trials and tribulations produce strong people. Their absence practically guarantees atrophy. I often ask myself why an approach so clearly doomed to failure has taken over our school. The answer, I greatly fear, lies in the fact that the healers of the disease are themselves too stricken by it to be of much help to the sufferers.”
The man had spoken cautiously, unburdening his conscience to someone he knew would understand. Dr. Pearson heard him out, his back rigid and his eyes fixed on the troubled physician. Kay’s heart was also aching for him, but it was aching even more for Steve as she watched her husband get caught up in the man’s dilemma.
“But you have a son of whom you can be justly proud. He hasn’t caught the disease,” Kay interjected with a note of hope.
“Only by virtue of his strong mental and spiritual health which they seem intent on destroying,” declared Ann. “If he were not so well grounded in our family values and our faith, so singularly able to avoid succumbing to the general plague, we would flee this place tomorrow. Even so, I wonder how much abuse any one student can take without caving in.”
“Mental and spiritual health,” repeated Dr. Pearson slowly, leaning forward. “Without that team, that inseparable team, a man is dead. And they must be robust partners, not fragile, not barely clinging to life. Or else, I say, a man is dead…. I would so appreciate the opportunity to speak with your son, as we had hoped.”
“That opportunity may well arise, Doctor. Christiania is one of our church’s colleges and it is Rolph’s great desire to continue his education there, mainly because of you.”
“I can think of nothing I would consider a greater privilege as a teacher than to have your son in my class.”
Just then a plump colorfully attired woman of about fifty dashed up to the physician. Her puffy face was darting between a forced smile and a bona fide frown.
“Gentlemen, do excuse my interruption. But I just said to myself, ‘Anna Wellington, while it’s on your mind you get right over there to your old friend, Dr. Eriksen, and have him write you out the prescriptions for your pills before you forget and run out.’ And so here I am with less than a week’s supply left. Could I trouble you to do that for me now?”
“I believe so, Anna. Just a moment.”
He took a wad of blank prescription forms from his vest pocket, scrawled something across three of them, and handed them to her. She was perfectly delighted. Her intermittent frowns vanished. She pranced off to a group of ladies conversing near the hors d’oeuvres and deposited the slips conspicuously in her purse.
“It’s a web, my dear professor,” said the physician sadly, “and I’m as entangled in it as anyone. You described Anna Wellington perfectly this evening, and she heard every word of it without batting an eye. There isn’t a thing wrong with her that a little genuine affliction couldn’t cure. She has every material possession she wants and has no idea that’s why she’s so ‘sick.’”
“Just look at those poor creatures over there,” said Mrs. Eriksen, gesturing toward that group of women. “They are talking about the only problem they know—their own precarious health. And they can go on and on about it.”
“My dear,” said the physician, “I will tell you how grave a problem that is from a purely medical point of view. Two of those prescriptions I wrote out for Anna were for different strengths of colored sugar pills and the third was for a plain iron pill like those we give to pregnant women. She’s been taking those pills for five years now, and to them she ascribes the delicate balance of her health which, as everyone knows, is on the verge of collapse. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were discussing another favorite topic of theirs at this very moment—tranquilizers. You see, only people occupied with really important matters require a chemical to keep them on an even keel.”
“To them she ascribes…,” intoned Dr. Pearson as if in a trance.
“And ‘our virulent superfluity is the answer to their desperate needs.’ Dr. Pearson, you see why we thank God you had the courage to say what you did.” Mrs. Eriksen was almost in tears.
Dr. Pearson looked back at her and slowly shook his head.
“Look around you, my friends. All of these poor dear people who have so commended my address—do you see among them one lasting achievement of my ‘courage’?”
Only then did they note the ashen pallor of his face and the palsied trembling of his hands. Kay grasped them and hung onto them tightly, terrified by the vacant look in his eyes. For fully a minute he sat there stiff and erect. No one stirred as the party went on gaily about them. Then his eyes dropped to the floor in front of him and he muttered half aloud, “I’ll be quite all right. It’s been a long day. I think we ought to start for home.”
Kay swallowed hard. “Yes, it’s past midnight. We need to be on our way.”
Hasty, startled farewells were said. Mrs. Landgren looked roundly offended when she saw her guests of honors leaving before the party was over, but one look at Dr. Pearson told her why.
Just before leaving through the front door, he turned and let his eyes float around the front part of the living room visible from the doorway. Near the archway he caught sight of Dr. Eriksen gazing at him intently and perhaps remorsefully. The two men exchanged a knowing nod.
And the Pearsons stepped through the door out into the cold dark night.
XV
A car moving down the highway that winds between Minneapolis and St. Mark after midnight is a very lonely thing. The black anonymity of the passing countryside is briefly relieved only by the dim lights of several sleeping villages. Bearing its own source of light, it purrs along, steadily slicing its way through the darkness.
Tonight it was the Pearsons’ turn to be traveling in such a car. Steve had silently brushed aside his wife’s offer to let her drive them home. He had planted himself behind the steering wheel and maneuvered their DeSoto out of Reedville, by some miracle finding the right road that led them to St. Mark. Drawn into himself, he had said scarcely a word since leaving the Landgren home.
Kay, sitting close beside him on the cushion seat without quite touching him, felt her heart slipping into that state of panic which she had not known for over a decade. She wanted desperately to enfold in her arms the grieving man she loved, but she didn’t dare touch him for fear he’d crumble. So she sat there, frozen in place beside him.
They were ten miles north of St. Mark when their car slowed down and swerved uneasily onto the gravel shoulder on the right where it came to a halt. Kay looked into Steve’s expressionless face in the dim glow from the headlights and held her breath.
For a few moments he remained motionless and erect behind the wheel. Then, as she looked on, a wince snarled his features. He fell forward onto the steering wheel and broke into sobs.
“I can’t go on! I can’t go on! It’s all a farce, a terrible farce! They’re all dying right in front of my nose. They’re dropping like flies and we scientists are the ones who are killing them! Hope? Progress? Eradicating evil? Rubbish! If our science blesses one, it curses ten, in peace as much as in war. It kills, it maims, it cripples—the soul in peacetime, the body in wartime. So I gave everything I had to producing this? To make my Cecilia happy in Heaven? And my Kay on earth? What kind of a fool have I been? This is the bottom of a pit I’ve got myself into! God! What’s gone wrong? What have I missed? Why did it take ‘today’ to show me this? O Kay! What have I done to you? You trusted me, and look where I’ve dragged you! Look where I’ve dragged you….”
“No, Steve! No! No! Everything I cherish has come to me in you. You are
the wisest, and the bravest, and the most wonderful person I have ever known. No, Steve! Come to me. I love you. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t go away from me!”
She pulled his limp body towards her and he received her, pressing her head against his chest with his left hand.
She clamped herself around him.
Trembling he stroked her soft hair with his hand and fingers, back and forth, back and forth. And in her embrace and with his gentle stroking in her hair, his tremors slowly died away.
“Kay,” he said, breathing a little more normally. “You are the only good I know for sure. Where did you come from? How did you get here? I think you came straight from Heaven, sent to me by the good God. Why aren’t there more of you? Why isn’t the world full of you? Then we’d have hope. Can you tell me why the good God is letting the world destroy itself? Can you, my love? Why?”
“O Steve!” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Let’s just start all over again, just with each other, like we did before. Let’s let everything else go. Let’s just start with loving each other and go from there.”
“My love, I couldn’t go on for another day without you.”
Kay’s heart was pounding, her breast was heaving up and down. Pulling herself even closer to Steve, she pleaded, “Love me! Love me!”
“Always I love you.”
“Steve,” she whispered fondlingly. “Love me here. Love me now. Love me!”
He ran his fingers through her silken hair.
“You know I love you always.”
“Love me here! Love me now! Now….”
He understood. His loins were awaking to her touch.
“But it isn’t safe now,” he objected weakly.
“Love me here, Steve! Love me now!”
A good half an hour later the DeSoto crept back onto the pavement and slowly made its way back toward St. Mark.
XVI
After the disastrous day in Reedville, Dr. Stephan Pearson was a changed man. His colleagues attest to this with one voice. It was incredible, they claim, how his quiet assurance crumbled overnight. Though he continued to go through all the well-ordered motions of the past eleven years—lecturing regularly, assisting students in the laboratories faithfully, attending chapel daily—there was now a perfunctoriness in it that dismayed those who had known and admired the zestful sincerity that had once been his. His lectures were in the main lifeless and stripped clean of any visionary rambling. His assistance in the laboratories was reduced to the role of a walking computer. His attendance at chapel was devoid of the prayerful spirit that had once been its hallmark. Something had indeed happened to him at Reedville, and his associates experienced it as an emptiness where he had once been so full, a dryness where a well-spring of joy had once overflowed in him.
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